Eagle despised trouble. But trouble had a way of finding him. When it came calling, he knew how to deal with it; neither constant retreat nor brute force could resolve the issue.

The production of weapons like Thor was not the fault of Trant Corporation or the Trant Mercenary Group. If outsiders coveted Thor and sought to compromise them by exposing its secrets, was the goal to preemptively avoid potential attacks?

There was no such logic in the world, and if there were, it was the logic of the morally bankrupt. If someone stared at what was in your bowl, you hit them until they dared not look again. Even if you couldn't win, you had to fight; needless to say, when you could win.

Six months prior, Yang had already dismantled the Caesar Group once. After half a year of recuperation, their strength had multiplied a hundredfold. Now, tens of thousands of Ghost operatives infiltrated Earth and the major colonies of the solar system more deeply than before. Their intelligence capabilities surpassed the combined efforts of Earth’s major intelligence departments, giving them the initiative in any conflict with the Federation.

However, the deeper he dug, the more Yang realized how deeply rooted the Council’s influence was within human society. To uproot the Council meant tearing out deep foundations, which would inevitably cause immense harm to human society—economic collapse, production stagnation, and the potential unemployment of hundreds of millions were all likely scenarios.

The assassination of the Caesar Group’s upper echelon had triggered a minor global economic crisis, the aftershocks of which were only fully stabilized months later, just before the start of the Jupiter Campaign.

Therefore, Yang did not wish to be the one to initiate hostilities.

Alexander’s mouth turned down when he heard Yang’s question. He took a cigar from the humidor on the desk, rolled it between his fingers, brushed it under his nose, then clipped the tip with a cigar cutter, lit it with a silver lighter, and drew a puff.

This entire ritual took a full minute. Yang sat placidly in his chair, watching him take two more drags before Alexander exhaled a dense plume of smoke. “It’s neither a yes nor a no!”

“How so?” Yang inquired.

Alexander managed a smile that didn't reach his eyes and said, “There’s little to explain. Just know this: the Council’s existence is vital to the Earth Military. Earth has absolutely no reason to oppose the Council, and high-ranking Earth Military generals cannot openly stand against them. The Council and the Earth Military share common interests, not conflicting ones.”

Yang began to grasp the situation. “So, even if you aren’t officially a member of the Council, you still act on their behalf?”

“Yes,” Marshal Alexander nodded.

“In that case, Marshal, please tell the Council members that the preparation of Thor requires no outside interference. Thor belongs to Trant Corporation,” Yang stated, every word deliberate and serious.

“Won’t Trant Corporation eventually release Thor onto the arms market? What difference does it make if it’s sooner or later? The Council can still acquire Thor from the military then,” Alexander asked doubtfully.

“We’ll discuss that when Thor actually hits the market,” Yang thought to himself, inwardly questioning if Thor would ever reach the market. Just as the Council distrusted Trant Corporation, he distrusted the Council. Therefore, Thor would most likely never be marketed, but he couldn't rule it out entirely yet. He needed to leave the enemy a sliver of hope to prevent them from resorting to extremes.

The communication between Yang and Alexander ended amidst an eerie silence.

Alexander opened his private computer and sent Yang’s reply to the Council via email. Moments later, a reply came back from the Council: “This matter no longer requires the Marshal’s trouble. We will retrieve it ourselves.”

Alexander frowned and stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray.

In the outer orbit of Callisto, three Thor support transport vessels were loading Thor and returning toward the Trant Mercenary Group fleet.

These support transports were considered medium-class warships, similar to destroyers. If deployed on a planet with high gravity and an atmosphere like Earth’s, they could never escape the gravity well. However, on Callisto, it was possible.

With the propulsion of small to medium warships, landings and takeoffs were feasible on Callisto, but anything larger, like a cruiser, would not be.

Currently, inside the three transport ships, the crews were tensely engaged in repairing Thor, while Blade, leading ten squadrons of Ghost fighter jets, guarded the transports.

Shortly after Yang’s communication with Alexander ended, Blade detected five Pacific-class battlecruisers suddenly appear on his radar. Analyzing their trajectory, it was clear they were flying directly toward the three support vessels.

“Identify yourselves immediately. Why are you approaching us?” Blade sent a message to one of the cruisers.

A young officer, a Major General, appeared on Blade’s communicator screen. He looked barely twenty, with green hair and blue eyes, his expression suggesting everyone owed him money—a look of entitled command.

“The weapons aboard those three transport ships are the vital wealth of all humanity and must be secured by those who protect the core. You are merely a mercenary group, presumptuously seizing these era-defining weapons. If you fail to protect them adequately and the enemy damages them, wouldn't that harm the achievement of the Jupiter Campaign plan? Therefore, to safeguard these precious weapons, I, Major General Pitreel, have decided to place them under protection. I order you to immediately open the transport ships and allow my personnel to board, or this will be construed as a provocation against me and the military I represent, and will be met with the severest sanctions.”

Perhaps it was arrogance born from a life of unchecked success; perhaps it was the confidence afforded by five Pacific-class battlecruisers; perhaps his deep background had accustomed him to issuing commands at such a young age to reach Major General; or perhaps there was simply something wrong with his brain.

Blade simply couldn't comprehend the thinking of this Major General Pitreel, who issued a declaration sounding like an ultimatum to friendly forces with such brazenness.

At that moment, the five Pacific-class battlecruisers arrived alongside the three transport ships, encircling them. They launched several boarding craft from their hangars, which sped toward the three transports.

“Ignore them, keep moving,” Blade relayed the message to the three transports, then took the lead, soaring forward with his Ghost fighter squadrons.

Simultaneously, he patched his communicator through to the Military Justice Division, where a Colonel from the JAG Corps appeared on screen.

“I am Colonel Blade of the Trant Mercenary Group, a member of the Earth Military and Mercenary Coordination Arbitration Committee. I wish to press charges against a Major General Pitreel for threatening and attempting to attack friendly forces.”

This Arbitration Committee was responsible for mediating all matters between the military and mercenaries on the battlefield. Yang had previously appointed Blade to this role during the Jupiter retreat mission, and it was the same this time.

“I will report this matter,” the Colonel from the JAG Corps replied with apparent seriousness.

“What I need is to immediately reach the Committee Chairman, General Chely, to stop Major General Pitreel’s reckless actions. Please connect me immediately,” Blade stated sternly.

“Please wait,” the Colonel from the JAG Corps paused the communication.

“Hey, do you mere mercenaries dare to underestimate me? This gentleman, Major General Pitreel, has five Pacific-class battlecruisers here! Do you think you can break through my defenses with just over a hundred fighters and three transports? That’s utter arrogance!” Pitreel’s voice boomed over the communication channel.

The three transport ships and the Ghost fighters continued their advance.

“Damn it! Do I need to show you some color?” As the words left his mouth, the small-caliber cannons of the five Pacific-class battlecruisers simultaneously aimed at the three transport ships. They likely avoided using the main six-class cannons for fear of destroying the Thors inside the transports.

On the other side, the response from the Colonel from the JAG Corps arrived: “Colonel Blade, General Chely has just spoken with Major General Pitreel and finds your accusation to be completely baseless. Please do not use the serious Arbitration Committee as a platform for false accusations. Normally, such behavior warrants sanction, but this time, considering it’s a first offense, we will let it pass. If you repeat it, you will face a military tribunal.”

After delivering these cold words, the Colonel from the JAG Corps severed the communication.

“Is the Council trying to declare their power to me?” On the command ship, Yang’s eyes sharpened. The situation was now painfully clear: the Council had orchestrated this action to make the Trant Mercenary Group suffer a silent defeat. They disregarded all logic, merely showcasing their naked influence and operational capability within the military.

He surmised that this action was intended not only to seize Thor but also as retaliation for Trant Corporation’s refusal of the Council’s invitation to join.

“After Thor appeared on the battlefield, they immediately moved to seize it with thunderous force, flaunting their power, and settling old scores—killing three birds with one stone. Aside from the potentially severe consequences, this plan has practically no flaws. Whoever made this decision is certainly bold. Do they think we won't retaliate against the military?”

A murderous intent began to bloom in Yang’s eyes. “They haven't made a move in half a year, and they’ve forgotten the fate of the Caesar family so completely? Then today, I will make sure you remember!”

Meanwhile, on the other side, Blade saw the five Pacific-class battlecruisers prepared to fire. He shouted over the communication channel, “Ghost fighters, disperse! Two squadrons per ship. Once they open fire, break away and counterattack.”

The ten squadrons of Ghost fighters separated, two squadrons heading toward each Pacific-class battlecruiser.

“Are these mercenaries insane? Daring to attack my battleships?” Pitreel felt his noble self insulted by inferiors and pointed at the Ghost fighters, shouting the order to attack.

“Sir, perhaps this isn't wise,” a staff officer commented, “They are friendly forces. If we fire first, we’ll be in the wrong.”

Pitreel kicked the staff officer in the face. “Fire! I am the rationale!”