The aerial fighters became entangled, a grand cosmic ballet unfolding across thousands of kilometers of vast sky. This colossal clash, taking place in the boundless expanse of space, rendered the battlefield insignificant as a speck of dust, yet for the combatants locked in struggle, victory or defeat meant the difference between existence and oblivion.

Among the two thousand warships sent by the rebels as reinforcement, there was only a single Third-Tier Peak expert, though he served as the supreme commander of this fleet and was thus unable to join the fray directly.

Watching six formidable fighters tear through his formations like wraiths, anxiety gnawed at him, yet he could only stare helplessly. He had command duties far more critical than managing the fate of a few hundred fighters.

“Only twenty-one Gulachig remain!” A staff officer’s frantic cry reached his ears. The commander frowned, musing, “Though we borrowed the Gulachig from the Kustar this time, we had no time to strip their reconnaissance gear and install it on our own vessels. Otherwise, they wouldn't be so fragile, crumbling at the slightest touch.”

He had originally commanded a fleet on the main front, but in a recent engagement, his forces were decimated by the Royal Army and forced to retreat for repairs. During this refit period, he received the distress call from Dolon Star, learning that a Kustar noble was present there.

The Kustar people were the power backing the rebels. Although this fact was not widely publicized, it was an open secret circulated widely in high circles. Upon learning that a Kustar noble might be in peril, high command swiftly dispatched him with the remaining operational remnants of his fleet, supplemented by another force cobbled together from several surrounding planets, placing it all under his command and sending them to Dolon Star to eliminate this Terran mercenary group.

The intelligence from Dolon Star specifically mentioned that the Terran Mercenaries possessed extremely potent stealth technology, capable of evading almost all military detection systems, with only specialized, short-range reconnaissance equipment able to locate them within a tight radius. Therefore, the supporting fleet was specifically instructed to take this capability into account.

To counter this, the Republic’s high command had even negotiated with the Kustar people, assigning forty-two Gulachig reconnaissance craft, equipped with wide-area multispectral scanners, to the supporting fleet—thus bringing these specific vessels into existence.

Initially, they had hoped that the Gulachig's appearance before the Terran Mercenaries would grant them a period of concealment, allowing them to strike while their enemy was unaware of their own anti-stealth capabilities.

However, the moment the battle erupted, the fleet commander realized the Terran Mercenaries had instantly detected the presence of the Gulachig and unleashed six demonic fighters to assault them.

No matter how many fighters were committed, they could not halt those six craft. The six fighters plunged into the boundless friendly swarm as if traversing uninhabited land; missiles and beams trailed behind them, yet the scatter from their own defensive fire inflicted devastating casualties on their allies. From this, the commander knew that the six fighters were piloted by six Third-Tier Peak masters—the same level as himself, yet demonstrably superior.

Furthermore, the effective attack range of the enemy's main cannons was utterly excessive. A standard drilling cannon beam, fired from a distance of three or four light-seconds, would diffuse, its energy dissipating, reducing its destructive power exponentially. By ten light-seconds, virtually no offensive capability remained, easily negated by the shields of an ordinary fighter.

Yet, the enemy’s main cannons seemed to ignore this principle. Beams fired from distances exceeding ten light-seconds retained undiminished power. Dozens of light-pillars sliced through, instantly turning several Gulachig vessels into dust.

And the precision of their attacks was growing sharper. The last volley annihilated ships, reducing the Gulachig count from thirty to twenty-one—a terrifyingly accurate execution.

Fortunately, his side still maintained an absolute numerical advantage. Once the enemy moved within firing range, they could be reduced to scrap iron with tenfold firepower!

Eight light-seconds, six light-seconds, five light-seconds...

The two fleets drew closer. Just as Yang Ying’s battlecruiser contingent was about to enter the effective range of the rebel fleet, Howard abruptly commanded: “All hands, prepare to engage the superluminal engines for short-range spatial jumps. Destination: twenty light-seconds directly behind the rebel fleet!”

The staff officers instantly relayed the orders.

Yang Ying understood Howard’s intent in an instant, his eyes brightening. He silently praised the maneuver; barring unforeseen complications, this battle was already decided.

“Superluminal engines, activate!” Howard boomed the order.

The three hundred and twenty battlecruisers surged forward, enveloped in a sheath of light as they plunged into hyperspace.

“Damn it, are they running away like this?” The rebel commander shot up from his command seat, then paused, thinking, “No, their carrier-based aircraft are still fighting here; the fleet wouldn't abandon them.”

He surveyed the bridge, noting the palpable confusion among his staff officers. Suddenly, he flashed to the main radar screen and, seeing the status around his own formation, a cold dread dawned. He barked, “Immediately expand the reconnaissance range! I need to know where the Terran Mercenary fleet has gone!”

“Sir!” the staff officers responded in unison. “Just moments ago—” A staff officer shouted loudly, “—the Terran Mercenary fleet has appeared behind us!”

“Turn around now!” the commander roared. “It will be too late otherwise!”

As the battlecruiser fleet emerged from its spatial jump, Howard chuckled. “We should minimize these ultra-short-range spatial leaps; they heavily tax the superluminal engines.”

“What’s a little wear and tear?” Yang Ying countered. “Once we win this fight, we’ll have Xian maintain the engines. Damaged engine life is better than being sunk by the enemy.”

Howard laughed twice more, then ordered, “All ships, pivot! Open fire on the enemy with the Yamato cannons!”

By this time, the rebel fleet was entirely encircled by the Ghost fighters and their own remaining craft. Though the Ghost fighters were fewer in number, their performance was superior, and critically, one percent of them were Special-Type Ghost fighters.

Unlike the six Peak Master-grade Ghost fighters, these special craft were not equipped with psychic amplification gear, but they boasted tenfold the propulsion power of the mass-produced Ghosts, alongside a tenfold improvement in firepower, defense, speed, and maneuverability—a massive leap in combat effectiveness.

Only the top one percent of the most exceptional Ghost fighter pilots could command these Special-Type machines; their rank was at least Colonel-level. Each Special-Type fighter could engage an Ace fighter piloted by a Second-Tier psychic rebel on equal footing.

Of course, the true capability of the Ghost fighter squadron was secondary to the immediate situation facing the rebel fleet: the dogfight between fighters raged all around the assembled capital ships, with combatants both ahead and behind, littered with the debris of destroyed craft. This chaotic zone made spatial jumping impossible for the rebels; any attempt to accelerate into the required velocity for a jump would result in violent collisions with obstacles, causing the ships to tear themselves apart.

At near-light speeds, striking anything meant absolute annihilation; even a minuscule screw could punch clean through a battleship’s armor, traversing the entire vessel from one end to the other.

Thus, the only option left to the rebels was to turn their capital ships to engage. However, Yang Ying and Howard were unconcerned. The rebel ships' drilling cannons lacked the twenty light-second range. Even if they completed their rotation first, they could not secure the advantage; the rebel fleet possessed tenfold destructive power, but what use was it if they couldn't land a hit?

The turning speed of the Juggernaut-class battlecruisers ultimately proved superior to the rebel warships, partly because they had initiated the turn earlier. By the time the rebel fleet realized the enemy had appeared behind them, their own pivot had already begun.

Before the rebel fleet’s turning maneuver was complete, the Yamato cannon beams crossed the twenty light-second gap and tore into the rebel formation.

This single salvo eliminated another eight Gulachig vessels.

Thirteen Gulachig remained. Their reconnaissance range still covered the entirety of the rebel fleet, and the images captured by the Ghost fighters could not be concealed. But a shadow had already fallen over the rebels’ morale. How many more volleys could the remaining thirteen withstand?

Two more devastating Yamato cannon strikes followed, and every last Gulachig was annihilated. The Ghost fighters immediately became true specters—invisible phantoms, blinding every eye that could see them. Their time had come.

The Ghost fighters, which had been primarily focused on evasion, immediately launched their fiercest counter-attack. Homing missiles streaked across concise, curved trajectories toward their targets. The enemy rebel fighters, desperately tumbling, twisting, and employing every evasive tactic, were struck one after another, blossoming into spheres of fire.

Fighters concealed in the void intermittently launched precise uranium energy shots, sending the frantic, leaderless enemies down into the inferno. The rebel fighters quickly descended into uncontrollable chaos. Some began firing wildly in all directions, unconcerned if they hit their own comrades, while others, having lost all hope of victory, began retreating toward their carriers, abandoning the field as deserters.

The rebel fleet commander had no recourse but to advance toward Yang Ying’s force at sub-light speed. Yang Ying’s battlecruisers, meanwhile, maintained a steady pace, waiting for the Yamato cannons to recharge before firing again. The orange-red light pillars became the dominant feature of the battlefield, pounding the rebel warships, one shot after another. A few impacts shattered shields, and subsequent hits struck the hull directly. When a light pillar breached a warship, sometimes punching straight through, the vessel would explode from the inside out, the beam exiting the other side as the ship disintegrated.

Warship explosions were far more spectacular than fighter detonations. Capital ships hundreds of meters, even over a kilometer long, would first erupt in internal flames that breached the outer armor. The explosions would compound, increasing in frequency and intensity until the entire vessel violently ruptured, splitting into sections or disintegrating completely, the resulting fire, heat, and smoke vastly overshadowing the original hull.