On the surface of Pluto, Yang Ying and his five companions drove seven hundred and twenty invisible Douzhou light sabers into a veritable downpour of attacks, striking down at Hardic from the sky.

Hardic seemed to sense the danger, rapidly spinning the light technique in his hands into a shimmering wheel, protecting his entire body like a massive shield. The golden wheel emitted a sound like rain drumming on banana leaves—zizi—as the invisible light sabers were deflected away.

A thought moved through Yang Ying's six figures; the repelled invisible light sabers immediately reversed course, once again plunging toward Hardic.

A fierce light flashed in Hardic’s eyes. He knew that maintaining a purely defensive posture would inevitably lead to his downfall. With over seven hundred invisible light sabers piercing from every direction, it was impossible for a single light technique of his to block them all. He continued to swing his light staff, batting away the immediate threats, then stamped his foot heavily on the ground. Instantly, a circle of towering rock walls surged upward, forming a ringed stone fortress. The walls continued to extend skyward, eventually meeting overhead to form half of a colossal eggshell.

Yang Ying directed a vast number of invisible light sabers to pierce the interior of the giant egg, only for them to emerge from the opposite side. In the blink of an eye, the egg was riddled with holes, yet they felt nothing inside.

Suddenly, Yang Ying sensed a subtle tremor deep beneath the crust, and he instantly understood what had happened. The giant egg was empty; Hardic had already escaped by tunneling underground.

Yang Ying’s six figures guided the invisible light sabers into the earth. Master Tan Feng’s spiritual sense, already attuned to the vibrations underfoot, could pinpoint the source of the tremor. While controlling the light sabers, he followed the sensation of the underground vibration. He had taken only a few steps when an urgent warning of extreme danger flashed through his mental world, accompanied by another shake of the ground. A golden blade of light suddenly erupted directly from beneath his feet!

Yang Ying realized immediately that Hardic hadn't gone far. He had stopped just a few paces underground and was using mental projection to simulate the act of tunneling away, creating the illusion of a distant escape. As Yang Ying pursued that mental projection, Hardic sensed him passing overhead, so he raised his light staff, burst through the surface, and thrust toward Yang Ying!

What a man, Hardic was. Even at this critical, split-second juncture, he could conjure up such an exquisite counterattack—it was practically instinctual, employed without conscious thought.

The fighting instincts of the Blade Emperor took over. Yang Ying naturally countered: his bone wings vibrated, halting his forward momentum as if defying the law of inertia, and he instantly pivoted backward, gliding away. At Yang Ying’s level of cultivation, initiating movement or changing direction was a matter of a fleeting thought; whether his back bore bone wings or feathered ones made no difference.

While retreating, he simultaneously raised his hands, the invisible swords crossed forward in a guard. These two movements—the retreat and the guard—were executed with smooth grace, leaving plenty of room for adjustment. Should Hardic suddenly shift his attack, Yang Ying could instantly adapt.

The surrounding clones were not idle. One slightly farther away gathered mental energy to form a massive Vortex Spell, preparing to release it to immobilize Hardic as he emerged from the earth. Two other clones rapidly closed the distance, swords sweeping in from the left and right to cleave at Hardic. The remaining two clones controlled over two hundred invisible light sabers, striking at Hardic from every conceivable angle.

This instantaneous coordination highlighted the advantage of superior numbers.

Hardic’s staff struck Yang Ying’s dual swords, unleashing a surge of power that sent Yang Ying flying backward. He then swung his staff to slice through the deep crimson glow of the Vortex Spell and conjured dozens of illusory duplicates to disperse the invisible light sabers’ assault.

Suddenly, two flashes of lightning streaked across the field, shattering all of Hardic’s illusions. The two clones, radiating lightning from their entire bodies, formed several spheres of crackling electricity that orbited them. Every illusion struck by a spherical flash was instantly annihilated.

Hardic raised his weapon to meet the charge. The two clones closed in, their swords scraping against his light staff. This combined assault from two peak masters was something Hardic could not simply withstand. He moved his feet rapidly, employing simple yet effective footwork, each step digging a deep imprint into the ground. He absorbed the force from the two clones, evaded the other two, and deflected several incoming invisible light sabers with his weapon.

Though Hardic’s performance was mighty and imposing, seemingly handled with ease, Yang Ying knew that maintaining such an aggressively powerful display meant his mental energy would eventually be depleted, leaving him vulnerable, ready to be slaughtered. With six of him present on Pluto, plus three clones providing psychic support from the void beyond, they commanded the power of nine individuals. In a battle of attrition, Yang Ying held a decisive advantage.

After another five minutes passed in this manner, the invisible light sabers continued their relentless, storm-like assault on Hardic, forcing him into constant motion. The attack was multi-directional, compounded by the unceasing strikes from the six invisible Yang Yings. Hardic employed every trick he knew, barely managing to maintain his defensive perimeter.

Hardic’s senses were extraordinarily sharp; within a hundred-meter radius, he could discern the positions of Yang Ying’s six figures through air currents, ground tremors, and his sixth sense. However, Yang Ying's invisibility technique still significantly hampered his judgment. After all, sight remains the most crucial sense in combat. When his eyes could not locate the enemy, every reaction carried a slight delay. A master of Hardic’s caliber could minimize this delay to the barest fraction, but it could never compare to when he could see the six Yang Yings clearly.

As time wore on, the advantage increasingly shifted to Yang Ying’s group. Hardic’s defensive circle was pressed ever inward. He unleashed grand techniques without hesitation, attempting to regain some lost ground, but the six attackers merely needed to guide their flying swords to shoot past, forcing him to duck and weave desperately. Even when he occasionally seized a slight opportunity to counterattack Yang Ying, the effort yielded minimal results due to the sheer numerical superiority on the other side.

Although Hardic did not require respiration and therefore showed no signs of gasping, Yang Ying discerned his fatigue from the slowing of his reaction speed and the lengthening intervals between his spell casts.

“Knowing defeat is certain, you still choose to fight?” Yang Ying sensed this through the repeated clashes of their techniques. While Hardic’s mental energy was clearly nearing exhaustion, his will remained as potent as when the battle began, perhaps even stronger. If one ignored his visible injuries, his spiritual state showed no sign of impending defeat.

A few more exchanges passed before Hardic stumbled after being struck simultaneously by three light swords. One clone seized the opportunity and touched him with a finger, firing a Feedback Spell into his body.

Instantly, a raging inferno erupted from Hardic, coiling around him like two fiery snakes. The Feedback Spell ignited the opponent’s mental energy, turning it inward as a self-consuming flame—it was like tossing a match into gasoline; the deeper the opponent’s mental reserves, the greater the damage.

Even under such intense injury, Hardic uttered no cry of pain, enduring it silently as he swung his light staff toward Yang Ying’s chest. He was determined to continue the fight.

Yang Ying raised his hands, crossing his light swords before his chest to meet this final blow. From the spirit channeled in that strike, Yang Ying perceived Hardic’s resolve: he was the King of the Ape-men, not merely a legion commander of the Ancient Legion. He sought to lead his race away from the fate of being mere biological weapons and achieve the status of a free species in the galaxy. Thus, he could not allow himself to fail; every obstacle in his path had to be destroyed by his hand!

“A worthy aspiration, but you will fall here!”

Yang Ying split his dual swords, flinging Hardic backward. He immediately followed up with a massive Vortex Spell, which struck the recoiling Hardic with perfect accuracy. Having had most of his mental energy burned away by the Feedback Spell, Hardic could no longer slice the Vortex Spell apart with his light technique.

Immediately after, the seven hundred and twenty invisible light sabers pierced forward. Hardic was struck as if by ten thousand arrows, his body instantly sliced apart repeatedly; utterly pulverized!

While the battle raged on Pluto, deep within the Earth Military Headquarters on the far side of the Moon, the Director of Military Intelligence was yawning in his opulent office, rubbing his bloodshot eyes, and leisurely sipping his coffee.

The front lines were engaged in heavy fighting, and the conflict in Uranus's orbit demanded constant intelligence support. He had only managed to snatch a moment of rest after two days and one night without sleep.

Just then, the door burst open. A Lieutenant Colonel, sweating profusely, rushed in: “Director, something huge has happened!”

The Director, a high-ranking general whose white hair bespoke his advanced years, set down his coffee. A faint smile touched his lips. “What’s the panic? What major event could possibly happen now? Calm down.”

The Lieutenant Colonel handed him a data chip. The Director unhurriedly inserted it into the player and took another sip of coffee. Suddenly, horror bloomed in his eyes. With a sharp Ptooey, he sprayed the entire contents of his coffee across the room. The liquid passed right through the display screen and splattered onto the floor, but the Director no longer cared about the mess.

“Is everything on this data chip true? This isn’t some science fiction film?” Although he knew his subordinate wouldn’t frivolously show him a sci-fi movie, the Director still asked the question.

“It’s real, sir. I verified it three times, ruling out pranks or any form of digital trickery. Several transport captains filmed it live, right there outside the Asteroid Belt!” the Lieutenant Colonel declared, thumping his chest with absolute certainty.

“Unacceptable. I must verify it myself. For something this significant, three checks are nowhere near enough!” The Director bolted from his office in a flurry.

An hour later, the pale but visibly exhilarated Director of Military Intelligence stood before dozens of Earth Military Generals and Marshals. These were the highest-ranking officers remaining at headquarters.

Marshal Ken tapped the ash from his pipe. “Out with it, quickly. We’re busy.”

The Director played the data chip. On the massive screen appeared an image: the outer reaches of the Asteroid Belt, with ten warships cruising silently through space.

“I recognize those. They are the latest battleships from the Tran Mercenary Group—the 'Behemoth-class,' I believe,” an Admiral spoke up first. “They appeared during the Jupiter campaign but didn't do anything particularly noteworthy. Tran Corp, who manufactures them, hasn't released their technical specs. They must just be standard battlecruisers, perhaps not even superior to the Pacific-class, which is why they’re keeping quiet about them.” He laughed at his own observation.

“I agree with the first half of your statement—they are indeed Behemoth-class battleships. But I reserve judgment on the second half. Please continue watching, Admiral. You will soon realize how foolish your last statement was,” the Director shot him a look of disdain, causing the Admiral’s face to flush red with anger.