The pilots, learning the hard way about the power of Ziye’s shells, dared not move recklessly, yet unwilling to retreat, they cautiously pursued her, firing intermittently.
Ziye leaned back in her seat, watching her energy levels steadily drain. She knew she had to find a solution, or once her power was depleted, she would truly be subject to a group beating.
She twitched her fingers, darting out of the mecha encirclement, preparing to find a concealed spot to recharge. Just then, a planet appeared in her field of view—stunningly beautiful, shrouded in a lovely, milky-white halo, like an atmosphere.
Someone must live there?
If she could just get down to the planet, she could surely shake off those annoying pilots.
With the thought already formed, Ziye abruptly changed course and flew toward the celestial body.
Having the experience of reaching Silver Talisman, Ziye expertly pierced through the atmosphere, descending straight to the surface, leaving the bizarre squadron of mecha far behind her wake.
But when Ziye finally saw the state of the ground below, her entire being went cold.
The landscape was littered everywhere with refuse, piled higher than mountains. What in the void was going on?
Did I land on a Scrap Planet?
Ziye glanced at her energy reserves—only thirty percent remaining. If she turned back to space now, those oddballs might still be lingering, and by then, she wouldn't have the power to fight them off again.
She forced herself to calm down, selected a spot where the debris appeared marginally less dense, and landed.
BOOM—
The mecha touched down, kicking up a cloud of dust and trash that billowed into the air.
Seeing the sight, Ziye became even more reluctant to leave the cockpit. She silently settled in and closed her eyes to rest.
Before long, soft thudding sounds echoed behind her. She adjusted the display screen and frowned at what she saw. That squadron of oddball mecha had actually followed her down to the surface, landing directly behind her position.
Her momentary relaxation vanished instantly, replaced by taut alertness. She switched her weapons to short-range settings while keeping a sharp eye on them.
Unbeknownst to her, numerous figures had gathered outside on the ground, surrounding her mecha, watching. After the strange pilots disembarked, Ziye compared the crowd to the pilots, taking a careful look, and couldn't help but laugh.
She had been foolish; she hadn't realized the pilots were the inhabitants of this planet.
She had been wondering about their strange mecha, and now it was clear—they were the apex predators spawned from the trash heap.
Wonderful. She had just stumbled right into their lair!
The few bizarre pilots, after exiting their machines, uttered something unintelligible to the surrounding onlookers—“#…+…※”
The crowd suddenly erupted into clamor and surged toward her mecha. Several adolescents, agile as monkeys, even began scrambling up the hull.
Ziye: …
Ziye retrieved Butler W from the storage bay and commanded, “Go down. Determine what language they are speaking and inquire about the situation.”
Butler W accepted the order and descended.
Standard Galactic Common was used throughout the interstellar expanse, but each planet possessed its own dialects. To adapt her robotics for market needs, she had instructed Little Sprout to install a comprehensive language program covering hundreds of languages.
Now, perhaps, it would finally prove useful.
Butler W activated the cockpit hatch and stepped out of the mecha.
The youths climbing on the hull suddenly looked up and froze at the sight of Butler W: impeccably dressed in a crisp suit, sporting a white ascot and white gloves, his hair combed flawlessly.
One particularly clumsy boy, forgetting his hunger, exerted too much force on his grip and promptly tumbled off the machine.
The onlookers shouted, rushing forward to catch him, causing another brief uproar.
Once the commotion died down, they noticed Butler W still standing there. They began chattering and pointing at him again, but this time, no one dared approach.
This was understandable.
They were the natives of the Scrap Planet, but one day, the entire world had been suddenly inundated with space debris.
From that day forward, anything beautiful or luxurious seemed to equate to mere trash.
They had never witnessed such pristine, immaculate attire, not even at weddings, let alone in daily life. Thus, Butler W’s expressionless elegance utterly stunned the large crowd.
When Butler W reached the ground, the crowd surged around him.
“@#※-`!※”*
Butler W: …
“∴∥｜｜︴﹏﹋﹌.》》--？！”
Butler W: …
Seeing his complete lack of response, the crowd grew enraged and rushed forward, attempting to strike him.
Unfortunately for them, he was a butler unit equipped with a combat system. What began as a futile negotiation quickly devolved into a general melee.
Most of the native residents relied on brute force. Butler W, powered by energy, felt no fatigue as long as his reserves held, and coupled with his combat matrix, he managed to fight the superior numbers to a stalemate.
Ziye watched from the cockpit, utterly speechless.
Of course, Butler W did manage to transmit a message to Ziye: Language barrier. Their tongue matches none of the languages in my system.
Ziye: …
While the butler and the bizarre populace were locked in a fierce brawl, the youths on the other side renewed their efforts to scale the mecha.
Ziye frowned, retrieving a second robot from storage.
The Divine Crow model was equipped with two androids: Butler W, capable of handling various social situations, and a specialized Reconnaissance Unit.
She hadn't wanted to deploy the Recon unit, but Butler W was struggling alone. Since the Recon unit was built sturdier, it should be able to assist.
She rapidly installed the combat system into the Recon unit's operating matrix and dispatched it.
The scrappers grew increasingly tired. After finally tearing off Butler W’s conspicuous black suit jacket, another new target appeared.
The Recon Unit ditched Butler W’s formal attire for thick denim jeans and a matching shirt. The eyes of the scrappers turned scarlet, and they charged forward again, grappling with the newcomer.
Ziye checked her energy readout—it was nearing sixty percent. Once this fight was over, she could return to space.
The mass of people viciously employed the most primitive tactic: building a human tower to pin the Recon Unit underneath and furiously attempting to strip its clothing.
Ziye felt a wave of sheer incredulity wash over her. What on earth are they trying to do?
Just then, the robot at the bottom of the pile transmitted a message to her—not a distress call, but an alert: This planet contains extremely precious rare-earth elements.
Ziye’s eyes flashed open. Rare metals!
Having no personal datapad, Ziye quickly extracted the mecha's internal core processor. Clutching it, she exited the cockpit, stepped onto the ground, and recalled the mecha into her spatial storage device.
The fighting spectators finally registered Ziye’s presence. Their eyes instantly lit up, and in unison, they abandoned the fight with Butler W and the Recon Unit, charging toward Ziye.
The two robots, their programming now optimized, immediately retreated to Ziye’s side to form a protective perimeter.
Ziye demanded, “Where are the rare earths?”
The Recon Unit pointed toward the ground.
Ziye grinned. “We are leaving this place. Let’s find an area with fewer people, scan the notable concentrations of rare earths here, and see if development is feasible.”
Both robots nodded simultaneously, clearing a path for Ziye on either side.
Along the way, the oddball spectators followed Ziye with the intense, predatory gazes of hunters, looking as if they were ready to leap out and strip her clothes.
Ziye felt a creeping dread, thinking, Everyone on this planet must be unhinged.
-RS