Chapter Eleven

Ye Chong fixed his gaze on the mech before him, thoughts racing through his mind. The humanoid mech stood ten meters tall, its silver-white arm shield on the left arm glimmering like mercury under the gentle room lights. In its right hand, the beam saber’s fiery red glow condensed into a blade, almost tangible. The main torso, clad in silvery gray armor, was as elegant and noble as a young aristocrat, and the golden headpiece on its brow dazzled the eye, inviting admiration.

This was clearly a modified mech. The double-layer uranium shield, though only upper-mid tier among mech shields, was absolutely impervious to the magnetic blade of his own Blackbird. The beam saber in the right hand was merely average, yet Ye Chong knew that three strokes would be enough to slice the Blackbird in two—and should any vital part be struck, even a graze would leave him completely at the mercy of his foe. The main body was a Tianhe model, offering excellent defense without being overly heavy, sparing the engine an undue burden. Multiple hidden weapon bays were also embedded within, ready to house an assortment of ranged armaments.

A master, Ye Chong thought, his heart tightening with caution. One glance was enough for him to see that his opponent was no ordinary adversary.

If Ye Chong had to judge this mech, two words came to mind—perfect balance. Its components were merely average, yet if piloted by one equally adept at attack and defense, its true power would be terrifying.

If he was not mistaken, the engine was either a Palem or a Swordfish-4; only these two types could bring out the full potential of the other parts.

Capable of offense and defense, equally adept at close-quarters and ranged combat—a difficult opponent indeed. Ye Chong felt a headache coming on; he had not expected to meet such a formidable foe in his very first match.

Yet even so, not a trace of fear or any other negative emotion surfaced in his heart. Life on a junk planet had taught him that one’s opponent is rarely of one’s own choosing. Only one thought filled his mind—how to defeat him!

The heat gun? Even if the opponent stood still, a direct hit would do nothing more than send up a few sparks, leaving him unharmed.

The alloy dagger? Ridiculous. It would be the dagger’s blade that curled first, not the enemy’s armor. No hope there.

Fortunately, all was not lost—the magnetic blade could at least leave some marks. Of course, even then it would take three strikes to the exact same spot to break through the armor of the Tianhe model’s main torso.

Three blows to the same point! That would be incredibly difficult. Ye Chong shook his head unconsciously.

What, then, was its weakness? He began to ponder carefully. Well-versed in the hunter’s art, Ye Chong knew every enemy had a weakness; strike true, and one could achieve twice the result with half the effort—a sure recipe for the weak to overcome the strong.

The throat? Indeed, on almost all humanoid mechs, the throat was a vital spot. Its dense array of light points meant that even slight damage could cripple the mech’s control. Yet, due to the thickness of the armor here, flexibility suffered, so most mechs had to leave this crucial area somewhat exposed—except for those built solely for heavy firepower. Of course, every mech owner was keenly aware of this, and would guard it with utmost vigilance.

Ye Chong shook his head, ruling this out.

The cockpit? Out of the question. No one would neglect their own life! Unlike the throat, the cockpit of a humanoid mech was located in the chest, where the armor was thickest. With the magnetic blade in his hand, even repeated strikes to the same spot would take perhaps a dozen blows to pierce it—and if he tried that many times up close, he would be diced to bits by the enemy’s beam saber before he could even make a dent.

What now? Ye Chong racked his brains for a solution.

But time waits for no one. With a soft beep, the duel began!

Ye Chong cast aside all distractions, focusing his attention.

Inside his own mech, Jebben lounged at ease. Beneath his high-bridged nose, his lips curled in the smile that had enchanted countless women. His naturally wavy blond hair gave him the air of a prince from a fairytale—refined, aristocratic, every gesture radiating nobility. His brown eyes shimmered with a playful glint as he regarded the Blackbird before him.

Jebben sneered, “Ignorance truly is fearless! To think you’d challenge my Apollo with your Blackbird... Ah, looks like I’ll have to teach you a lesson today!” His words dripped with disdain.

Resolved to “educate” Ye Chong, Jebben wasted no time once the system’s prompt sounded. He strode toward the Blackbird in his beloved Apollo, not even bothering to activate his ranged weapons, or deploy his double-layer uranium shield.

The Blackbird didn’t move, as if resigned to its fate, just waiting for the finishing blow.

“Poor wretch! Meeting me is your greatest misfortune! Pitiful thing!” Jebben clicked his tongue. His mood had been foul for days, and this was the perfect chance to vent some frustration. He wouldn’t kill his toy so quickly, he thought with a wicked inward laugh.

The distance between the two shrank rapidly. With a low chuckle, Jebben’s beam saber quivered, feinting and thrusting toward the Blackbird.

He could almost imagine his opponent’s panic—the blade cleaving the Blackbird’s wing with a flourish, the start of a cat-and-mouse game. A smug, wicked smile crept across his handsome face.

The game was just beginning.

No ranged attack? Ye Chong was puzzled. The quickest and safest way to deal with his Blackbird was by shooting, so why would the opponent choose the harder route?

The slow approach was also odd. Even in close combat, why not use his speed advantage?

As the enemy’s blade swung for his left wing, Ye Chong was even more confused. Ignoring vital spots to attack a nonessential wing? And without deploying the double-layer uranium shield, leaving the chest wide open. To Ye Chong, the beam saber’s arc—its flickering red blooms—was all show, lacking force and wildly off in angle.

He could hardly believe that someone so adept at modifying mechs could make so many, and such foolish, mistakes.

But whatever the reasons, an opportunity was before him, and Ye Chong would not let it slip by!

In an instant, Blackbird’s speed soared to its maximum. With a quick sidestep, Ye Chong slipped out of the beam saber’s range, and the magnetic blade slashed upward from below. A faint hiss—a five-centimeter-deep, nearly meter-long gash appeared on the opponent’s mech, like a mouth split wide in a silent, mocking grin. Before his foe could react, Blackbird’s left wing, at full speed, crashed heavily into the enemy’s chest.

Both mechs were moving at high speed. The head-on collision resounded with a thunderous bang, sending both machines tumbling aside in ungainly fashion.

For Ye Chong, who was fully prepared, such an impact was mere child’s play. Basic training included how to react at the moment of collision; having completed even the harshest lessons set by Mu Shang, Ye Chong had already determined his next landing point at the instant of impact.

His hands moved with astonishing speed over the controls. The auxiliary engines under Blackbird’s flanks adjusted their angles with nimble precision; in just a tenth of a second, all twelve thrusters were realigned.

Suddenly, the twelve auxiliary thrusters roared to life. Blackbird, hovering just twenty centimeters off the ground, paused. The right-side mechanical arm spread its fingers wide, thrusting out to brace against the floor just before impact, while the wings shifted to a horizontal angle. Blackbird seemed to skim the surface like a bird touching water, then soared aloft.

It traced a graceful arc through the air—its apex was the still-reeling Apollo.

Even as an entry-level mech, Blackbird’s top speed was not to be underestimated. In a blink, it caught up with Jebben’s Apollo.

Jebben, dazed and disoriented, was in total shock; he’d completely lost control of his mech.

The vulnerable throat loomed ever larger in Ye Chong’s eyes. He stared at Apollo’s throat, snake-like, not daring to blink.

Now! With a fierce shout, Ye Chong drove the magnetic blade, backed by the full momentum of his charge, straight into Apollo’s throat—like a medieval knight’s lance impaling his foe at full gallop. The force of his assault was far greater than Ye Chong had imagined; Apollo flew off like a ragdoll, its pillar-like neck barely hanging on, inner circuits and light paths tangled in chaos.

Almost instinctively, Ye Chong had accomplished what should have been an unwinnable duel.

Ye Chong had triumphed.