A group of people entered Silver Fortress, went straight underground, and arrived at the deepest level. Marshal used the highest level of Alliance military authority to open seven sealed doors. As the last heavy metal door slowly lifted, a gigantic mech came into view for everyone.

It was nearly perfect, almost dazzling, its cold body gleaming brilliantly, like a slumbering dragon.

Secretary General Gordon looked up in awe and said, “This is ‘Luke’.”

“That’s right,” General Thompson seemed afraid of disturbing something and instinctively lowered his voice, “After Ethan... no one has ever been able to awaken Luke again. It rejects all mental links, including Eden. Luke is a treasure of humanity, the banner of Silver Fortress. We don’t want to damage it by forcing a link, but in recent years, interstellar pirates have become increasingly rampant. The Alliance truly needs it, so we had no choice but to ask Mrs. Gordon for help.”

As General Thompson spoke, he gave a slight bow to Ms. Clark: “You are Ethan’s only blood relative, sharing the same excellent genes. Perhaps you can move Luke.”

Emily Clark stepped back half a step, refusing the gesture, and returned a perfectly measured smile.

Old Marshal stepped forward, reached out to touch Luke’s body, then placed his hand on the hatch and tentatively said, “Requesting link.”

The entire underground space first gave a “buzz,” then the sound frequency quickly left the range of human hearing, like a silent roar, echoing around like ocean waves. At the same time, Old Marshal felt an immensely powerful pressure bearing down on him. The slumbering mech was like a trapped beast, ready to devour as soon as it opened its eyes.

Old Marshal was startled, quickly let go, and staggered back a few steps before regaining his balance.

“Marshal!”

Old Marshal waved his hand, brushing away General Thompson’s fawning hand, his cloudy eyes fixed on him, and said word by word, “In year 260, new interstellar terrorists colluded with pirate groups. Ethan Clark was ordered to go into battle. In the most famous battle, he alone invaded fifteen enemy mechs and forcibly took over their controls—all at the same time.”

General Thompson’s face flushed red and then turned pale.

“Ethan Clark didn’t command Silver Fortress with just a single mech. It’s only natural that Luke refuses to link. Linking with you useless people would be an insult to the mech. Your mental threshold isn’t enough, bloodline? The fact that you even thought of that!” Old Marshal said coldly, then turned politely but distantly to Emily Clark, “Mrs. Gordon, there’s no need to try. Your health isn’t good, and you haven’t had military training. It would be easy for Luke to injure you. For someone as beautiful as you to be hurt would be an immeasurable loss to the capital star. Sorry to trouble you to come all this way. Please.”

Secretary General had only come to put on a show and had no real intention of helping. He was happy to watch the military flounder, and without another word, pulled Emily Clark along and left Silver Fortress with the long-striding Old Marshal.

He didn’t see his “frail” wife glance back at Luke, her crow-feather lashes lowering to hide a strange smile.

At the same universal time, Eighth Star System, Beijing Beta Star.

Dawn was just breaking. Fourth Brother carefully washed his hands three times, then, after a moment’s thought, wiped his face as well.

The mechanical arm on the wall was still dormant, so he shaved himself, changed clothes, and then opened the windows and front and back doors of the “Broken Tavern.”

The sound of wind and a chill swept through. Beijing Star had already awakened from its shivering cold night.

Fourth Brother poured himself a cup of leftover coffee, then dug a lump of sandwich out of the fridge—a specialty of the Eighth Star System. Fourth Brother held it up and looked at it, but couldn’t really tell what was inside. He didn’t care, and with all the doors wide open, he started gnawing on it in the cold wind, even tossing some mealworms to the lizard.

Outside, the sounds of people gradually rose: hurried footsteps of passersby, the loud scolding of flustered housewives, naughty children imitating adults and swearing, and the “Daily Cloud Car” honking every five minutes—a unique sign of life in the Eighth Star System.

The “Broken Tavern” was spotless; the spider was gone.

Fourth Brother was never particularly lively, even when full of energy. Now, after an all-nighter, he still didn’t look tired. He was like a pine tree—whether battered by wind, frost, rain, and snow, or basking in the warmth of spring, he was always the same.

Rough as iron, indifferent to heat or cold.

“You shouldn’t eat breakfast in the cold wind; it can cause gastrointestinal problems.” Right on the hour, the Luke hanging on the wall promptly turned back into a handsome man.

Fourth Brother, as if drawn by something, gazed out the window without turning his head: “It won’t.”

Before he finished speaking, the bar’s doors and windows closed simultaneously, the indoor temperature quickly rising, the copper walls and iron barriers shutting out the cold Beijing Star morning.

Luke said seriously, “It will. There is a significant positive correlation between eating cold food in the wind and gastrointestinal problems.”

Fourth Brother: “……”

Luke took away his makeshift breakfast, poured out the leftover coffee, brewed a fresh cup, and reheated the sandwich: “You interrogated the spider.”