Before the virtual conference table, Yang Ying’s words struck the assembled group with a moment of stunned silence.
The nature of Horace, what he was, had been made perfectly clear by everything that had transpired in the asteroid belt over the last ten days. This simian master of the peak led the Pirate Coalition Fleet across hundreds of millions of li, his body count immeasurable, his movements unstoppable, and his whereabouts utterly unknown—until now.
Here, right at this conference table, Yang Ying had casually revealed his exact location.
Everyone present, drawn from the military or mercenary factions, were top-tier figures, military experts through and through. They knew well that once one’s movements were known, Horace’s devastatingly swift and terrifyingly effective surprise attack tactics would become utterly useless.
Randolph stood up, astonishment coloring his voice. “Did I hear correctly? Are you truly stating the location of the Pirate Coalition Fleet?”
The others leveled skeptical gazes at him.
Yang Ying nodded confidently. “You all heard correctly. Our Transcendence Mercenary Group’s intelligence division was fortunate enough to acquire the location of the Pirate Coalition Fleet recently, and we are currently tracking them.”
Yang Ying’s confidence stemmed from the Observer vessel trailing far behind the Pirate Coalition Fleet, which was continuously beaming back real-time intelligence, leaving the entire enemy fleet completely exposed to the base’s view.
Randolph sat back down, nodding. “My apologies everyone, I got a bit overexcited.”
William chuckled. “If this intelligence proves true, what harm is there in getting a little excited?”
Lloyd affected an air of casual indifference. “Words are cheap, Commander Yang. Who can say you aren't simply fabricating intelligence?”
Yang Ying shrugged. “Why would I need to fabricate a piece of data when I am trying to showcase the intelligence capabilities of the Transcendence Mercenary Group to you all?”
Lloyd frowned, considering for a moment before raising his eyes again. “Commander Yang, while I have heard rumors that you are an Awakened, your time in that world is brief; you must know very little about it. There is one matter you seem unaware of.”
“Please tell me,” Yang Ying responded.
Lloyd leaned slightly forward. “Our Caesar family knows as much about the Awakened as they know about themselves. The perception of a Master-level expert has reached an almost unbelievable degree; when being monitored, they instantly sense it and locate their watchers. And this is doubly true for a peak master like Horace!”
Old Locke also spoke up. “Indeed. If we could monitor them, we would have done so long ago. After Horace annihilated our homeworld, the garrison forces dispatched thousands of manned and unmanned reconnaissance aircraft to shadow the Pirate Coalition Fleet. But every single one was either shaken off or destroyed by the pirates’ own fighters. Not one tracer could keep up with those butchers.”
“Is that so?” Yang Ying mused inwardly. He knew the Observer must be a product of Progenitor technology, designed inherently for covert reconnaissance, its foundation rooted in spiritual power. This likely gave it a degree of resistance to Horace’s spiritual sensitivity, though of course, this detail could not be shared.
“I don’t believe I owe either of you an explanation as to precisely how we obtained this intelligence. But I can guarantee its accuracy.”
Yang Ying addressed Lloyd first, then turned his gaze to Old Locke, yet everyone at the table understood the statement was directed at all of them.
Lloyd cleared his throat. “It seems Commander Yang still wishes to maintain the secrecy of the Transcendence Mercenary Group, but—”
“If,” Saint Labens suddenly interrupted Lloyd, “if the intelligence provided by the Transcendence Mercenary Group genuinely leads to Horace’s capture, then I do not find Commander Yang’s proposal unreasonable. This intelligence alone could offset the cost of a fleet equivalent to a Super Mercenary Group, giving us the advantage in the coming battle.”
Lloyd pressed, his tone even. “But Commander Yang intends to remain outside the Coalition Fleet and keep the method of intelligence gathering secret from the Fleet. How can we then trust the validity of that intelligence?”
His measured pace and use of the collective ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ showed no personal bias; the question sounded as if it were purely in consideration for the Coalition Fleet itself. This alone demonstrated his finesse, which far surpassed that of his son, Istha.
Yang Ying grew impatient with Lloyd’s persistent questioning. “Commander Lloyd! Even if I told you how we acquired the information, beyond satisfying your personal curiosity, what other benefit would it bring? Are you capable of offering any constructive advice on our intelligence work?”
“Not necessarily,” Lloyd shrugged.
Randolph raised a hand, halting the debate between Yang Ying and Lloyd. He then addressed Lloyd directly. “Commander Lloyd, please do not treat the Coalition Fleet as if it were your Caesar Mercenary Group. The Coalition itself is not a highly centralized force. Every member participating in the fleet must retain a certain degree of autonomy. We should not, under the banner of the Coalition Fleet, make excessive demands upon any member that are unrelated to dealing with Horace.”
Lloyd pondered this. “While I do not agree that this constitutes an excessive demand unrelated to Horace, since even General Randolph has spoken, I shall yield. Very well, Commander Yang may continue to maintain the mystery of the Transcendence Mercenary Group.”
Lloyd had no desire to clash with Yang Ying over this matter. He was not yet officially the Commander of the Coalition Fleet, and if he continued to press the issue, angering Yang Ying might lead him to oppose Lloyd’s ascension to command—much like Old Locke opposed Saint Ladis—which would be an unacceptable loss for him.
Therefore, he took the ladder Randolph offered him, even managing to look as if he were doing Randolph a favor.
Randolph surveyed the table and asked, “Does anyone else have objections to Commander Yang’s proposal?”
Saint Labens, William, and Old Locke all shook their heads, indicating they had no dissent.
Randolph nodded. “Then it is settled. The Transcendence Mercenary Group will join the Mercenary Coalition Fleet, contributing their intelligence work in lieu of a fleet contingent.”
William followed up immediately. “Commander Locke and Commander Saint Ladis have successively withdrawn from the command competition. Commander Yang made his request as the condition for supporting Commander Lloyd for the position of commander. Is that correct?”
William swept his gaze around the table. After receiving nods of affirmation from Old Locke, Saint Ladis, and Yang Ying, he stated, “Then, among the four great Super Mercenary Groups, Commander Lloyd is the only remaining candidate for commander. Do the three of you agree with this summary?”
“We agree.” Yang Ying, Saint Ladis, and Old Locke all nodded in assent.
William nodded. “Then Commander Lloyd will serve as the commander of the Mercenary Coalition Fleet. The next agenda item is the rights and obligations of each party within the Fleet.”
This section of the discussion was far more granular. To prevent Lloyd from abusing his command authority, many aspects required meticulous regulation, causing the meeting to become lengthy.
Meanwhile, while this conference was taking place, in a distant corner of the cosmos, a fleet maintained strict communication silence as it traversed the void.
The warships within the fleet exhibited a variety of models and ages, resembling a floating museum that encompassed nearly every class of vessel produced over the last fifty years.
The most advanced ship in the fleet was a Pacific-class battlecruiser, the current main combat cruiser model used by the Solar System Human Military, boasting four Type-VI cannons and countless other guns, large and small.
This super-sized warship sat at the absolute center of the entire formation, clearly serving as the fleet flagship.
Inside the bridge of this vessel, Horace, the Ape Master long occupying everyone’s thoughts, stood bolt upright, feet planted wide apart, on the upper deck. His eyes were closed, as if sensing something intangible.
Down on the lower deck of the bridge, Ulysses looked up toward Horace. “Patriarch, radar shows nothing. There are no traces of trackers near us.”
Horace spoke without changing his expression. “Keep searching.”
“Yes, sir.” Ulysses immediately lowered his head and murmured an instruction to a nearby aide.
The aide shook his head with a wry smile and tried to explain something.
Ulysses looked up again. “My Lord Patriarch, we have tried every method. We cannot locate the tracker.”
“Useless garbage.”
Horace shot the aide a cold glance. The aide immediately contorted his face in agony, forcing a low, guttural sound from his throat. He turned one hand toward Horace, as if begging for mercy, just as blood began to stream from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.
In less than three seconds, the aide was dead, bleeding from all seven orifices.
The other aides on the bridge witnessed Horace’s deadly gaze technique and felt a chill shoot from the soles of their feet to the tops of their heads, raising goosebumps across their skin. They quickly averted their eyes, daring not to look again.
“Replace him. Continue the search. Use every method possible until you find them!” Horace commanded.
“Yes.” Ulysses agreed, casting his gaze over the surrounding aides. They all stood silent as the dead, trembling, terrified of being the next to be selected.
“You, come here.” Ulysses pointed randomly. When the aide realized the voice was directed at him, he shuddered but dared not turn around. He inwardly pleaded with every deity he knew, praying that misfortune would not descend upon him.
Ulysses frowned, forced to walk over, drag the designated aide forward, and throw him onto the body of the deceased staff member. The remaining aides breathed a sigh of relief—for now.
“Sir, the hope of finding anything by searching like this is slim,” Ulysses commented.
Horace shook his head. “My senses cannot be wrong. Someone might be able to shield my senses, but they cannot mislead them. Someone is watching us, but this watcher is no ordinary entity. Even I can only vaguely feel the surveillance; I cannot pinpoint the source.”
As a peak master, Horace implicitly trusted his intuition over any electronic equipment.
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