Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Seven

Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Seven

The Lanna Star, a border star system.

This was once just an ordinary planet in the Federation's border region—commonly backward, chaotic, and with disordered security. However, due to its unique geographical location, it became a temporary rest stop and interstellar transfer station for many interstellar mercenaries embarking on adventurous journeys.

Despite this, Lanna Star was generally a peaceful place. The interstellar mercenary groups always maintained an unspoken agreement not to disrupt this rare "resting place." After all, these sanctuaries were vital for them, providing a place to recuperate and resupply, akin to how caravans traveling in the desert would never damage an oasis or water source.

But this peace was predicated on the fact that Lanna Star was a small planet, without an overabundance of mercenary groups. Once the number of groups increased, reducing the distances between them, various disputes and frictions naturally arose.

Being in the same line of work, it was inevitable to make a few enemies.

Here's how the story unfolded:

A notorious mercenary group, known as Group A, arrived at Lanna Star to discuss a highly lucrative contract. The group's leader personally led the team. As they left the spaceship parking area, they ran into their arch-enemy, Mercenary Group B. With a reputation and power similar to theirs, the two groups had become enemies over unspeakable past incidents and had had numerous conflicts since.

As soon as the leader of Group A saw the leader of Group B, the latter also noticed them. The air in the parking area became tense. Both sides were like beasts encountering each other at the edges of their territories, baring their hidden fangs.

The leader of Group A actually didn’t want to create additional problems: the situation between the Federation and the Empire was becoming increasingly delicate, making it harder for interstellar mercenaries to earn money. They were eager to complete this lucrative contract and lay low for a while. War is the most unpredictable thing in the world. If the Federation and Empire went to war, they wouldn't know how long or far the conflict would spread—they might go hungry for a long time, making this contract crucial.

The leader of Group A was about to signal his deputy to put away their weapons and let the other group leave first, but unexpectedly, the other side put away their weapons and stepped back.

"You go first," the usually hot-tempered leader of Group B said indifferently to his rival.

The leader of Group A raised an eyebrow slightly.

"What's the matter? Being so polite today?"

"Cut the crap and get moving. If you don't leave, we'll leave first." The other's tone was blunt but lacked real hostility.

Although the leader of Group A found the situation somewhat unbelievable, he chose to accept the temporary truce.

Priorities matter.

Both parties, fully equipped and solemn, left the spacecraft port without any commotion.

However, the leader of Legion A hadn't anticipated that this was just the beginning.

Upon entering the territory of Lana Star, their scouts immediately headed to their pre-arranged observation posts. To their surprise, not only were Legions A and B present on Lana Star, but also C, D, E, F, and G. The planet had never been so bustling. Walking down the street, you might find every other person you meet is a fellow mercenary.

Due to the overwhelming number of their peers, the social space became extremely constrained, leading everyone to forget the rule of not disturbing the "place of rest." In that strange month, the frequency of brawls among the legions on Lana Star escalated unbelievably, only to decrease just as quickly. Mid-fight, they realized the sheer number of their kind on the planet and, for some reason, nobody wanted to leave. If they continued causing trouble, they risked exposing themselves to the official military forces that could come and wipe them out. Why give them the satisfaction?

Thus, on the third day of their gathering on Lana Star, an informal order emerged: The three strongest legions, A, B, and C, established a verbal ceasefire with the others, agreeing to jointly punish any violators.

Peace quickly returned to Lana Star.

Meanwhile, the leader of Legion A contacted their employer, informing them of their arrival on Lana Star and subsequently received the first installment of their payment.

They had previously inquired about the nature of their mission – revenge. Their employer wanted to target an obscure organization on a nearby planet.

"Obscure" was relative; the employer had provided information on the organization. To Legion A, it seemed like an easy target – small, low-profile, and unremarkable. Eliminating such an organization seemed like a simple task, so they readily accepted the mission.

"The client who's funding this mission wants to meet us tomorrow at the 'No Drunkenness Bar,'" boasted the leader of Legion A, "This is a lucrative deal. Judging by the speed of their payment, they're not the type to make us chase them for money."

Good clients are rare. Everyone prefers dealing with straightforward, hassle-free employers. But those hiring interstellar mercenaries often have dirty work in mind – can they really expect to encounter upstanding individuals?

The leader of Legion A, an Imperial with formidable strength, had founded this legion ten years ago. Despite his youth, he had short black hair and sapphire blue eyes, his appearance as flawless as any Imperial's. His demeanor was casual and he seemed good-natured, lacking the violent aura typical of a criminal. However, his sly gaze could send chills down anyone's spine.

"After we finish this mission, we'll disband for a while," he decided after some thought, "If anyone wants to leave for good, they're free to do so."

He had a strategist in the legion, a man of few words but great wisdom.

"I trust your intuition as our leader," the tactician said. "It's just that I find Lanna Star somewhat peculiar."

"It is peculiar," the young leader slowly stated. "But those guys are tight-lipped, and it's not our place to pry. Anyway, our target isn't on Lanna Star. We'll conduct our business and leave without getting involved in local affairs."

Someone else might inquire, curious about what could make so many mercenary groups wary of staying on this planet. Could it be some rare treasure map that had emerged?

But he wasn’t interested in such things.

A day after receiving the deposit, he went to the Never Drunk Bar to meet with the client, as requested.

Before leaving, the client had asked, "Best if you come lightly equipped."

Meaning no heavy weaponry and fewer people.

The leader of Group A felt a slight alertness but didn't plan to back down: "May I ask why?"

The client's response was, "The bar is too crowded to accommodate everyone."

"..." The leader of Group A was momentarily speechless.

The client was so generous, yet on such an important day for discussing the mission, they didn’t even book the whole bar? Couldn’t they at least reserve the second-floor private room?

After he suggested this, the client replied, "How do you know I haven’t booked the entire place?"

"..." If the entire place was booked, how could it still be too crowded?!

A very bad feeling suddenly dawned on the leader of Group A.

He said to his tactician, "I think we should head back."

The tactician replied, "But the guys were all looking forward to this as the last job before vacation. Expectations are too high; I'm afraid they won't take it well. Plus, we've already taken the deposit. Leader, we can't go back on our word."

So, they reluctantly headed to the Never Drunk Bar.

In compliance with the client's request, only the leader, the tactician, and three or four elite brothers accompanied them, though they still prepared weapons and escape methods in advance—they even suspected it might be a trap. But considering the substantial amount of money involved, it seemed unlikely.

Even so, when the leader of Group A opened the door to the Never Drunk Bar, he was taken aback.

Inside, the bar was eerily quiet, filled with people both upstairs and downstairs, all wearing strange expressions. These were the various mercenary groups that had been lingering on Lanna Star for days. Everyone present was a notable figure in the industry, making it an all-star lineup of mercenaries.

The leader of Group A felt a twinge of discomfort.

How much money did this client spend to gather so many notorious mercenaries? Were they planning a rebellion? Had he known, he would have returned the deposit and never set foot on Lanna Star.

"Ah, more have arrived," a red-haired young man emerged from behind the counter, casually pulling out a form and a pen, "Hello, please sign here and then choose a seat you like. Snacks are on the house, and drinks are unlimited refills, all free."

Group A Leader: "..."

He took the pen and signed his name on the paper: Orolus.

After signing, Orolus pushed the form back, leading his brothers to a corner, where they sat in silence for a moment.

"Boss," one of his team members said, "We came here for some shady dealings. Why does it feel like we're at a conference?"

Indeed, it was like an interstellar mercenary conference, gathering heroes from all over.

Orolus took a deep breath: "Let's first see what the person issuing the mission has to say."

Previously, there hadn't been any specific requirement that they had to carry out the mission alone. The client hiring more people seemed acceptable.

...But this was excessive!

The only reason Orolus could think of was that the mysterious and wealthy client wanted them to compete for the job.

The deposit was given and usually non-refundable, but if there was only one payment for the final job and it required competition among so many—no, that was absurd. Was the client planning to offend all the well-known mercenary groups in the industry at once?

Now the question was, where was the client?

Orolus sent a message to the client, who replied instantly: "Since you've arrived, please come to the private room at the end of the corridor on the second floor. It's your turn to talk."

Oloros snickered, downing the strong liquor at the bar in one gulp, and spoke to his companions:

"Let's go and meet this oddball."

This wasn't Oloros' legion's first visit to this bar; they easily found the meeting spot mentioned by their client.

The private room was simply furnished with a brown wooden table and a few old chairs, one of which even had a broken leg. Three teenagers—two girls and a boy—sat opposite them, lining up across the table which was strewn with many papers, giving off the air of interviewers.

Oros began to feel a headache coming on.

The situation he least wanted to see had unfolded—these individuals appeared to be naive nobles, probably slighted by some organization, and now flaunting their wealth by hiring a mercenary group for retribution.

...Such a task was juvenile and demeaning.

But he quickly reconsidered his initial thoughts.

The posture of the three teenagers suggested military training. Apart from the girl in the middle who was buried in documents and whose face was obscured, the other boy and girl both wore cold expressions, their eyes cautiously and discreetly sizing up Oros.

They had disguised their appearances. Oros came to this conclusion first. That meant these kids weren't as foolish as he thought.

Perhaps they had other reasons.

"Mr. Oros, right?" the girl in the center spoke, her voice eerily familiar to Oros, as if he had heard it somewhere before, "The main purpose of our talk is to reiterate the dangers of this mission. Yes, the target is an obscure organization, but precisely because we know so little about them, unexpected events could occur at any time during the mission. In other words, I'm offering a high price, but I can't guarantee your safety. You can choose whether to take this risk... Of course, if you refuse, you don't need to return the deposit. But that will be the end of our cooperation."

"Miss, if I'm to sit down and talk calmly with you, you need to show some sincerity," Oros sighed. "It's like warning someone going on an adventure to a barren star about the possibility of meteor showers—of course, anyone might encounter them. We're mercenaries, used to risking our lives. But you warn us of dangers without specifying them... Isn't that deceitful?"

"You were lying earlier. You don't really want revenge on that organization. If you had a grudge against them, you should at least know something about them—yet you act as if you've never seen them before," Oros said.

"I have a feud with him, but that doesn't contradict the fact that I've never seen him," the girl raised her eyebrows. "It's a generational feud, understand?"

The boy sitting beside her couldn't help but take a deep breath and roll his eyes lightly.

Oros: "See, even your companion can't bear to watch."

"Don't mind him," the girl said nonchalantly. "The person I seek revenge against is his relative, so it's normal for him to be upset."

Oros: "..." How is this situation even more complicated than he had imagined?

"Although I've hired many people, the task I'm giving to you is different," the girl said, straightening a few documents in her hand. "To ensure the secrecy of the operation, I'll only include the strongest mercenary groups in the core plan. I have high hopes for your group, but this also means you'll be at the forefront of this mission, facing the greatest risk of casualties. That's why I need to confirm your willingness in advance."

The more Orolus listened, the more uneasy he felt.

Typically, clients just provide the money, assign the task, and then step back, waiting for the results. But this situation suggested the client planned to personally orchestrate the operation.

Which meant that the client was the chess player, and they, the mercenaries, were merely pawns.

Pawns on a chessboard cannot make their own moves. If the player is incompetent, they could be doomed.

Orolus: "...Are you planning to use us as an army at your disposal?"

"Mercenaries are a kind of army, after all," the girl replied nonchalantly. "You can do everything a regular army can, can't you?"

Orolus: "As per industry norms, a mercenary group doesn’t easily obey external commands."

"If you're questioning my command skills, let's test them," she suggested, waving her hand to project a holographic image of a tactical chessboard. "If you can beat me in a game, I'll drop the request."

"Such a childish way to decide..." Despite his words, Orolus still engaged in the contest.

Half an hour later, he lost, looking crestfallen.

"Alright, command will initially rest with us," the girl nodded. "However, the actual commander might not be me, but my companion. You've met him; he was the one who handed you the form downstairs. All the mercenary group leaders before you lost to him in command tests, including, but not limited to, the tactical chess we played. That's why it's so quiet downstairs."

Orolus lowered his eyelids. He had seen the person downstairs, unremarkable apart from the red hair, and forgettable, likely due to a deliberate disguise. When he tried to recall specific features, he couldn't retain any vivid impressions.

"I agree to undertake the mission you've assigned," Orolus said after a moment of silence, relaxing his shoulders and leaning slightly back into his chair. "But we circle back to the original question. What kind of danger will we encounter?"

The girl also fell silent for a while, then slid a few papers across the table toward him.

"Star worms, smart machines, viruses," she said. "The worst possibilities are probably these."

Orolus was startled, taking the papers and scrutinizing them, his heart pounding at the contents.

"...To put it bluntly, this is serious enough to warrant military intervention," Orolus frowned. "If you have this information, why not submit it directly to the Federal Military?"

"Probably because the Federal Military and he, in a sense, are on the same side. Besides, the military is busy preparing for war and likely won't bother with such 'trivial' matters."

The girl took a sip from her cup. Being close and perceptive, Orolus could guess she was drinking a mix of orange and pear juice—she didn't even dare drink alcohol, yet here she was, brazenly managing such a complex and far-reaching issue. Orolus didn't know whether to mock or admire her.

"So, what do you say?" the girl asked during Orolus's silence, "After reading these, do you still have the guts to take on this mission?"

Orolus pondered for two seconds: "I need to think about it."

"Alright. By the way, you can copy the virus information to review it carefully. Just so you know, this virus is particularly harmful to Aresians. I suggest keeping any Aresians in your group on the periphery during the operation." The girl stood up, handing him the documents to scan with his light computer.

Orolus flipped his wrist, bringing up his light computer, and suddenly asked, "Is there really such a terrifying virus in this world?"

"...Yes," the girl replied. "The most important objective of this mission is not to completely destroy the enemy but to find a cure for the virus there."

Whirring sounds of scanning.

After Orolus finished scanning the documents, he closed his light computer and composedly instructed his subordinates to leave first.

His subordinates promptly followed his instructions without hesitation.

"Do you have any more questions?" the girl asked him.

"The Federation and the Empire might go to war," Orolus said, staring intently at her face. "And you said that organization is almost in cahoots with the Federal Military—does this mean the virus could potentially be used as a weapon by the Federation in the war?"

The girl in front of him paused, seemingly caught off guard by his sharp insight.

She smiled briefly, raised her hand in a shushing gesture, and whispered, "Don't reveal this to anyone."

Mercenaries also have political affiliations. For various reasons, there are more Federation citizens than Imperials in this group—though they've given up normal lives to earn money in gray areas, they still have friends and family.

Orolus stepped closer and pressed, "You are from the Ares Empire, aren't you? But why did you contact us through a Federation noble family's channels?"

Due to the strong territorial consciousness of the Imperials, most mercenary groups dared only operate in deserted stars and the Federation's border regions, taking more jobs from Federation citizens. They had more frequent contact with Federation nobility, hence a closer relationship. It was also due to the nobility that many groups, despite unclear mission details, were still willing to give it a try.

Who would have thought the ultimate beneficiary of their action would be Imperials?

Orolus's forceful questioning didn't elicit any emotional reaction; she simply answered, "Perhaps because we have a common enemy."

...A common enemy.

This indicated a growing rift between the Federation's military and noble families.

This could involve very complex internal politics, possibly related to the current internal turmoil in the Federation. Logically, Orolus should have sensed the danger in this situation. As interstellar mercenaries with no advantage other than combat prowess, rash involvement could lead to a scenario where gods fight and mortals suffer.

—With his usual caution, he should have declined this assignment.

But he kept poring over the viral research materials, the data lingering in his mind. These data were clearly derived from patient studies. The virus was not only highly virulent but also severely damaging to Imperial psychic bodies, essentially rendering Imperials incapacitated. If such a virus were to spread widely... the future of the Ares people being wiped out or enslaved seemed imminent.

Orolus felt he couldn't just stand by and watch.

True, he wasn't exactly a model citizen. There were reasons why he left his family to become a less than respectable interstellar mercenary. But certain principles had to be upheld.

"I will discuss with my brothers in the group and get back to you as soon as possible," Orolus said. "I’ll keep your Aresian identity a secret. In the end, I'll bring as many people as are willing to join. Also, do you have enough funds? If not..." His expression turned pained, "I can forego my share so you can hire more people."

Girl: "…Have you seen your expression? You clearly want the money, so why make such a sacrifice?"

Orolus: "Let me be frank, you've hired too many groups. Since everyone's tasks are different, the rewards can't be the same. And don’t idealize mercenaries too much; be wary of them banding together to raise their price."

"It's the noble family paying you, not me, so I don’t mind," the girl looked down. "If things really get out of control..."

Expecting her to reveal some backup plan, Orolus watched her strategize, only to hear her say:

"If things get out of control, I’ll call my parents for help."

Orolus: "…"

He felt his toothache intensifying: "Can you please be serious?"

"I am serious," she insisted.

"Fine," Orolus sighed, covering his face with one hand, "Since we’ve come this far, we might as well exchange names. I’m Orolus Wilder. You don’t seem like an officer at your age… Which family’s scion are you?"

"Hmm, sure you want to know? But, of all the leaders I’ve met, you’re the smartest, so why not?" Her light computer on the wrist flickered, and her form rippled like water for a moment, revealing a face Orolus would never forget, "Hello, I’m Baisha, Baisha Lorin."

Orolus: "…"

His face turned utterly blank.

"By the way, thanks for the reminder. I’ll be mindful of the specific deployment of these groups," Baisha's smiling face was cast in a light shadow. "Actually, I'm not too worried about these mercenaries betraying us. If it comes to that, I’ll threaten them—if they don’t fulfill their promise, I’ll send a message to the Imperial fleet that they’ve kidnapped me. What’s the maximum sentence for kidnapping the Imperial crown prince, again?"

Oros: "..."

Bai Sha: "Don't be so serious, I was just joking."