Star Rank Hunter

Chapter 427: Another Peak (End)

Someone above was detailing Cillin’s crimes, painting Beythor in such a light that anyone who hadn’t lived through it would have thought him a warm, dedicated figure who had bled and died for the Star Alliance.

The man reading the indictment was a familiar face—Cillin had met him not long ago during his visit to the Sixth Army.

It was Gleyre, the primary head of the Sixth Army’s secret experimental base.

Thinking back, among all the moles the legion had planted inside Miracle, why had every single one failed while Gleyre alone succeeded? And why had he just happened to bring back an intact Dream Tapir?

Regardless, the Dream Tapir affair was now in the past. Gleyre’s true allegiance had finally come to light: he served Beythor.

To read such hypocritical words without so much as a change in expression required a remarkably thick skin. Yet Cillin felt no shame facing these charges; the one who ought to feel humiliated was the Sixth Army’s marshal, Kachira.

Gleyre standing there reading the indictment clearly hadn’t been sanctioned by Kachira. In fact, Kachira likely hadn’t even known Gleyre would step forward to do this.

Many high-ranking members of the legion knew Gleyre belonged to the Sixth Army and was deeply trusted by Kachira. Given the circumstances, everyone present would naturally link this back to the marshal. With Gleyre standing up there, it seemed obvious that Kachira sided against Cillin. However, Kachira had remained silent until now, and now...

Cillin glanced over. Kachira’s face was livid. Given the chance, he would probably rush across the hall and strangle Gleyre with his bare hands.

Kachira truly hadn’t wanted to wade into these muddy waters. Early on, he might have intended to join the opposition to force Cillin into surrendering the Shortcut technology. But as the situation escalated and drew in more factions, he had lost any desire to clash with them. He had originally planned to abstain at the end, never expecting Gleyre to pull a stunt like this.

Kachira cast a grim look at the old politicians and snorted.

Cillin ignored the formulaic recitation, focusing instead on the shifting magnetic fields around him. He could already sense that familiar frequency of variation.

There were plenty of people defending him as well. Lung went so far as to curse out a senior senator right in front of the entire assembly. The normally unflappable senator was berated until his face turned from pale to red, and from red to black. Yet he couldn’t easily talk back; knowing that speaking further would only expose more openings, he simply swallowed his tongue.

Behind Lung, old Beljett was so anxious his hair was practically standing on end. He tugged at Lung several times to no avail. Young Master Lung unleashed every bit of rage he had bottled up over the past twenty-odd days, delivering it with unusual clarity, rigorous logic, and a refined technical vocabulary that made it all the more infuriating.

Knight and the rest had no speaking rights, but that didn’t stop them from cheering. They clapped as loudly as they could, deliberately cranking up their amplifiers to amplify every palm strike.

Though the room descended into noise for a time, the heavyweights seated in the upper tiers didn’t say a word. To them, this was mere childish squabbling. Almost everyone who had come here already knew which way they would vote. Whether the room argued or not, the outcome would be the same, so there was no point in lowering themselves to bicker with the younger generation.

Standing behind Sihuang, Pianhuo watched the display with a tight frown. Things didn’t look promising. Judging by the reactions during the argument Lung had incited, securing a majority vote still seemed precarious. She couldn’t tell what those who had shown no emotion whatsoever were waiting for.

Sihuang had no interest in listening to the kids squabble. After stifling a yawn, he glanced toward Yin Wushe, who was busy sharing a bucket of ice cream with his pet mouse, looking thoroughly unbothered. As far as Sihuang knew, Yin Wushe held Cillin in high regard, yet even now he showed no major reaction.

Little Ice Cream, cradling the large bucket alongside Yin Wushe, suddenly twitched its ears. It stopped eating and looked up toward the ceiling of the hall—or rather, past the roof and out into the void beyond.

“What’s wrong?” Yin Wushe asked, biting down on his spoon.

After quietly sensing the air for a moment, Little Ice Cream flicked its ears. “That fat cat is here. And... a few other things, I think.”

The monitoring stations across the planet had also detected magnetic field fluctuations in the local area, and the variations were rapidly intensifying. But with the trial currently underway, the station master decided against interrupting the proceedings, opting instead to bolster defenses and suppress the news.

Inside the Supreme Tribunal, the arguments drew to a close, giving way to the voting period.

An hour was set aside for the voting process to allow the adjudicators time for careful deliberation. However, those who had remained silent weren’t taking time to think; they simply preferred to cast their ballots at the very last moment. Out of caution, they wouldn’t commit their votes early, whereas those who voted right at the start held unwavering stances.

As time ticked away, the atmosphere in the hall grew tense and strange. Lung and his group looked visibly stressed, whereas the opposing side maintained an air of indifference. Yet another portion of the crowd appeared uneasy; once a vote was cast, it would inevitably offend one side or the other. Although the voting was nominally anonymous, everyone knew that anyone with enough resources could dig up the records.

After half an hour, fewer than three-fifths of the assembly had voted. The remaining two-fifths sat waiting, while private messages buzzed back and forth behind the scenes, urging people to make their move.

At the forty-minute mark, the figures in the highest tier sensed that something was wrong. They immediately established contact with personnel outside. As reports came in, the upper-tier decision-makers deepened their frowns, their expressions confirming that a serious issue had arisen.

“It should just be an isolated anomaly. Besides, while the magnetic field variance has persisted for some time, it hasn’t crossed the warning threshold. It ought to pass shortly...”

Before the station master could finish his sentence, the magnetic variance spiked violently, soaring into an extremely dangerous range within seconds. It was enough to trigger maximum-level alarms across the entire planet. But barely moments after the sirens began to wail, they suddenly went dead. It wasn’t just the warning systems—every piece of electronic equipment, from lighting to communications, began to malfunction. The golden lights inside the tribunal flickered wildly, while the climate control systems gradually ground to a halt.

Packed with such a crowd, the hall quickly grew stuffy and hot.

Panic spread through the room. What was happening? Nothing like this had ever occurred before!

The three members of Heaven’s Edict seated at the top ordered the roof of the Supreme Tribunal to be opened immediately. If an evacuation became necessary, the ceiling offered the largest escape route.

As the glowing golden roof retracted, every interior light died completely. All communication devices inside were paralyzed, and every piece of electronic machinery went on strike at once, leaving the display screens covered in garbled code.

Yet none of this drew the crowd’s focus; their attention was captured entirely by the sky above.

It was broad daylight, yet a brilliant, nebular vortex had appeared overhead, stunningly prominent against the expanse of the sky. It felt close enough to touch, yet impossibly out of reach.

In truth, the vortex was still some distance from the planet, but its sheer scale made everyone—whether on the five satellite moons or on the central planet itself—feel as though the ground beneath them was about to be swallowed by this beautiful, terrifying phenomenon.

At this point, no one gave a thought to Cillin’s trial. In their minds, his case was utterly trivial compared to the sight above.

A few still kept an eye on Cillin, including Pianhuo and Lung. They had originally intended to urge him to find a chance to slip away. They had learned through private channels that among those who had already voted, support for Cillin fell just short of a majority. Though the margins were close and some votes remained uncast, the risk was far too great; if possible, taking advantage of the confusion to flee was the smarter choice. But when they looked toward him, they found the accused sitting quietly in his seat, a subtle smile at the corners of his lips as he gazed up at the sky.

Yin Wushe smoothed down a tuft of fur on Little Ice Cream’s head and asked, “What is that? A Shortcut passage?”

Little Ice Cream stared wide-eyed at the heavens. Hearing the question, it replied, “It should be. But that vortex isn’t the only thing causing this disruption. There’s a machine-language radiation frequency at play, and more than one entity is generating it. The main source is that fat cat.”

By now, the people inside the tribunal were streaming out onto the surrounding plaza.

The broad space surrounding the tribunal was known as the Golden Square. This wasn’t because the paving itself was gold; rather, the specialized material reflected the tribunal’s golden glow, creating the illusion of shimmering light floating over the ground like some sacred realm from legend.

Even without electronic projectors or display screens, the crowd had other means to observe the space beyond the atmosphere.

As more people poured out of the tribunal, a modest starship emerged from the massive, nebula-dappled vortex. Compared to the colossal swirl of light, the ship looked utterly minuscule.

With everyone’s attention locked on the sky, the vessel drawing out from the vortex naturally drew every eye. What was more, the craft was instantly recognizable to many.

It was the Free Fleet of Vanguard’s Eleventh Squad!

They opened a Shortcut passage!

That was the immediate thought of everyone who knew the truth behind the scene.

Unlike the shock or dread felt by the rest of the crowd, Angenia felt a surge of tension and uncontrollable excitement. She had a distinct feeling that something even greater was about to happen.

Before anyone could voice their thoughts on the vessel’s arrival, a colossal hull materialized directly behind the Eleventh Squad’s ship. Compared to this monster, the small starship in front looked like a wooden fishing boat beside a grand luxury liner.

Solemn, magnificent, and displaying unhideable luxury alongside an undeniable aura of power, every line of the massive ship proclaimed its extraordinary origins. It was clearly not a vessel built by the Star Alliance, a fact evident from its exterior alone. But what shocked the crowd most was the emblem painted on its hull.

Upon seeing the mark, numerous eyes turned toward Angenia and her entourage from the Golden Beginning. Angenia, Yuan Sheng, Gen Xingfu, and Yuan Xingji all wore that exact same emblem beside their Golden Beginning badges. Ordinarily, onlookers would focus entirely on the prominent Golden Beginning emblem and ignore the smaller mark beside it. But now, the crowd turned in unison toward Angenia, murmuring among themselves.

If anyone tried to claim this new starship had no connection to the Golden Beginning, no one present would believe it.

Purisa stared at the emblem on the massive starship, then looked over at Angenia’s reddening eyes and trembling frame. To bring the Queen of the Golden Beginning to such a state of emotional disarray, it could only be related to that one man. Had the man whom the older generation in Sector S called a useless leech finally returned?

That massive starship was merely the beginning.

Following its arrival, more colossal starships of identical design poured through the vortex in steady succession, accompanied by slightly smaller warships. Their designs diverged sharply from the standard fleet vessels of the Star Alliance, exuding an unabashed, extravagant grandeur—or as Lung put it in his head, ‘a badass vibe reeking of nobility, overwhelming wealth, and sheer muscle.’

They clearly belonged to a single faction. What kind of power possessed such vast resources and manpower?

Ship after ship emerged, taking up positions in the space surrounding the central planet.

The crowd lost count of how many vessels had arrived. All they knew was that as far as the eye could see, the sky was densely packed, and not a single ship was smaller than the Eleventh Squad’s vessel that had led the way.

The onlookers on the surface saw only a fraction of the spectacle, but the Star Alliance space patrol fleet had a complete view. Every officer on duty stood dumbfounded and terrified. The fleet was impossibly massive, its presence suffocatingly intense. Arriving so suddenly and unannounced, it left everyone at a complete loss for how to react.

The three members of Heaven’s Edict possessed an alternate communication channel. After conferring with the space station personnel, they turned to the other leaders and announced, “The opposing party requests a meeting with our supreme commander.”

Having spoken, the three calmly scanned the crowd near Angenia, then glanced over at Cillin, who was surrounded by armed guards. Suddenly, light burst from their bodies. Within a instant, all three were encased in full combat Armor, their frames swelling to double their original size without losing a trace of fluid coordination.

Before anyone could get a clear look at the specialized Armor of Heaven’s Edict, three blurs flashed, and the figures vanished on the spot.

Cillin tracked the direction in which they had disappeared. What caught his interest was the combat suit itself—the signature Armor of Heaven’s Edict. Controlling such armor at such high speeds required exceptional physical conditioning; if Ci Jincheng were to wear that same suit, his movement speed compared to those three would be a crawl.

That was the gap in raw capability.

Before long, an unfamiliar craft descended from the sky and touched down on the Golden Square. To land here at such a moment, it must have received clearance from the three members of Heaven’s Edict. Neither the patrol fleet nor the soldiers guarding the square opened fire, though they watched the vessel with intense vigilance, looking exceptionally tense under whatever orders they had received.

The hatch opened, and a shadow darted out toward Cillin, moving too fast for the naked eye to track. The guards around Cillin had barely raised their rifles before the weapons snapped into several pieces. By the time they realized what had happened, a chubby gray cat was already circling Cillin’s feet.

After verifying that Cillin wasn’t injured or mistreated, the gray cat showed his true colors, jumping up onto Cillin’s shoulder and curling his tail smugly to claim credit. The rest of the Eleventh Squad hadn’t been allowed over yet, as the three armored figures hadn’t given permission for them to enter.

Wheeze didn’t care about any of that; he had simply tagged along with the Lansa delegation. The three armored figures had seen him, but hadn’t raised an objection. Wheeze figured it was because he carried special weight—a true VIP exception! Time to keep showing off~

Curled up by Yin Wushe, Little Ice Cream watched the fat cat puff himself up and scoffed, “Look at him.”

The crowd’s attention quickly shifted back to the craft as figures stepped out from the hatch.

Two escorts emerged in distinct military uniforms—one belonging to the Lansa Royal Army, and the other to the personal guard of the Gen Royal Family, one of the three ruling houses. Leading the Royal Army contingent was Tu Ba.

It was a rare sight to see Tu Ba actually wearing the official uniform of the Lansa Royal Army; Cillin had assumed he and his squad would remain an undercover operational force indefinitely.

In truth, Tu Ba’s uniform was entirely Cillin’s doing. Once the Shortcut technology became known, Tu Ba and the covert operational units that previously existed in the shadows were reorganized into a formal diplomatic force.

The two escort teams lined up on either side of the hatch. Moments later, a figure stepped out, walking with calm elegance and wearing a warm, harmless smile.

The corner of Cillin’s eye twitched. Why on earth is Guan Feng here?!

Behind Guan Feng came a young man who showed no sign of nervousness whatsoever. Unlike Guan Feng’s relaxed composure, his eyes shone with excitement as he took in his surroundings. His gaze paused briefly on Cillin, offering a wide grin and a nod, before scanning the crowd until it landed on Angenia’s group. From there, he set off straight toward her, looking for all the world as if he would have broken into a sprint if noble etiquette hadn’t restrained him.

“Second Grandmother! Meeting you in person is so much better than just hearing about you!”

The Star Alliance onlookers were dumbfounded. Second Grandmother?

Gen Xingming spoke in clumsy Star Alliance Common, but his meaning came through clearly enough. In order to tag along with Genya on this trip, he had studied the language with a diligence he had never shown back at the academy.

The Gen Family guards followed close behind him, their expressions toward Angenia and Yuan Sheng filled with warmth and respect.

Guan Feng left the Gen Family to their reunion and strolled over to Cillin.

“Tsk. You’ve certainly ended up in a miserable state over here, haven’t you?”

Guan Feng spoke not in Lansa, but in flawless, fluent Star Alliance Common—a far cry from Gen Xingming’s awkward pronunciation. He had clearly put considerable effort into mastering it before coming.

Cillin curled his lip. Instructor Guan, mind the venue, would you? Do you really have to smile so broadly?

Genya was currently in negotiations with the three members of Heaven’s Edict and couldn’t come over immediately, serving as he did as the supreme commander of the arriving fleet.

Before long, the trial adjudicators announced that the proceedings would be postponed. The crowd let out a collective sigh of relief, though many were already regretting their earlier stances. The situation had shifted dramatically, forcing everyone to recalculate their positions.

As for the leaders of the Star Alliance, faced with a dynamic where power and interest reshaped right and wrong, they could no longer handle Cillin so casually. The more they learned about Lansa, the more they realized the true extent of Cillin’s value. Compared to a massive empire that rivaled the Star Alliance in strength, Beythor’s influence became entirely negligible. A new era was dawning, bringing fresh opportunities and a restructured galactic landscape; every faction knew where their priorities lay.

The trial was delayed for three days. When Cillin stood trial again three days later, his acquittal passed with an almost unanimous vote, exactly as expected.

As Cillin officially walked out of the Supreme Tribunal, Yin Wushe asked him, “Did you foresee all of this happening from the start?”

Cillin offered no verbal reply, simply smiling by way of tacit confirmation.

Prior to the trial, Moon and the others had teamed up with Shi Tang to successfully refine the Shortcut technology and lock on to the coordinates. That was the real reason Cillin had allowed himself to be brought in for trial in the first place. He had no intention of running; he wanted to use this method to force the old foxes of the Star Alliance to change their stance. The impressive lineup of adjudicators before the passage opened had been the first show of strength; the arrival of the fleet after its opening was an even grander demonstration.

Cillin wanted to send a clear message to those decision-makers and the factions scheming in the shadows: I am not someone you can casually grab, turn into cannon fodder, or frame for your convenience.

Without total confidence, he would never have exposed his hand. Any vulnerability would have been seized upon by these people to eliminate a potential threat in the cradle, dragging down the Eleventh Squad and everyone who had genuinely helped him. Waiting until success was guaranteed before delivering a decisive stroke was far more effective.

Furthermore, as the Shortcut technology opened up new pathways, Cillin intended to seek out other star systems beyond Lansa and the Star Alliance. He had no desire to remain constrained by so many powers. After this incident, anyone attempting to extract benefits from him in the future would have to weigh the consequences carefully. The achievements forged by a Hunter were not things to be toyed with at will.

“And if they hadn’t arrived in time?” Yin Wushe asked again.

“Then I would have forced them to change the verdict.”

Yin Wushe let out a low chuckle. “Rather than saying they tried to scheme against you, it’s more accurate to say you were both scheming against each other.”

With a wave of his hand, Yin Wushe recalled Little Ice Cream—who was currently locked in a tussle with Wheeze, biting at each other’s fur in their animal forms—and left the Supreme Tribunal behind.

Cillin looked back one last time at the blindingly golden building.

When the word “sacred” no longer stood for noble justice and salvation, and when reality proved far crueler than imagined, even “faith” would dim to the point of despair, wouldn’t it? Back then, what must have been going through Sifang’s mind when he walked out of this place praised by the entire Alliance as a holy temple of justice?

Heaven created metal, but it also left behind slag.

No matter how solemn and sacred a building might be, it was ultimately controlled by human hearts. Cillin hoped the gold resting on this structure could retain that single spark of original purity.

Turning away, Cillin left the Supreme Tribunal behind and crossed the Golden Square. The floating golden light across the plaza showed not a single ripple as his boots passed through it.

Walking amidst that suspended glow, Cillin stepped forward, his figure fading gradually into the distance.

Within six months of the trial’s conclusion, Lansa and the Star Alliance formally established diplomatic relations.

Shortly after diplomatic ties were forged, Cillin’s name appeared on the Star Alliance military’s classified roster, placed directly after Ji Feng, Blue Butterfly, Tamaier, Purisa, and Jiada. Preceding his name was the distinct mark of a Star-Rank Hunter.

...

One year after diplomatic relations were established between the Star Alliance and Lansa.

Seven Lights University.

The academic institutions across Sector B had returned to peace. The instructors who had left were gradually returning, the vast majority of students had resumed their studies, and life was steadily sliding back into its normal rhythm.

The students of Seven Lights had been quick to return, joined by a large influx of new recruits.

Following the establishment of diplomatic ties between the Star Alliance and Lansa, Seven Lights had been selected as the pilot institution for the Academy Exchange Program. With exchange slots up for grabs, competition among the student body was fierce, leaving the university administration swamped with work.

Yet one high-ranking official remained an exception.

Mo Heng was slated to become the new principal of Seven Lights. However, the old master was still in recovery and had yet to officially take office.

Cillin had been staying at Mo Heng’s residence during this period. Although Mo Heng had recovered from his viral infection thanks to the timely administration of the complete antibody, his body had been severely taxed from repairing fighters and aircraft for the military. Combined with his advanced age, the strain of exhaustion and infection had taken a heavy toll on his health. Knowing how demanding his duties as principal would be once he assumed office, neither Cillin nor Mo Qing felt comfortable letting him take over without fully regaining his strength.

Taking advantage of a brief lull, Cillin stepped in to lay the groundwork for a new engineering project Mo Heng had recently acquired, making it easier for the old master to step in and supervise later.

The project was a joint initiative between Mo Heng and Guan Feng. As a disciple to both, Cillin naturally had to lend a hand.

That morning, after working through two consecutive nights in the laboratory, Cillin returned to Mo Heng’s villa at Seven Lights to find the old master engaged in a lively conversation with two visitors. One was Guan Feng, who had been staying at the university to iron out details of the new project with Mo Heng; without proper execution, the exchange program would be nothing more than a hollow title.

The second visitor was a senior instructor at Seven Lights specializing in literature and history. He lived nearby and maintained a good relationship with Mo Heng, having dropped by to check on his recovery. Upon learning that the instructor studied history and literature, Guan Feng had eagerly engaged him in conversation regarding the history and culture of the Star Alliance.

In doing so, Instructor Guan had found a kindred spirit.

The old instructor shared stories of the Star Alliance’s past and the unique customs of various star sectors. As a veteran scholar, his insights far surpassed those of the younger faculty members, allowing him to answer many of Guan Feng’s questions and spark lively three-way discussions.

As Cillin walked in, the old scholar stood up to take his leave, having a class to teach that afternoon. It wasn’t normally a course assigned to a senior instructor of his standing, but he was covering for a younger teacher who had been called away on short notice.

“Ah, what’s the rush?” Mo Heng called out. “Sit back down and let’s keep spinning yarns! We’re only halfway through!”

Spinning yarns? What a way to phrase it.

Still, the old scholar was well accustomed to Mo Heng’s colorful vocabulary; the reputation of an academic hooligan was well earned.

In truth, the old instructor thoroughly enjoyed conversing with Mo Heng and Guan Feng, as few people showed genuine interest in such dry material.

“Don’t bother going,” Mo Heng urged, gesturing for him to sit back down. “What is there to tell those kids anyway? They’ve heard the famous figures of Star Alliance history a thousand times over, they couldn’t care less about the obscure ones, and you don’t dare mention the secret histories. Even if you drag yourself over there, those brats won’t listen. It’s a waste of energy for nothing!”

That’s... a bit too blunt!

The old instructor blushed slightly. It was true that very few students cared for the subject, most enrolling simply to pad their credit requirements.

“I’ve already agreed to cover the lecture,” the old instructor said helplessly. “If I don’t go, who’s going to teach them this afternoon?”

Mo Heng and Guan Feng turned simultaneously to look at Cillin.

Freshly washed and mid-bite into an apple, Cillin froze. Why are you looking at me?!

Guan Feng pointed a finger at him. “Send him. He’s an honorary scholar of the Lansa Royal Academy of Sciences, so he’s more than qualified. Given the miserable classroom environment Mo Heng described, going there yourself really would be a complete waste of effort.”

Another shameless old man. I’ve been working two days straight without a wink of sleep! Cillin grumbled internally.

The two mentors were clearly the type to cast their disciple aside the moment they found a kindred spirit—a reality Cillin had come to accept all too well over the past few days.

And so, the task of taking over what Mo Heng called a “miserable class” fell squarely on Cillin’s shoulders.

Leaving Mo Heng’s residence, Cillin didn’t head straight for the academic district. With plenty of time remaining before class, he drove his hovercar to a newly constructed facility nearby.

The building had been funded entirely out of Cillin’s own pocket, its architecture designed to resemble a crouching insect. Mounted on the front was a plaque reading: Parasite Code. It served as a parasite specimen museum—the largest and most comprehensive in the Star Alliance—built through tremendous effort on Cillin’s part. Its collection included specimens of the original Dream Tapir mother-body, the Emperor, the Paradise Bird, and numerous other species with storied pasts.

The facility was managed by a military veteran. While the rest of Seven Lights remained ignorant of the man’s background, no one questioned the arrangement once Cillin and Mo Heng put him in charge.

As Cillin approached, the manager offered a quiet greeting.

“Is someone inside?” Cillin asked, surprised.

The museum had only recently been completed and was not yet open to the public. Only individuals familiar to Cillin were permitted entry, meaning the guard wouldn’t have let just anyone pass.

“You’ll see once you go in,” the manager replied with a subtle smile, withholding the visitor’s identity.

Cillin walked inside and immediately spotted a familiar wheelchair.

The Godfather wasn’t looking at the mother-body Dream Tapir, the Emperor, or any of the preserved parasites. Instead, his gaze rested on a replicated digital notebook—a partial copy of Chamonidine’s Parasite Code that Cillin had placed on display.

The document Cillin made available was only a selective excerpt. Sensitive annotations regarding current political dynamics had been deliberately omitted. Following the Dream Tapir crisis, parasites had become a source of widespread dread, yet they had also caught the interest of certain dangerous elements. Cillin had no intention of letting Chamonidine’s work be exploited to trigger another disaster, which would completely betray the author’s original intent.

Natta had once mentioned that Chamonidine hoped more people would come to understand parasites, and placing the Parasite Code in a public museum had been Natta’s suggestion. No one understood Chamonidine better than Natta; respecting his wishes, Cillin edited the manuscript and put it on display.

It allowed the public to learn about parasites while ensuring that history remembered a Hunter named Chamonidine—a man once dismissed as insignificant who had made monumental contributions to the field. Nearby, in the literature section, lay another set of notes belonging to a researcher named Enji...

Hearing footsteps, the Godfather didn’t tear his eyes away from the Parasite Code, continuing to read in silence.

Cillin didn’t disturb him. The Godfather had brought along two new species discovered in deep space during his latest trip. Cillin carefully logged the data for the two new specimens; the Godfather had already left the documentation beside them, requiring only entry into the database—a task the manager would have handled had Cillin not been present.

Under the field for the discoverer’s name, Cillin typed in the Godfather’s true identity: Xi Luo.

After completing a sweep of the facility, Cillin drove to the academic district and located the designated lecture hall.

The room was mostly empty. Cillin found a seat in the back row and leaned back to catch up on sleep. By the time he woke, class was moments away from starting, yet the hall was barely one-third full.

With time to spare, Cillin pulled out an Electronic Pad to browse the course materials, which were shared files accessible to all students on the campus network.

As he scrolled, a hand patted his shoulder. A student had taken a seat nearby.

“Hey man, if the instructor takes attendance, wake me up. The name’s Cheng Bai.” With that, the student slumped over his desk and went fast asleep.

Two minutes before the bell, another male student burst through the rear door, pulling out a thick stack of Seven Lights Cards and frantically swiping them at the attendance scanner.

Swiping cards for attendance was a semi-mandatory policy at Seven Lights. Instructors were well aware that students signed in for one another, but generally turned a blind eye so long as the practice didn’t cause trouble, leaving responsibility up to the individual.

The card served as a universal campus ID. Students skipping class who handed off their cards had their own ways of navigating daily campus life, even if certain restricted areas remained off-limits.

Noticing Cillin watching him, the student swiping the stack grinned unabashedly.

“New here, bro?” he asked, settling into the seat directly in front of Cillin and turning around. The seat on Cillin’s other side was already occupied by another sleeping student.

Cillin smiled and nodded.

“Ah, got it,” the student said knowingly.

In the wake of the recent galactic turmoil, Seven Lights had enrolled a fresh wave of students across all grade levels to rebuild its ranks. The lure of the exchange program was simply too great, drawing crowds of applicants eager for a spot. New faces arrived daily, making transfers a common sight.

In truth, enrollment for this specific course was quite high. The workload was notoriously light, making it a popular choice for easy credits despite the dry subject matter. Had attendance been smaller, the lecture wouldn’t have been scheduled in a large auditorium. Remote access was disabled for the class due to sensitive historical topics that the administration preferred to keep off public networks. Yet despite the high registration numbers, actual attendance remained dismal; the material was dull, and few were willing to make the trip to the lecture hall.

The bell rang, and both the front and rear doors sealed automatically. Anyone arriving past this point would be marked tardy, with repeated infractions resulting in credit deductions.

The moment the doors closed, a buzz of excitement swept through the room—there was no instructor on the podium!

As the students chattered among themselves, Cillin stood up and walked down from the back row.

A few onlookers watched him with curiosity. Even in the absence of an instructor, students rarely wandered around so boldly; if a teacher walked in unannounced, anyone caught out of their seat would face immediate penalties.

To the crowd’s astonishment, the young man walked up to the podium, pulled out a faculty-issue Seven Lights Card, and swiped it across the control panel. The main holographic display flickered to life, bringing up the course documents Cillin had reviewed moments earlier.

After setting up the reference files, Cillin turned to face the room.

“Hello everyone. Your regular instructor was called away on business today, so I will be taking over this lecture.”

His announcement dropped like a bomb, stunning the entire hall into silence. Cheng Bai, who had just been woken from his desk, and the student who had swiped the stack of cards sat frozen, their expressions shifting wildly as realization set in.

“Where did your previous instructor leave off? What topic are we covering today?” Cillin asked.

The old scholar hadn’t mentioned where the syllabus stood, telling Cillin simply to improvise as he saw fit.

The students remained quiet and unenthusiastic, a few already slumping back onto their desks to sleep. Others showed more interest in Cillin’s personal background, trying to pry into his identity, but he neatly deflected every attempt.

Seeing the lack of engagement, Cillin tried another angle. “Alright then, what would you like to hear about?”

That instantly stirred the room to life.

“Tell us about Heaven’s Edict!”

“Ah, I’d rather hear about the Six Stars of Hunt!”

“Forget those! Teach, tell us about the Lansa Empire!”

“Yeah! Tell us about Lansa! We just established diplomatic relations, but we barely know anything about them!”

“Tch, he’s just a temporary substitute, probably a senior student. You really think he can lecture on stuff like that?” someone muttered quietly.

“...”

After letting them clamor for half a minute, Cillin raised a hand and pressed it downward, signaling for quiet.

“Then let’s talk about Lansa,” Cillin said.

He shut down the two secondary displays, leaving only the primary screen behind him. With a swipe of his hand, he pulled up a series of detailed structural diagrams across the interface.

“Lansa is an empire built around a strict class hierarchy governed by nobility. And when discussing the aristocracy of Lansa, one cannot omit the apex of that system: the Three Kings and One Emperor...”

As Cillin broke down the general structure of Lansa, the once-distracted students fell completely silent, captivated by his breakdown of the unfamiliar realm. A few tried to text their friends to rush over, only to find their signal blocked—Mo Heng had activated the hall’s local jammer, ensuring that anyone who skipped would miss the lecture entirely.

Recording lecture video without authorization was strictly forbidden, leaving the attendees to pity their absent peers. A few assumed it was no great loss, believing future instructors would eventually cover the same material.

Only much later would those students realize what kind of opportunity they had thrown away—though by then, Cillin would already be long gone.

None of the students in that hall could have guessed that the young man lecturing them was a newly minted member of the Six Stars of Hunt—and widely regarded as the most influential among them. Public information on this rising Star-Rank Hunter was virtually nonexistent; he had emerged out of nowhere to take the galaxy by storm, yet detailed records of his past remained impossible to trace. As a result, not a single student in the room recognized him.

The moment the lecture concluded, Cillin slipped out before the eager crowd could swarm him with questions about Lansa.

On his way back to Mo Heng’s residence, Cillin received a comms signal from Eudy. The team had completed all preparations and was simply waiting for his return to set sail once more.

“I’ll wrap up things on my end and be back in two days,” Cillin told Eudy over the channel.

Disconnecting the call, Cillin considered how best to finish his remaining work and hand the project over to those two shameless old masters. The Eleventh Squad’s journey was about to resume, and his crew had been waiting for this moment for far too long; he had no intention of lingering at Seven Lights.

Leaving behind the bustling academic district and the students still locked in heated discussion, the hovercar accelerated into the sky, its engine whining softly as it dissolved into the distance.

...

A thousand years ago, Aurelio—symbolizing “Dream”—made its appearance, sparking a shift among spacefarers and giving rise to the profession of Hunters, an occupation once looked down upon by the galaxy.

A thousand years later, the opening of the Shortcut passage signaled the arrival of yet another peak for the Hunters.