After cultivating his spiritual power to a certain degree, Yang Ying had no need to re-read the daily intelligence reports compiled by the Phantom Squad. Once he glanced over them, the details of Peterl’s history were etched into his memory, and now, with a slight recollection, he recalled the man’s entire background.

Peterl’s full name was Peterl Foggina, and the Foggina family he belonged to was a powerful lineage within the Earth Military. His uncles and elder uncles all held high-ranking positions, and his father, General Levent Foggina, was a member of the Defense Ministry’s Strategic Office, wielding significant power. His comrades and subordinates spanned the entire Earth Military; naturally, Levent was also a figure who carried weight in the Council.

Peterl’s performance at the military academy was barely passing, yet as the son of General Levent, he was immediately commissioned as a Captain and appointed Executive Officer of a destroyer attached to the Ninth Fleet stationed in the asteroid belt.

Thanks to General Levent’s influence, the Military Intelligence Bureau expended vast human and material resources to secure safe operational targets for Peterl. After successfully dismantling several minor pirate factions, Peterl was promoted to Major based on these merits, and concurrently, the original captain was reassigned, allowing Peterl to assume command of the vessel.

His subsequent ascent was meteoric. With the full backing of intelligence, Peterl spent heavily to hire large mercenary groups to operate alongside him, eliminating several small and medium-sized pirate syndicates. He claimed all the military achievements, while the mercenaries received payment and matériel.

After another year or two of this, he was once again granted an exceptional promotion, hailed as a rising star among the military's younger generation, advancing to the rank of Colonel and transferred to command a heavy cruiser.

Following this, there was a brief period of calm until, during the routine evaluation cycle three years later, he once again unexpectedly achieved an excellent rating. Leveraging his father’s connections, he ranked near the top of the military promotion list, distinguishing himself among a cohort of Colonels with equal or even superior qualifications, securing his promotion to Brigadier General.

And in the past decade, amidst the personnel shifts undertaken by the military to bolster its strength, Peterl hitched a ride on the wave of change, advancing to Major General and becoming the commander of a task force comprised of five Pacific-class battlecruisers.

His path had been one of absolute smooth sailing; anyone who dared to obstruct him was trampled underfoot. This bred in Peterl the arrogant conviction that he could do as he pleased, and the entire world should revolve around him.

During his service in the asteroid belt, he had frequent dealings with mercenaries, always viewing them as an inferior profession—people who would do anything for money. Now, seeing someone like Blade, such a low-life, dare to oppose him, his explosion of fury was entirely justified.

At Peterl’s hysterical command, the five Pacific-class battlecruisers unfurled their anti-air barrages and opened fire on the ten squadrons of Phantom fighters.

The three Thor-class transport vessels remained untouched. The Council required the Thors to be seized, not destroyed. Otherwise, the enmity cultivated with the Trant Corporation and the Trant Mercenary Group would be rendered meaningless.

Though inwardly raging, Peterl remembered the Council's explicit instructions: only target the Phantom fighters?

With Io fully captured and the Europa bases annihilated, the fleet’s main body had already vacated its original positions, preparing to relocate to Fortress One on the far side of Io. Fortress One possessed superior facilities and several operational fortress cannons that could provide limited support to the fleet.

At Fortress Two, only ground troops remained, tasked with cleaning up the remnants of the Ancient Legions.

The main fleet had not yet completely traversed to the other side of the moon, and the tail end of their formation was still visible. The standoff occurring here had undoubtedly been recorded by numerous reconnaissance devices.

Furthermore, this location was still within the line of sight of the ground troops, whose detection equipment included several sensors capable of scanning the space above.

However, Peterl felt no concern. He knew that under the Council's influence, all discoverers had been subjected to gag orders. No one would inquire further until the conflict was resolved.

As the battle commenced, Peterl ordered the communications jamming activated, intending to sever external contact for the three transport vessels and the Phantom fighter corps.

Yet, where observers were present, it had always been the Trant Mercenary Group cutting off others' communications—the reverse was absolutely impossible.

Yang Ying knew clearly that this engagement would be witnessed by the entire Earth Military. Regardless of his justification, engaging the Earth Military would inevitably plunge the Trant Mercenary Group into a maelstrom of trouble, and the Council surely had countermeasures prepared.

But retreating now would only embolden the Council, leading them to press harder. Therefore, he had to crush their arrogance right here, right now!

“The enemy has opened fire upon us; they are no longer allies. I hereby redefine the five hostile warships before us as enemy combatants. Observers, cloak their signals. Phantom fighter units, initiate attacks immediately, targeting the enemy bridge! Pilots, show them the true might of the Third-Generation Phantom fighters!”

After Blade issued the command, he pushed the stick forward, the thrust from his tail nozzles flaring brilliantly. He shot ahead of the formation, charging straight toward Peterl’s flagship, moving like a bolt of lightning. He quickly pierced the anti-air barrage and headed for the bridge. The defensive curtain spread by a single Pacific-class battlecruiser was insufficiently dense. A skilled Earth Military pilot could punch through it in a Night Owl fighter with adequate support. Normally, only the combined anti-air barrages of several, even dozens, of warships, or an entire main fleet, could generate the density required to repel Viper or even Master-level fighters.

Peterl, in his attempt to prevent the transports from escaping, employed a containment tactic, which inadvertently created gaps in the anti-air fire, leaving the Phantom fighter units significant room to maneuver.

Seeing Blade’s fighter hurtling toward the bridge amidst streaks of energy fire, Peterl looked as if he had seen a ghost. He pointed frantically out the viewport and roared, “Someone get him! Launch fighters! Cover the bridge, now!”

To prevent decapitation strikes against command in the heat of battle, the bridge sections of the Pacific-class battlecruisers were equipped with a blackout mode.

“Affirmative, engaging blackout mode!” A staff officer manipulated several controls on the console.

Viewed from the outside, the entire bridge structure suddenly warped. In an instant, layers of thick armor rose from below, sealing over the bridge piece by piece, interlocking perfectly without a gap—like an iron shell.

“Quite the shell, but let’s test if it can withstand my beam! Fire!”

Blade reached the front of the bridge and deployed his remote weapons. The swarm of floating turrets encircled the structure in a fan shape, all muzzles locked onto the bridge. The intent surging in his mind erupted instantly: one hundred and seventy Uranium-core cannons roared simultaneously!

Fourteen Type-II beam cannons concentrated on a single point from each remote weapon could produce an effect slightly superior to a single Type-III Sodium beam cannon. Moreover, twelve remote weapons were focusing fire on that exact spot!

A palm-sized area directly in front of the bridge was struck by one hundred and seventy concentrated beams. It began to melt inward at a visible rate, instantly boring through layers of armor to reveal an ugly, sunken cavity.

Through the small aperture, one could vaguely glimpse the interior of the bridge: a palm-sized void from which air violently jetted outward. Small metal fragments and flecks of red blood flew out, indicating significant internal casualties.

“Aargh! Aargh!” Peterl grabbed a nearby staff officer, his speech becoming labored due to the rapidly dropping pressure, only managing strained shouts.

That initial volley, after penetrating the bridge’s defenses, had already exhausted most of its power. The beams that entered the bridge struck several staffers, blew up equipment, and injured or killed others. Peterl himself had been nicked by a fragment on his face and thigh; perhaps some of the blood sprayed out by the escaping air belonged to him.

The staff officer understood that if Peterl died here, he wouldn't fare well if he survived. He seized Peterl with one hand and operated the bridge hatch release with the other. Braving the gale blowing in from the opening, he hauled Peterl out.

Once the hatch sealed, the two collapsed onto the deck, gasping for breath. They were the only two survivors in the bridge compartment; everyone else had been killed by the beams or incinerated by the explosions.

“Hahahaha hahahaha!”

The grotesque laughter made the staff officer flinch. He turned to see Peterl, his face ashen and bloodless, his features twisted by terror into a ghastly mask resembling a hanged man, emitting a spectral cackle.

“Major! Major Peterl!” The officer scrambled forward, steadying Peterl with a sharp slap to the face.

The laughter ceased, but Peterl remained clearly deranged. “Dead… everyone’s dead!”

“Bad. We must get him to the infirmary immediately!” The staff officer struggled up, hoisted Peterl onto his shoulder, and headed toward the end of the corridor.

By the time Blade obliterated Peterl’s bridge, the other Phantom fighter units had also largely achieved their objectives. Although the other Phantoms were not equipped with the remote weapon system, the Third-Generation anti-ship missiles were hardly harmless. Two squadrons of Phantoms, launching several missiles in sequence, managed to punch through the bridge sections as well.

It was only at this point that the carrier-borne aircraft from the five Pacific-class battlecruisers arrived belatedly to engage the Phantom fighters.

“Go! Take them out!” Blade shouted over the channel. “Destroy those escort fighters!”

“Yes!” The Phantom fighters immediately broke formation and plunged into the mêlée with the enemy aircraft. Blade led his escorting two squadrons into the midst of the enemy fighters. His remote weapons sliced out like twelve silver shuttles, weaving a high-speed, dense net of energy beams, wiping out swathes of targets in a single pass. The torrential beams inflicted devastating damage on the enemy fighters the moment contact was made.

Dozens, sometimes even scores, of fighters exploded every second under the barrage of the remote weapons. In mere moments, the approaching escort fighter formation was instantly halved!