Orders from the top were the absolute best. Mercenaries rarely argued with anyone about ideology or philosophy. They simply followed the mandates and regulations issued from on high. Do what must be done, as commanded.

However, mercenaries were not officially part of the military structure, affording them a certain degree of autonomy on the battlefield. Their primary obligation was to their contract; they held no inherent duty to obey military law. While mercenaries were invariably subject to military oversight during wartime operations, any genuine conflicts of interest had to be mediated by an Arbitration Committee.

The Telan Mercenary Group was one of the four Super Mercenary Factions. Its military strength and influence were already considerable, and they held a permanent seat on the Arbitration Committee, meaning the Military Police could not simply treat them as disposable.

The Military Police Major General had explicit orders and certainly would not yield simply because Yang Ying offered a few persuasive words. When he realized he couldn't logically convince Yang Ying to stand down, he recalled the directive issued from headquarters: the Thor transport vessel must be detained.

With this in mind, he took a step forward. "What if we are required to take all three transport vessels under our control?"

"Then I regret to inform you..." Yang Ying slowly rose and advanced two paces. "...that we will have no choice but to take up arms to protect what is ours."

At that moment, the Telan Mercenary Group's fleet had maneuvered to surround the Military Police fleet. As Yang Ying finished speaking, the entire mercenary fleet adjusted its cannon emplacements, locking their sights onto the police vessels, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

It was the same principle as before: although Yang Ying preferred to avoid trouble, if trouble came knocking, no matter how large it was, Yang Ying could handle it with composure.

With his clones now filling the entire solar system, and some even drifting beyond it, Yang Ying possessed sufficient assurance to face any issue. No matter the scale of the trouble an enemy manufactured, they could never truly eradicate him. He was unkillable; he could generate as many lives as necessary, whereas the enemy possessed only one!

Yang Ying had clearly signaled his resolve to retrieve the Thor transports, even if it meant reigniting hostilities. The Major General’s heart sank. The opponent was immovable by any means, possessed significant military might, and would be difficult to manage.

"Ah! Right." Yang Ying seemed to recall something suddenly, his expression softening considerably. "I just thought of another way—perhaps we can resolve this without a fight."

"What way?" the Major General asked immediately.

Yang Ying paused, then stepped forward one last time, declaring loudly, "We will sink the three transport vessels ourselves. These three transports, including the Thor within them, are the private property of the Telan Mercenary Group. I imagine you military police would have no standing to object to us destroying our own possessions. Of course, you don't need to worry about our own troops; I will withdraw the personnel before the transports go under."

"What!"

Yang Ying’s words instantly extinguished the last sliver of hope in the Major General’s mind. He actually took a surprised step back, lost his footing, and sank back into the command chair.

He had seen the heavy assault mechs housed within those three transports in battle reports and video data. He knew they were epoch-making weapons; their deployment had dramatically shortened the time it took to capture Fortress One and Fortress Two on Callisto.

If the Telan Mercenary Group chose to scuttle the three transports and annihilate the Thor in the process, the impact on future battlefields would be devastating, but even setting that aside, his current mission would be an undeniable failure.

Furthermore, Yang Ying was absolutely correct. The Thor belonged to Telan; if they wished to destroy their own property, the military police had no legitimate grounds to object.

"Why?" the Major General shouted. "Why are you so unwilling to let us board them?"

"You know the reasons perfectly well. I have said all I intend to say. If you have no further objections, I will be retrieving the Thor transport vessels now."

As Yang Ying finished, the three Thor transport vessels ignited their thrusters and moved toward the Telan Mercenary Group’s fleet.

"Major General Bixack, shall we attack?" an aide inquired.

The Major General’s hands gripped so tightly his knuckles turned white, and beads of sweat began to form on his brow. He raised his hand as if to issue the command, but it felt as heavy as lead, twitching spasmodically.

In the end, he could not utter the word "Attack."

The three Thor transports safely rejoined the Telan fleet. Meanwhile, Blade, piloting a small, ordinary skiff, approached the Military Police warship.

When the hatch opened, Blade saw a group of military police leveling U-beam rifles at him. Major General Bixack stood among them.

"Why all the nervous tension? It only diminishes your presence. I won't suddenly draw a blade and start hacking you apart," Blade walked forward calmly.

"Your Ghost fighter is notorious. As an Awakened master, we are not wrong to be cautious," Major General Bixack stated.

"Please surrender your sidearm!" a Military Police Second Lieutenant stepped forward with a stern expression, extending his hand toward Blade.

Blade glanced at him, casually unhooked the lightsaber from his waist, and offered it over. The Second Lieutenant reached for it, but Blade suddenly snatched his hand back, causing the officer to grasp empty air.

"Remember this: this is a silver lightsaber, a weapon only masters of the Psionic Temple—those of Grandmaster rank—are qualified to wield. If anything goes wrong with this, your life will not be enough to cover the debt."

With that, Blade instantly activated the silver blade, then shut it off in the same moment. He performed a precise arc, tracing the full circle of the blade down to his feet, showcasing it fully before placing the hilt into the hand of the Military Police Second Lieutenant.

The Second Lieutenant trembled as he took the weapon, his face instantly shifting—whether from anger or fear was unclear—and the way he looked at the saber in his hand became complex. His voice shot up an octave. "Whatever condition this blade is in now, it will be in the same condition when you get it back."

"Very good," Blade said. He swept his gaze over the surrounding military police officers, then turned to the Major General. "Major General Bixack, please!"

A nearby police officer had been preparing to cuff Blade with electronic restraints, but after being startled by the lightsaber, he looked down at the handcuffs in his hand and suddenly felt they were inadequate. Moreover, the way Blade scanned him sent a chill down his spine. Only then did he fully comprehend the sheer weight of an Awakened master's mental pressure.

"Wait a moment. Major General Pitrel is arriving soon," Major General Bixack shook his head.

Blade shrugged and moved to the side to wait. He was eager to see Pitrel’s reaction upon seeing him.

After just over three minutes, the entry hatch hissed open again, and Major General Pitrel walked in, supported by his aide-de-camp, a Major.

The moment Pitrel saw Blade, he turned ashen-faced and tried to bolt, screaming, "Help! He’s coming to kill me!"

The sudden event caused the aide-de-camp to lose his grip. Seeing Pitrel about to escape back to the skiff that brought them, Major General Bixack pointed at Pitrel and ordered the gathered MPs, "Bring him back!"

The MPs immediately lowered their laser rifles and surged forward like a pack of wolves, grabbing Pitrel in moments and dragging him back.

Pitrel shrieked as he was hauled in. "Hey! Let go of me! My father is General Levent of the Ministry of Defense. With one word, he can send you all to the front lines as cannon fodder! How dare you treat me like this? He absolutely will not forgive you!"

Two of the officers slightly eased their grip. The news of General Levent's death had not yet reached this sector, so his influence remained significant.

Even Major General Bixack’s expression grew troubled. He stepped forward and said to the still-struggling Pitrel, "This order comes directly from Marshal Alexander; he wishes to see both of you. Colonel Blade on our ship will not harm you."

Pitrel raged hysterically for a while, but when that had no effect, he calmed slightly, listening to Major General Bixack's reassurance. He glanced fleetingly at Blade, then quickly averted his gaze, shrinking back. "I don't want to see him. Take me somewhere quiet."

Bixack signaled the MPs. Half of them broke off, surrounding Pitrel and the Major, escorting them down one end of the corridor.

Then Bixack gestured toward Blade. "Colonel, please!"

The other half of the MPs guided Blade, following behind Pitrel’s group. They proceeded to the end of the corridor before splitting left and right.

Blade’s destination was a small compartment, intended as a temporary holding cell. After sitting there for a short while, an officer notified him that they had reached the flagship. Blade was escorted off Bixack's vessel and boarded a small skiff toward the flagship.

Marshal Alexander was waiting in the flagship's bridge for the arrival of both parties. The news of Levent’s death had been confirmed on Earth, but that intelligence was still racing across space at light speed and would take time to reach the Joint Fleet in Jupiter's orbit.

Marshal Alexander had been contemplating Pitrel’s failure. Blade’s piloting of the Ghost fighter had indeed inflicted the heavy blow on Pitrel’s forces that he had predicted—though the extent of the damage exceeded his prior expectations; it was simply overwhelming dominance.

"Direct confrontation with the Council is unwise, but giving them a subtle push to make them suffer a hidden loss wouldn't be a bad idea. The army needs to equip new recruits, and the Council has grown quite arrogant leveraging their control over military supplies. If this defeat forces them to temper their behavior, then my temporary pretense of ignorance will not have been in vain."

A staff officer announced, "Marshal, Major General Pitrel of the Ninth Fleet and Colonel Blade of the Telan Mercenary Group have arrived."

"Oh, very well."

Marshal Alexander rose and left the bridge. He traversed several corridors to reach a small hearing room. The room contained a curved, elongated table, behind which were five seats.

Positioned in front of the four sides of the curved table were two chairs, situated in the center of the room. Blade and Pitrel were already seated in these two chairs. Blade sat completely steady and balanced, while Pitrel was visibly nervous, leaning away from Blade, clearly afraid to face him.

His aide-de-camp sat on a row of sofas outside the main area, ready to step in and answer questions if necessary.

Alexander took the central seat among the five. Four holographic projections, life-sized and identical to the individuals, materialized in the remaining four spots.

These included Admiral Randolph, Commander of the Third Fleet, and Admiral Celly, Chairman of the Arbitration Committee.

Alexander glanced left and right, picked up a small gavel from the table, tapped it twice, and called out, "I declare this hearing open."