A/N: sorry guys I was not able to post previous week because my mother was admitted in the hospital for a surgery. Now it is done I can post now
Beep beep beep...
Ms. Herta frowned. "Didn't I say not to call me when I'm doing experiments?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I just organized an activity. I just dug out several Simulated Planets, and they're selling very fast, so I plan to hold a competition or something."
"How is it such a coincidence that you happened to find several?" Ms. Herta's tone carried undisguised suspicion.
"Oh, it's just fate; it comes when it comes." Caelus's voice on the other end of the communication sounded exceptionally innocent. "I just happened to find a few. I thought sharing the joy is better than keeping it to myself, so I decided to hold an activity."
"Tell me, who else did you invite?"
"Hmm~ One is Mr. Screwllum, another is a certain Ms. Hacker who wishes to remain anonymous, then there's an Intellitron gentleman who won't reveal his face, name, or identity, plus a director from the Interstellar Peace Corporation, Mr. Welt Yang from the Astral Express, and myself."
"What are you planning this time?"
"No plan, just finding some fun for everyone." Caelus's voice was filled with pure excitement. "I'll give everyone a 'Simulated Planet' to see who can build the most prosperous planet within the allotted time. As for the judges... the participants will rate each other, plus a little input from me as the organizer."
"What about the prize?"
"The prize..." Caelus drawled. "It's a secret for now, but I promise you won't be disappointed. So, interested in playing, Ms. Herta? Think of it as... a way to relax from your research."
Ms. Herta didn't answer immediately, but her gaze fell once more on that slowly rotating Simulated Earth.
"What do you think?"
She looked at Ruan Mei.
"It sounds very interesting, and I'm also a bit curious... about the prize."
"Since you're interested too, let's play along with him." Ms. Herta's voice returned to its usual indifference. "So, when does the competition start?"
"The competition time... Let's say in half a month. We'll see whose world has a higher-level technology tree."
"By the way, let me ask you one more thing—are these Simulated Planets you sold to others also Simulated Earths?"
"No, there's a Simulated Venus and a Simulated Mars." Caelus shook his head and replied, "There are only three Simulated Earths in total."
"Is that so."
..."Passenger Welt, there's a gift for you, pom!"
Welt was called to the Parlor Car by the Conductor.
"Hmm? A gift?"
"Mm-hmm! That fellow Akivili sent it to you!"
Pom-Pom nodded.
Welt looked at the specially made shockproof box.
Sent by Caelus?
What could it be?
Tickets to Robin's concert?
When Welt saw the familiar blue planet rotating inside the cube within, his brain went blank with a buzz.
His first reaction was that Caelus had gone to the Solar System and packaged Earth itself.
"Wow, what a beautiful glass ball, pom!"
A glass ball?
Welt suddenly snapped back to his senses and forced himself to calm down. Looking closer, he realized the planet wasn't physical but an extremely realistic projection, enclosed in some kind of transparent force field or container, slowly rotating. It was so small it could fit on a table, yet the details were heart-stoppingly real.
He took a deep breath and picked up a note from the box. It was written in Caelus's crooked handwriting; Caelus had been bored lately and was practicing writing with both hands simultaneously.
[Old Yang, I made a little toy for you to pass the time. 'Simulated Earth', in the dinosaur era. You can only look, not touch. Just play around with it. There's a competition in half a month to see whose civilization develops faster. The prize is a secret, but I guarantee it'll be interesting. — Caelus]
Simulated... Earth?
Seeing the chicken-scratch handwriting on the note, Welt's heart settled slightly, but his shock didn't diminish in the least. Even if it was just a simulator, the precision of its technology far exceeded his imagination. This wasn't just a model; he could see the subtle movements of tectonic plates, clouds flowing with climate systems, and he could even press a button to bring up projections of biological activities.
Dinosaurs?
He carefully placed the Simulated Earth on the table in the Parlor Car and stared in silence. The Astral Express was in warp, with brilliant star rails outside the window, while on the table sat a phantom of his distant home. An indescribable sense of spatio-temporal dislocation enveloped him.
It really is a great gift... Wait, no.
Welt was suddenly stunned.
How did Caelus know he was from Earth?
Did he "observe" Earth through some means, or has Caelus been to Earth?
It wasn't just that he'd been there; Caelus was actually an Earthling ().
"Welt?" Himeko's gentle voice pulled him back from the whirlpool of his thoughts. Holding a steaming cup of coffee, she stood by the table with a hint of concern in her eyes. "Are you alright? Ever since you received this package, your expression has been a bit off."
"I'm fine, Himeko." Welt relaxed his fingers and smoothed out the slightly crumpled note, keeping his tone as steady as possible. "It's just... a very interesting model."
"A model?" Himeko gently placed her coffee cup on the table, her gaze falling on the sphere. "Is this... a planet?"
"Yes... my home."
Welt nodded slightly, his expression complex.
"Huh?"
"Did Akivili bring your hometown here, pom... So does that mean Passenger Welt is technically home now? Uh, being on the Astral Express while also being home...?"
Pom-Pom blinked its large eyes.
"No... this is just a model, a projection. It's not real."
"This means Caelus might know how to get you home, Welt."
"Yes..."
After a long while, Welt spoke again, his tone having regained its usual calmness, though the emotions surging deep in his eyes had not subsided. "He invited me to participate in a competition, using this 'Simulated Earth' to develop a civilization within half a month."
"A competition?" Himeko raised an eyebrow slightly. "Doing it this way... is indeed very special."
"..."
..."Ha, letting me participate in a competition... Interesting. Has it turned into a versus match?"
Silver Wolf's lips curled up.
Just in time, all the missions are finished.
"Kafka, help me take a look at what else should be developed on this planet. I've already got the mammals slowly developing." Silver Wolf licked her lips. "Sam, don't just stand there watching. Maybe the champion's prize can cure your entropy loss syndrome."
Kafka swirled the red wine in her hand. "Silver Wolf, my suggestion is... why don't you just wait and see, and let them develop on their own?"
"Observe? That's so inefficient." Silver Wolf was dismissive. "No, I have to give them a little pressure to speed up the mutation rate."
The manual basically lists the effects of the commands. Trying a few more times should yield the best results... "Oh...? A competition?"
Perhaps the prize will allow one to get what they desire.
Lygus looked at the red planet that had been sent over and fell into deep thought.
Challenging the development of a civilization by letting it evolve on its own without direct interference... Inviting him to participate in... a Simulated Planet development competition?
For real?
"Heh."
Lygus felt a faint urge to smile.
Why the urge?
Putting aside his true identity, after being holed up here for who-knows-how-many years running closed simulations, he was the undisputed authority—an expert among experts—on modeling planets.
It was too intriguing to dismiss out of hand.
Still, he couldn't attend in person; he had to guard against Polka Kakamu.
For Lygus the upcoming contest was little more than diversion; with Iron Tomb about to come online, he had no intention of abandoning his Lord Ravager.
Any "what-if" deserved at least a sliver of attention.
So he chose the method that suited him best—observe, record, model, and compute every possible path the sealed civilization might take. Between colossal calculation tasks it was a brief respite, like a human glancing out a window mid-work.
Exactly as his profile proclaimed: he was the Divine Rite Spectator, Lygus.
To run a planet independent of Amphoreus, the "entry" world had to stay inconspicuous.
More importantly, this time the rules forbade interference.
Only the lightest nudge was allowed… and Screwllum received the simulated Venus.
With perfect courtesy he replied to Caelus's invitation and slotted the planet into his laboratory. His approach was rational: by fine-tuning environmental parameters he guided the inorganic and organic life he'd seeded toward coexistence.
As for Aventurine—
"Professor, I've received something amusing."
"?"
"A planetary model. I'm joining the civilization-crafting contest Mr. Caelus is hosting."
Aventurine smiled as he answered.
"A contest?" Dr. Ratio's tone was its usual dry cadence. "How 'touchingly' progressive—or do you intend to steer biological evolution with the same luck that will one day trip you up?"
Inured to the professor's barbs, Aventurine casually swirled the transparent cube housing the micro-planet; inside, an unfamiliar gray sphere pocked with craters rotated slowly. "Come now, Professor, my 'luck' will carry me to victory, and word is the prize 'grants one's wish.' Doesn't that tempt you?"
"A sealed simulation's rules are inter-linked and dynamically balanced. Crudely altering a single parameter is like driving blind along a cliff edge. If you insist on playing this… 'game,' at least spend time understanding its axioms and observing its spontaneous trends instead of trusting your wretched intuition."
Aventurine grinned.
Secure.
The professor was hooked; pride or folly would have made him walk away, yet his gaze stayed fixed on the little world.
"I knew you wouldn't abandon a sinking ship."
"I simply refuse to watch a planet perish beneath a gambler's blind conceit." Dr. Ratio closed the heavy tome in his hands. "Hand over the toy for inspection; I need to build a baseline model first."
Still smiling, Aventurine passed him the cube. "I'm counting on you, Professor. If you need data or auxiliary gear, just name it."
"Silence is the best auxiliary. Spare me your noise about luck and probability."
Aventurine mimed zipping his lips, retreated to a chair, poured himself a glass of water, and settled in for the long haul.
"The initial conditions are brutal, hence the option to design organisms," Dr. Ratio muttered. "Once civilization advances, you can add further natural resources."
"Professor, can I pick humans?"
"Suit yourself, but I can't guarantee they'll survive."
"Adding a few wouldn't hurt."
"To be created by you—those humans have my sympathies."
"Looks promising," Aventurine said, pleased.
"Idiotic optimism." Dr. Ratio spared no scorn. "Survival is only step one. Resource competition, internal strife, tech bottlenecks, environmental upheavals—one misstep and the entire experiment ends. And you can't even tell them what to do."
Aventurine shook his head.
"No. I'll bless them."
"You? Your blessing?"
"Yes. I… bless them to thrive, survive, and live happily."
He pressed his lips into a soft smile.
May the Mother Goddess close her eyes for you thrice, let your blood surge, your journey stay smooth, your schemes… never exposed.
Did the Mother once watch the Eviguin this way?
If so—"Baseline model complete. Next comes observation: record their spontaneous behaviors and nascent social structures." Dr. Ratio set the logging routines and glanced at Aventurine. "Now perform your duty as an observer—keep quiet."
"What if we… gave them a tiny hint? The manual allows limited 'guidance,' doesn't it?"
"Where is the border between 'guidance' and 'interference'? Handing them power beyond their comprehension kills their drive to explore and may even destroy them. Want to be the farmer who pulls seedlings taller or the calamity that dooms them?"
Clearly Aventurine wasn't immersed yet; the professor already was.
"Hold on, Professor—those things are related to humans?" Aventurine pointed at the projected organisms.
"Evolution requires starting simple; advanced animals can't be set at initialization."
Watching the barely animate goo, Aventurine's mouth twitched. "So… we begin from… this stage?"
"Life's evolution is a long, random trial-and-error process, gambler. Did you expect to drop in a star-fleet?" The sarcasm was razor-sharp. "If you lack the patience, quit now and leave the planet to someone who understands observation."
"No, Professor, I'm very patient." Aventurine surrendered at once.
"With your scant biology knowledge, the possibilities would escape you." Dr. Ratio adjusted the monitors. "Environmental parameters stable, energy input normal… now we wait and log how they cope with selective pressures…"
Toy.
A delightful brain-teaser, complete with a fool-proof manual, yet all too easy to kill.
Putting aside the Civilization Creation Contest for now, Caelus still had to deal with the rampant Talia Star System pirates.
"Looks like you rats really think little of us."
The blood-smeared pirate spat a gob of crimson, glaring at the half-dead zaku pilot on the ground.
"Hah… still believe that piece-of-crap Emperor of yours will swoop in to save you?"
The pirate chief ground a grease-stained boot across the pilot's fingers, the sickening scrape of bone on bone filling the air. The pilot grunted, cold sweat beading on his forehead, but kept his teeth clenched.
"Your little scam? I saw through that crap several Amber Eras ago! Your so-called Emperor's just a trash-picking con man, waving a big pie so everyone'll roll over like dogs!"
They were rookie pilots, running live drills in outdated zakus when they stumbled into this pirate gang on the fringe of Talia's star zone.
Hot-blooded and green, they'd charged straight into battle against the star pirates with their test-type zakus.
But the pirates were far beyond their expectations; the outdated second-gen zaku frames crumpled under the barrage from multiple warships.
The pirate chief drew the blaster at his hip and leveled it at the dying pilot.
"I like loyal dogs—come work for me. What future is there following that trash-picker? What can he give you? Scrap metal and pretty pictures of pie in the sky?"
The pilot spat bloody saliva and cracked a pained, scornful grin: "You… don't know jack…"
"I don't know jack? Bull! I've seen more filth than you've had hot meals!" The chief bristled at the contempt. "How are you any different from me?"
"We're nothing like you."
The pilot sneered.
"Nothing alike? Let me tell you, then."
The pirate chief mocked.
He was one of Talia's fiercest star pirates, commanding over forty warships at will—including two Planet Destroyers. He believed in no Emperor; it was obviously the same trick the old Duchy of Thieves had pulled.
Yes—he himself had once been the most thoroughly duped thief under the banner of the Duchy of Thieves.
Back then, a grand thief had preached the ideals of the "Duchy of Thieves," promising that its "treasury" would build fairness. Yet when the wealth piled higher, the big thieves tore up their flimsy pact, greedy to keep it all. Mercenaries, riots, inside jobs—chaos reigned, and the plotters had never believed in equality from the start.
"You think your crap Emperor will be any better? Once he's had his fill, he'll kick you fools aside and you won't even have a place to cry!"
The pilot looked at the chief's rage-twisted face; the contempt in his eyes softened into something almost like pity.
"What are you laughing at?!" the chief snarled.
"I laugh because you're pitiful." The pilot's voice shook with pain. "You were conned once, so you think the whole world is con men. You wallow in muck, so you think everyone should wallow… but you have no idea… what the Emperor… has given us…"
"Given you what? More junk? Prettier lies?"
The light in the young man's eyes on the ground was too familiar—just like his own when he'd listened to the Duchy's orator paint a bright future. That light had long since died in him, crushed by betrayal and greed.
"He gave us… dignity—so we don't have to steal or rob to survive!" The pilot coughed blood. "He gave us… jobs so we can feed and clothe our families with our own two hands! He gave our kids… schools where they can study in peace, instead of living with their heads on the chopping block like us!"
With effort he turned his neck, sweeping his gaze over the sneering pirates around him: "Can you spend what you plunder… with a clear conscience? Can you sleep at night? Can your kids… proudly tell people what their fathers do for a living?!"
"Of course we can."
"What do you think this place is?"
"Hahahahahaha!"
The one laughing wasn't a pirate—it was the pilot on the ground.
"You can? Hah… cough… then why… do you hide on the edge of the star zone, raiding lone ships like rats? Why don't you go to Terra and rob right under the boss's nose?!"
He locked eyes with the chief's bloodshot, rage-filled stare: "Because you know! You only dare bully rookies! Only strut in corners that haven't been swept clean! You don't dare face him! You fear him! Fear the real warriors under him! Fear the mechas that can grind your scrap-iron fleet into dust!"
"You're begging to die!" The chief pressed the blaster hard against the pilot's forehead.
"The boss was right—star pirates like you are just paper tigers." The pilot sneered. "You'll be in hell soon. We're different; the boss won't abandon us. Kill me if you want, poor reject. On Terra, in the Company, there are countless like me—I'm just one ordinary guy among them."
A powerful whoosh sounded, something moving at high speed.
Whoosh—just who had arrived, some top ace?
Rx-78-2, the Original Gundam
"Rookie, nice speech—but you're still getting a demerit for unsanctioned sortie and extra drills back at base."
The Rx-78-2, the Original Gundam, currently served as an interim unit for team leaders.
A white blur flashed by at impossible speed, a pink beam saber stabbing cleanly through two engines of a warship.
To the pirates it looked like a ghost story.
"What the hell?!"
These first-batch prototype units, built with aid from Screw Star, outclassed the old zaku specs so completely that even rookies could stomp veterans still piloting outdated zakus.
Inside the warship, blaring alarms mixed with the shriek of tearing metal. But the white unit moved faster than they could track; every lock-on lost the target the instant it completed.
"W-what kind of monster is that?!"
The machine was like a white devil darting between ships, every slash of its pink beam saber precisely wrecking an engine.
"Engine room breached!"
"Port cannons totally destroyed!"
"Power output plummeting—we're dead in the water!"
A precise sniper beam lanced from afar, its searing heat vaporizing the pirate chief's blaster arm.
"Per the Talia Star System Security Defense Regulations and Interim Procedures for Handling Star Pirates, you are confirmed as a violent armed looting group." The Gundam's pilot coldly broadcast over the loudspeaker: "Our company has already announced system-wide that twelve pirate groups have undergone re-education through labor and thought, and now live on Terra and nearby worlds. You stubborn holdouts will be imprisoned and then stand trial."
"We cherish every life that can be saved, but for those beyond redemption we waste nothing. Their sins are cast into the foundation; their fates become cautionary lamps that light the way for those who follow. There is no free mercy here, no simple vengeance—only the pursuit of progress."
The Adjudicator's voice rang out.
"Boss 'Butcher' executed. The rest, deemed capable of reform, are sentenced to indefinite labor until they genuinely repent and contribute sufficiently to the construction of the star system. During this period they will work alongside other employees, without pay; every credit their labor earns will fund public works."
"The eighteenth batch of hard cases is done," Lancelot reported to Caelus, a note of relief in his voice. "This lot was crazier than the last few—nearly tripped up some rookies. Good thing the captain-class frames held."
"Any injuries or deaths?"
"No fatalities among the rookies. Three took light wounds—looked nasty, but they'll be fine after a couple days' rest." Lancelot paused, tone turning delicate. "Boss, with the way we're handling things… word outside is calling Talia a pirates' graveyard. Some say we're worse than the old Duchy of Thieves."
"Harsh? If we're not harsh on the wicked, how do we keep worse villains in check? To be the good guys, we've got to outmatch the bad guys' cruelty—without ever stooping to their level—and make them admit it. Those who truly can't be reformed get executed. We have to establish authority."
Lancelot nodded thoughtfully. He remembered the doubts he'd felt when, once a pirate himself, he was absorbed into this force; now he led his people to settle here, to fight for this place. That change could never have been wrought by threats or pretty words.
Caelus had even set aside a development zone dubbed Camelot City, a keepsake for Lancelot and the other Camelot refugees, and opened a museum where Lancelot could display relics of his past for children to visit.
In truth he didn't find Caelus cruel—he found him too soft.
In his old worldview, the only effective answer to enemies—especially desperadoes—was to crush them utterly. Root and stalk, leave no seed of trouble; that was the law of survival he'd learned in bloody years of interstellar exile. Stupidity and mercy were synonyms.
Yet Caelus would unhesitatingly tear an enemy fleet to shreds, asserting sovereignty with brute force—then patiently sort out who was irredeemable and who had merely been swept along.
He executed only the truly hopeless and gave the rest a chance to start over. Boss… you're so gentle.
To Lancelot, Caelus's way was what a real good guy looked like: decisive in removing threats, yet able to protect others and himself; when faced with the trolley problem, he simply stopped the trolley.
That insight had struck Lancelot hard while they were pushing asteroids.
"Tell the rookies they did well. Courage and will earn commendation, but the recklessness of charging ahead without orders earns punishment."
"Yes, Boss." Lancelot answered, straightening.
Merit and demerit kept distinct—that was the rule.
"Also," Caelus added, "compile the battle footage—especially that rookie's exchange with the pirate chief, plus the trial and execution—into internal training material. Let everyone see what we fight for and what we face. Anyone who still thinks they can grab unearned wealth through pillage and violence will know this is the only outcome."
These pirates were the perfect example.
"Understood. It'll be the best deterrent." Lancelot nodded, then recalled something. "Oh, Boss, the pirates' assets have been inventoried. Their two Planet Destroyers are badly damaged, but the cores are usable. Tech section asks if we should salvage and refit?"
"Strip them." Caelus didn't hesitate. "Pull every usable part into stock. Melt the hull metal for schools or roads. Any loot they stole—first compensate the merchant fleets they hit, if we can find them; surplus goes into company reserves."
"Got it. I'll handle it."
"Right, I want to check on those three rookies. Tell me where they're convalescing; I'll go."
Caelus shrugged on a black coat.
He'd bought it on sale—just over two hundred credit points, dirt cheap.
"I'll arrange a shuttle—"
"No need. I'll go myself."
"Ah, alright. Should I notify them?"
"I'm visiting wounded, not inspecting. No fanfare—no extra fuss." Caelus's face darkened. "No formalities, and don't let that attitude become mere show."
Lancelot gave a wry smile.
Caelus—Emperor, Boss, Chief—was the least pretentious leader he'd ever seen.
Even a team leader from the Interstellar Peace Corporation dressed better day-to-day.
"If I arrive and they roll out the red carpet, others will follow the trend. When Robin visits, we put on a show so outsiders won't sneer at us for lacking etiquette."
Lancelot nodded.
"All right, get back to your work. I'll just drop by."
Caelus waved him off and walked alone toward the hangar.
The infirmary sat on a planet still under construction—hardly luxurious, but clean, tidy, and fully equipped. He docked his skiff and strolled in like any ordinary visitor, drawing no special notice.
He found the ward with the three injured rookies easily. They lay bandaged and bruised but in good spirits, chatting quietly. When they saw who stepped through the door, they froze, then gaped, struggling to sit up.
"Boss?!"
"Stay down." Caelus crossed quickly and pressed the nearest rookie's shoulder. "You're hurt—rest. Forget the formalities."
He pulled a chair beside the bed and glanced over them. "How're you feeling? Serious?"
"We're fine, Boss! Just scrapes and bruises—doc says we'll be discharged in a few days!"
"Good." He nodded, voice calm. "I know what happened. You didn't flinch against a tough foe; you held your dignity and your line. Well done. The company is proud to have employees like you."
All three pairs of eyes lit up—praise straight from the Boss meant more than any bonus.
"But," he continued, tone sharpening, "charging out on your own, underestimating the enemy, putting yourselves and comrades at risk—that's a grave error. Merit is merit; fault is fault. Commendations and penalties will follow the book. Clear?"
"Clear!" they answered in unison, no trace of resentment.
Caelus went on asking about their injuries, their families, any difficulties the company could help with—always casual, like an elder checking on his kids.
"Boss..." a recruit hesitated for a moment before asking, "That pirate leader... what he said about the 'Duchy of Thieves'... is it true?"
Caelus glanced at him and didn't answer directly, but instead asked back, "Why do you think he hates the 'Duchy of Thieves' so much? And why is he so certain that I'm the same kind of trash as them?"
The recruit thought for a moment and replied, "Because he was cheated and betrayed. He's lost the ability to trust; he thinks everyone who promises a bright future is a liar."
"Exactly right," Caelus nodded approvingly. "Once bitten by a snake, one becomes afraid of even a rope. He lives in the shadows of the past, using his tragic experiences to measure the entire world. But we are different."
His gaze swept over the three recruits, his voice low: "What we are building is not a dream maintained by empty words and deception. What we provide are real jobs, tangible schools and hospitals, and a life and dignity earned with one's own hands. These things cannot be faked, and they cannot deceive people."
"He cannot understand why you would risk your lives for these ordinary things. Because he has never truly possessed them, and he stopped believing long ago that anyone could give them selflessly." Caelus stood up and patted the recruit's uninjured shoulder. "Your actions have proven him wrong; that is more powerful than any words. Recover well; the people of the future still need you to build and protect them."
"The people..."
"That's right, the burden on your shoulders is heavy, not a bit lighter than mine. Didn't you protect the people of this area from being plundered by pirates?" Caelus smiled warmly. "You did a great job."
Caelus's words left the three recruits stunned. They looked at their boss's calm and serious face, and it felt as if something was burning hot in their chests. They were just ordinary pilots, and they were even going to be punished for this reckless action, yet in their boss's words, they had become the ones "protecting the people."
"We... we just did what we were supposed to do." One recruit scratched his head, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"What one is supposed to do is often the hardest thing to do."
Caelus shook his head.
"So, the three of you, prepare to go to the military camp tomorrow. I'm going to publicly announce a criticism of what you three did."
He said it was a criticism.
"Smiling? What are you smiling at? You think getting injured is a good thing?" Caelus said crossly, "The three of you will get special attention later—extra training!"
"Hehe."
..."Butcher has been caught and will be publicly executed."
Several of the galaxy's most notorious pirate leaders gathered together, their expressions solemn.
Want to escape the star system?
That was also impossible.
Seven or eight large interstellar pirate groups had already been caught while trying to leave Talia, and in more than half of those cases, the leaders were executed on the spot.
Even if some interstellar pirates were afraid of death, the leaders were all ruthless characters.
However, they could accept death... they could not accept being [executed] in such a pathetic way!
"Butcher, that guy, was a tough nut to crack at least! And the result? He was caught like a little chick by those guys in the ridiculous uniforms, and then... then in that whatever-the-hell place, he was shot like a stray dog!"
An oppressive silence fell over the meeting room. These outlaws weren't afraid of dying, but they were afraid of dying for nothing, and they were afraid that after death, they would be used by the enemy as tools to promote justice.
"Then... are we really going to surrender to him like stray dogs?" a voice rang out with resentment, "And then, like those spineless cowards, go mine and build houses for him, being a laborer for the rest of our lives?"
"Surrender? Hmph, would surrendering even lead to a good end? Who knows if he's just stabilizing us first, and then liquidating us all once we've lost our utility! Wasn't the Duchy of Thieves just like that back then?!"
The loose alliance of interstellar pirates almost fell apart due to internal strife.
Everyone standing here was a heinous criminal. Not to mention slaughtering cities for fun, how could major pirates like them support so many people if they didn't plunder and loot the star system every day?
If they went, there was only one path: the leader would be executed, and the rest of the subordinates would be executed depending on the situation.
Surrendering offered no way out in the first place, and for them, their own lives were the top priority.
Just as the pirate leaders were arguing incessantly and were almost at the point of drawing guns on each other, the pirate head known for his dirty tricks, "Ghost Rat," suddenly spoke in a shrill voice: "Stop arguing! Fighting is death, and surrendering is death, but what if we have an ace in our hands?"
"An ace? What ace?"
"That so-called 'Emperor,' doesn't he care most about the civilians and workers under him?" Cunning light flickered in Ghost Rat's small eyes. "We can't catch his high-ranking military officers; those guys are heavily guarded. But we can catch other 'important figures'! For example... a very important person. My subordinates heard some news—an important figure has come to their company headquarters. If we kidnap him, won't we have a hostage?"
"If we catch him, we'll have bargaining chips! At least it'll let us leave this dump!"
This proposal gave the desperate pirates a glimmer of hope.
Soon, a target was locked—the person in the photo was a man in a black coat who frequently traveled to various places on this planet.
"My people have been watching him for several days! He often travels alone between many planets. Although he dresses poorly, the people in charge are quite respectful to him wherever he goes! He is definitely a core figure, possibly a high-level official in charge of logistics, and he deeply possesses the 'Emperor's' trust!"
The other pirate leaders scrutinized the photo skeptically.
"Are you sure? He looks like an errand boy," a pirate with a face full of scars questioned gruffly.
"Can't be wrong!" Ghost Rat was full of confidence. "The more important a person is, the more they sometimes disguise themselves! Look at his solitary manner, this low-key style; it's clearly because he doesn't want to attract attention! If we can catch him, we can definitely squeeze a huge sum out of that 'Emperor'!"
In a desperate situation, even a straw would be gripped tightly. After some argument, the pirates finally agreed to Ghost Rat's plan.
They would each send their elite confidants to kidnap this guy, and then use him to demand a ransom.
The plan was formulated quite thoroughly. The pirates selected a route to a newly built agricultural area that the target figure was about to inspect; the location was relatively remote and easy to strike. They sent their most elite henchmen, those best at infiltration and kidnapping, equipped with non-lethal anesthetic weapons and restraining gear, aiming to take the person away silently.
A few days later, the opportunity came.
Caelus was indeed as the intelligence suggested, driving an unremarkable small transport ship alone and landing in an open space in the agricultural area. He was still wearing that cheap black coat, hands in his pockets, walking down slowly. He looked no different from the busy workers around him, only his temperament was more composed.
"They're certainly willing to put a lot on the line, actually sending you to carry out this mission."
The woman whispered to the person beside her.
"Hmph, likewise."
There was more than just one person; there were fully over twenty of them.
The plan was to incapacitate him as quickly as possible, then stuff him into a prepared transport crate and take him away. Several people hid specialized capture nets, several held electric shock devices, and several others pointed launchers loaded with potent anesthetics at the man's neck and arms.
"Look, the soil here is particularly suitable for growing crops... it would be such a shame not to develop it."
Caelus spoke to the old farmer.
"Hehe, Officer, this..."
"Oh, don't call me 'Officer.' I'm just a businessman with no real skills; I just know how to teach people to farm."
"How could that be, Lord? I've heard that a kind-hearted Emperor sent a group of Heavenly Gods to help us drive away the pirates, so we don't have to scavenge for food in the trash. This old man would even kowtow—"
"If you respect me, then stop calling me 'Lord' and 'Officer.' Old man, just treat me like an ordinary young lad." Caelus supported the old farmer, preventing him from kneeling.
This scene was fully observed by the pirates lying in ambush in the distance.
"See that? Look how respectful those people are to him! There's no mistake; he's definitely a big fish!"
The elite pirates beside him nodded one after another, their eyes burning as they stared at the figure talking to the old farmer in the distance. In their eyes, that kind of heartfelt respect was definitely not an attitude one would have toward a mere "errand boy."
"If we catch him, we're bound to make a massive fortune."
"Stop talking and get ready to move! He's leaving!"
Caelus exchanged a few more pleasantries with the old farmer, telling him to take care of his health, before waving goodbye. He thrust his hands back into his coat pockets and, having finished his business, sat down on a roadside bench.
This was the perfect moment to strike.
The pirates lurking in the shadows exchanged glances and made silent hand signals. The net was slowly tightening.
"Now! Go!"
With a low shout, over a dozen dark figures suddenly lunged out from behind various covers, surrounding him with rapid movements. Their actions were meticulously planned, with clear divisions of labor: those responsible for shooting, netting, and close-quarters control.
"Whiz—!"
Several needles filled with potent anesthetics shot toward Caelus from different angles, trailing an almost imperceptible sound of breaking air.
"Restrain him! Don't let him struggle!"
Two pirates holding electric prods immediately rushed forward, pressing the tips against Caelus.
Caelus was "serviced" with the full set by the group.
"Damn it, take this guy away, quickly!"
"Hey, hey, hey, who are you guys?"
Caelus looked at the group in confusion as they hoisted him up and prepared to leave.
"None of you are going anywhere!"
Clang, clang, clang!
Three light mechs flew in from the distance and landed on the ground.
"Electromagnetic interference!"
With a hum, the three mechs actually froze in place momentarily.
They were about to reach the extraction ship when the pirates turned around and shouted at the pursuing soldiers.
"I suggest you don't move, otherwise we won't mind cutting this guy's tongue out first!"
"Hey! You guys, don't do anything reckless! Let the innocent man go!" The soldier clearly didn't realize the hostage was Caelus at first and was still issuing warnings. "Kidnapping is a serious crime!"
The pirate holding Caelus gave a sinister laugh and pressed the blade harder against Caelus's neck. "This guy is an important figure to you, isn't he? I'm warning you, back off immediately, or I'll cut off his fingers, then his tongue, and then his eyes!"
The blade was tight against his skin, sending a cold sensation. Caelus blinked, seemingly just now fully grasping the situation—oh, he had been kidnapped.
"Um..." He tried to speak, his voice as calm as if he weren't a hostage.
"Shut Up!" The pirate's blade moved a fraction closer. "Dare to say one more word, and I'll cut your tongue out first!"
As expected, the soldiers didn't dare to advance further, staring tensely at the scene.
No, something seemed wrong.
The soldiers looked at the hostage, whose expression wasn't all that nervous, and the more they looked, the more familiar he seemed... "..."
The Boss?!
The soldiers gasped.
Seeing this, the pirates became even more certain they had captured someone extraordinary. They laughed triumphantly. "Scared now? Too late! Tell them to back off, now!"
Caelus:... "Yeah, back off."
Caelus looked up and spoke to the soldiers.
The soldiers were now completely certain. That face, that voice, that natural demeanor, and that aura.
Hiss.
They felt a strange sense of sympathy... No, wait!
We're screwed!
Cold sweat began to break out on the Captain's forehead.
Sympathy my ass!
The Boss was kidnapped in the area he was responsible for!
Yes, the Boss would definitely be fine; the Boss could crush a planet with a single slap—everyone in the company knew that.
But he was in trouble!
"Capture me instead! Let him go!"
"Do you think we're idiots? Back off!"
Dammit!
The Captain wished he could swallow these pirates whole. He watched helplessly as his own Boss—the "Emperor" who could crush planets with his bare hands and whose fleet could make interstellar pirates tremble with fear—was currently held at knifepoint by a few suicidal pirates, all while wearing a "very cooperative" expression.
"Don't do anything reckless!" The Captain's voice was trembling. "We can negotiate any terms! Let him go!"
One more hostage is still one more hostage.
As elite pirates, they were confident they could control two.
"Drop your weapons!"
After being thoroughly searched, the Captain stood beside Caelus, but he didn't resist.
Because the Captain knew he couldn't beat this group alone, but more importantly, he couldn't ruin Caelus's plan—that was a matter of professional attitude.
Seeing Caelus give a slight nod, the Captain breathed a sigh of relief.
Well, Caelus's appearance clearly suggested he had a plan. To be carried to victory by the Boss, the Captain felt a little excited just thinking about it.
The two of us are truly impressive.
Seeing the Captain "obediently comply," the last trace of doubt in the pirates' minds vanished, replaced by sheer ecstasy.
They had indeed caught the right person.
Even an officer who looked like an elite was hesitant to act; the weight of this hostage was even greater than they had imagined!
"Quick! Get them both on the ship!"
The two were shoved and quickly escorted into the pirates' small assault ship. The hatch closed, the engine let out a low roar, and the assault ship immediately took off, speeding toward the asteroid belt where the pirate fleet was hidden.
Inside the cabin, Caelus and the Captain were ordered to sit on the floor back-to-back, their wrists bound by specialized magnetic restraints. Several pirates stood guard with guns, their eyes wary but mostly filled with the smugness of a successful plan.
The Captain nervously glanced at Caelus out of the corner of his eye, only to find his Boss with his head bowed, seemingly... dozing off? He could even hear Caelus's steady, light breathing. Caelus was indeed a bit sleepy. Having handled high-intensity official business and galactic construction continuously, even he needed rest. The monotonous, rhythmic hum of the pirate ship's engine, the slight vibration of the cabin, plus the energy spent on the "cooperative" performance just now, all contributed.
Oh no, the Boss is asleep; I won't get chopped up by the pirates, will I?
But then again... he had a miniature bomb hidden in his mouth. He'd have a chance if he spat it out when the time came.