Hovering above the basin were nearly a hundred triangular warships, each around five hundred meters long, their immense shadows cloaking almost half the expanse below. Two Thunder Gods roared, and the Martian defense platforms rotated slowly around the perimeter. Occasionally, a platform would edge closer to the basin, causing the intense blue flame spouted by its colossal plasma engines to violently scrape against the basin’s energy shield. This friction sent countless blinding sparks showering outwards, causing the shield to ripple faintly with the tremors.

At the very center of the basin stood the Palace of Versailles! This was the famed Palace of Versailles from before the War of '93, itself a spoil plundered by the Romans, now repurposed as the sleeping quarters of the Roman King. Before the palace gates, encircled by clear, verdant waters, stretched a square spanning a li in length and width. A multitude of Romans, clad in exquisite armor, knelt upon the plaza, silently attending to the address being given by the Roman King standing at the palace entrance.

The Roman King was entirely encased in a suit of dull golden armor. Behind the heavy plating, a nimbus of brilliant, intense light radiated outward, setting off the King’s imposing figure as if he were a celestial deity.

As the King of the Romans, the Roman King no longer possessed a personal name or surname. Glorious titles—the Great King, the Omnipotent King, the Master of the Universe—had become his standard appellation.

Spreading his hands, the Roman King spoke with a resonant voice: "Children of the Roman race, you are the most outstanding elite of this generation of Romans! Rome, this magnificent nation, granted you life, bestowed upon you strength, and gifted you honor. The only repayment you can offer this great nation is your absolute loyalty and your hot blood." "Rome faces a crisis, a grave danger that could lead to extinction." "The insidious and treacherous Terrans possess two bamboo slips! And we have only secured one of them!" "Without a doubt, it will not be long before the Terran warships surpass even our most advanced vessels. Their fleet could arrive on Mars at any moment, capable of annihilating our civilization!"

"We cannot sit idly by! I declare that we are the great Romans! We are the masters of the cosmos, the lords of this world! The primitive, savage, backward Terrans cannot possibly conquer us!" "Our ancestors lost a Mothership during their arduous migration—a Mothership capable of obliterating the entire Terran civilization!" "After countless long calculations, and based on the data fed back by the probes we have continuously launched over these many years, we have very likely located it!" "We need you, the finest young Romans, to lead the massive fleet we have constructed this past year. Find it, repair it, and bring it back!" "It is a scientific research Mothership, carrying within it the great civilization our ancestors lost! Bring it back—bring it back intact. This is our only hope of defeating the Terrans!"

Stretching both arms high toward the sky, the Roman King roared: "Glory belongs to you! Merit belongs to you as well!"

Hearing the final words of the Roman King, Nanket. Holsam took a deliberate step forward. He cast a commanding gaze over the young Romans kneeling in the square and stated in a low voice: "This mission will be long and arduous. It may take you several years to bring that Mothership back to the Solar System. Therefore, following consultation between the Great King and the Great High Priest, the merit points awarded for this undertaking are..."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the subtly lifting heads of the visibly excited young Romans, before Nanket. Holsam continued casually, "Ten million merit points!"

"Damn it!" Polport, still kneeling, slammed his fist softly against the ground in anger. From the planet Heaven Star onward, a string of successful endeavors had only brought Polport just over eight million merit points. This already placed him far ahead of his competitors, securing the first position among the heirs to the Roman throne. If the Roman King were to die now, Polport would seamlessly become the new Roman King. But the King was hale and hearty, and this new mission carried a staggering ten million merit points! According to the established rules of the Roman game, during the execution of any single mission, even among collaborators working with all their might, only the individual with the highest contribution would exclusively claim all the merit points!

Unless Polport successfully located that Mothership and brought it back to the Solar System himself, any other contender who secured these points would instantly surpass him in the line of succession.

"I must win. It has to be me who finds the Mothership and brings it back!" Polport silently hardened his resolve.

A flicker of golden light briefly crossed his vision as he glanced at Ducat, who remained staring intently at a single grain of dust on the ground beside him. Polport began calculating discreetly. Perhaps, in the next few days, he needed to cultivate a better relationship with this base-born half-breed.

Polport turned his head and murmured quietly to Ducat: "Ducat... If you devote yourself completely to helping me complete this mission..."

"Your mother—I will grant her entry into the family tomb. She will no longer have to lie among the remains of those base Spirit Race slaves in the catacombs beneath the Pantheon." Ducat’s body visibly shuddered, and a flush of deep red silently crept across his face.

Polport smiled with confidence. The base half-breed was indeed just a half-breed—so easy to manipulate. Polport even recalled an ancient Earth novel called Journey to the West, in which Ducat was akin to that unruly Monkey, yet even before the divine being called the Buddha, the Monkey could not escape the grasp of the deity’s five fingers.

"Children of Rome! The pride of Rome! The future of Rome! I await your triumphant return here! Strive to earn your glory; an honorable future awaits you!"

The Roman King cried out emotionally, arms spread wide, while Nanket. Holsam, standing beside him, allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch slightly, revealing a sneer of cold mockery.

An hour later, the Roman fleet departed Mars, spearheaded by new warships one hundred and fifty tables long, stretching fourteen hundred meters, escorted by sixty colossal transport vessels, each three thousand six hundred meters in length. The immense armada soared away from the sun into the boundless void of space. The fleet was clearly divided into nine distinct segments, commanded separately by the elites of the nine major Electoral Families.

On Earth, deep within a highly secret cavern in the Great North American Canyon, Prince Ganglu of the Silver Wolf Clan was vigorously thrusting his body upon two lithe, perfectly toned she-wolves. As he whipped the two howling beauties with relentless force, he bellowed, "You lowly females of the Gray Wolf Tribe should be eternally grateful for receiving the genetic inheritance of the great and glorious Silver Wolf Clan! Be grateful to the great, omnipotent Wolf God!" Accompanied by shrill cries, Ganglu violently erupted upon the two she-wolves.

"Crude, so crude! But then, the Lycan race has always been thus!"

Several vampires, cloaked in black robes and wearing tall top hats, sat elegantly upon leather sofas in one corner of the cavern, slowly savoring red wine laced with the blood of virgins. Several fair-skinned, tender young girls lay curled naked at their feet, languidly rubbing their full, high breasts against their bodies.

The vampires smiled elegantly, drank their blood-wine with grace, and delicately stroked the vibrant bodies of the maidens. They inhaled deeply—this, truly, was enjoyment!

In another corner of the cavern, a powerfully built Minotaur, sporting two blood-red horns atop his head, was methodically sharpening a wicked double-bladed battle-axe on a whetstone. He hummed a cheerful little tune while chewing on a mouthful of fresh, tender grass. Beside him, a large, pure silver basin was filled to the brim with over a hundred pounds of minced veal mixed with fresh alfalfa.

In the adjacent cavern, several towering blue-skinned Jotun—each several meters tall—lay lazily upon thick piles of cured hides, enjoying massages from beautiful attendants. Fine, crackling arcs of electricity constantly flowed from one individual to the next, steadily eroding the dense network of sealing curses etched upon their bodies, drop by steady drop.