Chapter 258: Leisurely Stroll in the Courtyard

Punishment's bridge.

Mi Lan Da, seated in the captain's seat, watched through the right-hand holographic screen as Thunder III used the heat‑melt cannon's beam to successfully pierce the enemy flagship's outer hull and glide unimpeded inside.

Jump‑formation confirmed successful.

She immediately said, "Reverse course, notify all squadron pilots to depart the enemy flagship together with this ship, and focus on dealing with the remaining two Cockroaches."

"Yes!"

Outside the ship.

The Punishment, under the crew's control, changed direction, its speed unchanged, and brushed past the flagship.

Three carrier‑based squadrons that had completed escort duties advanced alongside Punishment, relying on the close‑in gun's fire network to dogfight the relentless enemy aircraft.

A Viking fighter.

Inside its cockpit were faint engine roars and the pilot's steady breathing.

Beyond the window lay the silent, icy void, and a dazzling "silent" battle of colored cannon clusters and trajectories streaking by.

The pilot, clad in a fully sealed pressure suit and a holographic helmet covering his face, gripped the control stick with his right hand, allowing him and the Viking to dart through the enemy swarm.

Beep—! Beep—!

A sudden rapid alarm sounded, warning that he had been locked on by enemy aircraft and that dense clusters of small cannons flashed past from the rear of both wings.

Seeing this.

The pilot swung his right hand sharply and pulled back.

The aircraft rolled to the right, then decelerated, allowing several enemy ships inferior to the Viking to surge straight into the pilot's view.

They also entered the Viking's gun range.

At the instant the helmet completed the lock, the pilot pulled the red trigger without hesitation, causing the Gauss cannon to spew a blue‑light fire‑snake.

Boom—! Boom—!

The 25 mm spiked rounds ripped those enemy craft to shreds.

Threat eliminated.

The pilot immediately pushed the stick forward, letting his Viking skim beneath Punishment to avoid colliding with his own mother‑ship.

He then readjusted the aircraft's angle, giving him a clear view of the entire contested sector.

Punishment had already broken out of the three enemy ships' encirclement and was altering course, preparing to strike the nearest Cockroach.

After all, assisting Tu Te Mo Si with the jump‑formation doesn't mean the battle is over—it's only just begun…

———————

…

Inside the enemy flagship.

In a large, warehouse‑like compartment whose walls were light purple, numerous ground‑armor units with turret structures resembling plump beetles were parked.

Here were also many "aliens" of various races.

The most numerous were a "chubby" race under a meter tall, waddling unsteadily, each bearing a massive "oxygen" tank and a breathing mask.

These chubbies gathered in groups of three to five, occasionally shouting "Ya—!" or "Wa—!" in startled bursts.

When other races passed by, the scent of their bodies—or the oxygen leaking from their masks—prompted them to hasten away.

It seemed only this chubby race's breath was special enough to require dedicated breathing gear.

And the smell could be extremely pungent.

Given their short, stout, cowardly, comical, sluggish and smelly traits, calling them "Gulu" is more fitting.

Next were a lean, hunchbacked race even more stooped than the golden‑armored commander's, averaging about 1.8 m tall, resembling wolves.

These wolf‑like beings maliciously shoved and struck the Gulu, emitting irritating, high‑pitched "gag‑ga!" laughs.

But the Gulu dared not resist, silently enduring.

Besides these two races, the most numerous were a herd of "Beasts."

They were tall, massive, extremely strong, averaging over 2.6 m, with lush hair covering gray skin, resembling Earth's apes.

By human aesthetic standards, their grotesquely ugly faces made "Ghost‑faced Beast" the apt name.

Ghost‑faced Beasts wore heavy, rugged armor and wielded simple, brutal weapons such as giant hammers, massive axes, and oversized‑caliber firearms wider than a human wrist.

Finally, a few "Elites," scarce in number, donned ornate armor, equipped with the finest weapons, and belonged to the same race as the fleet commander.

Awo! Awo awo!

At this moment, a blue‑armored elite shouted furiously at two Ghost‑faced Beasts, as if reprimanding them.

Yet the Ghost‑faced Beast, seemingly stronger than the elite, like the bullied Gulu, dared to be angry but not speak, silently bearing the rebuke.

After the elite finished shouting and turned away,

"Peh!" a Ghost‑faced Beast spat foam toward the direction it fled.

"Roar!"

The other, even managed to seize the wolf‑like creature that had just pointed and mocked them.

!!

The wolf‑like creature, its neck gripped by a Ghost‑faced Beast, thrashed wildly, pleading in a language only they could understand.

With a "ka‑ba" snap, the Ghost‑faced Beast still snapped the wolf's neck, then, as if discarding trash, tossed the limp corpse aside.

Plop!

Ah—!

Ya—!

The body landed squarely among several Gulu, startling the chubbies into shrieks as they raised their arms and fled in all directions.

In that case.

The alien forces that declared war on the Punisher and Harvest Star are a 'Union' composed of different species.

Furthermore, internally there is a clear hierarchy.

The most numerous but weak Gurulu should be at the lowest tier, while the few elites belong to the command tier.

The main point is how the various races get along, especially the Ghostface Beast's resentful attitude toward the elites, making it easy to guess that this 'Union' harbors serious internal dangers.

If the management fails to control it, internal war is likely to break out, causing the 'Union' to fall apart.

Just as they were jostling and secretly opposing each other inside the warehouse……

Whoosh—!

Emitting orange-red light, the extremely high-temperature melt beam burned through the warehouse's upper bulkhead, directly 'vaporizing' the nearby Jackal People, Gurulu, and Ghostface Beasts.

At the instant the melt beam disappeared.

Boom—!

It was the sturdy Thunder III, which rammed forward, taking an alternative crash-landing approach, crushing three enemy beetle-shaped armor units.

Whoosh—!

Accompanying Thunder III's entry into the warehouse also caused a difference in internal and external pressure, and the 'howling gale' sought to suck the warehouse's gas out to the outside.

!!!

It also included the various clans of the 'Union' who were unaware of the situation.

Large numbers of Gurulu and Jackal People like them had no time to react before being sucked by the strong force into the cold void of space.

The Ghostface Beasts and elites, however, clung desperately to the seams of the bulkhead and deck.

Fortunately, the flagship isolated the outermost damaged area and lowered several bulkheads, allowing the warehouse's pressure to stabilize.

Those Gurulu and Jackal People still midair fell onto the deck, temporarily saving their lives.

All the clans of the 'Union' were thrown into disarray by the sudden change, and they realized that the Thunder III docked in the warehouse's center was the culprit behind everything that just happened.

Thus they rose again, took up miscellaneous weapons, and gradually surrounded the Thunder III.

Roar!

At this moment, a red-armored elite signaled to several Ghostface Beasts, gesturing for them to inspect the Thunder III up close.

No matter how displeased they felt inside, the Ghostface Beasts still nodded and obeyed the order.

But before they could step forward, the Thunder III's nose hatch suddenly opened, and then……

Clang! Clang! Clang! The bolt guns roared.

Pfft! Pfft-splutter!

The standard bolts' explosions, shattering and tearing fragile flesh, echoed throughout the warehouse.

Die! Die!

Go die, ugly aberration!

For Father! For Magnus!

At the same time, the Astate's unique metallic battle cry also echoed throughout the warehouse.

As the Thunder III's nose hatch opened, the long-waiting Tutmos reserves rushed out of the cabin in quick steps, surrounding the Union's soldiers from the opposite direction.

Thirty Tutmos, divided into five teams, are standard six-man tactical squads.

Two of the squads each have two members equipped with 1.0-caliber heavy bolts.

For instance, a Gurulu only one meter tall cannot withstand 0.75-caliber or 1.0-caliber bolt rounds; a hit or even a graze will blow their entire body into fragments.

The same goes for the Jackal People.

However, these despicable fellows have a metal device on their left wrist that can deploy a blue-green translucent energy shield, helping them resist the barrage of standard bolts.

But only once.

A single bolt shatters the shield, and its strong force snaps the Jackal Person's left arm and flings it away.

Before hitting the ground, the Jackal Person still midair is struck by another standard bolt.

The result is likewise a bodily explosion.

Purple-tinged blood and chunks of flesh fly outward, splattering nearby compatriots.

!!!

Faced with this unprecedented brutal assault, the Jackal People were the first species to collapse.

Even with their energy shields intact, they screamed and ran outward from the warehouse, unaware that exposing their backs to the Astate was the stupidest thing they ever did in life.

In less than a breath, Gabriel and his brothers led the charge in slaughtering the Jackal People.

In contrast, the lowest and weakest Gurulu still maintained basic morale.

They gathered around the Ghostface Beasts and elites, especially around the elites, wielding small 'U'-type pistols, firing tiny green-light projectile bursts at the Tutmos.

It seems that as long as they have a backbone, the Gurulu will continue to muster courage and fight.

Ghostface Beasts and elites……

Howl!

The Ghostface Beasts, whose base height exceeds that of ordinary Astate, let out beast-like roars, some even wanting to swing giant hammers and axes to engage the Tutmos in melee.

But ultimately they are merely flesh and blood.

No matter how strong or sturdy their physique, they end up being dealt with by just a couple more bolt guns.

Their severed limbs and chunks litter the deck, oozing dark-red blood, while their heavy armor proves utterly useless.

On the contrary, those equipped with excellent weapons capable of continuously firing blue-light projectile bursts, and splendid armor that can generate energy shields, have movement and reaction speeds far surpassing the Union's elites, and they survived a volley of fire from the Tutmos.

At least two bolt rounds are needed to shatter the shield of the blue-armored elite.

And that sole Red Armor elite somehow endured the barrage of six explosive arrows before turning into a clump of flesh oozing dark‑purple blood.

Fifteen seconds passed.

The gunfire ceased.

Inside the warehouse, apart from thirty of Tutmos's reservists, only a bloody mess remained, with hundreds of Alliance soldiers slaughtered clean.

"Dong, dong."

A Tutmos stepped out of formation, approached a ghost‑faced beast that had only its upper half left and was crawling in struggle, lifted his left foot and stomped down.

"Pfft!" he said, crushing the ghost‑faced beast's body, spraying plasma everywhere, and then coldly remarked:

"Mincemeat."

The label 'mincemeat' fittingly applied to those hundreds of Alliance soldiers.

Their sole achievement before death was to leave a few high‑temperature scorch marks on Tutmos's ceramic‑steel armor and to consume a small amount of explosive arrow compound.

"Don't be careless," Gabriel warned his brothers at that moment: "We don't know the enemy; this is only the tip of the enemy flagship's iceberg, so stay alert."

Having finished the warning,

Gabriel continued, "Now split into two squads, clear the aberrations as much as possible while searching for their commander, behead or capture him, to reverse the disadvantageous situation of the Punishment."

Upon hearing this,

the brothers nodded, divided into two groups, used the same sensor‑opened automatic doors, and hurried out of the warehouse, leaving behind the old Thunder III.

A pilot officially assigned to Umbrella closed the cockpit hatch, contacted the Punishment, reported the current status, and remained on standby.

Even though Gabriel didn't leave a tactical squad to guard, the pilot wasn't scared; he was even prepared to manually overload the Thunder III's small fusion engine if needed.

After all, a successful jump gang has only two possible outcomes:

Either eliminate all enemies and achieve the decapitation,

or the operation fails, and the Astate of the jump gang is all killed.

If the latter occurs, the pilots of the Thunder series will go down together with the enemy vessel.

Either way, it will deal a heavy blow to the enemy, not in vain.

Moreover, judging from the current situation, it seems this pilot need not sacrifice his precious life for humanity.

At this moment,

inside a wide corridor that seemed to connect various zones…

"Tang! Tang!"

"Ya!!"

"Aoo!!"

a spectacular "symphony" was unfolding.

Gunfire intertwined uniquely with the fearful, angry, and resentful roars of all races.

Gabriel was seen leading fourteen brothers, strolling leisurely through the enemy ship's corridor.

Even if the enemy used cover, a mere peek would be met with a precise explosive‑arrow headshot.

Among the Alliance's soldiers, only the more numerous ghost‑faced beasts, and the few but well‑equipped elites, posed any threat to Gabriel and his men.

In no time, the corridor was cleared.

Or rather, the visible Alliance soldiers were eradicated.

Before Gabriel's group could advance further, the automatic door at the far end suddenly opened, letting a horde of unseen foes rush into the corridor.

(End of Chapter)