The chorus of thanks from Agen’s camp exited farther than Yang Ying had anticipated. He had always considered Agen, who was clearly in league with the Pirate King Nab, to be no benevolent soul. Yet, to receive thanks for a mere utterance suggested his prior assessment might have contained some inaccuracies.

“Forget the inaccuracies for now. With a great enemy approaching and this place hardly being friendly territory, it is best to proceed with the plan as quickly as possible.”

Yang Ying turned, plucked four sunflower seeds he’d been snacking on from the desk, and launched them toward the window with a sharp whoosh. Under the influence of his psychic power, the seeds instantly shattered the sound barrier, tearing through the air with a whistle. One embedded itself in the thicket of a garden diagonally across the way, two pierced windows eighty meters distant, and the last one struck the belfry tower over a hundred meters away.

From those three locations came muffled thump-thump sounds, and several figures collapsed. Each bore a small hole in their forehead, from which blood immediately began to spill, quickly coating the entire ground.

Inside the room, Yang Ying turned from the window, took out his communicator, and issued the order to summon the six Ghost Agents.

After another short wait, all six Ghost Agents had assembled. Yang Ying had the Observer scan the area, confirming the absence of any surveillance equipment.

“Are the tails following us dealt with?” Yang Ying inquired.

“All taken care of, Commander!” the group of Ghost Agents responded.

Yang Ying nodded, extended his hand, and with a flash of golden light, dispatched the six Ghost Agents back to the Floating Continent.

Suddenly, the Observer’s alarm blared in his ear. Yang Ying activated his light-screen and his expression immediately sharpened.

“This… I see now. This is Nab’s gambit. Things seem to have become complex. If this is the case, I might need to revise my own plans.”

After a moment of thought, Yang Ying murmured deeply, “Very well, Agen, Horace. Let me see what this ultimate battle brings.” His figure gradually faded as he employed the secret stealth technique of the Dark Templar Warriors, coupled with the psychic discipline of the Monastery to conceal his aura.

The first item on Yang Ying’s agenda was to find Nab, because without Agen present, the meager guard force surrounding Nab on the light-screen would stand no chance against him.

However, upon reaching Nab’s quarters, Yang Ying frowned.

There was indeed someone in the room claiming to be “Nab.” Wrinkles mapped a face topped with sparse white hair, deep-set eyes stared out, and the figure leaned in a seemingly weak posture in the wheelchair. These features matched the Pirate King’s usual appearance, even down to some habitual minor gestures.

Yet, this person was not Nab.

Yang Ying approached and sensed an undercurrent of nervousness beneath the calm demeanor, as if waiting for something. The real Nab never gave him such a feeling; Nab’s inner world was frozen like ice, only ever radiating a chill.

In their previous face-to-face encounters, Yang Ying had barely perceived any shift in Nab’s thoughts. Conversely, the man before him was clearly an imposter.

“As expected of the Pirate King, he managed to substitute a stand-in at some unknown point. This double’s performance is quite composed, and his nerves are reasonably firm, but compared to the true Nab, he is far lacking.”

Yang Ying did nothing. He turned and quietly left the room, emerging outside the palace to see flames beginning to erupt from the direction of the Seventh Port, whipped up by a fierce gale, with intense explosions succeeding one another.

Yang Ying shifted his steps and contracted the space toward the Seventh Port.

The time rewound slightly, to five minutes earlier, when two hulking figures swaggered out of the Seventh Port. Both were draped in black cloaks, their hoods obscuring their entire faces.

The port inspectors couldn't see their masks and naturally refused them entry. Moreover, the pair had no entourage, immediately marking them as unlikely patrons. Several burly pirates exchanged glances and blocked the two men, barking, “You two! Take off those hoods! Do you even know what place this is? Showing up looking this shabby!”

These pirates were either lucky or unlucky; without realizing it, they accomplished something most psychics could never do in a lifetime: they stood face-to-face and berated two Apex Apes!

“Shabby? Ah-ha-ha! Lord Horace, we’ve become shabby! That’s hilarious. These Earthlings, ah-ha-ha!” one of the black cloaks roared with laughter toward the other.

“Ignorance breeds fear, my lord Balomon. They are nothing but ants, pay them no mind. However, as we approached, we both sensed the gaze of the Tran Mercenary Group. I suspect the trap set for us is already in place. This rebuilt Paradise City has become a viper’s den.”

Horace didn't make much of a show. Those pirates instantly turned into blazing torches. Fire ignited within their bodies and spread to their surfaces in less than a tenth of a second. The pirates emitted violent screams that instantly cut off. The intensity of the flames was so fierce that in that mere instant, they were reduced to ash.

“A viper’s den? Lord Horace, it seems you’ve picked up quite a few Earth idioms during your decades here. But even if it were a true viper’s den, we could barge in and out seven times. In this solar system, what place besides the Psychic Monastery Headquarters on Pacific Mand Island could stop the two of us?” Balomon said, stepping over piles of ash without a second thought.

As the words left his mouth, their expressions shifted instantly, and their forms blurred as they vanished from the spot.

They reappeared several hundred meters away the next instant. It wasn't that they couldn't flee further, but they were halted by an invisible wall.

“Force Field Wall! This is one of the psychic equipment pieces from Agen’s fighter jet—it can create an enclosed space to divide and conquer enemies when outnumbered. He actually used it here?” Balomon reached out to touch the invisible wall before him, grinding his teeth.

The Force Field Wall was incorporeal and could not be cut by light blades.

Simultaneously, intense microwaves swept across the entirety of the Seventh Port. Within a one-kilometer radius, the entire space transformed into a massive microwave oven; all water molecules began to vibrate and heat up.

Being near the port, this was a bustling area, home to over ten thousand humans—some were patrons, others were service staff for Paradise City.

At this moment, everyone felt an intense heat rising through their bodies, as if their blood was about to burst from their veins, enveloped in fire. The scorching temperature penetrated to the bone. Within two seconds, a sudden expansion erupted from within their bodies, inflating them until their bodies burst with a loud boom, scattering into a mist of red gore, chunks of flesh, and shattered bone.

Horace and Balomon simultaneously used psychic power to cool themselves, resisting the strengthening microwaves. But they both understood that fighting machinery with purely physical power was a temporary measure. Even Apex Masters did not possess infinite stamina; unlike machines, they could not function indefinitely as long as energy was supplied.

Although Horace specialized in fire-elemental spells, having his body cooked would cause him immense damage.

“What a grand welcome gift. However, the Force Field Wall is technology decades out of date. Trying to trap us with this thing is a pipe dream.”

Horace and Balomon retreated several dozen meters, simultaneously raising their right hands. On their middle fingers were blood-red rings—the particle cannon devices originating from Kusta.

Boom! Boom!

The gems on both rings flashed crimson, blasting out two thick beams of light, over three meters in diameter, plowing deep trenches into the ground, aimed straight at the Force Field Wall. Both shockwaves struck the same point, their power concentrating. Concentric ripples spread outward from the impact site.

The Force Field Wall didn't shatter immediately. Horace and Balomon kept their rings raised, ceaselessly pouring out particle shockwaves. The red ripples gradually expanded, and the wall itself began to show the effects, the waves becoming larger and more pronounced.

After a few breaths, the microwaves filling the space ramped up to maximum power. The air was so scorching it seemed ready to ignite; buildings lining the streets caught fire and continued to trigger massive explosions.

Then, a crisp crack sounded in the air, followed by a second, and gradually, the frequency of this sound increased until it merged into one continuous noise.

The sound originated from the center of the ripples on the Force Field Wall. Fine fissures began to spread outward from where the particle shockwaves struck, radiating in a generally circular pattern, quickly becoming a spiderweb of intricate designs.

Klang!

Finally, with a deafening crash, the Force Field Wall ruptured, creating a gaping hole nearly ten meters square. Horace and Balomon didn't hesitate; their forms flashed, and they appeared outside the breach.

At the same moment, a magnificent golden light descended from the sky, like a rampart, slicing straight down toward Horace.

The timing was perfect, striking precisely as Horace surged out of the Force Field Wall, while the microwaves still affected him.

Horace’s hand shot out from his black cloak, already gripping a light blade. With a zzzzl sound, two golden light-edges sprang out, blocking the incoming golden light, but Horace himself was cleaved backward into the wall by the brilliance. The Force Field Wall rippled once more, but this time the ripples moved from the outside in, actually mending the large hole.

“Agen. Long time no see. Is this how you treat an old friend?” Balomon, standing beside him, also drew his golden staff and attacked Agen, who appeared as the golden light dissipated.

Agen raised his light staff to meet Balomon. Both moved with incredible speed, colliding with a thunderous impact like two speeding locomotives. A massive shockwave violently erupted around them, lifting the surrounding ground.

After that single strike, a pit spanning dozens of meters remained in the earth. If you wish to know what happens next, please log on to [Website Address], for more chapters, to support the author, and for legitimate reading!

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