Those who achieve the rank of General within the Earth Military must, at the very least, possess a sufficiently broad "Continental Information Network" backing them. News like the assassination of General Levent from the Ministry of Defense Strategic Office, of course, reached everyone with extreme speed.

General Levent often spoke for the Council, so this was hardly a secret. Anyone with a somewhat elevated position and timely intelligence within the Earth Military was aware of it. The five Marshals presiding over the hearing instantly connected his death with the recent skirmish.

Especially so for Alexander. The Great Marshal watched Blade seated calmly in his chair, recalling how, immediately upon receiving the news, he had analyzed the intelligence transmitted from Earth after his initial shock.

Because the satellites had been jammed at some unknown point, the intelligence agencies only received word after the jamming ceased. The military personnel observing the satellites, abruptly awakened by the alarm, were astonished to find General Levent’s residence transformed into a massive torch, before the news could spread further.

Calculating from the moment the massive torch was spotted, it was only fifty-five minutes before Pitlirr struck against the Thor Transport Convoy.

“It took the Council fifty-eight minutes from deciding to act, gathering personnel for mobilization, to launching the attack. Yet, the Tran Mercenary Corps took a total of only fifty-five minutes—from being attacked, to mobilizing, counter-attacking, and concluding the counter-attack. This operational tempo is frankly terrifying.”

Since confirming the news, Alexander had been unable to concentrate, constantly comparing the operational speeds of both sides in his mind.

Returning to the hearing, these thoughts were not suppressed; instead, they surged forth. Seeing Blade still looking so relaxed, he began to understand the man’s mindset: “It seems he was certain of General Levent's demise long ago. What a terrifying individual.”

“What did you say? My father is dead?”

Pitlirr shot up, trembling with rage, his face contorted so fiercely it looked as if blood could drip from it: “I don’t believe it! You are lying! My father had so many bodyguards—how could he just be killed like that! Father just emailed me not long ago, ordering me to move against the Thor Transport Convoy, and he was perfectly fine then. How could he be dead now? You’re lying!”

His mind, already in a state of extreme distress from the shock, was now violently agitated by the news of his father’s assassination. He began speaking incoherently, letting slip everything that should have remained unspoken.

While speaking, he attempted to rush into the center, demanding answers from the five highest-ranking generals of the Earth Military.

“Restrain him,” Marshal Alexander commanded coldly, extending a finger.

Several military police officers, fierce as wolves, immediately rushed forward, seized Pitlirr, and dragged him back onto the sofa outside the main area.

“Marshals, esteemed Generals, the purpose of this hearing has surely been achieved. Major General Pitlirr has clearly recounted the events: under the orders of the late General Levent—his father—he brazenly attacked our Thor transport ships. Our forced retaliation is what led to this regrettable outcome. The soldiers of the Earth Military lost their lives for the unspeakable agenda of these two father and son; they alone must bear full responsibility.”

Blade dropped his previous air of leisure, adopting a stern demeanor. He knew the moment for counter-attack had arrived. News of General Levent’s death had given him the upper hand, and now was the time to press the advantage.

General Cheli’s expression shifted several times. He had initially thought Blade was merely meat on the chopping block, ready to be carved by the Council, but this shocking news arrived. General Levent, a Council Director, had actually been assassinated.

Levent’s standing in the Council surpassed his own. Whether traveling or stationed somewhere, he was always accompanied by numerous bodyguards, under constant surveillance by satellites and other monitoring equipment capable of providing aid in the shortest possible time if attacked. Yet, in this brief window, Levent was dead.

General Cheli understood military strategy and the Council's deployments intimately. It was precisely because of this understanding that he grasped the sheer operational strength the Tran Mercenary Corps must possess to have killed General Levent.

He had always believed that only powers on the scale of the Council or the state apparatus could achieve this level of operational tempo. Now, the Tran Mercenary Corps had delivered a stark lesson with such ruthless means, displaying their capability so clearly that a chilling fear began to creep into him: “The strength of this Tran Mercenary Corps greatly exceeds the Council’s estimations. How is this possible? Is the original plan still necessary?”

Randolph frowned, deep in thought. When he first heard about the firefight, he had been worried; after all, he was relatively familiar with the Tran Mercenary Corps, and by Yang Ying’s nature, he wouldn't seem the type to initiate an attack on the military. Later, after learning the details, he gradually suspected the Council's involvement.

He had proactively joined Alexander in attending this hearing, wanting to know precisely what capability the Tran Mercenary Corps possessed. Now, the situation was largely clarified, only to be confronted with even more incredible news.

A skirmish occurring in Jupiter's orbit directly leading to the assassination of a top-tier military official on Earth—and succeeding—was truly testing his fortitude.

However, upon closer reflection, to confront a behemoth like the Council, perhaps one needed to employ such decisive measures just to survive.

Pitlirr, still being restrained by the military police, looked up, veins bulging on his forehead, and roared at Blade: “It was you. It was you bastards who killed my father! How dare you! Aren’t you afraid of being rooted out? Just wait! The Council will surely avenge my father! They will wipe all of you out!”

In Pitlirr’s estimation, since he had acted against the Tran Mercenary Corps, they should have simply presented their necks for execution to avoid causing him trouble. Now, not only had they caused trouble, but trouble of a magnitude he was entirely incapable of handling. His mind instantly became chaotic. He was merely venting his ingrained resentment instinctively, hoping to drag the Council into the conflict.

Whether the Council avenged his family or the Tran Mercenary Corps killed more Council members to serve as his family’s scapegoats, to him, both outcomes were cause for celebration.

The fact that he could make such choices based on instinct even in his state of mental collapse clearly showed how deeply these principles were ingrained in him.

“Nonsense,” Blade instantly denied. “Your father’s death is indeed regrettable, but pinning that crime on us is pure delusion.”

Everyone understood who had killed General Levent, but Blade would not admit it openly.

Thud!

Marshal Alexander brought his gavel down hard. “Major General Pitlirr’s mental state is deeply concerning right now. According to the reports, the identity of General Levent’s assassin remains unclear. No organization or individual has claimed responsibility. However, it appears this hearing no longer needs to continue. Colonel Blade, you may return. Any objections from the gentlemen?”

The other Generals exchanged glances and nodded one after another: “I have no objections.”

At this moment, Pitlirr was still struggling hysterically, but no one paid attention to his actions, not even General Cheli spared him another look.

The Major General aide he had brought stood pale-faced; the entire hearing concluded without him ever getting a chance to speak.

Alexander, having received confirmation from everyone, nodded. “Since that is the case, I declare these proceedings closed. Specific handling directives will be communicated to the Tran Mercenary Corps shortly.”

He struck the gavel one last time, and the holographic projections of the four Marshals vanished. He too rose and departed the small hall. A military policeman stepped forward.

“Colonel Blade, I’ll show you out,” the officer said.

“It’s over. They’ve settled things on the other side. The Council ultimately did not choose the path of all-out war. I expect negotiations will follow quickly,” Yang Ying said, pouring a celebratory drink in the command cabin while addressing Kalia on the holographic screen.

“We cannot rule out that this is merely a ploy by the Council to lull us into complacency. We must remain vigilant for the foreseeable future,” Kalia stated seriously.

“I understand,” Yang Ying nodded with a slight smile. “The immediate priority is to get our people embedded within the Council as quickly as possible to monitor their actions. Whether we join the Council is one thing; developing spies within it is another. Although becoming a Council Director requires a very high standing in the military field, placing spies alongside those Directors is achievable.”

The Council possessed a long history and a tightly structured system. Many servants core to confidential matters had been cultivated over centuries, spanning several generations—loyal servants passed down through the lineage. Inserting spies would be extremely difficult.

However, after six months of effort, utilizing espionage techniques like plastic surgery, forging documents, and psychological control, some of their operatives were already close to the Council’s upper echelons, just one step away from the core.

“What about Major General Pitlirr? I heard that after the hearing concluded, his mind collapsed. According to the diagnosis from that psychologist, Pitlirr has become mentally ill, completely insane. Coupled with the annihilation of the Fokina family, his Major General position is clearly untenable. How should we dispose of him?” Kalia inquired.

Yang Ying considered it. “We will kill him after the Battle of Jupiter concludes. With current medical technology, there is a high probability that mental illness can be cured. Simply leaving him insane is not secure enough. Although his value is negligible, his life or death can serve as a prop to demonstrate our resolve, letting the Council understand our will to eradicate our enemies completely.”

“As you command, Officer,” Kalia responded, offering a respectful salute before terminating the communication.