Though Fost was unaware of the crushing defeat in Hua Wang City as he was not present, intelligence between resistance cells, who maintained communication despite the loss, was still quite robust. However, he had only just learned of the massive loss, and initially, he had worried that Yang Ying’s impending communication would convey dissatisfaction with that defeat and lead to a reduction in support for the resistance. Instead, Yang Ying instructed him to initiate the city evacuation plan, which Fost immediately agreed to.

After the communication ended, Fost reflected that the resistance had suffered too grievously in Hua Wang. While the casualty count was not yet finalized, estimates suggested at least 300,000 losses. Surely, even if Yang Ying hadn't mentioned it, he wouldn't remain indifferent to such a catastrophe. The resistance organization was now on the defensive regarding this matter, meaning this evacuation plan had to be executed flawlessly to salvage the group's reputation.

Thus, Fost decided to personally oversee the evacuation plan. He dispatched orders to the major cities, sending trusted confidantes and subordinates with excellent organizational skills to coordinate the evacuation efforts in each location.

Simultaneously, aside from Fost’s organization, over a hundred other resistance groups, large and small, also received directives from the Trant Mercenary Corps. When they originally accepted their weapons caches, they had pledged full cooperation with the Trant Mercenary Corps’ operations. Now, upon hearing the call to evacuate the major cities, they immediately began taking action.

North of Hua Wang City, inside that villa, the young man once again arrived at his grandfather’s door, tapping lightly.

A frail voice called from within, "Who is it?"

The young man replied, "It is I."

The door, adorned with intricate artistic patterns, swung open with a whoosh, revealing the opulent room inside. The old man was reclining in a massage chair at the center of the room, watching the latest news broadcast on television.

"You’ve arrived at just the right moment; come and see this. They are discussing those armed laborers on the news. Hmph. A mere rabble." The old man turned his head slightly, glancing at the young man. His voice was utterly flat, as if unconcerned by anything, radiating a detached weariness that comes from seeing through the world’s machinations.

"Grandfather, I came because what you mentioned the other day has come to pass." The young man stepped forward two paces, positioning himself behind the massage chair to gently knead the old man's shoulders. "The Trant Mercenary Corps has requested the evacuation of all cities."

The old man’s expression did not change upon hearing the news; it was as if he had foreseen it. "This is entirely normal. Looking back at everything the Trant Mercenary Corps has done since arriving on Dorun Star, they wouldn't be content with just grabbing a quick profit and leaving. I have been waiting for this news these past few days."

The young man asked, "Grandfather, what method should we employ to counter them?"

The old man fell silent for a moment. Knowing his grandfather was deep in thought, the young man did not interrupt, continuing to massage his shoulders while awaiting a response.

After a brief pause, the old man slowly said, "We won't be waiting for the day the Trant Mercenary Corps lifts its encirclement. The goods must be sent out as quickly as possible." "But the transport fleet is such a large target; it cannot escape the notice of the Trant Mercenary Corps’ eyes and ears. What if they attempt to intercept the transports?" The young man paused, then dismissed the thought. "No, that’s impossible. With such a significant dignitary from Kusta Star presiding over the matter, the Trant Mercenary Corps wouldn't dare intercept a transport fleet bearing Kusta Star identification signals."

The old man shook his head. "You are mistaken. You are gambling the safety of the fleet on the Trant Mercenary Corps choosing not to act. But I have told you, never surrender the initiative to others. You must seize control of your own destiny. Just recently, another piece of intelligence arrived: the Trant Mercenary Corps’ background has been fully investigated. The members of this corps primarily hail from Earth."

"Earth? What is that place? Why have I never heard of it?" the young man inquired, puzzled.

"Of course, you haven't heard of it," the old man replied. "It is a newly ascended race that has only recently, within the last fifty years, received the support and recognition of the Kexing people, thereby achieving civilized status."

"In other words, they were barbaric, lower-tier civilizations until very recently?" The young man’s eyes held a flicker of disdain, as if unimpressed by the Earthlings' background.

"Your eyes are always focused on these superficialities. So what if they were a lower-tier civilization? They managed to gain the support of the Kexing people; they fielded thirteen peak Tier Three combatants; their exhibited technology is in no way inferior to ours, the Flynns—it might even surpass it. Can you not see these aspects, and only focus on the fact that half a year ago they were still a lower-tier species?"

The old man’s tone betrayed considerable displeasure. The young man knew he had spoken carelessly and immediately became submissive, offering a few words of apology.

Once the old man’s anger subsided, he continued, "What you need to note is that they were brought into the sphere of advanced civilizations by the Kexing people, and their relationship with the Kusta Star people is clearly extremely poor. The intelligence states that Cang of Kusta Star once used bio-technology to establish a legion that harassed the Earthlings for a prolonged period, only being eliminated by the Earthlings recently. Furthermore, the Trant Mercenary Corps played a massive role during that process."

Although the old man was well-informed, he was unaware of the biggest piece of news from that final battle—that is, the identity of the being who reached Tier Four, Ind, and whether the subsequent destruction was wrought by the Kexing people or the Kusta Star people. That information was being kept highly secret, and even with his intelligence network, the old man could not ascertain the details of the engagement.

The young man analyzed the relationship between Earth and the Kusta Star people in his mind, cautiously asking, "Grandfather, are you suggesting the Trant Mercenary Corps might move against that dignitary?"

The old man cautioned, "It is always wise to be careful. If that dignitary is harmed in the slightest, our entire family will face reprisal. Moreover, if we fail to deliver that shipment on time, the connections we painstakingly forged with Kusta Star might shatter. We cannot risk that."

Hearing this, the young man pondered. "This is troublesome. The transport fleet cannot linger long on the planet, yet we fear an attack from the Trant Mercenary Corps if they venture out. Wait, I have an idea..."

With this thought, the young man’s eyes lit up, believing he understood his grandfather's intent. He immediately spoke up, "Grandfather, based on the current situation, the only viable path is to demand the Republic dispatch a fleet immediately to support Dorun Star, eliminate the Trant Mercenary Corps, or at the very least, tie them down so they cannot afford to be distracted elsewhere, allowing the fleet to depart. Surely, if the Republic military learns that the dignitary is on Dorun Star, they will prioritize this location and send the support fleet with the utmost speed."

The old man nodded, a slight smile gracing his lips. "Well said. Fortunately, that dignitary values this shipment highly; I imagine they will not refuse to assist with this favor. Go and draft an appeal for aid to the Republic military, and ensure that dignitary’s name is signed at the top. This way, the military won't dare to dally; they still rely on the Kusta Star people in many aspects. Remember, the fleets scattered around Dorun Star, pieced together, can muster around two thousand vessels, and they can arrive within a day."

"I'll go do it now." The young man felt a surge of energy, releasing his grip on the old man's shoulders as he prepared to leave.

"Wait," the old man called after him. The young man stopped, turned back.

"Remember to send them the combat reports from the past few days. The Trant Mercenary Corps' stealth fighters are a major headache. Giving them advance warning might allow the military to devise countermeasures," the old man added.

"Yes." The young man nodded crisply and turned, exiting the room.

Once the door closed, the old man murmured to himself, "I originally did not wish to offend the Kingdom's military too severely, always leaving room to negotiate later. However, the Kusta Star people are far less forgiving; this is the only way."

The next day, Yang Ying was meditating in his cabin aboard the Behemoth. Suddenly, a stirring sensation filled him—a feeling of impending conflict—and he thought to himself, "Companions have arrived, and there are quite a few of them." He rose from his meditation, left the cabin, and proceeded to the bridge, ordering Howard to muster the warships in preparation for battle.

Soon, the several sub-fleets scattered in Dorun Star's outer orbit converged, reforming into a battlecruiser fleet totaling 320 vessels.

It must be noted that ever since the campaign against Flynn, the production of battlecruisers on the Floating Continent had not ceased. A week prior, another hundred warships had rolled off the line, and in a few more days, another batch of 200 was scheduled. Based on the construction timeline for these battlecruisers, the later the batch, the larger the number produced in each wave.

Yang Ying had not incorporated the hundred warships completed last week into the main fleet. Instead, he had dispatched them to the Perseus Arm. Following the rescue of the King and Queen, the Flynn royalty, as agreed, handed over the coordinates of a primeval planet to Yang Ying. Yang Ying sent those hundred battlecruisers to claim the planet and conduct a thorough reconnaissance scan of its environment.

The Flynn royalty’s data included environmental descriptions of that planet, but those descriptions were already half a century old. It remained unknown what new changes might have occurred over the past fifty years, necessitating a sizable fleet for re-exploration.

In addition to the space-based fleet, a portion of the Trant Mercenary Corps’ ground forces had returned to space. In particular, nearly all the Ghost Fighters had returned to their respective carriers. The remaining ground forces were also mobilized, either taking shelter in anti-air bunkers or moving deep underground. In short, they were avoiding open areas, as exposed forces under the threat of space superiority were far too vulnerable.

Yang Ying sensed the approach of a massive enemy fleet through intuition—the keen perception of a peak Tier Three master, often more acute than some hyperspace probes.

When the fleet mobilization was complete and the Ghost Fighters were safely in their hangars undergoing replenishment, with all combat preparations 90% complete, Yang Ying felt another stirring. Simultaneously, a staff officer on the bridge shouted loudly, "Report, sir! Enemies detected ahead! Distance: five hundred light-seconds! Numbers: two thousand, advancing this way!"

Yang Ying exchanged a meaningful look with Howard, who nodded firmly and stood up, announcing, "All units, switch to Level One alert! Prepare for combat!"

"Yes!" the assembled staff officers responded loudly.