Chapter 592: Landing

The starship sped rapidly through the vast starry expanse, as personnel clad in white protective suits activated the vessel under Ye Nan’s orders.

These personnel genuinely feared Ye Nan; they had heard every word of his conversation with Emperor Sidious, and the thought that this bloodthirsty demon spoke as an equal to Sidious filled them with dread.

“Respected Majesty, the AI has already set the course to Dagobah. Shall we initiate the jump now?” one worker asked with a nervous smile, terrified that this demon might kill him on a whim—there would be no one left to mourn him.

“Begin.” Ye Nan ordered.

“How long until we reach Dagobah?” Superman Clark asked.

He had been blasted away by two secondary cannons, unharmed but dazed by the super-ion cannon’s impact; only just now had he returned to the ship, by which time it had already fallen under Ye Nan’s control.

“If we move fast, one hour will suffice—but this is a hive world. We’ll likely face interference,” a worker replied, silently mourning the crew outside.

They had been ordered to bomb and clear the insects, yet now their mothership had abandoned them; barring misfortune, they’d be stranded on this insect-infested planet for an unknown time. If lucky, they’d encounter another starship and escape; if unlucky, they’d be overrun by insects—or worse, find the entire planet turned into the hive’s core. Then their fate would be grim.

As for defeating the insects—don’t joke. Even with mothership supplies, overcoming them would be difficult. How much more so for soldiers cut off from resupply?

Though the insects appeared worthless in the first bombardment, they always grow stronger with each battle. When only one insect remains on a planet, its combat power surges—though this requires immense luck.

“Will we face interference from insects on their home world?” Superman Clark asked.

“Space worms,” Ye Nan, silent until now, suddenly spoke. “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know their exact methods. Can you explain?”

Sensing the worker’s tension, Ye Nan’s voice softened. “Speak. Don’t fear—I’m not one who kills capriciously.”

“Not one who kills capriciously?” the worker muttered inwardly. He didn’t mention how Ye Nan had demanded Sidious kill Princess Leia out of irritation, nor the bloodbath on the ship—but even that alone revealed what manner of man he was.

He didn’t believe Ye Nan’s words, yet he still bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Majesty.”

“Space worms employ treacherous tactics—but they’re not very effective.”

“Usually, when we initiate a space jump, space worms follow us into the tunnel and gnaw at space itself, causing major disruptions. But rest assured, Majesty—their speed is slow. We can exit the tunnel before they finish devouring it.”

“What if their numbers suddenly surge?” If the space tunnel collapsed, they’d plummet into unknown territory. If an alternate dimension corridor existed, fine—but if not, they’d be doomed.

The worker claimed space worms ate slowly, allowing escape before full consumption—but any quantity, once multiplied, changes the nature of the effect.

“Impossible,” the worker laughed. “Space worms are extremely rare. Our Galactic Empire’s researchers studied them and discovered a unique trait.”

“If their numbers exceed a threshold, they turn on each other.”

“Turn on each other? How so?” Ye Nan asked.

“Space worms are peculiar beings. They consume a special energy within space—only by devouring it can they grow and survive. Like crocodiles: when a hatchling is born, the mother cares for it. But once it grows slightly, the mother drives it away. Those who refuse meet a grim end.”

“Because one region’s resources cannot sustain many crocodiles. The mother expels the young. The same applies to space worms.”

“Space worms move extremely slowly. By the time they finish consuming one patch of space, they’ve barely reached the next. If too numerous, they starve after their siblings devour the available space.”

“Thus, over time, they developed an instinct: no large group of space worms coexists in one space. If too many appear, they kill each other until numbers drop to a sustainable level, then resume feeding.”

“So that’s how it is,” Ye Nan said, finally understanding after the worker’s explanation.

“Therefore, Majesty, we needn’t fear space worms destroying the tunnel—only avoid the vacuum patches they’ve already devoured,” the worker flattered.

“Initiate the jump,” Ye Nan waved dismissively—he was impatient.

According to his instructions to Lu Ke, Lu Ke should reach Dagobah at maximum speed. Even if delayed by unforeseen factors, Ye Nan still needed to arrive there as quickly as possible.

Before the roar reached them, the ship shuddered, then broke through the blue sky, hurtling into the boundless void.

The main cannon gathered energy; the space-jump device activated. In an instant, colossal power pierced space, carving a tunnel.

“Coordinates locked.”

“Target planet scanned.”

“No signs of large space worm populations.”

“Space stability confirmed.”

“All systems nominal.”

Workers stared at their screens, continuously reporting data to verify tunnel integrity.

“Departure.”

…

Dagobah was a distant, fog-shrouded swamp world. In every star chart, it was invisible, a phantom planet absent from all records—because it held zero developmental value.

Precisely because of this, it became the last refuge of Master Yoda, the final Jedi Master and Council member.

But that peace was shattered. When a massive, monstrous warship emerged from space, this isolated world could no longer remain untouched.

“Scanning planetary terrain,” a worker’s fingers flew across buttons, directing the starship’s sensors. Soon, an image appeared on screen.

The entire planet was encircled by trees and foul swamps. Vast lagoons served as homes for terrifying serpents and other dark-water creatures. Winged creatures with leathery skin flew through mist-laden skies.

From the ship’s scans, the planet showed no trace of human technology—it remained utterly primitive.

“Majesty, shall we begin descent?” the worker turned to ask.

“Descend,” Ye Nan nodded.

The starship swiftly entered Dagobah’s atmosphere. Birds scattered in panic beneath its monstrous hull—this sudden giant was so colossal, it overwhelmed them utterly.

“Is this really Dagobah?” Ye Nan stared at the screen, moved.

Though he’d known the environment was harsh, seeing it firsthand revealed he’d underestimated its brutality.

Fog blanketed everywhere. Strange creatures of all kinds abounded. Occasional thumb-sized oddities darted about. Spiders, centipedes, and other venomous life crawled freely. The entire planet was a vast, rotting jungle.

From appearances alone, Ye Nan doubted any ordinary human could survive here. Even Jedi Knights would struggle—after all, they were merely ordinary humans, despite their power.

As Ye Nan questioned whether any life could endure here, Dagobah’s climate shifted. Whirling storm systems and lightning erupted wildly, soon engulfing his starship.

“Majesty! Massive lightning strikes!” a worker cried, voice frantic.

The starship was metal, and though insulated against lightning, its immense electromagnetic waves could penetrate the shielding and severely disrupt systems.

“Massive lightning? Why did it appear suddenly? Can’t our instruments detect weather?” Ye Nan snapped.

Standard warships or spacecraft always had weather-scanning functions—to avoid landing or taking off during thunderstorms, since such conditions threatened even the most delicate instruments.

“The instruments detected no weather anomalies. This… this…” the worker faltered. In their advanced civilization, planetary-scale analysis was unimaginably precise.

Such a failure was impossible. Yet here it was—and the worker had no explanation.

“Perhaps… it’s artificial,” the worker stammered, contradicting himself.

No technological traces found in scans, yet now he blamed human interference—he himself was confused.

“Artificial? Is it Master Yoda?” (To be continued.)