The Bu Zui Campaign had dragged on for two solar cycles, yet the Ghosts remained relentless in their espionage and assassination attempts against the K.S. Caesar Group. Meanwhile, Gray Port buzzed with activity.

With humanity reclaiming Jupiter, the Asteroid Belt was no longer the primary front line. This prompted the partial return of industrial cities that had relocated, restoring much of the Belt’s former glory as an industrial holy land.

Gray Port, as a vital transport hub, served as one of the logistics centers for the entire industrial zone—an indispensable part, much like the lungs of a body. Air is drawn in, oxygen exchanges with carbon dioxide in the blood, and waste gas is expelled. A person deprived of breath for mere minutes will faint, and prolonged suffocation leads directly to death.

Gray Port functioned similarly for the industrial zone. Various essential supplies from the inner solar system converged here for transit before being dispatched to the industrial cities, and manufactured goods from those cities were first shipped to Gray Port for centralized distribution back into the inner system.

Following the return of the industrial cities, Gray Port’s business volume swelled, yet military contracts did not diminish. The construction of Jupiter’s military installations necessitated a constant stream of transport fleets arriving from the inner system, many of which stopped at Gray Port for resupply before proceeding to Jupiter.

At this time, on the top floor of the office building, in the office of Blade, he gazed out of the transparent floor-to-ceiling windows at the ceaseless flow of vehicles and pedestrians on the street below.

The communicator on his desk suddenly rang: “Colonel Blade, that fat man from the Caribbean Pirates is here again.”

Blade turned around: “Understood. Tell him to wait for me in Reception Room One. I’ll be down shortly.”

Why would that fat man come here again?

Blade’s mind drifted back to the recent actions of the Caribbean Pirates. In the two weeks following the Jupiter Campaign, the Pirates had been fiercely active, successfully looting a total of two hundred thousand tons of various materials. They avoided military transports, but civilian carriers suffered terribly. Only fleets that had hired the Trant Mercenary Corps for protection could evade their harassment as effectively as the military.

Even if the Trant Mercenary Corps dispatched only a single escort frigate, it was enough to guarantee the client's safe delivery to their destination.

This situation became increasingly known. Coupled with the widespread reports of the Trant Mercenary Corps’ performance on the front lines, more and more merchants were now flocking to the various offices of the Trant Mercenary Corps, waving checkbooks and demanding Trant escorts specifically.

However, Yang Ying did not wish to accept every contract. Such a move would crush competitors’ livelihoods, and he wasn't particularly concerned with the income from escorts; there was no need to needlessly invite hatred. Yang Ying was fundamentally a benevolent person. If others don't come looking for trouble, I won't bully them. As the saying goes: If others do not offend me, I will not offend them; if they do offend me, I will certainly retaliate.

Therefore, Yang Ying intentionally raised the escort fees to reduce the bulk of his clientele.

Lost in thought, Blade entered Reception Room One.

It was indeed the fat man, lounging on the sofa, clad in an oversized suit and tie, sporting a businessman's smile. Upon seeing Blade enter, the fat man rose: “Colonel Blade, I trust you have been well?”

“Recently, I’ve encountered nothing but good fortune. I am doing better than merely ‘well,’” Blade replied, extending his hand to invite him to sit, taking a seat on the opposite sofa himself.

Once settled, Blade asked, “May I inquire what business the Pirate King has for me that requires your presence?”

This fat man always referred to himself as an unimportant person, and his name was irrelevant, so Blade still didn't know it, opting to address him as "you," occasionally using "sir" depending on the situation.

“No rush, no rush,” the fat man’s jiggling cheeks shook as he chuckled. “First, I must express gratitude for your Corps’ magnanimity. A few days ago, by raising your prices, you turned away a lot of business. While this appeared to be an act of consideration for your mercenary peers, it simultaneously made things easier for us. If every fleet traveling to the Asteroid Belt displayed your identification signal, executing our operations would become significantly harder. For that, I offer my thanks first.”

The fat man stood, offered a slight bow, and then resumed his seat.

Blade shook his head: “The Caribbean Pirates showing restraint towards fleets bearing our identification signal was a courtesy they extended to us. There is no need for thanks. However, your group’s frenzied activities these past few days—are you not afraid of provoking military retaliation?”

“Colonel Blade, you jest,” the fat man laughed. “We have made no moves against military transports. Jupiter has only just been secured; now is the time for concentrating all efforts on solidifying the front lines. As long as we don’t provoke them, why would they bother interfering? As for the merchants, are they not protected by mercenaries? We pirates engaging in robbery, mercenaries engaging in escort—it’s all perfectly normal business.”

Blade raised an eyebrow. He was describing robbery, yet the fat man presented it with such self-assurance, as if abstaining from robbery would be the transgression.

“Besides,” the fat man continued, spreading his hands, “things in the Asteroid Belt were quite stagnant. Brothers hadn't shipped out for a month and were lean as reeds. Now that business has finally arrived, how could we possibly pass up a chance to rake in some coin?”

Blade made an “Oh” sound: “A month ago, you were still managing several runs?”

At that time, the space habitats in the Asteroid Belt had mostly consolidated near the Ceres Military Base. There had been no reports of any space habitat or transport fleet being plundered by pirates.

“We were operating near Martian orbit. But without the concealment of the Meteorite Zone, working under the very nose of the Tenth Fleet meant keeping one’s head on a swivel—it was far too dangerous. We could only manage a few runs occasionally,” the fat man disclosed without hesitation, recounting their past activities with a hint of pride in his tone.

“You are truly audacious. This is the territory of the Trant Mercenary Corps. Do you not fear that I might hand you over to the Mercenary Alliance for summary judgment, merely for openly discussing robbery?” Blade fixed his gaze intensely upon the fat man’s small eyes.

The fat man showed no sign of concern, his eyes darting around as the fat on his face gathered, revealing a smile: “Colonel Blade, would you?”

Blade remained silent.

“Heh heh,” the fat man continued his chuckle. “Colonel Blade, you see, turning me over to the Mercenary Alliance yields you no benefit. Major powers like the Trant Mercenary Corps and the Caribbean Pirates have wide-reaching implications in every move they make. It is unwise to trigger unnecessary conflict over mere secular principles. Maintaining a good relationship is far more important than adhering to righteousness, wouldn't you agree?”

Seeing his brazenness, Blade adopted an expression of displeasure, narrowing his eyes and letting a cold glint emanate: “Benefit? Do you truly believe the Trant Mercenary Corps is an organization that disregards everything unless there’s profit involved? How can you possibly judge by pirate logic that I wouldn't escort you to the Mercenary Alliance for the sake of principle?”

“Isn't that the case?” the fat man asked with an expression of surprise. “In this world, what else is there to pursue besides benefit? Chasing money, power, women, even faith, morality, self-actualization—are these not all benefits? Those who value money the most chase money; those who value power the most chase power; those who value morality the most chase morality. You see, aren’t they all just chasing benefits? It’s just that the things valued highly differ from person to person; beyond that, everyone is the same.”

As if a floodgate had opened, the fat man took a breath and continued: “Though there are countless benefits in the world, the most fundamental ones are only three: money, power, and force, because they are the cornerstones of human social order. Colonel Blade, as a high-ranking leader of a super-armed organization like the Trant Mercenary Corps, if you fail to keep these three fundamental benefits in mind, and instead chase after moral concepts derived from society—concepts that merely substitute for money, power, and force to satisfy the populace—I would truly be disappointed in you.”

Blade frowned: “Did the Pirate King tell you these theories?”

“Of course. I have spent several years by His Majesty’s side and learned quite a bit. I can discern these small tenets,” the fat man declared proudly.

“Those words are highly inflammatory. They can easily lead people astray from the good in their hearts, trapping them in the vortex of pursuing money, power, and force. However, debating such things is meaningless. Say what you will.”

Blade’s true self, Yang Ying, held his own convictions and wouldn't act based on someone else's words. For Yang Ying, holding the Floating Continent meant that money, power, and force were things easily within reach, obtainable without scheming—it was truly effortless. The fat man's theories simply did not apply to him.

“Inflammatory? Never mind, if we continue this topic, we might strain our relationship. We are all making fortunes in the Asteroid Belt; there’s an old saying, ‘Harmony brings wealth.’ How about we drop this argument?” the fat man proposed. After a pause, he added, “Harmony benefits both of us. We have heard of the Trant Mercenary Corps’ performance on the front lines, and we know the fate of that fool Pitril. The Ninth Fleet he belonged to has been stationed in the Asteroid Belt for ages, and we have long since bought off key personnel; nothing can be hidden from our ears. The death of his father was likely orchestrated by you as well, along with the matter of the support fleet—truly formidable.”

“You are too kind, too kind,” Blade replied.

After showering him with praise, the fat man continued: “But this sort of operation, the Caribbean Pirates could achieve it too. Although our history is only thirty-some years, in reality, we are deeply rooted in the underworld. His Majesty is not only the Pirate King of the Asteroid Belt but also the sovereign of the darkness; the resources he commands far exceed your imagination.”

Blade’s frown deepened.