Chapter 60: You All Have Made Me Lose Face

Oumia No. 3 has completely turned into a massive construction site.

Hundreds of millions of civilians, day and night, are buried in the ground, digging continuously.

With Nest City as the center, the surrounding earth is filled with endless trenches.

Behind the trenches, countless convoys bring in materials from outside, and using these, innumerable fortresses are rebuilt within Nest City.

During work breaks, civilians must take Rifles for assault training; when factories cannot produce enough weapons at once, they first use wood or iron sheet to simulate.

The soldiers personally selected by Black Watch are organized in groups of one million each, and Xisi mobilized ten groups at once.

At this moment, tens of millions of soldiers and over a billion armed civilians are firing countless training barrages at an exaggerated rate each day.

Meanwhile, various cannons from the factories are continuously pushed into newly built fortresses or mounted on high walls.

Xisi is busy employing every means to prepare to face Tyran, while a faint A-space Fluctuation appears in the unattended sky above.

Deeper into Octarus, farther from the Empire, as the spatial fluctuation settles, a Cobra‑class destroyer unlike any Imperial force, with a uniquely distinctive style, appears in the void near Oumia No. 3.

The destroyer bears no markings of the Mechanical Church, the navy, or the National Church; only a side armor plate displays a symbol utterly unfamiliar to the Imperial Army.

Ordinary soldiers do not recognize it, but in this moment in Octarus, the symbol is widely known.

Because the destroyer belongs to the merchant ronin Falomoer Family.

Unlike ordinary merchant ronins, the Falomoer Family possesses awe‑inspiring wealth.

Simply stating numbers cannot truly prove their riches, but for the Empire's high‑level star sector officials, they only need to know that the Falomoer Family not only dares to send warships from Octarus, bearing Tyran's hammer, to trade with the Green Skin.

They also organized a fleet to aid the Saint‑Blood Angel's Bar Guard battle, merely to win the Saint‑Blood Angel's favor.

If all that still does not make people take this family seriously, then as a merchant who openly funds Kiriman's Unyielding Expedition, surely no one in the entire Empire would dare show any disrespect toward them.

At this moment, the Falomoer Family's destroyer is quietly moored not far from Oumia No. 3.

Soon, a scanning light curtain, unlike any Imperial technology, blankets the entire planet.

Inside the destroyer, a middle‑aged man dressed lavishly, his face full of merchant cunning, watches the data transmitted back by the scanner with great interest.

Beside him, besides a large number of private mercenaries from the trade fleet, stands a tall alien wrapped in strange close‑fitting armor plates.

Of course, the formal name for these aliens is: Spirit Race.

Their faces, like elves, are so handsome that gender is hard to discern, but the surrounding trade crew, compared to their beauty, focus more on the obvious Spirit Race skull insignia on their armor.

Because this insignia means that their trade fleet captain is currently dealing with a Spirit Race Pirate.

"Not bad, this scanner is indeed far more useful than our Imperial equipment."

Kailuo repeatedly nods at the clear global image before him, while the Spirit Race Pirate Fami'er behind him watches his approval and, in a distinctly pirate‑like bluntness, reminds:

"According to the agreement, this Imperial world should be handed over to us."

Kailuo withdraws his gaze; faced with such direct dealings with an alien over an Imperial world, his face shows not fear but a friendly smile:

"Of course, the Empire is the Empire; business is business. This world is about to be flooded by Tyran anyway, so before that you may loot at will."

Fami'er shows unabashed contempt for Kailuo's merchant shrewdness; if it weren't for needing the various intel in his hands, how could he possibly cooperate with these monkeys?

But now the deal is sealed, Fami'er gently presses his forehead, closes his eyes to transmit orders to his Spirit Race pirates, and snorts coldly, reminding:

"If, as you say, the ground is merely helpless waste, I will naturally hand over the scanner technology to you afterward."

Close eyes, issue command.

Under Kailuo's repeated assurances, a dozen Spirit Race pirate shuttles, loaded with hundreds of Spirit Race pirates, silently fly toward Oumia No. 3.

Simultaneously on the Bridge, the scanner immediately locks onto the Nest City the pirates are heading for, transmitting clear images back.

But when the image arrives, not only does Fami'er startle, even Kailuo, who had been bragging, widens his eyes instantly.

Trenches, cannons, countless 'infantry'.

If many of those infantry weren't still in civilian clothes, Kailuo would even think the Empire had deployed a massive Krig here!

While Kailuo is surprised, Fami'er's sudden fury erupts:

"Didn't you say there was no preparation below?!"

Kailuo, facing the client's displeasure, his merchant eyes flick rapidly, then quickly says:

"After all, the Star Language Court's communications haven't been cut; perhaps they know Tyran is coming, so they began fortifying early?"

"And isn't this even better? Everyone's attention is outward, so you can more effectively plunder valuable goods and people."

Kailuo's explanation is barely plausible; although Fami'er feels something amiss, the situation forces him to proceed cautiously, one step at a time.

As long as the intel is correct—that this planet has neither Star Realm Army nor Astarte—those hundreds of Spirit Race are wholly unafraid of civilians who have spent their lives in steel coffins.

But as their shuttles draw nearer, when their front legs breach the atmosphere, the defending troops below suddenly sound the alarm; this time not only Fami'er but also Kailuo's muscles tense sharply.

Then the freshly manufactured anti‑aircraft guns on the ground pepper the sky.

"The Mechanical Church is here?!"

Fami'er erupts again, because in an ordinary Imperial world, how could there be a scanner capable of detecting Spirit Race shuttles?

Only technological creations with power at least ten times that of a standard scanner could locate them so quickly.

But this time Kailuo truly doesn't know how to explain, because a few months ago this place was not like this.

Now faced with a sky full of cannons, Kailuo's face is full of astonishment, while Fami'er grits his teeth and pushes on:

"It's fine; once we reach the ground, with our Spirit Race agility, your monkeys' reactions can't even hit us."

Kailuo, having no desire to flatter them, simply passes the brief shock, his eyes then lock onto Oumia No. 3 as if spotting a treasure.

What others deem bizarre is, to a merchant ronin, a massive treasure trove awaiting discovery!

After all, the demand for breaching defenses is growing; if this place truly holds something peculiar, or something that could turn the entire war, even a single piece of information sold to the Judgment Court would mean terrifying wealth.

While Kailuo continues to scrutinize Oumia No. 3, a sudden gasp of cold air beside him abruptly pulls him back to the Bridge.

Seeing Fami'er's face turn instantly pale and the surrounding human crew stare in shock, Kailuo's curiosity rises as he looks at the image returned by the scanner.

A group of Spirit Race pirates near the Tower Top collapses uniformly onto the ground; their bodies bear no wounds except a uniform hole in each forehead.

Opposite them stands a squad of human soldiers clad in black, fully enclosed combat suits, their faces oddly colored.

At this moment, the soldiers stared at the Alien Form that leapt directly in front of them, and the puzzled expression on their faces was clearly reflected back.

And Kailuo, who is best at reading people, quickly realized that the soldiers' puzzlement was actually curiosity about the Alien Forms......

Why jump in front of them to die?!