He's a Talent, But Lock Him Up for Two Years

"Of course." Augustus leaned back in an exquisitely carved rosewood chair with intricate patterns, casually clinking glasses with Raynor beside him. He drank the amber liquor, but his words made Colonel Orlan across from him change color. "As I recall, you're a wanted criminal with quite a price on your head."

As Augustus spoke, his gaze fell on the purple tapestries in the dining hall that flaunted wealth and nobility, and he sneered at them. Fashionable people in the Koprulu Sector nowadays believed that wealthy people had no need to cram their homes full of displays of riches—unless they were simply desperate to show everyone.

"A former Confederate rebel? At the very least, you should've been hauled off to New Folsom," Raynor said, glancing at Orlan.

While the empire's first and second-in-command were intimidating someone, Tychus simply helped himself to the wine and food. He had always liked mooching meals and drinks off Augustus. He was just like that Royal Cerebrate that had put on thirty kilograms in a single winter.

On the other side, heaven bore witness—upon hearing this, the former Confederate colonel's thick mustache trembled. He hurriedly argued, "Ever since General Duke was captured by you people, Alpha Squadron has existed in name only. When the Earthlings took Tarsonis and dissolved the Confederate Congress, we could only go our separate ways."

"Some of my former comrades joined anti-Empire organizations like the Confederate Restoration Movement, but I didn't," Orlan hurriedly said. "After the Confederacy fell, I knew the Terran Dominion wouldn't tolerate former accomplices of the Confederate government. I could only find some like-minded partners and start a mercenary business in Deadman's Port. Whoever paid more got our services."

Just like Orlan's fickle, profit-driven nature, his words were not credible. Even now, Colonel Orlan still dressed like a federal