Starting from the Planetary Governor

On one hand, both were disappointed in their hearts.

Yet to call it bad didn’t quite fit either, since they simultaneously put aside their disappointment and exchanged words rather smoothly.

The governor always wore a smile, making one feel at ease like basking in the spring sun. Commander Matins and his Starfighters maintained their cold and austere expressions—but that was simply their style; they’d always been that way.

Gu Hang was able to compose himself because he had come to terms with his feelings. The Phoenix Battle Group was more wrecked than he had imagined, which indeed disappointed him; however, even if there were only seven of them, each was an incredibly strong man. He even wondered whether his own forces, now numbering over a thousand soldiers, combined with him as a Spiritual Energy user, could face these seven head-on in battle?

The chances seemed slim.

So what was there to say? These seven Starfighters still represented a decisive force.

Moreover, if this battle group had been less decimated—if they had about a hundred men, one or two great starships, and a crowd of Mortal Auxiliary Army—what would there be for him to do? He’d probably be put to use by the Phoenix Battalion Leader, lucky to even serve as a logistics manager.

Instead, the opportunity seemed greater now.

In comparison, Gu Hang was more curious about the attitude of this self-proclaimed Phoenix Battalion Leader, Matins.

Their conversation could be put nicely as mutual understanding or, less flatteringly, as rambling about nothing in particular—they touched on many topics, but none of them substantial. So why did the battalion leader, despite keeping a stern face, still engage patiently in this trivial chatter?

Even when Gu Hang delved into their past experiences, he could sense that Commander Matins was resistant from within, seemingly unwilling to answer such questions. However, just when Gu Hang thought his inquiries were perhaps too bold, Commander Matins followed his lead, sharing some of their experiences and battles over the years.

That was quite peculiar.

The Emperor’s Death Angels were not usually talkative—not that they couldn’t converse, but they often saw themselves as distinct from so-called mortals.

They always saw themselves as descendants of The Emperor, inheritors of his genetic legacy, his Angels, who, though born of humankind, were transcendent. Among them, some were kind to mortals, others cruel, and yet others indifferent—but regardless of their attitude, even if benevolent, it was a condescending benevolence, the grace of Angels upon mortals.

In a normal situation, if Gu Hang broached a topic the battalion leader found displeasing, it wouldn’t be surprising for the leader to bristle with rage, or at least frown, refuse to respond, or change the subject.

Reluctantly giving an answer seemed to signal a particular stance from the battalion leader.

Why was that?

I am seeking your help, could it be… you are also seeking mine?

And what are you seeking?

Gu Hang recalled the wording of the event description.

[A Starfighter Battle Group on the brink of extinction, having finished a century of penitential expedition, is approaching Rage Owl Star, which seems to hold the redemption and hope they are seeking.]

On the brink of extinction, seeking redemption and hope…

Oh, you want to rebuild your battle group, and you need my help, is that right?

But why me?

From the way things look around here, poverty-stricken as we are, how could I possibly seem capable of helping you rebuild a battle group?

Is it because of the system’s functions? Has the system made you believe that I can help you?

The key is, the system hasn’t told me how to help.

Gu Hang kept a smiling, sincere, yet dignified demeanor in his exchange with Commander Matins while internally he was panicking quite a bit.

“`

However, as they talked, Gu Hang gradually let go of these thoughts and became enchanted with the stories that Matins recounted.

Matins’s storytelling was not systematic. He merely narrated snippets of missions they had carried out during the Redemption Expedition.

But…

On the Star Sea Battlefield, amidst relentless artillery fire, undertaking boarding actions and seizing ships; plunging deep into enemy territory, alone, to destroy heavy weaponry positions; penetrating enemy-filled Nest Capitals to eliminate the heretics and traitors lurking within; facing massive alien beasts, cleaving off their heads…

Those exploits sounded too legendary to be true.

Gu Hang let out a long sigh and said, “Commander Matins, your experiences are deeply moving. Regardless of what others may think, I believe you have already atoned for whatever sins you may have committed, no matter how grave. The Emperor certainly won’t blame you any longer. You are great heroes and shouldn’t wander aimlessly through the Star Sea.”

Pausing, Gu Hang continued, “Although the conditions here aren’t the best, if you don’t mind, I am willing to offer the Phoenix Battalion a place to stay. You are welcome to rest and resupply here anytime. I know it may sound presumptuous, but if you wish, Rage Owl Star is also ready to become your second home. My doors are always open to you.”

With that, Gu Hang had turned around, facing the battalion leader, who was much taller than himself.

In their gaze, he appeared candid, sincere, and enthusiastic.

But Matins hesitated.

As an Angel of the Divine Emperor, he avoided the gaze of a mere mortal.

“I appreciate the Governor’s generous offer, but I need to consider it further,” he said.

…

Within the camp, Gu Hang had already arranged for a house to be cleared out temporarily for the Phoenix Battalion to stay in.

They were too tall, resembling seven small giants. The houses built for normal human needs seemed somewhat cramped for them.

But that was the best they could do with the available accommodations.

Fortunately, they didn’t have many demands regarding their living conditions.

Though in a safe environment, in theory, not one of the seven warriors took off their armor; at most, they just removed their helmets.

They were seated together, when a bald, square-faced warrior with three golden service nails on his forehead spoke in a muffled voice, “Phoenix Battalion Leader Matins, I don’t understand why you were so polite to that mortal earlier.”

“Brother Schneider, we all fight for the Divine Emperor, we are all His subjects, and we should not be overly proud. We must show the basic respect due to a Planetary Governor,” Matins replied.

“But I don’t see it that way. Battalion Leader, do you still believe that mortal is our salvation? A mortal, a governor of a shattered world, who can’t even control his own planet—what can he possibly do to help us rebuild the entire battalion? We are just wasting time here!” Schneider’s attitude was far from respectful.

He touched the service nail on his forehead, a symbol of his pride.

A golden service nail signified one hundred years of service to the battalion. Three nails meant he was a veteran of three hundred years. He always believed himself more suited for the position of battalion leader than the younger Matins.

Yet, when the position became vacant, he had passed over the responsibility to Matins.

He almost wished he had died in battle with the previous leader, rather than live under Matins’s command—although, in truth, he found the present uncertainty even more undesirable.

He knew that the Phoenix Battalion currently had no room for power struggles; they needed unity. Even though he did not completely recognize Matins as the battalion leader, he would obey commands unconditionally, as it was his duty as a warrior.

But while matters were still under discussion and no orders had been given, he was not going to mince words. He would ask bluntly and openly what was in his mind.

And he believed this doubt was not his alone; it lingered in the minds of his brothers-in-arms as well.