The low-frequency curve on the monitoring screen was still jumping, like a twitching earthworm. Ye Mo's fingers were pressed against the edge of the Enter key, and metal shavings from the previous calibration were still stuck under his fingernails. He didn't move, not even blinking, but his ears were more erect than the newly sprouted shoots of Groot.
Suddenly, the main radar turned red.
It wasn't the gradual red; it was a blood-red light that exploded with a "pop." Five enemy ships jumped in directly from outside the G-7 warning circle, only 37,000 kilometers away from the base entrance, a full twelve seconds faster than the simulation.
"Coming." Ye Mo's lips parted slightly, his voice lower than the airflow in a ventilation duct.
The moment the words left his mouth, three short tremors came from the tip of Groot's root system—this was their pre-arranged code, the "bud" code was triggered. The camouflage vegetation on the ground shook violently, the backup sensor nodes were automatically activated, the main control screen flashed, and the lost target was locked again. It turned out that the enemy ship had released a jamming pulse during its jump, briefly blinding the main radar, but Groot's Perception Network remained intact.
Ye Mo flicked his right fingertip and typed the "Ember" command.
The full-band countermeasure protocol was activated, and blue light suddenly filled the control panel, severing the false communication source. The enemy's plan to locate the base's coordinates using signal reflection was immediately thwarted.
"Damn, you actually dare to come?" The Rocket roared from the weapons bay, its claws already gripping the EMP torpedo launcher. "I've been heating up the gun barrels for three days, just waiting for you bunch of purple-skinned scum to deliver yourselves to my doorstep!"
Star-Lord didn't waste any words either. The Milano's engines roared, the ship flipped and pulled up, deliberately exposing its rear, its heat source signal shining brightly. The three enemy ships immediately took the bait, turned around and gave chase, and the fan-shaped encirclement formation instantly broke open.
"Decoy activated." Ye Mo stared at the data stream, muttering, " Rocket, fine-tune the angle, deflect 0.3 degrees to the left, increase the cooling valve pressure by 0.2."
"I'll listen to you, you in a suit." Rocket cursed, turned the knob, and three EMP torpedoes silently slid out of the launch silo and disappeared into the enemy ship's wake.
Gamora moved almost simultaneously. She darted out from the shadows of the side corridor, her sword still sheathed, and slid along the edge of the observation window. Ye Mo's Spatial Perception data was projected in real time onto her pupil-contact display, with a red dotted line marking the communication points of the remaining two enemy ships.
She rose into the air on the blast wave, and as she landed, a flash of light appeared, severing the encrypted relay line between the two enemy ships.
"The communications are cut off," she whispered, tapping her toes as she retreated into the shadows.
Almost simultaneously, Groot moved. The ground suddenly bulged, and vines burst forth from the earth like steel bars, one of which precisely entangled the landing gear of an enemy vessel preparing to make an emergency landing. The ship struggled twice, was pulled off course, and plunged headfirst into the rock formation, exploding into a ball of orange fire.
"Beautiful!" Rocket roared. " Groot, your skills are good enough to build the high-speed rail in Wakanda!"
The first wave of combat ended, and the enemy assault team suffered more than half its losses. But Ye Mo's brows remained furrowed.
"The main control ship's shields are activated." He stared at the screen, his tone turning serious. "Full-band shielding, EMP ineffective, laser deflection—even Groot's roots can't penetrate."
As expected, the remaining enemy ships began to tighten their formation, their shield generators emitting a deep purple light film while simultaneously releasing large amounts of interfering smoke to obscure external visibility. Several damaged warships took the opportunity to retreat, clearly intending to stabilize their position before launching a second attack.
"Trying to run?" Ye Mo sneered. "System, scan the energy flow."
A silent notification sounded in the brain: [ Telepathy Fragment activated, target locked]
His vision distorted slightly, as if someone had dripped some alcohol into his eyes. Through the smoke, he "saw"—the enemy ship's shield generators would have a weak energy return flow every 0.8 seconds; that was the charging interval.
" Rocket, coordinates X7-9, Y3-1, attack the third heat sink on the right side of the shield node." Ye Mo spoke rapidly, "Don't use EMP, switch to armor-piercing rounds."
How many shots?
"Three, 0.2 seconds apart."
"Are you crazy? So dense?"
Trust me, or they'll run away.
Rocket gritted his teeth and furiously tapped on the control panel. Three miniature armor-piercing projectiles were launched from the base's hidden compartment, tracing three almost overlapping trajectories and hitting the same spot precisely.
boom!
A burst of electrical sparks erupted from the shield node, instantly triggering a chain reaction that spread throughout the entire main control ship. The power system overloaded, the smoke generator stopped working, and the shield collapsed.
"Good heavens!" Star-Lord whistled in the cockpit. " Ye Mo, is your brain equipped with a quantum calculator?"
"It was a system notification." Ye Mo casually deflected the blame, adjusting his glasses as he did so. There was a new crack on the edge of the lens, a remnant from the last battle, but he was too lazy to replace it.
Now is not the time to change your glasses.
The enemy ship was paralyzed in the airspace, and the remaining units were in complete chaos. Some were trying to restart their engines, some were throwing out escape pods, and two unfortunate guys were hurling insults at each other on the communications channel, their Kree profanities louder than Rocket.
"Shall we clean up this mess?" Gamora asked, her hand returning to the hilt of her sword.
"No need." Ye Mo shook his head. "They're already crippled. Attacking them further would just be venting our anger. We're not assassins."
After he finished speaking, he looked down at his hands. His knuckles were still a little white, from gripping too tightly. He slowly loosened his grip, leaving a few nail marks on his palm.
The lights in the control room returned to normal, but the alert level remained at level two. On the screen, the Milano hovered above the base, with a charred scratch on its left side, a result of the evasive maneuver. Star-Lord didn't mention the damage, simply instructing the system to perform a self-check before continuing patrols.
Rocket sat in the weapons bay chair, a jammed bullet between his claws, grumbling as he dismantled the magazine. "I should have asked Dr. Pym to install an automatic chamber clearer for me. Manually clearing it every day is exhausting."
Groot stood still, its body motionless, but its outstretched roots were still entangled in the wreckage of the crashed enemy ship, its branches trembling slightly, as if listening for the last sound.
Gamora retreated to the side corridor, her sword sheathed, but she remained in the same spot, her gaze fixed on the observation window. It was pitch black there, but she knew that the darkness lurked the next potential threat.
Ye Mo didn't move.
He was still sitting at the control panel, his back straight, his glasses askew and he didn't straighten them. The data stream on the screen kept refreshing; the enemy ship wreckage was drifting slowly, there were no new warp signals, and no hidden units were approaching.
Everything quieted down.
But nobody is relaxing.
Star-Lord's ship was in a hot-start state, ready to take off at any moment; the Rocket's cannon coolant was still circulating, and the temperature display was normal; Groot's roots hadn't retracted, but instead had quietly extended forward half a meter; Gamora's breathing was light, but each inhale carried a battle-ready rhythm.
Ye Mo raised his left hand and adjusted his glasses once again.
This time, the movements were a bit slower.
The lens reflected the void outside the base, with debris floating like scraps of paper. Among them was a twisted metal plate, the insignia of Ronan's fleet faintly visible. It slowly rotated, its reflection flashing on and off, like some unfinished last words.
His right hand rested on the control panel, his fingertips hovering above the emergency protocol button, at the exact same distance as at the end of the previous chapter.
But now, he knows—
True silent vigilance never begins until the enemy appears.
It begins the moment you decide to stop blinking.