The fighting must have broken out over there, and it was fierce. Marshal Alexander had left the bridge before the engagement even began, retreating to his ready room under the guise of catching some sleep once the battle concluded.

His staff readily believed him, as he hadn't closed his eyes in forty-eight hours.

In reality, upon reaching his room, he did shed his outer coat and lie down, though sleep refused to claim him; his mind remained locked on the Council’s move to seize Thor.

“Comparing forces—five battlecruisers and nearly a thousand fighters versus three transports and a little over a hundred fighters—the disparity is too vast. From the moment the Council decided to move, coordinating departments and mobilizing troops right up to the execution took a mere fifty-eight minutes. Considering a signal takes half an hour to travel from Earth to Jupiter, that speed is astonishing.”

As the supreme field commander, Alexander was swamped with affairs both before and after the fighting commenced. With countless threads across numerous fronts, he remained ignorant of many fine details.

For instance, he was unaware that the third-generation Spectre fighters used by the Trant Mercenary Corps vastly outperformed the Earth Forces’ first-generation Spectres.

He shifted on the bed, muttering quietly, “Colonel Blade must be escorting Thor for the Trant Mercenaries. Colonel Blade single-handedly scattered an entire squadron of Ape fighters at Base One. I wonder if the Council knows. I certainly have no obligation to inform them.”

Though the Council’s vast power made Alexander, a Marshal, unwilling to openly oppose them, he was equally loath to be their mere echo, dancing to their tune.

“It shouldn't end like this. No matter how fierce the battle here is, even destroying five Pacific-class vessels is just scraping the Council’s hide. Pitril, this man, doesn't even count as a scratch on their skin. We carry the stigma of attacking our allies, having killed only one Pitril—that’s far too cheap.”

On the bridge, Yang Yingzi sat in the command chair, frowning as he mulled over a solution since the war began. A thread of an idea had finally surfaced.

“Cheap?” Howard asked from the co-pilot’s seat.

“Just five Pacific-class ships; the Council can produce ten times that number instantly. But the charge of attacking allies hangs over us, giving the Council more leverage. Even if we have a watertight justification, the military will still resent us. After all, people tend to judge good or bad first, then search for the rationale. The military soldiers see us as outsiders; they will inherently believe we killed their own men first. Consequently, they won't listen to our explanations.”

Yang Ying seemed to hear the surge of accusations already rising in his ears, yet his heart remained undisturbed, placid as still water.

“Do we need to salvage this?” Howard asked.

“No need,” Yang Ying replied after a brief silence, then continued lightly. “Once this war started, it was inevitable that some in the military would hold this view. But why should we rely on the military’s opinion? Even if we did nothing, some would hold us in ill regard due to suspicion, jealousy, or misunderstanding. What angers me is not the coming lack of understanding from the military, but the Council that provoked it. They’ve already decided: if we hadn't moved, they’d seize Thor; if we did move, they’d paint us as vermin. Then, from the shadows, they could unleash a combination of maneuvers. We cannot walk the path they’ve laid out for us; we cannot let them have this satisfaction.”

“Sir, commanders of the various fleets have sent messages asking why we attacked friendly forces and demanding an immediate ceasefire pending an investigation by the Military Police,” an aide reported.

“Even if they don’t understand, our justification is objectively present and must be made clear to them,” Yang Ying snorted. “Reply to them that the Constitution guarantees the inviolability of private property. Major General Pitril attempted to seize Trant Corporation’s private assets under the guise of military authority. Therefore, as citizens of Earth, we have the right to uphold the majesty of the Constitution. Pitril’s despicable actions forced us to resort to force to protect our property. All responsibility lies with Pitril; we merely exercised the right to self-defense granted to us by law.”

The aide immediately dispatched this statement to the fleet commanders.

Yang Ying paused, then added, “Blade reported Pitril’s actions to the Arbitration Committee, and Pitril immediately activated jamming equipment. All this is verifiable. Inform them of that as well.”

Having spoken, Yang Ying turned back to Howard. “Continuing our earlier point, we cannot follow the route the Council has set. Besides having a righteous justification on the main battlefield, we need to do more outside of combat—make the Council understand that the consequences of their actions are unbearable for them. We must disrupt their combination punch.”

“How do we do that?” Howard inquired.

“It’s already underway,” Yang Ying said, closing his eyes.

At the foot of the Alps, a lush green expanse rolled out for dozens of miles—verdant hills, winding country paths that retained a vibrant vitality even in this early winter setting. This place enjoyed four seasons of spring.

A tranquil estate nestled among the hills, surrounded by a black, ornamental iron fence. The four-story villa featured grayish-blue walls and a broad lawn spacious enough for a game of golf.

However, armed bodyguards patrolled the lawn now, and in the low shrubs at one corner of the estate, shadowy figures holding sniper rifles were visible.

From the other side of the hill, a figure cloaked entirely in black approached. His pace was unhurried, like a leisurely stroll. Yet, in just a few strides, he covered a distance of several miles and stood before the estate. The guards within the compound seemed not to see him, as if he did not exist.

“According to intelligence, Leven-Tfokina is here,” the slow voice emerged from the black cloak. “Kevin, block satellite signals.”

“Satellite signal lockdown complete, Sir,” came Kevin’s voice through the communicator.

The black cloak’s hand suddenly revealed a Tian character talisman. Yang Ying’s primary soul had descended into this avatar. The avatar had remained invisible; none of these changes were seen or perceived.

To prevent the Council from seizing total control, they had to disrupt every step of their plan. The current lynchpin of that plan was Pitril, and Pitril’s actions would inevitably draw in his father, General Leven-T, sparking a chain reaction designed to embroil the Trant Mercenary Corps in conflict.

To break this chain, Yang Ying decided to eliminate its preceding link—General Leven-T—before the Council was fully prepared. This would serve as his retaliation against the Council’s provocation.

General Leven-T was a Council member, a person of considerable importance, perfectly suited for the role of ‘killing the chicken to scare the monkeys.’ His status was comparable to most Council members; while not as illustrious as Gaius, when Gaius was eliminated previously, Yang Ying kept the Trant Mercenary Corps out of the spotlight. Killing Leven-T this time, however, was a blatant act of revenge by the Mercenaries. General Leven-T’s death would be enough to intimidate the majority of the Council members, causing them to recoil and sever this chain reaction.

“Summon the Spectre operatives—ten squads!” Yang Ying extended his hand.

The Spectre operatives, all maintaining invisibility, materialized before him, holding rifles, their expressions grim, awaiting his command.

Yang Ying ordered, “I will attack from the front. You will disperse around the estate; your objective is to clear the entire compound. Kevin, send the specific topographical data of the estate to them.”

The Spectre operatives were equipped with data terminals, allowing for rapid distribution. As Yang Ying gave the command, Kevin flooded their terminals with the necessary information.

“Disperse and familiarize yourselves with the terrain. Attack in twenty minutes.” Yang Ying waved his hand, and the Spectre operatives instantly scattered to execute their assignments.

The twenty-minute delay was necessary to avoid causing excessive shock. Less than half an hour had passed since Pitril attempted to seize Thor. Even if that news traveled at light speed, it wouldn't have reached Earth yet. Attacking immediately would cause a far greater uproar than a mere skirmish.

Twenty minutes later, Yang Ying discarded the black cloak, revealing a combat suit underneath, and shouted into his communicator, “Time’s up. Move.”

Instantly, gunfire erupted throughout the estate.

A sharp glint flashed in Yang Ying’s eyes. With a quick step, he charged into the grounds. The guards on the lawn had already been eliminated by the Spectre operatives in the first moment. Yang Ying reached the main gate in a few strides and kicked the door open.

A few Spectre operatives followed him into the villa. The interior was opulent and spacious, dominated by a grand staircase capable of accommodating ten people abreast, stretching straight to the second floor.

Upon reaching the second floor, they found several servants armed with submachine guns, forming a defensive line along the corridor. Their movements suggested military training. However, the Spectre operatives tossed a few grenades, and with a few muffled booms, the line was breached.

The external Spectre units finished eliminating their targets outside and entered the villa, spreading out to clear objectives in various areas, while Yang Ying proceeded alone directly to the fourth floor.

He followed the long corridor to its end, where a massive study lay. Yang Ying materialized at the doorway, pushed the door open, and saw General Leven-T sitting behind the desk, his face expressionless.

“Who are you? Why are you here to kill me?” General Leven-T’s voice still carried the tone of a superior questioning an inferior, as if the threat to his life was irrelevant to his concerns.

Bang!

Yang Ying offered no reply, indifferent to whether the General was feigning composure or genuinely calm. He immediately shot him with a Gauss pistol, checked the body to confirm it wasn't a decoy, and then turned and left the villa.

Sorry, I got stuck writing this chapter, which is why it's slightly late.

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