"Refine"

In the dark gray void of the Northern Front, several Federation transport ships slowly sailed into the airspace of a newly occupied stronghold.

The ships' dark gray paint gleamed with a cold, hard sheen amid the energy currents unique to the Astral Battlefield, while the Federation emblems along their hulls flickered beneath the lights.

The transport ships' holds were filled with construction materials, defensive equipment, and garrison supplies.

Over the coming months, these supplies would turn this territory, once belonging to the Feathered Human Civilization, into the Federation's northern outpost.

Shen Jin stood atop the stronghold's watchtower, watching the transport ships dock one after another at the hastily built berths.

His longsaber hung at his waist, its sheath coated in a layer of gray-white dust—the mineral powder scattered from the surrounding rock walls after they had been shattered by energy impacts.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. It was hard to say whether that expression was a smile or something else.

"The third batch already," he said, his voice hoarse, as though he were speaking to himself, yet also to the person beside him.

Qin Wu stood at his side.

For once, this rugged Grandmaster was not carrying his signature battleaxe. Instead, he wore a garrison combat uniform, its collar open to reveal his solid collarbones and a glimpse of the pale blue tattoo above his breastbone.

Qin Wu folded his arms across his chest. His thick black brows were drawn together as he stared at the docking process, muttering under his breath.

"Slow. Too slow. At this rate, it won't be finished in half a year."

Shen Jin turned his head and glanced at him.

"What are you in such a hurry for? The territory isn't going to grow legs and run away."

"I'm not worried about the