The age of the stars was a brutal place where the weak were prey. Back then, they were all too weak. When she was a pirate, she felt no guilt; her only mistake, she believed, was not discovering the conspiracy soon enough!

Red Hair grew angrier the more she thought about it, her voice turning cold. "If I ever get out, I won't rest until I've utterly ruined Fia!"

Ziye considered the depths of her own hatred for Fia—a grudge so deep it was carved into her bones. Yet, compared to Red Hair, who detested the entire noble house with an animosity that felt ancient and absolute, Ziye felt a flicker of surprise. "Is the hatred that profound?" she asked.

Red Hair ground her teeth. "More than you know! If they hadn't pretended to be mere hostages—bait—I never would have been captured. That alone would have been bad enough, but Fia’s Crown Prince spirited me away in the dead of night, trying to take advantage of me. I only regret not killing him then. When his father found out, afraid I’d expose the incident, he offered me clemency if I would serve their family. Bah!"

Living in the void, the most repulsive thing wasn't facing a powerful enemy or having pig-headed teammates; it was encountering such shameless scum. Especially for a woman, Fia’s Crown Prince represented an unbearable insult.

An Junlie had heard whispers of Red Hair’s history before. For a woman who had once commanded the galaxy’s attention to be tormented by members of a mere noble house, it was no wonder her resentment ran so deep.

However, something still puzzled An Junlie, so he asked, "This is a penal planet of the Interstellar Federation. How did they end up sending you here?"

Red Hair snatched the roasted purple rabbit, ripped it forcefully in half, and sneered, "Naturally, Fia didn't send me. That house, the ones who can't possess something, will only destroy it. When I refused, the father, consumed by shame and rage, gifted me to the Federation as a bargaining chip to secure mining rights in the Rona Galaxy."

An Junlie froze for a beat. So that was the truth.

The Rona Galaxy was a newly opened sector, bordering the Fia House, the Moke House, and the Angel Legion. The Federation considered the region too remote; developing it themselves would cost astronomical resources with uncertain returns, so they decided to auction it off.

An Junlie had desperately wanted the Rona Galaxy then. Acquiring it would have vastly expanded his territory and allowed him to develop a secondary trade route leading directly to the prosperous Laiko Galaxy, freeing him from pirate raids or Fia’s hidden ambushes.

Among the legions and houses bidding, his offer was the highest, and he had even secured a private meeting with the Federation council. It was practically set to be his, until an unexpected competitor stole it away—the Fia House.

Only now did he understand the rotten core of the deal.

The Fia House. Truly ruthless!

After the Fia House seized Rona, the Angel Domain was forced to develop an orbital track from the opposite direction. That route was circuitous, plagued by pirates, demanding immense effort while constantly presenting trouble.

In the past, the Angel Domain tried to maintain a degree of honor, but the facts Red Hair laid bare confirmed a chilling truth: if he wasn't strong enough, if he couldn't fight for what he deserved and let others seize it, he would only end up hurting himself.

In this jungle of the cosmos, only the fittest survived.

An Junlie made a silent resolution, his voice firm. "For everything they have done, we will return it to them, piece by piece."

Big Head nodded in agreement. "That’s what should happen. Otherwise, the suffering we endured on Silver Crest would have been meaningless. As long as we're alive, as long as our bodies function, we still have a chance to rise again. Before I was imprisoned, I endured some torture that damaged my retinas. Without immediate surgery, my sight is deteriorating. That," he touched his eyes, "is the fatal wound."

Big Head had once commanded a Fearless-class vessel. For a captain, losing the crucial sense of sight was akin to a swordsman losing his right hand; even if they returned to space, they could never soar with the same freedom.

As S-Class prisoners, none of them had clones, and those they might have possessed were destroyed by the Federation. With physical defects, even perfect future surgery wouldn't restore them to their original peak capability.

Although they usually avoided discussing the past, they were keenly aware of each other's histories. Perhaps the gentle light of the Purple Star tonight, or perhaps the shared belief that they would soon leave Silver Crest, finally allowed them to open their hearts and voice the deep-seated pains they had carried for so long.

Before tonight, An Junlie had only known that they could work and fight, that they had weathered severe hardships. But hearing their stories firsthand filled him with melancholy—this was the tragedy of prisoners.

No rights, no freedom; the only thing they retained was life itself. They were a group of inmates, yet with their own hands, they had built Silver Crest and charted a path to leave it. Had he not fallen to this planet, had he not befriended them, he would never have understood the immense struggle hidden behind these men.

He had grown up accustomed to hardship, but realizing their path had been infinitely rougher, more arduous, made him recognize how fortunate he had been by comparison.

Listening to them speak was worth ten years of study; countless concepts he hadn't grasped instantly crystallized, deepening his understanding of the profound camaraderie forged in adversity.

This connection would be his most precious treasure.

If he managed to leave this place, he owed his gratitude most of all to them!

An Junlie stood up, picked up the wine glasses robotically delivered, and instinctively took on the role of the junior member, filling everyone’s cup. He spoke with genuine sincerity, "Since arriving on Silver Crest, I have been deeply cared for by all of you. Thank you immensely. In the future, if you ever need my assistance, do not hesitate to command me."

The others rose in turn, protesting humbly. They drained their glasses before sitting down again. Red Hair laughed, "We may not be the same kind of people, not from the same planet, but once we leave, we are still family. If trouble arises, speak up. One person can't fight a Federation or a noble house, but now, we are a group. We are not afraid of them!"

Old Dog shook his head, downing his drink in one gulp. "Exactly. Leave the past behind. We return to the void to live entirely new lives!" His two Dobermans, resting at his feet, barked twice in agreement.

Hearing him, the mood grew electrified. Dead Freak proposed, "How about we form a legion? Then we can hunt anyone we want, whenever we want! I never want to live that old life again; I only have you all."

The suggestion was met with unanimous enthusiasm. "Yes, we form a legion!"

The group immediately became energized, excitedly debating the legion's name, their roles within it, the mechs they would acquire upon reaching space, the ships they would outfit, and which sector they would claim as their base...

Ziye almost reminded them that all of this was predicated on money—and Silver Crest currency was useless in the wider galaxy. In other words, once outside, they would all be penniless.

But seeing how joyfully they chatted, she swallowed the words. Those who could survive under the harsh conditions of Silver Crest wouldn't starve once they reached the stars.