Meanwhile, elsewhere on the Admire, in the combat command center…
Burningum was reporting the latest updates to Mo Chen.
"The Lawrence family has donated ten billion credits to support the Navy's upcoming expedition. They've also promised to offer all necessary logistical assistance. At the same time, they've stated that everything that happened before was just a misunderstanding, a reckless act of an individual family member. As for the legal punishment handed down by the Major General, they fully support it."
Mo Chen sat at the head of the command table, swirling the red wine in his glass. He watched the rippling waves of liquid, a faint mocking smile curling at his lips.
"They're quick on the uptake, huh."
To be honest, after taking out those brats at the banquet, Mo Chen had been planning to use the Lawrence family as a warning shot—shake them down for a bit of coin or something.
After all, he'd been busting his ass for humanity, fighting wars for what felt like a tenth of his life. What was wrong with enjoying himself a little?
Who would've thought the Lawrence family would be so slippery: practically sliding in on their knees before he even had the chance to knock on their door.
It kind of took the wind out of his sails. Made it hard to stay mad.
"Can we find some excuse to just wipe them out?" Mo Chen asked Burningum.
Burningum broke into a cold sweat.
Was the Major General actually trying to pick a fight just for the hell of it?
This was the Lawrence family they were talking about. One of Ark's oldest noble houses, a name that had endured since humanity first moved underground. Their influence in the upper ranks wasn't just significant, it was borderline untouchable.
Wipe them out? Just like that?
"Forget it," Mo Chen waved his hand, his interest fading. He didn't feel like going through the trouble. "Go tell the Lawrences: this money is a little light. Have them send a few hundred million more. Reason? Say their people dirtied up the floors of the Admire. Cleaning fees."
Burningum was dumbfounded.
That was highway robbery!
"Isn't that a bit... much?" he asked hesitantly.
"What's so bad about it? I'm already letting them off easy." Mo Chen snorted coldly, a sharp gleam flashing through his eyes as he set the wine glass down on the table. "Behind the scenes, they've been involved in all sorts of shady shit: colluding with the Heavenly Ascension in the Outer Rim, trafficking humans and Nikkes, organ trading… every last one of them deserves to die."
He'd already had Dolla from Tetra look into the Lawrence family's background.
"That's that. Oh—and the other noble families too. Have them cough up some donations. They've got more money than they know what to do with. Tell them I'm short on cash. Call it a bribe. And if they refuse, just say the Admire's planning a live-fire test. Still need targets."
Mo Chen waved a hand dismissively, clearly done with the conversation.
Whether the Lawrences got the message or not, he didn't really care. If they didn't, he'd be happy to help them "get it." After all, he considered himself pretty talented in that department.
As for the rest of the aristocracy… it was time for some ideological education. Their sense of morality clearly needed some work.
Targets?
Burningum wiped the sweat from his brow.
This commander was way more ruthless than he'd imagined. Why the hell hadn't he noticed it before?
Wait, no—he'd always been this brutal.
Mo Chen suddenly remembered something from yesterday and asked Burningum.
"Right, what happened to those terrorists yesterday?"
"The terrorists who infiltrated the Admire have all been apprehended with the help of external units," Burningum reported, and the moment they switched to official matters, his stammer vanished completely.
In fact, he didn't stutter at all: he had only been pretending.
"After confirming their identities, they turned out to be exactly what you said, Major General. They belonged to Heavenly Ascension. They stole and implanted ID chips from invited guests, intending to use the donation event as a chance to blow up the VIPs all at once during the queue, wiping everyone out in a single strike."
Burningum's gaze toward Mo Chen grew more reverent.
With almost no intelligence beforehand, Mo Chen had somehow identified the presence of Heavenly Ascension aboard the Admire and even told him to deal with it. And sure enough—not only were they there, there were quite a few.
Even Burningum himself hadn't received any warning.
What did this mean?
It meant Mo Chen had his own intelligence network: one sharp and fast enough to beat even official sources.
"All thanks to you, Major General. If the Heavenly Ascension had detonated their explosives, not only would the VIPs have been hurt, the Admire itself could've sustained serious damage."
To that, Mo Chen just sighed.
"If I'd known that, I would've let them do it. Would've saved us the trouble by blowing those damn nobles sky-high. Less parasites to deal with."
Burningum was dumbstruck.
Only someone like Mo Chen could say something like that.
Mo Chen waved it off. "Take me to see one of those so-called terrorists."
Heavenly Ascension was notorious for its brainwashing—most of its operatives were fanatics willing to die. He wanted to see for himself what they were really like.
"Yes, sir."
Under Burningum's escort, they passed through two corridors, three elevators, and two heavily fortified overlapping fire zones before arriving at the Navy's prison.
The Navy's prison wasn't some castle fortress, nor did it have strange seastone restraints or toilet-bound gas-bomb freaks: it was just a plain-looking facility.
The only standout feature? A nuke-level explosive buried beneath the entire structure—if it were ever breached, the place would self-destruct instantly.
Inside, the prison reeked of cold and mildew. The walls were mottled with age, streaked with time's wear.
The air was heavy with a musty rot, like an invisible specter that crept into the lungs, making it hard to breathe. The damp floor seemed wrapped in a ghostly mist, and every step came with a sticky sensation, as if the very ground was whispering its suffering.
In a dim corner, flickering pale light barely lit the space, like it had seeped in from another world, casting everything in an eerie glow.
Mo Chen walked up to a cell. Inside was a haggard man, filthy and unkempt, skin deathly pale, face twisted. He was mumbling something under his breath—then suddenly, his empty eyes snapped wide open and he lunged like a rabid beast!
"You'll never kill us! You vile bastards! Justice will never die! No matter what you do, I won't yield!"
The terrorist had clearly gone mad, slamming against the thick iron bars, arms thrashing, trying to claw at Mo Chen.
Justice? Can't be killed?
Mo Chen was genuinely curious.
So, he kicked him.
With a loud bang, his boot slammed into the man's chest, sending him flying along with the metal bars, as thick as a wrist, which snapped and launched into the wall.
With a splat, the impact painted the wall with tomato-red gore.
He lied.
Mo Chen was disappointed.