The excessive burning rapidly depleted the battleship's oxygen, and many personnel aboard, who weren't wearing vacuum suits, suffocated to death. Shrapnel scattered in all directions, some of the smooth-surfaced pieces reflecting the muzzle flashes of the explosion and the sunlight from the side, dazzling like shattered crystal.

Zooming in on the scene, one could see surviving personnel flailing their arms in space alongside robots, desperately trying to use their back thrusters to distance themselves from the exploding warship. However, their efforts were futile. The speed of the battleship's destruction far outpaced their escape velocity, and the flames quickly engulfed them.

“Your tactics were successful, well done,” Yang Ying said with satisfaction, looking at the display on the main screen before turning to Howard.

“It was nothing, sir,” Howard replied, his expression calm, as if the unfolding spectacle was merely routine. “The rebel fleet was overconfident in its numbers and too focused on our stealth capabilities. They overlooked the long-range attack capability of the Yamato Cannon, which gave us the opening we needed. If the rebel fleet commander wasn't an idiot, they should be making tactical adjustments soon.”

A nearby staff officer responsible for ultra-long-range radar suddenly detected a new development. He looked up and reported loudly, “Sir, Captain, the enemy has detached fifty thousand fighters and they are heading toward us.”

“As expected,” Howard confirmed. “They want to tie us down and prevent us from executing a spatial jump.”

Yang Ying understood that if their side couldn't jump space, it would be difficult to pull away from the rebel fleet. After all, the warship's main thrusters were at the stern; moving forward was significantly faster than maneuvering in reverse. Once they closed to within the rebel fleet’s attack range, the enemy could leverage their superior numbers. If their fleet reversed course to gain distance at full speed, they would have to present their stern to the enemy—how could they attack then?

Realizing this, Yang Ying stated, “We cannot let them succeed.”

“Indeed.” Howard showed no sign of worry. He addressed the communications officer: “Relay the order: prepare for another short-range jump. Bearing eleven o’clock, distance forty light-seconds.”

“Yes, sir!” The officer immediately transmitted the next jump coordinates and distance to the other battleships.

Howard then turned to the radar officer: “Let me know when the rebel fighters are two light-seconds from us.”

“Yes, Captain,” the officer responded.

Having issued his commands, Howard turned back to Yang Ying. “According to intelligence provided by the Flin Kingdom, the rebel carrier-based aircraft are not equipped with superluminal engines. Their normal cruising speed is around ten thousand kilometers per second. We can kite them indefinitely.”

Yang Ying smiled, rose from the gunnery station, and walked toward the hatch, waving his hand as he went. “This position no longer requires my presence. Howard, I leave command of the battle to you. I’m going out for a little excursion.”

Yang Ying felt completely at ease leaving the fleet under Howard's command. Since there was nothing more for him to do in the bridge, he might as well head to the battlefield for a proper engagement. That was Yang Ying’s current mindset.

“Yes, sir. Please enjoy your fight,” Howard replied, his tone suggesting that achieving the current victory was as easy as breathing.

Yang Ying left the bridge, proceeded to the hangar, and took his personal fighter out. Shortly after entering space, six other specially modified Ghost fighters, piloted by his clones, materialized silently and positioned themselves diagonally behind and to the rear of Yang Ying's craft. The seven fighters formed a perfect V-formation, led by Yang Ying’s machine, charging toward the massive swarm of fifty thousand rebel fighters ahead!

Plunging into the enemy cluster, Yang Ying and the other six became unstoppable, like tigers among sheep. The fifty thousand fighters were so numerous that their expanse was invisible from end to end. Enemy craft surrounded them from all directions. Without a word, the seven unleashed their funnels, spraying beams of light everywhere. Since enemies surrounded them entirely, there was no need to worry about friendly fire.

The seven fighters remained completely cloaked. The rebels, having lost all their Gu-La-Chig sensors, could no longer detect the seven, rendering them completely blind to Yang Ying’s presence. They could only ignore the phantom threat and continue their charge toward the fleet. Meanwhile, the funnels of the seven fighters discharged nearly twelve hundred beams in a single volley. Every single beam struck a target precisely, as if the targets were flying directly into the muzzles. After four or five salvos, they had eliminated over five thousand fighters—one-tenth of the entire fifty-thousand-strong swarm!

The rebel pilots were stunned by this seemingly supernatural accuracy, viewing Yang Ying as a wraith-like entity. They still did not know the enemy's actual numbers, only that the enemy was among them, vaporizing a tenth of their comrades in moments while remaining completely undetectable.

To add to their despair, as they neared the enemy fleet, the vessels simply flickered and vanished without hesitation, executing another spatial jump, leaving the pursuing fighters empty-handed.

When Howard reappeared with the fleet, he had maneuvered them once again to the rear and flank of the rebel formation. He repeated the previous maneuver: turning the ship broadside and unleashing the crimson beams upon the rebel fleet.

The rebel commander was forced to pull another twenty thousand fighters from reserve to rush at Howard’s fleet, while recalling the original fifty thousand—no, now forty-five thousand fighters.

The rebel commander felt a mixture of rage and helplessness. The battle had reached a point where he could hardly be blamed. The enemy’s main cannon outranged his entire fleet, and the opposing commander utilized that advantage perfectly. He had countless tactical ideas, but if he couldn't reach the enemy, they were useless.

If the enemy fleet kept using spatial jumps, his fighter force would be condemned to perpetually chase them, manipulated at the enemy's whim, exhausting their patience, morale, and energy in pointless maneuvers. Trying to bog them down as originally planned was now impossible, unless the enemy commander made a major blunder and allowed his fighters to engage—a prospect so slim it was laughable.

Watching the searing crimson beam strike deep into his fleet, sinking vessel after vessel before his eyes, while his subordinates frantically reported that the cloaked enemies were annihilating their fighters, the commander sighed internally. If the enemy fleet wasn't only slightly over three hundred strong, his own fleet might have already been annihilated. This kind of hopeless fighting should be ended as soon as possible.

Just as he was about to order the signal to surrender, a communication link abruptly connected to his bridge. The main screen automatically activated, displaying a figure resembling rock—a Kustaian.

The rebel commander inwardly groaned. This Kustaian was the very individual the mission briefing emphasized protecting at all costs. Furthermore, his fleet was tasked with escorting a transport convoy. Unfortunately, they could barely protect themselves now; trying to guard others seemed utterly beyond their capability.

Judging by the Kustaian’s posture, perfectly blended with the environment, and the gaze radiating oppressive psychic energy that made everyone on the bridge tremble with fear, this individual was clearly a master at the pinnacle of the Third Level.

“I have been observing the battle in outer space,” the imposing figure from Kusta stated coldly. “Unfortunately, the results have been anything but satisfactory. The combat effectiveness of the Flin Republic has deeply disappointed me.”

“Can you offer any better suggestions?” The rebel commander disliked the Kustaian’s tone but knew he couldn't afford to offend him.

“No,” the Kustaian denied flatly. “Nor do I require you to defeat the Trand Mercenaries. I simply need you to delay them for one standard hour so that my transport fleet can launch.”

“One standard hour?” The rebel commander frowned; this was a dangerously long time for him and his fleet.

“We have a significant history with the Terrans, and I am uncertain if the Trand Mercenaries will grant us passage. Therefore, you must buy that time,” the Kustaian commanded, leaving no room for refusal. “I do not wish to hear any excuses. As soldiers, you know that completing the mission comes first. To think that two thousand battleships cannot defeat a mere three hundred is embarrassing enough; do you intend to find more excuses to evade your responsibility? Consider what you can do now besides using sheer numbers to hold them back.”

The rebel commander clenched his fist so tightly that one could imagine a piece of gold alloy crushing under the pressure. “Fine! We will buy you a quarter of a standard hour!”

“That is more like it.” With that, the Kustaian seemed unwilling to waste another moment and abruptly terminated the communication.

The rebel commander glared, sweeping his gaze across the bridge. “Continue the fight!” he roared.

For the next fifty minutes, Howard ordered the fleet to jump only once, causing the two squadrons of fighters sent by the rebel commander to miss entirely. Meanwhile, they repeatedly struck the rebel fleet with the Yamato Cannon. Since the Yamato Cannon required fifteen minutes to charge, Howard had only managed four attacks up to this point.

The reason they had only jumped once in fifty minutes was that the rebels had ceased sending fighter squadrons to engage them, as their losses were becoming unsustainable.

Yang Ying and the thirteen fighters had now regrouped. They boasted a total of one hundred fifty-six funnels, amounting to two thousand one hundred eighty-four firing ports, plus thirty-nine beam-deflecting cannons—one on each wing and one on the belly of every Ghost fighter. Each craft was essentially equipped with three main weapons, replacing the standard rapid-fire cannon, with power equivalent to a Level Five drill cannon. They were truly armed to the teeth, slaughtering rebel fighters mercilessly.

When the rebel fighter losses reached fifty thousand, the rebel commander was forced into a desperate defensive posture. He recalled all his fighter units and ordered the fleet to form a spherical defensive formation on the spot, unleashing all anti-aircraft fire, relying on point-defense guns and shields to withstand the assault of the two thousand Ghost fighters. However, they had already endured several rounds from the Yamato Cannon and suffered devastating casualties.

Just as Yang Ying and Howard began to wonder why the rebels neither fought nor retreated, the Observer suddenly relayed intelligence: a massive transport fleet was ascending from the planet Dolun!

Apologies, I got stuck halfway through writing this chapter. This is all for today; I will complete it tomorrow. For future installments, please log in to Ji. Read more chapters, support the author, and support genuine reading!