The wounded ten soldiers were placed under the care of the Medical Artificers, while the damaged tanks were being meticulously repaired by Buyao. From the sky, Yang Ying, still displeased that the enemy's attacks continued to threaten his own forces.

The rebel troops were still advancing step by bloody step toward the landing zone. Though the Spider Mines had taken a toll, they could not halt their advance. Countless robot cannon fodder charged forward, willingly triggering the mines to clear a path for the main body of troops behind them. Even from his vantage point in the air, Yang Ying could not see the end of the tide of these robot drones; there were simply too many.

Behind the robot formations, the rebels were steadily bringing up more heavy artillery. Despite suffering devastating losses under the fire of the siege tanks, the rebels possessed overwhelming numbers. After paying a heavy price in casualties, their artillery positions were gradually taking shape. Yang Ying knew that if the rebels succeeded in establishing these batteries and creating a mutual suppression scenario with his siege tanks, his own losses would multiply tenfold.

Thus, Yang Ying swiftly exchanged thoughts with his clones, and the thirteen Ghost Fighters abruptly dove downwards.

The Special-Type Ghost Fighters moved with blistering speed, instantly appearing above the rebel artillery emplacements. A thought flashed through Yang Ying’s mind, and he unleashed the aircraft's inherent skill—the Phase Cloak!

This technology, originally mastered only by the Protoss, had been successfully integrated into the Ghost Fighters by engineers from both the Human and Protoss races. Augmented by Yang Ying's third-tier Peak spiritual power, a single deployment was enough to unfurl a curtain of light spanning ten thousand meters, severing all incoming attacks caught within its perimeter. Nothing outside could penetrate inward, yet everything inside was shielded from external harm.

The moment Yang Ying’s Phase Cloak expanded, it completely enveloped the entire rebel artillery position. The translucent, silver-white net appeared deceptively fragile, but the rebel cannon fire striking it revealed a tenacity that defied expectation.

The thirteen Ghost Fighters alternated the deployment of their Phase Cloaks, shrouding all rebel units approaching the front lines. Missiles, self-propelled artillery, drilling guns, and every other form of attack were instantly nullified. Whether tangible or intangible, solid ammunition or energy blasts, the rebel firepower was silenced in a single instant.

"Lord Hawke, we have a major incident," the staff officer reported after summarizing the events unfolding at the front. Commanders from every sector were bombarding the command center with complaints about the invaders' bizarre technology.

Hawke had already perceived what was happening on the optical screen; the railing before him had been smashed by a blow from his own fist moments earlier. He hadn't anticipated such tactics from the enemy—a light barrier capable of unilaterally isolating incoming fire. This was a battlefield game-changer, capable of negating his numerical advantage.

Hawke tore a tuft of his own hair out and flung it aside. He panted heavily, like a maddened bull. After a moment’s thought, he roared, "Charge! We can only charge now! Full army assault—break through the areas covered by the enemy's light barrier and engage them in close combat!"

It must be said that while Hawke possessed a brutally violent and cruel nature, he was nonetheless competent in leading troops. Otherwise, the rebel high command would not have entrusted him with command of the largest military base on Doron Star.

Just then, a long-awaited—no, recently reappeared—pillar of orange-red light pierced the sky. The fleet in outer space began providing fire support to the ground troops.

The power of the Seventh-Level Cannons was tremendously formidable, akin to miniature nuclear detonations. A single pillar of light striking the ground could cover several kilometers; what was worse, there were hundreds of them!

The three hundred Battlecruisers had dispersed across various points on the planet. Their mission extended beyond dealing with any ascending starships; they were tasked with neutralizing ground-based military installations such as bases, anti-air emplacements, fortresses, and even planetary defense weapons like space-based military satellites, which were relatively small but potent.

Gathering one hundred vessels over the landing zone for fire support was already the absolute limit.

However, for the rebels, this constituted the worst possible news. Hundreds of orange-red pillars rained down from the sky, virtually covering the entire front line they had just deployed. The crescent formation they had adopted was instantly vaporized, leaving a sudden void within the area covered by the Phase Cloak.

"Lord Hawke, Infantry Corps One and Three, plus Robot Corps One through Four, and also Corps Six, have suffered catastrophic losses in the recent assault."

"Lord Hawke, Artillery Corps equipped with Uranium Cannons has sustained seventy-six percent casualties! I request immediate withdrawal!"

"Lord Hawke, Armored Divisions Three, Seven, and Nine are no longer combat-capable. Division Three has been entirely wiped out; we have lost contact with all personnel!"

"Lord Hawke, Air Force losses exceed fifty percent. The aerial attack against the enemy’s heavy artillery positions failed. They report that the enemy’s heavy guns are protected by massive bipedal machines capable of launching surface-to-air missiles. Many of our fighters were shot down by their missiles!"

Wave after wave of bad news assaulted Hawke’s ears, causing his veins to bulge and leaving him furious enough to kill someone just to vent.

"Silence! All of you, quiet down! Look at yourselves!" Hawke roared, randomly pointing fingers, "You, and you too! Stop wearing those long faces. Don't forget, we still have plenty of reinforcements on the planet, and how many of them can they bring? They aren't the Royal Army. Judging by their equipment, they must be mercenaries hired by the Royal Family. As regular troops, are you truly afraid of those lowly mercenaries?"

"From every angle, they don't seem like ordinary mercenaries… I heard the Royal Army hired a mercenary group that includes thirteen Third-Tier Peak masters. Let's hope our opponent isn't them." This thought remained trapped in their stomachs; the staff officers knew the truth but dared not voice it.

Because the preceding fighting had progressed too rapidly, all departments on Doron Star had been plunged into chaos, which directly or indirectly led to poor intelligence dissemination. Many still did not know that the enemy they faced was the Tran Mercenary Group, the very unit that had rescued the King and Queen from the Capital Star.

However, they soon began to realize it.

Although Yang Ying and his thirteen comrades were piloting stealth fighters, and their floating weapon beams were interspersed within the general glow from the Ghost Fighter swarm, they were not conspicuous. But when Hawke noticed that his ace fighter squadrons, sent into the fray, were being instantly annihilated by sudden bursts of light rain, he knew for certain that masters were present on the battlefield!

"They are fighting so easily—could it be the Tran Mercenary Group has arrived?" Hawke grew anxious, a torrent of potential consequences flashing through his mind: being struck down by a single assassin’s blade, or having his base blown to bits along with the entire facility. Optimistic thoughts had long since been cast away into the boundless cosmos, never to be found again.

"Lord Hawke, the frontline commanders are collectively demanding a withdrawal to reorganize and temporarily avoid the enemy's main thrust. They believe that continuing the fight will not allow them to take the enemy’s landing zone," a staff officer ventured cautiously.

"Nonsense, that sounds soft! How dare I hear such a thing!" Hawke ripped off a section of the iron railing and hurled it at the staff officer. With a loud bang, the railing struck the officer squarely on the forehead, drawing blood and knocking him instantly unconscious.

Clearly, Hawke had heard the request perfectly well; he had simply needed something to vent his fury upon.

Withdrawal…

Veins pulsed violently on Hawke’s face, his fury too intense even for his scales to hide. But with the enemy possessing the Phase Cloak, space-based fire support, and formidable ground artillery, his troops were already at a disadvantage before even launching an offensive. No matter how numerous they were, they would only be fodder.

Hawke had mentally conceded that he probably could not achieve the initial objective of destroying the enemy landing zone immediately. Who knew how many more tricks the enemy had up their sleeve?

While he debated retreat, Yang Ying and the thirteen others continued to press their advantage. They swept the light curtain further downward, pushing forward like a comb through hair or a rake tilling soil, instantly carving out a swath of open ground. All rebel troops within the area were rendered helpless, forced to watch as the beams of light firing from the void eliminated their comrades, and often themselves, one by one.

It would have been different if they were only robots; they lacked morale. But for the living rebel soldiers, fighting an enemy that could destroy them while remaining untouchable was a devastating blow to morale. Many rebels dropped their weapons and fled towards the rear.

Hawke had not yet issued a retreat order, but when the staff officer informed him that desertions were beginning among the troops, Hawke acted without hesitation: "Order the robot units: anyone fleeing is to be executed without mercy."

The robot units were more obedient than any rear-echelon execution squad, and their limited artificial intelligence could easily distinguish between fleeing soldiers and active combatants. Robots understood nothing of mercy, making them the perfect choice to handle the task of eliminating deserters.

The few staff officers shook their heads but transmitted Hawke's order, instructing all robots at the front to execute any who fled on sight.

Instantly, the robots raised their Uranium Rifles and unleashed deadly beams toward the fleeing rebel soldiers who had moments before been receiving orders from them. Those who managed only a few steps back were shredded by successive sheets of uranium fire—a few shots for some, dozens or even hundreds for others. Virtually no one escaped such concentrated assault.

Among the deserters were a few psychics, but they were low-level, only Tier One or Two. The Tier Ones were quickly reduced to charred meat by the overwhelming beam fire, while the Tier Two psychics, who formed the bulk of the battlefield’s main force, possessed means to survive on the field. Their light sabers could deflect some of the incoming beams, allowing them to survive slightly longer. A few even possessed Quasi-Master strength and managed to evade the robot attacks, slipping away from the battlefield unnoticed.

Seeing that the enemy’s will had broken, Yang Ying knew the opportunity had arrived. He ordered the Battlecruisers in orbit to deliver another volley of synchronized fire, then commanded his entire army to charge, intending to annihilate this rebel force outright in the open field!