Blade brought his fighter to a halt in the hangar of the Number One, surveying the hundreds of aircraft parked around him. Nearly every one bore some mark or scar from what was clearly a ferocious engagement.

He stretched, flexing his muscles, then made his way to the ship's medical bay. Inside, several medical personnel, looking as serene as angels, were tending to the wounded pilots. In their hands, they held devices resembling small flashlights, emitting a soft, emerald-green light that, when shone upon a wound, caused it to visibly knit closed.

This was the new standard in treatment: the 'Light of Healing.' With the relentless technological advancements flourishing across the floating continent, the medical corps had long since discarded the archaic syringes of the past. The Light of Healing had entirely replaced curative serums as the mainstream treatment method. Furthermore, with the technology now mature, the Research Institute had already begun plans to scale down the devices for installation on transport ships, creating dedicated medical transport carriers.

Blade drifted through the medical bay, his mind wandering through tangential thoughts, pausing only to inspect the condition of the pilots. He then approached a Major in the pilot corps and inquired, "What were the casualties this time?"

Since the battle had only just concluded, Yang Ying’s primary consciousness was still deeply engaged with the senior command of the Combined Fleet, handling higher strategic matters. Consequently, all issues pertaining to the Ghost fighters had been delegated to Blade.

The Major snapped a salute before replying respectfully, "Colonel Blade, three hundred and sixty fighters deployed. Three hundred and forty-five returned. We lost fifteen aircraft."

Blade nodded slowly, leaning back against a bulkhead. "And the pilots? Of the fifteen, how many made it back?" Ghost fighter pilots were equipped with individual rocket packs, allowing them to eject and fly back manually if their craft was critically damaged.

"Only six flew back, sir. The remaining nine were killed in action. Colonel Kevin has already confirmed their demise," the Major stated calmly.

Blade glanced at him, understanding the programmed nature of these clones. Their core emotional directives prioritized loyalty first, then unity, and finally, aggression. When comrades were alive, they could entrust their very lives to one another. But once a comrade fell, they were quickly filed away and forgotten. Was this apathy? Blade couldn't say. He gave a wry, self-deprecating smile. "Ensure all combat logs from the Ghost fighters are extracted immediately and delivered to the Research Institute." This data was vital for the Institute to upgrade and develop the next generation of Ghost fighters; the subsequent batch rolling off the production line would inherit the combat experience of this squadron, making them even stronger.

"One more thing," Blade continued, "Did all the abandoned Ghost fighters self-destruct?" To prevent technological leaks, every combat module within the Ghost fighters was fitted with an emergency self-destruct system, especially the stealth module, which would initiate its sequence if certain parameters were met.

"Yes, sir. Everything is under control," the Major confirmed with a nod.

"Good." Blade took one last look at the injured pilots in the bay, then turned and walked out.

Several hours had passed since the Combined Fleet repelled Emperor Gang's assault. Intelligence indicated that the frontline units tasked with holding back the Ancient Legion had begun their withdrawal hours earlier. They had successfully fulfilled their mission of stalling the main Ancient Legion force for forty-eight hours, but the cost had been catastrophic. Furthermore, starved of resupply, they were forced to leave behind numerous energy beacons or retreat with damaged power systems, sacrificing warships as rearguards. After the massive battle, the losses among the frontline fleet exceeded thirty percent.

The Ancient Legion, however, was not faring much better. As the saying goes: to kill a thousand enemies, one loses eight hundred. The major battle groups of the Ancient Legion would also require a period of recuperation following this engagement. Even so, the Ancient Legion managed to assemble a formidable fleet—totaling nearly two divisions of Emperor Gang's armada—which had breached Jupiter's orbit and was now in pursuit of the retreating Combined Fleet. Their objective was clear: strike while the Combined Fleet was encumbered by logistics, delivering a crippling blow that would exacerbate the Earth forces’ plight.

"Did the remaining frontline fleet fail to intercept them?" Yang Ying posed the question in the virtual conference hall.

Admiral Alexander shook his head. "The ammunition and energy reserves of the remaining frontline forces are nearing critical mass. Intercepting this cobbled-together Ancient Legion fleet now would almost certainly mean their annihilation. If the frontline fleet is wiped out, it is a disaster for humanity. Between them and us, the frontline fleet remains the priority."

Old Locke, commander of the Kowloon Mercenary Corps, slammed his fist on the table and stood up. "Even though the military bases in Saturn and Jupiter orbits were completely annihilated, the Ancient Legion hasn't established a single permanent base in those orbits either. How is their logistics train superior to ours?"

"That's glaringly obvious," a Lieutenant General interjected. "Heras’s initial provocation was clearly well-planned. The Ancient Legion's Pluto stronghold must have been in coordination with him, preparing vast logistical reserves, just waiting for this moment to claim the entire outer solar system. Our military, however, was unprepared. The majority of our materiel was stored in base warehouses, which recently became towering pyres of flame. Our current supplies must be ferried all the way from Mars. How can we possibly contend with the Ancient Legion when they were clearly prepared for this?"

"It’s all because of your military's incompetence that we are in this situation!" Old Locke roared, sounding like an enraged bull. His outburst drew sharp glares from every military officer present, instantly souring the mood.

Yang Ying knew Old Locke's temperament well; he was always short-fused, a trait that had intensified since the death of his son. The reason for his current tirade in the conference hall was the devastating losses suffered by the Kowloon Mercenary Corps during the recent massive engagement. This Jupiter campaign differed from past operations: it carried extreme risk. The Ancient Legion was demonstrably better prepared, enjoying overwhelming advantages. The withdrawal order was a last resort, because if they hadn't retreated, once the frontline corps pulled back, those ten colonies would have inevitably fallen into the hands of the Ancient Legion. Old Locke had underestimated the battle's danger beforehand, lured into this moth-to-flame conflict by the enormous contract fee. Of course, Old Locke also faced his own desperation: the Kowloon Mercenary Corps had been severely weakened when Heras struck. Without taking calculated risks to bolster his standing, the Corps risked swiftly falling out of the ranks of Super Mercenary groups.

"Old Locke! This is not the place for you to throw tantrums!" A ranking Admiral rose, pointing a finger accusingly at Locke’s nose.

"Alright, alright, let's all settle down," Master Yan Shouyi intervened. Although he was still recovering from his injuries, outwardly he showed no sign of ailment. As a master of Psionic energy, Yan Shouyi commanded a natural presence. His single sentence of mediation caused both Old Locke and the enraged Admiral to resume their seats.

Saint Lagos, whose radiation exposure had mostly dissipated under the washing of the Holy Light, addressed Yan Shouyi. "Master Yan, if you have a moment, I invite you to come aboard the Tigros so I might treat your injuries." The Tigros was the flagship of the Twelfth Fleet.

"That is too kind; surely I should be the one to come to the St. Paul, I cannot trouble you to travel over here," Master Yan replied courteously.

"But you are the injured party," Saint Lagos insisted.

"Saint Lagos, do you truly believe my injuries are so severe that I cannot manage a few steps?" Master Yan’s face hardened slightly.

"Certainly not," Saint Lagos hastily clarified. After a pause, he added, "In that case, the St. Paul welcomes your arrival at any time."

"Thank you." Yan Shouyi thanked Saint Lagos, then turned his attention to Yang Ying. "Commander Yang Ying, I once heard Master Pang Qian speak of you."

"That is truly my honor," Yang Ying responded. He was surprised Master Yan would single him out and mention Master Pang Qian. He wondered inwardly just how many people Master Pang Qian had mentioned him to, as it seemed every Psionic Master he encountered claimed to have heard his name from Pang Qian.

Master Yan smiled faintly. "Commander Yang Ying, I have a question. Recall that before the nuclear detonation, your Colonel Blade issued a warning to us. Frankly, if it hadn't been for him, Codemy might well have successfully deployed the nuclear device onto the Space City. When that first nuclear bomb detonated, it not only blocked our route to intercept Codemy, but the immense energy surge also masked his movements, preventing us from sensing his appearance."

As he spoke, every gaze in the virtual meeting hall fixed upon Yang Ying's face, carrying a complex wash of emotions: gratitude, approval, sudden realization, gravity, jealousy, disdain—a spectrum Yang Ying perceived across their stares. Unaffected by these looks, Yang Ying listened to Master Yan’s words with an impassive expression.

Master Yan continued, "As far as I know, Codemy’s fighter was a specialized stealth craft built for him by the Kustar people. The Kustar's stealth technology is centuries ahead of Earth's. Logically, none of the solar system's radar systems should have been able to detect that craft. Yet, you did detect it. Can you tell us how you achieved that?"

Yang Ying remained silent, resting his chin on his hands formed into a pyramid shape, his mind racing. Many of the gazes directed at him now carried undertones of awe and sudden enlightenment. Previously, the disappearance and subsequent discovery of the two Master-level experts had consumed everyone’s focus, allowing this specific detail to go unnoticed until Master Yan brought it to light.

Yang Ying had long prepared for the possibility that someone would eventually uncover the super-technology of the Trance Mercenary Corps. But now, facing the moment, he found that there was nothing truly to fear or overthink. Technological development was inevitable; new tech always emerged somewhere. Why couldn't that place be the Trance Corporation? Moreover, with clones now permeating the solar system, what power could truly threaten him?

Yang Ying gave a slight smile, lowered his hands, and spoke. "If anyone else had asked, I would certainly have dismissed it under the guise of a trade secret. However, since Master Yan has posed the question, I cannot simply brush it aside. Here is what I can offer: I can confirm that the Trance Corporation has indeed mastered a reconnaissance technology capable of reliably detecting stealth."

This declaration caused widespread astonishment in the room, though a few faces registered only the word, as expected.

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