Wormholes could warp space. The technique of connecting any two points via a spatial fold allowed instantaneous movement to the other side of the universe. Thus, artificial wormholes surpassed spatial jumps based on superluminal travel.

The situation was akin to a creature existing in two dimensions on a spread-out sheet of white paper. Suppose it wished to move from one corner to the opposite diagonal corner. Normally, this movement required traversing the diagonal, and if an obstacle—say, a tear—appeared on the paper, the two-dimensional being would have to detour, or perhaps tear the paper in half, completely halting its advance.

However, if the paper were warped so that the two opposite corners coincided, the two-dimensional creature could arrive directly at its destination, skipping the intervening distance. This also offered the advantage of completely bypassing any obstacles on the paper, as the creature's journey was only from one corner to the other, never touching any other part of the sheet. Even if the paper were shredded to dust, it would have no effect on the creature.

Therefore, connected by a wormhole, Yang Ying would not be obstructed by the barrier before him; he could materialize directly inside the sanctuary. Nevertheless, creating a wormhole demanded extraordinary energy. Without the support of the Arbitrator Energy Matrix, the wormhole Yang Ying conjured could, at most, transport him a hundred kilometers. However, for entering a sealed room, this was more than sufficient.

Xingeliel’s cultivation had reached the Limit of the Third Tier. His perspective was naturally profound. Among the galactic races, there were countless mental combat techniques similar to "shrinking the ground," and virtually every Third Tier master understood them. But breaching the composite outer wall of the sanctuary was clearly beyond the scope of such mental techniques.

Space. Only the power to warp space could propel one into this completely sealed sanctuary!

Yang Ying looked up and around. The interior of this sanctuary was remarkably spacious, with a ceiling about ten meters high, flanked by numerous massive pillars, each requiring two people to encircle them—thirty-six in total. The pillars were transparent as crystal, revealing torrents of brilliant energy surging within. The white light they emitted illuminated the entire sanctuary. Judging by the intensity of these energy flows, the fortitude of the sanctuary's defenses was evident.

While admiring the sanctuary's defenses, Yang Ying couldn't help but reflect that Xingeliel’s decision to hide here was a self-made trap. If this place could keep his thirteen subordinates out, it could just as easily trap them inside.

"How did you get in here!" barked a Flynn master, his voice sharp despite his inner fear.

"Does that matter now?"

Yang Ying and his thirteen companions drew their light swords, emitting a collective zira sound. The twenty-four golden blades illuminated the grim expressions of more than ten high-ranking rebel officials.

A military leader, at the peak of the Third Tier, spoke with forced pleasantness, "Is there no room for negotiation? You are mercenaries; we can pay a hefty price to redeem our lives! We will also overlook everything you have done previously."

His tone suggested that Xingeliel's earlier threats of retaliation had simply never been uttered.

"Is that still useful now?" Yang Ying pointed his sword at them. "If the roles were reversed, standing in my shoes, would you agree?"

Xingeliel’s face was grim. The method Yang Ying and his thirteen used—opening a wormhole by warping space—shocked him profoundly. Manipulating space first required a sufficient understanding of it, and this level of spatial comprehension...

If this technique came from a Kosing, he wouldn't be surprised, but seeing it executed by Yang Ying utterly subverted his worldview.

However, Xingeliel knew that having declared his intention for revenge, there was no turning back now. Everyone inside the sanctuary understood this.

Xingeliel hardened his resolve, a fierce glint in his eyes. He commanded one subordinate via telepathy to open the door, while roaring at the others, "Charge!" He swept aside a golden light sword, shifted his stance, and rushed toward Yang Ying's thirteen, the others drawing their swords and following in a charge.

An intensely powerful chill surged from Xingeliel, instantly freezing the water molecules in the surrounding air into snowflakes. It was as if a sudden blizzard had erupted inside the sanctuary. Xingeliel seemed transformed into a howling north wind, his icy aura sweeping toward Yang Ying's group.

Yang Ying kept his gaze fixed on Xingeliel. The thirteen rushed forward simultaneously toward the rebel faction. One clone raised a hand and unleashed a fork of lightning with a deafening crack. Xingeliel's icy aura was instantly shattered by the blow.

Yang Ying seized the opportunity, crossing the distance to Xingeliel. His right light sword transformed into a golden streak of electricity, stabbing toward Xingeliel with lightning speed.

Xingeliel halted abruptly, his body stopping in place in a manner that defied the laws of inertia. He blocked Yang Ying’s thrust horizontally with his light sword while simultaneously whipping up a whirlwind with his free left hand. Supporting the whirlwind with his palm, he pressed it toward Yang Ying's face.

The whirlwind began as an almost invisible speck but instantly expanded to the size of a cartwheel, sucking in the surrounding air. A vast amount of ice and snow was swept up in the vortex, displaying every conceivable shape. Yet, held in that single hand, it was more majestic and imposing than nature’s blizzards.

Seeing this whirlwind, Yang Ying felt as if an entire landscape frozen by a blizzard had been grasped by Xingeliel and was now surging toward him.

Yang Ying’s eyes brightened. He noticed that the whirlwind in Xingeliel's hand was not just condensing atmospheric water; it was inevitably sucking in other components of the air, instantly freezing them into ice. This suggested the level of coldness within the vortex was extreme.

Another golden lightning bolt flew out; Yang Ying thrust his left light sword toward Xingeliel’s left hand.

Xingeliel shook his hand, releasing the storm, shifted his footing, and retreated backward.

Once separated from Xingeliel's hand, the storm instantly expanded, emitting a chill approaching absolute zero, capable of freezing everything in existence.

Feeling the cold rush towards him, Yang Ying swept his sword out. The sanctuary suddenly brightened as countless bolts of lightning surged to meet the cold.

Mind Storm!

Yang Ying compressed the power of the Mind Storm into a small area before him, colliding it head-on with Xingeliel’s Ice Storm. Both sides exerted their full strength, a Third Tier Limit mental power pushed to its zenith.

The scorching lightning coiled around the massive whirlwind. With a deafening explosion, the whirlwind burst apart. The thunder broke through the cold air and hurtled toward Xingeliel.

Seeing that the cold air could not stop the lightning, Xingeliel blocked with his sword. Dozens of lightning strikes were intercepted, but the sheer kinetic force of the bolts made him lose his footing, forcing him to take two steps back before stabilizing.

After enduring the lightning, Xingeliel glanced left and right, his fury immediately erupting. All the men he had brought into the sanctuary were now engaged in battle with Yang Ying’s twelve clones. The fighting was intense, but Xingeliel’s subordinates were hopelessly outmatched in terms of sheer power. Even exerting themselves fully, they were no match for the twelve clones.

After just a few exchanges, those Third Tier experts lay on the ground—some decapitated by light swords, others charred into charcoal by lightning.

Yang Ying had long since mastered and integrated the Divine Race mental combat techniques and the battle arts of the Nian Temple. Driven by his Third Tier Limit mental power, these techniques manifested astonishing force. Within a few moves, he had eliminated those Third Tier masters.

At this point, only four peak Third Tier masters remained engaged, but they were besieged by the twelve clones and clearly at a disadvantage. The four converged, unleashing a barrage of powerful spells to prevent the twelve clones from closing the distance.

A sea of fire from the sky, bizarre gravity waves, sharp gusts of wind, and surging psychic energy—the four were executing their learned skills to the extreme, barely maintaining a combined defensive perimeter that kept the twelve clones outside.

However, it was evident that such large-scale maneuvers could not be sustained for long. Their psychic energy consumption was several times that of Yang Ying’s clones, and they were outnumbered three to one. When their spiritual power could no longer keep up with the drain, it would be their end.

As for the man Xingeliel had sent to open the door, he had already been sliced in half. His corpse lay before the control panel of the opened door, his eyes wide open in an expression of deathly regret.

The residual shockwaves of the battle among the peaks were considerable. About ten crystal pillars in the room were shattered. The energy flows trapped within the pillars, now unrestrained, became highly unstable. The escaping energy diffused outward in the form of high-frequency rays and powerful currents, bombarding the surroundings and greatly increasing the peril within the sanctuary.

These rays and currents were powerful enough to inflict serious injury, if not death, equivalent to the full-force attack of a peak Third Tier master, and this was only a small fraction of the dissipated energy.

Bang!

Another crystal pillar was struck by a gravity wave, instantly twisting into a pretzel shape before violently exploding, unleashing a surge of energy.

Suddenly, one clone exploited a gap, stepping swiftly into the defensive circle of the four rebel experts. With both hands, the clone swept aside two light swords slashing from the left and right, simultaneously kicking the chest of the rebel expert directly in front of him—the one specializing in gravity waves.

With a scream, the rebel expert was sent flying backward, straight toward a pulsating energy stream. Seeing this, another nearby rebel tried to rush to his rescue but was immediately intercepted by four other clones. That rebel struggled to defend himself while desperately projecting powerful psychic energy to pull the flying man back. The man being thrown, in that moment of crisis, also unleashed a surge of psychic energy, twisting in mid-air to halt his backward trajectory.

"Go!"

Yang Ying would never let such a perfect opportunity slip by. Six clones raised their hands simultaneously and pushed toward the man.

The man simultaneously felt a suction and a push, but the push far outweighed the pull. Even with his own efforts, it was futile. With a cry of unwillingness, his body was propelled like a cannonball into the energy stream.

The energy stream erupted in a blinding light, like a miniature sun, and the peak Third Tier master was instantly vaporized, vanishing from existence.

This was the first peak Third Tier master to die in the sanctuary. The remaining four rebels gasped, but they quickly recovered, suppressing their inner turmoil to focus on the thirteen men of Yang Ying.

Xingeliel's eyes were bloodshot, his surrounding coldness seeming to solidify. His light sword moved like a venomous snake, hidden in the blizzard, waiting to strike at Yang Ying.

The fierce clash of light swords echoed one after another. Yang Ying and Xingeliel were evenly matched. Their movements were incredibly swift; one moment they were here, the next they flashed dozens of meters away, too fast for the eye to follow.

While they fought, the remaining three rebel experts fell into crisis again. With one less member, their defensive circle was much harder to maintain. This time, nine clones attacked simultaneously, converging nine Executor Lightning strikes onto the most psychically powerful of the three.

This man, having tried in vain to pull his friend back from the energy stream only to watch him evaporate, was enraged. Afterward, he stopped holding back his psychic energy, as if realizing his own death was certain, choosing to explode his final moments in the most intense way possible.

Yang Ying appreciated his action and responded in kind with the greatest intensity. The convergence of nine lightning bolts was unstoppable, shattering the three men's defense circle and blasting the light sword from the man’s hand, striking him directly.

This intense attack surpassed the endurance limit of any peak Third Tier master, dealing damage almost comparable to that lethal energy stream. The man’s body was pulverized into particles by the lightning, turning to dust within the electrical discharge.

These two fallen peak Third Tier masters had been specialized enforcers protecting the Presidential Palace. The remaining two were military leaders. Witnessing the fate of their two comrades, a crack appeared in their iron wills. This was true annihilation—a fate they never imagined could befall masters of their rank.

But the twelve clones paid no mind to their thoughts and immediately attacked. The twelve extended their hands in unison, and the dazzling Executor Lightning rose again.

Boom!

With a deafening explosion, the last two died under the lightning strikes. However, this time the clones showed restraint, leaving behind two charred corpses rather than vaporizing them.

"Only you are left now."

Yang Ying’s thirteen reformed, standing before Xingeliel in a semi-encirclement. Behind Xingeliel was the thick composite alloy wall, blocking all external attacks on the sanctuary and preventing Xingeliel from escaping.

The pressure exerted by thirteen peak Third Tier masters on Xingeliel was like dark clouds massing overhead. He knew he had zero chance of victory. He felt that every black-robed figure before him was no weaker than he was. He imagined thirteen massive pillars of lightning-wreathed clouds manifesting before him; the slightest movement would bring down an overwhelming deluge of thunder, reducing him to ash.

"Hahahaha, hahahaha…"

Xingeliel suddenly burst into laughter. "Good! Excellent. To be seen off by thirteen masters at the Limit of the Third Tier—my life has not been lived in vain." After laughing, he turned his sword and slashed toward his own neck.

"But I, Xingeliel, will not die by another’s hand! Everything you’ve done for the Royal Army will be wasted! No one understands those people better than I do. They will give you nothing, and they can offer you nothing. Today, you are only helping a group of misers! All they will grant you, besides that illusory so-called glory, is the wrath of the Kustar people. Just wait! I will await your arrival on the dark side of the spiritual world!"

Xingeliel’s head fell, but his voice continued to finish the sentence, the oppressive malice of his dying words clearly reaching Yang Ying.

Yang Ying merely shrugged. "Your attempt at provocation has a kernel of truth, perhaps. But I have already obtained everything I desired from you on this mission. Whether the royalty grants me anything further is of no concern to me. As for the wrath of the Kustar people, I have carried enough burden since the fall of the Ancient Legion. Eventually, I will settle things with them. Compared to a Fourth Tier Haadak, what are a handful of you in the eyes of the Kustar? Merely disposable tools to be discarded after use."

By now, the energy dissipation was severe. The entire sanctuary was suffused with a colorful, aurora-like soft glow, but flashes of intense light and electric currents sporadically erupted in the air. Yang Ying could almost smell the energy. He knew that if they didn't leave soon, the place would explode.

The thirteen sheathed their light swords. Yang Ying stepped forward, took Xingeliel’s head, and, with another wave of his hand, warped space, stepping through.

At the location where the Ghost Fighter had crashed into the Presidential Palace, a gray vortex silently materialized. Yang Ying and his thirteen stepped out, seeing dozens of Presidential Palace guards attacking the Ghost Fighter's protective shield with plasma cannons and laser guns, desperate to destroy the craft.

Seeing the thirteen emerge, the guards froze, witnessing a phenomenon entirely new to them. Before they could react, one clone raised a hand and unleashed a Mind Storm, enveloping them all. A sweep of lightning followed, punctuated by short cries of agony, and the guards were eliminated.

Footsteps echoed from a distance; another group, having heard the commotion, rushed to investigate.

Yang Ying used a remote device to deactivate the shield. The thirteen re-boarded their respective Ghost Fighters, cloaked, and took off again, exiting through the breach they had made. The six tall, sharp defensive towers outside were still operational, firing beams of death, but their threat level had diminished considerably—clearly, the Third Tier masters stationed inside were gone.

Yang Ying surmised they had abandoned their posts after sensing the demise of Xingeliel and his group. He ignored them and charged through the death ray net defense, ascending to the upper atmosphere. The fate of the six Third Tier masters was now irrelevant.

The sky above was choked solid by tens of thousands of fighters—reinforcements the rebels had called in. Upon hearing of the attack on the Palace and the assassination of the President, every available nearby unit had converged, including numerous Gulachigs patrolling the area.

The Ghost Fighters were locked on the moment they appeared, and a deluge of fire rained down—missiles, beams, and countless advanced weapons covered a vast expanse of airspace around the fighters, leaving virtually no blind spots.

Yet, an old Earth saying still applied here: armies cannot stop masters. Beneath the torrential assault, the thirteen Ghost Fighters skillfully maneuvered, dodging attacks.

Innumerable beams zipped past the fighters, but few managed to hit any of the thirteen. When the Ghost Fighters unleashed their full firepower, their more than two thousand floating cannons could destroy over a thousand enemy fighters per salvo.

Although the rebel fleet contained some skilled pilots, they were no match for Yang Ying’s thirteen and were focused on as primary targets, dying faster than the ordinary fighters.

The speed of the specialized Ghost Fighters completely outclassed the rebels. Almost every rebel aircraft was slower. Once the Ghost Fighters pierced the defense line, the enemy could only follow helplessly as the distance widened rapidly.

Yang Ying showed no mercy, carving a bloody path out of the atmosphere. Every rebel fighter that approached the Ghost Fighters was shot down within a few breaths. Yang Ying hadn't bothered counting, but it was easily over ten thousand.

Once clear of the atmosphere, Yang Ying engaged the sub-light speed engines, accelerating away from Beifu Star at maximum velocity, shaking off all pursuers. He sent a signal to the Behemoth and proceeded to their prearranged rendezvous point.

Shortly after, the Behemoth emerged from hyperspace, enveloped in a glow, appearing before Yang Ying.

The thirteen Ghost Fighters flew into the Behemoth's hangar bay. The Behemoth executed another spatial jump and withdrew.

After parking the fighters, Yang Ying left the hangar and entered an officer's lounge. He summoned a Ghost Agent Major, handed over Xingeliel's head, and instructed him to find a cryogenic container for it.

The Ghost Agent Major left with the head. Simultaneously, Howard walked in. Recognizing the head, he smiled, "Sir, it seems everything went smoothly."

"Yes. We can return to the Capital Star now." Yang Ying removed his black robe, recalling Princess Hafin and her entourage on Vida Star, who had hired him to assassinate Xingeliel—that was the first time he had heard of the Flynn internal strife, and now he was deeply embroiled in it, having finally taken Xingeliel's life.

His recent tour through several planets behind rebel lines had yielded immense returns. A large shipment of production equipment smuggled to the Floating Continent had been partially calibrated and was ready for full operation.

The equipment currently adjusted was mostly the first batch seized from Duolun Star, and this initial batch alone was enough to increase Human industrial capacity tenfold!

After all, it was machinery accumulated by a high-level civilization over a millennium of development—far more than Yang Ying had accumulated himself.

This was not all. Once all the seized production equipment was calibrated, the production department estimated that overall output capacity could increase by thirty-five times!

Stated abstractly, this might seem vague. As a concrete example: if development continued at the current rate, within one year, they could produce a battle cruiser fleet of the Behemoth class numbering twenty thousand vessels.

Two years hence, the battlecruiser fleet would swell to a two-hundred-thousand-unit scale, transitioning to the second generation of Minotaur-class battlecruisers.

The eight standard main cannons of the Minotaur-class would all reach Level Seven, while the Yamato cannon energy level would climb to Eight. With thicker armor plating complemented by robust shield generators, these vessels would rank among the elite throughout the entire Orion Arm.

The rare ores plundered from countless planets would be sufficient to sustain production for those two years. As for the common minerals essential for warship construction—iron, aluminum, titanium, and others—these would be readily supplied by the resource planets being developed around the Sol System.

The next morning, the Jùshòu first rendezvoused with the main contingent before proceeding toward the Capital Star.