One man with small eyes, an obese man, and an old man. Two representatives of the resistance organization were being marched by the guards toward the underground hangar.

The three men walked in silence the entire way, their faces grim beyond measure. Especially the man with small eyes, who was cursing inwardly. His status post-war had not been recognized, meaning all the fear and suffering they had endured previously had been in vain. Surely, even without merit, they deserved recognition for their hardship.

“Hmph, stingy kingdom. If I hadn’t accidentally killed a relative of a rebel high official back then, forcing me into a corner where I had no choice but to join the resistance and fight for this kingdom, they wouldn't be looking down on me now, refusing to grant even a few noble titles. Isn't this just burning the bridge after crossing it? No way I’m continuing to work for them!”

The more the small-eyed man thought about it, the more unbalanced he felt. His eyes darted around, and a new thought sparked in his mind: “Fine. If they treat me like this, I’ll repay them tenfold. I already know plenty of the resistance organization’s secrets anyway. If I defect to the rebels—oh, no, the Flyn Republic, perhaps—they might overlook my past actions. They could make me a high official. Then, under the guise of my duties, I could skim off some funds, flee Flyn territory, and live out my days as a wealthy gentleman on some alien world. That sounds pretty good too.”

As he considered this, his expression softened slightly. He cast a sidelong glance at the two representatives beside him and felt a sudden jolt. He was naturally gifted at reading people, a talent that had undoubtedly contributed to his rise within the resistance. In the eyes of the other two representatives, he detected a burgeoning ambition, as if they had arrived at the same conclusion.

“These two greedy wretches seem to have the exact same idea as me. No, I need to act faster, or being second-best will mean a far lower status.”

The small-eyed man hardened his resolve, a murderous glint flashing in his eyes, but he immediately suppressed it, quickly hiding the ferocity before anyone noticed.

Suddenly, the world went dark before him. The small-eyed man looked up and saw a figure draped in a black robe standing directly ahead.

Snap!

Behind him, a squad of marines snapped to attention, their weapons held ready, offering a crisp salute to the figure in black.

The small-eyed man muttered inwardly, “Could this be a high-ranking official from the Tran Mercenary Group? I heard the Tran Mercenary Group has thirteen Peak Masters. They caused quite a stir on the capital planet recently. Could this person be one of them?”

Silence enveloped the area, broken only by the three representatives and the personnel from the Tran Mercenary Group. The small-eyed man’s eyes flicked, and a chilling sensation gripped his heart: “Bad news. This is their territory. Could they dare to—” Before the thought even finished forming, a burst of dim, yellowish light erupted before his eyes. A surge of psychic energy flooded his mind.

Simultaneously, the two representatives beside him were engulfed by the same yellowish glow. When the light dissipated, the three of them continued walking forward as if nothing had happened, but the ambition, resentment, and malice that had shone in their eyes just moments before had vanished completely.

The robed figure waited for them to pass, then shook his head. “All crows are black under the same sky; these resistance members are no different. All three of them had started harboring traitorous thoughts. This suggests that besides the inherent corruption within the resistance organization, the Flyn Royal family itself must have shortcomings. It makes sense; otherwise, the rebellion would never have ignited.”

Yang Ying’s clone had used mental control to turn the three representatives into puppets. This was far more beneficial than killing them—it saved a lot of trouble and would yield a steady stream of intelligence.

In the briefing room, the negotiations between Fostor and Idny had entered a substantive phase.

“We require your organization to initiate action within twelve standard hours,” Idny stated with gravity. “The objective is to eliminate the rebel supervisors stationed around the major factory complexes. The personnel structure within those factories is complex, and deploying our troops directly presents limitations. Your resistance organization has deep roots among the workers; coordinating with them would greatly assist our operation and save us the precious time we have on this planet.”

“Agreed. But I must first withdraw a portion of the weaponry and equipment to arm those workers. I cannot send them against armed rebel supervisors defenseless. The previous attempts at uprising all ended in bloodshed; this time, the blood spilled must be the rebels’ blood,” Fostor replied firmly.

Idny asked succinctly, “How much armament do you require?”

Fostor had already calculated his needs: “At least one hundred thousand Uranium Rifles, along with corresponding heavy weapons and protective gear. This cache of munitions must be available in this base’s arsenal.”

“Indeed, that amount of ordnance is not an issue for us here.” Idny paused, then inquired, “Twelve standard hours—is that enough time for you to distribute the weapons?”

Before the negotiations began, Yang Ying had given Idny a manifest detailing the resources she could authorize during the talks, which included the entirety of the base’s armory and food stores. Thus, one hundred thousand rifles were a trivial matter.

However, even that amount would fill five hundred large transport vehicles. Distributing this arsenal within twelve standard hours—roughly twelve Earth hours—would require immense operational capability and organizational skill. The resistance organization was not a tightly woven, perfect machine; they operated hidden in the shadows, their total numbers limited, and their channels not expansive. Such rapid deployment seemed difficult to achieve.

“It is certainly a challenge for our organization, but we will exert our utmost effort,” Fostor conceded. “I believe it is better to have insufficient operational capacity to distribute all the weapons than to have the capacity ready but lack the necessary arms.”

“That is a reasonable point,” Idny nodded. “Very well, providing you with extra ordnance is acceptable; whatever is left over can serve as reserves. These weapons and the vehicles needed for transport are all available in the rebel arsenal. They will be prepared shortly; you simply need to send personnel to collect them.”

“Then it is settled,” Fostor stated.

“I have one more point to add,” Yang Ying interjected suddenly.

“Please speak,” Fostor said, his gaze sharpening. He had already heard rumors of the thirteen Peak Masters within the Tran Mercenary Group, with Commander Yang Ying being one of them. Even setting aside his status as the Mercenary Group’s leader, the sheer presence of a Peak Master commanded his respect.

“You understand that our presence behind enemy lines is to disrupt the rebels’ production and logistics. Therefore, after we depart, the planet Doren cannot be handed back to the rebels intact,” Yang Ying stated slowly.

Fostor was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You mean that before you leave, you will destroy every munitions factory on the planet so that even if the rebels reclaim Doren, they cannot resume production quickly?”

“You are correct. Do you have an issue with that?” Yang Ying asked the latter part because the planet’s workers relied on those factories for their livelihood; without them, they would lose their means of survival.

Of course, regardless of the answer he received, the plan to demolish the factories would not stop. Yang Ying was merely conveying information to the resistance organization so they could prepare.

“We anticipated this,” Fostor’s tone was steady, revealing an unwavering conviction. “To drive out the cruel rule of the rebels, this is an unavoidable step. Consider it an indefinite strike. We will persuade the workers, and as for those who are content to work for the rebels out of complacency, our sympathy does not extend to them.”

“Then there are no further issues,” Yang Ying smiled. “We will use nuclear charges for massive demolitions, obliterating all weapon production lines on the planet. The evacuation of factory personnel will then be entrusted to you. Upon completion, the entire planet’s armory and food reserves will be fully opened to you; you may take everything.”

Next, Yang Ying instructed Fostor to delegate the tasks, setting the resistance organization in motion. Fostor wished to discuss further details with Yang Ying, so he gave some brief instructions to his adjutant. This adjutant appeared sharp and capable, having overheard the entire meeting, and understood perfectly what needed to be done.

Yang Ying summoned a Colonel from the Ghost Agents and instructed him to escort Fostor’s adjutant to the armory to retrieve the promised weapons and ammunition. Simultaneously, they were to send a contingent of robots proficient in piloting to drive the five hundred large transport vehicles, laden with ordnance, directly to the resistance organization’s base.

The resistance might not easily find enough personnel capable of driving military transports, and even if they did, assembling them in a short time would be difficult. Yang Ying was ensuring the job was done thoroughly, saving the resistance organization considerable time.

The meeting lasted late into the night. Yang Ying and Fostor exchanged all necessary information, and both parties obtained what they desired. The meeting concluded successfully in a cordial atmosphere, and Fostor took his leave.

After Fostor departed, Yang Ying remained at the base but immediately dispatched his other twelve clones, led by Dao Feng, to continue campaigning on other fronts. Much of the remaining rebel presence on the planet had yet to be dealt with.

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the planet, Yang Ying’s fleet continued to bombard various ground military targets. Yang Ying had divided his fleet into three squadrons, each comprising one hundred Battle Cruisers, and one reserve squadron of twenty Battle Cruisers. The former three squadrons were positioned along Doren’s equatorial plane, dividing the outer orbital space into three sectors, each responsible for one-third of the planet’s surface. The latter squadron served as a mop-up reserve.

This arrangement brought almost the entire planetary surface under bombardment range. Columns of orange-red energy beams erupted one after another, systematically eliminating rebel military bases.

The areas the rebels could hold dwindled until their field units were forced to huddle in anti-air bunkers or shelters. They were rarely seen in the open, and when they were, a continuous barrage of fire would swiftly erase them.

With the rebels’ military support severed, the resistance organization’s subversive actions within the cities now had external backing.

This chapter concludes today; details will be added tomorrow.