It wasn't the Capital Star that was the most developed planet in the entire Flin territory; that honor belonged to Beihu Star. Back when the Flin Kingdom had not yet fractured, the Capital Star was the political heart of the Flin people, while Beihu Star was their economic hub.

Beihu Star was fertile ground for trade, a paradise for the wealthy. Here, money superseded all else, constructing a nation within a nation where power was measured by riches.

Boundless wealth inflated the ambitions of the grand capitalists. Money alone could no longer satisfy their appetites. They turned their gaze toward power, ultimately deciding to unite against the Kingdom, intending to seize the authority held by the Royal Family and the aristocracy.

And so, the Flin Republic was born right here.

Today, Beihu Star is the capital of the Flin Republic, serving as both the political and economic center. The Presidential Palace, representing the highest authority of the rebels, is situated on this planet.

The Presidential Palace is a structure of magnificent grandeur. It is encircled by six spires, with the central main building being a six-story, perfectly hexagonal structure. Viewed from above, the spires and the Palace form a rigid hexagram, possessing a geometric beauty that earned it the nickname, the "Star Palace."

This is the most heavily guarded location on the entire planet. The personnel defending it are equipped with gear far surpassing that of special forces, much of which was purchased from technologically superior high-level civilizations. Coupled with the abundance of masters within the Palace—no fewer than twenty at Tier Three, and five at the peak of Tier Three—and President Singrel himself being a master at the absolute limit of Tier Three, the difficulty of assaulting the Presidential Palace is extraordinarily high.

This is precisely why Princess Hafin and her entourage, upon seeing Yang Ying—a master at the limit of Tier Three—on Vida Star, immediately sought to hire him to assassinate Singrel.

Since the war began, although the Royal Army had dispatched several assassins, every one of them had been trapped within the Star Palace. Not a single attempt succeeded in taking Singrel's head; they couldn't even manage to get close to him.

And the head Yang Ying desired now was the one resting on Singrel’s neck.

According to the tactical forecast prepared by the General Staff, there was a ninety percent probability that the rebel forces were currently focusing their attention on a few industrial planets in the rear, expecting the fleet of the Trane Mercenaries to attack so they could wipe out this fleet that had caused them so much trouble, including Yang Ying and his thirteen companions.

To counter thirteen peak Tier Threes, the rebel side would necessarily deploy an equal number of their own peak Tier Threes. However, the total number of rebel masters was finite; where there were many masters here, there would be fewer elsewhere.

The masters on the front lines were already dealing with heavy pressure from the Royal Army, making it unlikely they could be reassigned. The Presidential Palace on Beihu Star, being the core of the rebellion, was one of the safest places, the least likely to come under attack. Therefore, the possibility of drawing masters from this location reached eighty-five percent.

The General Staff believed the current period represented the weakest defense posture for the rebel Presidential Palace. If Yang Ying and his thirteen were to launch an assassination attempt against Singrel now, the success rate would be over eighty percent!

As for whether this assassination was necessary, Yang Ying felt that whether it was or not, a justification could always be found, but he leaned toward carrying it out. His disruption efforts behind enemy lines had already incited extreme hatred from the rebels; they might as well add fuel to the fire, push that hatred past its breaking point, and snap the thread in their minds.

It is a matter of ‘extremes reversing themselves’; when hatred surpasses a certain limit, it might weaken, or perhaps even transform into fear. But this operation would not require everyone. Three hundred and twenty Beast-class battlecruisers were too insignificant against the Beihu defense fleet, which totaled thirty thousand warships. Yang Ying brought only the Beast on this trip. He left the main force in an unnamed expanse of space, transferring Idni to the main body, though he did not disclose the purpose of his current mission to her.

When the Beast dropped out of hyperspace, they materialized outside the anti-jump field surrounding Beihu Star.

Yang Ying and his thirteen launched their Phantom fighters into space, cloaking their profiles and moving toward Beihu Star at sublight speed.

The presence of the Beast was quickly discovered by the Beihu rebels, and the patrol fleet immediately moved toward the battleship. However, before they could close the distance, the Beast's hyperspace engine finished cooling down, and it flashed away once more.

The Presidential Palace, in the Presidential Office, Singrel was conducting a holographic conference. Attending were top military brass; some were present in person, while others participated via life-sized holographic projections. They were chattering away, reporting to Singrel on the progress of the front lines and rear-area production.

The more Singrel listened, the uglier his expression became. Progress? There was no progress! The front lines were retreating step by step; they had lost three more planets this week. Resistance groups everywhere were growing bolder, while the morale of the garrisoned troops was plummeting. Crushing these resistance cells was becoming increasingly difficult. If this continued, those resistance groups alone could throw the entire rear area into chaos, and without logistics, the collapse of the frontline fleet would be imminent.

“We cannot continue like this! We must do something,” Singrel slammed his fist onto the desk, cracking the luxurious conference table made of Galaxite. Singrel’s gaze swept over the faces of the military leaders, freezing them in place with the coldness and ruthlessness emanating from his eyes, as if freezing their very souls.

The atmosphere in the conference room stilled. After a moment, a general spoke up: “Your Excellency, those resistance groups are nothing but a rabble. They look fierce when they charge in madness, but once they suffer a setback, they collapse even faster.”

Singrel snorted, “A fine way to put it. When exactly will they collapse?”

The general replied, “Right now, half of their confidence comes from the temporary victories of that rotten Royal Army on the front lines, and the other half comes from those thirteen shadowy figures. If we can follow the plan and eliminate those thirteen, the resistance groups will lose half their nerve.”

‘Sycophant!’ the thought flashed through the minds of several leaders.

“That’s correct,” another general took up the thread. “Most industrial planets remain in our hands. As long as we retain the support of the Kustar people and the grand capitalists, resuming production is just around the corner. Then we can rebuild an even stronger fleet and show that decaying Royal Army who the true masters of the Flin people are.”

Singrel watched them with cold eyes. He knew clearly that these leaders understood the implication of flattery, but they were masters of going through the motions. What they said and what they thought were never the same. If one lacked a thick skin and deep cunning, they could never enter this circle. This place was no different from a stage; everyone performed their respective roles as a matter of course.

“You all say to eliminate those thirteen masters. But they haven't shown up for ten standard days; clearly, they are preparing something. How do you plan to lure them out?”

Before Singrel could finish, a secretary suddenly entered the conference room. Ignoring the displeased looks from the military leaders, he went straight to Singrel’s side and communicated with him via telepathic link.

Suddenly, an intimidating gleam burst from Singrel’s eyes, causing a chill in everyone present.

“Are you certain?” Singrel did not use telepathy but amplified his voice so everyone could hear.

“Certain,” the secretary, understanding the President’s intent, also raised his voice. “The Beihu Space Defense Department has confirmed the target vessel type through comparative analysis: a warship belonging to the Trane Mercenaries, a single vessel. It appeared in the outer orbit of Beihu Star and vanished immediately.”

“Why would that warship come here?” a general frowned.

A dangerous glint flashed in Singrel’s eyes. “You prepared a rapid response unit for that trap; does its operational range include Beihu Star?”

The general responsible for that operation looked confused. “No, sir.”

His confusion lasted only a second; he immediately grasped why the President asked that question. He stammered, “Is it… is it those thirteen…? Impossible! How could they come to Beihu Star to die? It defies all logic.”

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The answer was a series of light tremors. The holographic displays of several military leaders flickered unstably, seemingly on the verge of disappearing. The others paid it no mind, as their own holographic images were being interfered with. At that moment, looking out the conference room window, countless beams of light could be seen descending from the sky. The six defensive towers surrounding the Presidential Palace were under concentrated attack, and several hidden ground fire points were also engulfed by the beams. In an instant, a comprehensive, three-dimensional assault descended upon the head of the Star Palace!

“The Invisible Demons are here!” a shrill cry escaped one general, who now regretted attending the meeting more than anything. The Presidential Palace was clearly under attack by the thirteen peak Tier Threes of the Trane Mercenaries!

A cold glint flashed in Singrel’s eyes, and he brought his palm down in a slash. The general who had cried out immediately spat blood; his entire upper body looked as if it had been struck by a massive hammer. His chest caved in, and he flew backward, crashing through the conference room wall.

The other leaders sighed inwardly but showed no expression on their faces. The President was clearly enraged, and to exhibit such weakness at a moment like this would be inviting death.

However, the colleague who had been sitting with them moments before was now a corpse due to a single lapse in composure, which made them tremble with apprehension and a sliver of fear.

Singrel swept his gaze over them and declared, “Cowards like that are unworthy of this uniform. The meeting is adjourned. Immediately mobilize every available troop to reinforce the Presidential Palace.”

“Yes, sir.”

They felt as if they had been granted a pardon. Several holographic images vanished first, followed by a procession of the personally attending leaders filing out. As they left, they used their communicators to contact their subordinates, directing all deployable forces toward the Presidential Palace.