The fleeing soldiers poured toward the rebel base like an uncontrolled tide, utterly without formation. There was no mutual support, only heavy casualties; some even abandoned the path toward the base, bolting instead for the open wilderness. They were clearly intent on cementing their status as deserters, wanting no further part in this war. The memory of the previous engagement, where they could only absorb blows without retaliation, was deeply etched in their minds.

Yang Ying had no intention of letting this opportunity to finish off the routed enemy pass. Since the ground forces were held up by the more than one hundred thousand robots turning back to block them, preventing further pursuit, Yang Ying led the air contingent onward. The thirteen specialized Spectre fighters moved like predators at the apex of the food chain, weaving above the heads of the fleeing men. Each time they dove, showering the ground with dense beams from their floating cannons, they instilled pure terror deep within the deserters.

They shrieked and scattered, willing to smash themselves bloody to avoid the terrifying net of light. The beams forming this net were above second-tier energy levels, approaching the intensity of a third-tier drilling cannon, far surpassing ordinary pulse rifles. A single graze from one of those beams would instantly vaporize flesh and bone.

Some of the routed soldiers, who hadn't quite discarded all their weapons, aimlessly raised their rifles toward the sky. The sporadic beams posed no threat to Yang Ying and his thirteen pilots. Even if a regular Spectre fighter took a couple of direct hits, it wouldn't matter; the energy level of a mere pulse rifle could not penetrate the hull of a Spectre fighter.

This chase lasted all the way to the entrance of the base. Yang Ying looked down from the side window, affording him a relatively clear view of the installation. Smoke and fire billowed from various points within the base; the surface structures were ruined, a direct result of the Yamato Cannon bombardment. Observing the layout of these destroyed buildings, Yang Ying could easily picture what this place must have been like shortly before: a massive complex complete with storage depots, barracks, training grounds, and an airfield.

Yang Ying also noticed thousands of firefighting robots bustling throughout the large base, which spanned dozens of square kilometers, attempting to quell the infernos. These robots stood nearly ten meters tall, possessed six articulated arms, and dragged long, flexible metal hoses behind them like tails, connecting to various ground interfaces. These interfaces, in turn, linked to underground liquid nitrogen reservoirs, allowing a continuous supply of liquid nitrogen to be fed to the firefighting units.

The firefighting robots were currently holding all six hands aloft, ejecting columns of liquid nitrogen in all directions through nozzles in their palms. The liquid nitrogen, stabilized at around minus two hundred degrees Celsius, could not support combustion. Upon exposure to the air, it vaporized violently, drawing heat—cooling the area while simultaneously dropping the ambient oxygen levels. By the time the routed troops managed to flee back into the base, the blazes in most sectors had already been suppressed by the fire suppression units.

Fifty massive gates rumbled upward before the routed soldiers. These were the entrances to the underground armories. Twenty were located inside the main base perimeter, and thirty were scattered outside, covering a wide range.

The leading deserters, spotting these openings, displayed expressions of profound relief, as if they had just encountered long-lost relatives. They immediately quickened their pace, simultaneously beginning to split their flow—from a few streams into a dozen, then into scores—branching out like the limbs of a tree, dispersing toward the fifty gates. Reaching the entrances, they expended their last reserves of strength, surging and crushing their way inside.

However, this relief was short-lived. The men at the very front were fine; they managed to push through once they reached the gates. But as the mass of fleeing soldiers behind them swelled, the limited throughput of the gates proved insufficient to accommodate everyone. The deserters jammed together at the entrances.

The gates, spanning nearly ten meters wide from left to right, were choked by hundreds of men, a dense, black mass pushing, shoving, and trampling one another, resulting in countless casualties from the ensuing stampede.

It was at this moment that Yang Ying's Spectre fighter squadron arrived overhead.

"Commander, shall we proceed with the attack?" the Spectre flight leader queried.

"Proceed!" Yang Ying's voice held no inflection, as if merely stating an established fact.

Though these retreating soldiers had lost all fighting capability, and killing them seemed pitiful, the battlefield was no place for benevolence. Showing mercy to the enemy was tantamount to gambling with the lives of one's own troops. Who knew if those fleeing men, once returned to the base, might regain their morale and transform back into hostile combatants?

"Yes, Commander!"

The Spectre squadron dove, opening fire on the cluster of deserters bottlenecked at the gates. The light beams descending from the sky acted as the final straw that broke the camel's back, instantly transforming all the fleeing soldiers into cornered beasts.

When the sole path to salvation lies just ahead, yet others stand in the way, what could inspire greater hatred?

Thus, the eyes of the routed troops turned bloodshot, and they began fighting amongst themselves. As soon as one person in the crowd resorted to violence, others immediately imitated the action, spreading through the entire mass like a contagion.

The chaos worsened; fewer men could escape through the gates, while the pile-up at the entrances grew ever larger, escalating the disorder.

Walker, in the command center, was erupting in fury. The repulsive spectacle of the fleeing soldiers displayed on the main screen had deeply agitated him.

Then, the moment for the Battlecruiser Cannons had arrived. The Spectre fighters ascended to high altitude to evade splashback. Fifty solid columns of orange-red energy abruptly descended. The target: the fifty gates!

Boom! Boom!

A chain of deafening explosions fused into one, and fifty massive fireballs erupted. The destructive power of a single Yamato Cannon was equivalent to a small tactical nuclear weapon; the combined force of fifty firing simultaneously was not far short of a standard nuclear bomb. The resulting shockwave swept across the entire base like a colossal bulldozer. All fifty gates disintegrated instantly, and the soldiers crammed at the entrances were naturally annihilated. Due to the sheer density of the crowd, this single barrage caused nearly one hundred thousand casualties!

"Well done, Howard anticipated the timing perfectly."

Yang Ying piloted his fighter as he flew over the base. He observed that not only had all fifty gates, both inside and out, collapsed, but the access tunnels were also blocked. Molten steel and magma mixed, emitting a searing, reddish glow that imparted a palpable sense of heat just by looking at it.

More than half of the firefighting robots attempting to douse the flames had been destroyed. The ground interfaces connecting to the liquid nitrogen reservoirs were ruptured, and the super-cooled fluid jetted skyward like a fountain. Vaporizing intensely from the heat, billowing white fog spread everywhere.

The remaining fleeing soldiers who had not yet reached the base saw the fireballs rising from within and the diffuse white vapor. They instantly grasped what had happened, becoming hesitant, caught between advance and retreat.

"These damnable outsiders, are they trying to wipe us out completely!" Walker seized the base Chief of Staff beside him, demanding, "Where is our relief force? We sent the distress signal hours ago; why haven't they arrived?"

The Chief of Staff grabbed Walker's hand to prevent being choked while responding, "The signal was sent, but our air force sustained catastrophic losses while preventing the invaders from entering the atmosphere—a total of over two hundred and twenty-five thousand fighters shot down. Moreover, the enemy subsequently bombarded every open-air airfield and military base across the planet. Nowhere else can muster troops to assist us right now."

Walker shoved the Chief of Staff away, causing him to stagger, while Walker himself retreated two steps and slumped heavily into his command chair.

The Chief of Staff was correct. No other base could spare troops to aid them now. Not every base possessed subterranean hangars like theirs. The skies over Dolon Prime were sealed; the air force was effectively grounded. Without transport craft, how could ground troops be moved? Even setting aside the question of whether ground forces could march there in time, should they show themselves, they would be pulverized by the enemy fleet overhead.

War, in its most primitive form, was purely terrestrial, with all armies rooted firmly on the ground to decide victory. When naval vessels developed, it became the era of sea power—whoever controlled the seas ruled the world. By extension, when fighter jets were perfected, control of the skies meant dominance. Now, with space weaponry fully matured, the nature of warfare had evolved to this: whoever controls space rules the world.

Currently, the outer space around Dolon Prime was held by Yang Ying. No movement on the ground, however slight, could escape the eyes positioned high above. Any military redeployment by the rebels would immediately draw bombardment from the space fleet. The battle for the atmosphere was the Dolon Prime rebels' last genuine struggle; a victory there would have kept the enemy outside the planet. But they lost, and from that moment, they were forced to endure the bitter consequence of losing strategic initiative in the war.

About ten minutes later, Yang Ying's ground troops broke through the rear-guard robot contingent. Over thirty armored divisions surged forward, crushing the downed robots beneath their treads and advancing on the base.

At that moment, Yang Ying's fighter communicator chimed. He activated it, and the holographic screen displayed Idine, her face ghostly pale.

"Master Yang Ying, please, do not attack further. Those rebels are also Flyn people. If the Kingdom eventually pacifies this rebellion, they will return to being subjects of the Kingdom. Please, grant them a chance to surrender. I believe the damage inflicted so far should be enough to bring them to their senses."

Idine’s eyes pleaded. She had witnessed the instantaneous vaporization of over a hundred thousand rebel soldiers under the concentrated Yamato Cannon barrage and had nearly vomited. Now, seeing a new slaughter about to commence, despite her profound anxiety, she did everything within her power to stop it.

Yang Ying paused, considering the situation. He conceded that slaughtering the entire demoralized force below might indeed be inappropriate. After all, he was an external force intervening in a Flyn civil war, not fighting a war entirely his own. Different perspectives yielded different conclusions. Excessive bloodshed here would not only incite hatred from the rebel side but might also generate negative gossip within the Flyn Kingdom, potentially harming his own standing.

"Very well, I will give them a chance to surrender."