With Han Qingyu's own strength alone, he could never have shot down so many Great Spike craft or slain so many Great Spikes from such a distance all at once. In fact, given his current condition, he would likely struggle to blast even a single larger craft out of the sky from afar.
Fortunately, the immense power possessed by Puta'er could easily accomplish all of this.
Controlling the fragments of the pillar sword had not been a planned maneuver, but rather a battlefield improvisation by a seasoned veteran. Han Qingyu could not directly counter or reverse Puta'er's power, but going along with its momentum to slightly deflect its direction was just barely within his grasp.
Of course, doing so had cost him an immense expenditure of energy.
At this point, if Han Qingyu had still been in the mood, he would have had every reason to feel proud and satisfied. Even under such dire circumstances, he had managed through various means to buy a significant amount of precious time for the expeditionary fleet.
Yet he felt none of that. Beyond the grim reality before his eyes, the truth was that Han Qingyu himself, without knowing exactly when it had started, had long ceased to feel the slightest pride or satisfaction over his battlefield performances, records, or achievements.
Perhaps this was because humanity's ultimate situation remained bleak. And over all these years of continuous warfare, campaign after campaign, he had unknowingly become the person who actually had to shoulder the weight of this world.
As a result, victories that could stir his emotions grew fewer and fewer.
Fewer and fewer.
Perhaps only victory in the final, ultimate battle could truly move him now.
Of course, inside Han Qingyu's mind, there was never any belief that final victory was a personal "must." Just as he had reflected before, he had no duty to guarantee that this world would win, nor was that within his power. He simply refused to run, now that he had reached such heights.
He was willing to accept his fate—to fight on, until death, or until victory.
Rusty Sister once said he now fought like a machine that had no choice but to keep advancing.
Fortunately, in ordinary daily life, Han Qingyu could still find plenty of joy.
For instance, when he ordered an authentic, fiery-red spicy hot pot paired with baijiu to host Azure's Speaker Kemore, General Bochen, and the others. Or when he played cards and cleaned out all the money on Rusty Sister and He Tangtang, he would feel thoroughly smug and happy.
This did not include Wu Xu, because although Wu Xu couldn't handle spicy food or alcohol, he could sit at the table without the slightest embarrassment, silently cradling a bowl of plain white rice and slowly shoveling it down. If Speaker Kemore toasted him, he would simply turn around, pour himself a bowl of water, and drink that.
And even if he was dragged into playing cards and lost every penny, he wouldn't be upset in the slightest—he would even help shuffle the deck... In short, he showed no emotion whatsoever, which completely ruined the fun.
Nor did it include Wen Jifei... because Wen Jifei could drink like a fish, loved spicy food, and Han Qingyu had never once beaten him at cards in all these years.
...
At that moment, far behind Han Qingyu along the Expeditionary Force's sprawling battle line, the human ships that had finally finished powering up and begun ascending numbered five, six...
More and more.
"Woo-hoo!" Lubi Azha suddenly cheered from his seat at the control console, excitedly slapping the surface with his hand.
The small source energy craft he was piloting had been captured and refitted on Mars. Because there hadn't been enough time to fine-tune it, it theoretically should have been slow to start up. Yet, whether through sheer luck or exceptional skill, the craft had completed its startup charge just a second ago and was ready to lift off and climb at any moment.
A thought crossed his mind, but his hands ultimately did not pull the throttle levers. Although Second Lieutenant Wen's orders were to take off as soon as possible, Lubi Azha thought it over and decided not to rush into flight.
This was because his craft was currently in a rather peculiar situation.
Peculiarity number one: the craft was parked at the farthest edge of the Expeditionary Force's perimeter, inside the mouth of a small, weathered valley.
Due to the tense and chaotic situation, hardly anyone had come this way yet.
Peculiarity number two: strictly speaking, Lubi Azha was piloting a "pirate ship"—or more accurately, a transport craft used by the guys from the City of Sin to secretly stash all kinds of strategic supplies.
This craft was completely absent from the expeditionary commanders' inventories. In fact, a couple of nights ago, those City of Sin ruffians had kidnapped two Azure engineers and forcibly bribed them into repairing and refitting this small Great Spike craft without reporting it.
That was why it sat parked in such an out-of-the-way spot. Furthermore, the entire craft, cockpit included, was packed almost to the brim with source energy blocks and high-grade dead iron. Even for a source-energy-powered vessel, Lubi Azha was genuinely worried about whether it was overloaded.
Lubi Azha was originally from the City of Sin and had grown up there. Even though he had later joined Stream Blades alongside Uncle Provisions, his connections there had never faded.
Besides, Stream Blades and the City of Sin had always been closely tied. On this expedition to Mars, Lubi Azha had piloted the craft that brought the City of Sin forces, so when they told him to pilot this "pirate ship" for the return journey, he hadn't dared to refuse.
"Should I shout over the comms channel for people to board?"
"Problem is, I can barely fit anyone here. I'd have to dump cargo first, or there's no room to sit. And if it's too heavy and can't fly fast later, what then?"
"Let's wait and see, wait and see. Anyway, it's just my own life on this ship right now—no rush. Maybe in a bit, I can pick up a few brothers who really can't find a ride."
Lubi Azha peered through the periscope to check the situation outside. Because of his angle, most areas were either hidden from view or blurred, but he had an exceptionally clear view of the Great Spike fleet—especially that unprecedented, colossal dreadnought.
The launch bays atop that monstrosity kept deploying Great Spikes onto the battlefield, occasionally even launching one-man micro-craft. It looked just like a gigantic aerial combat platform.
"If I could loop around... dive from above, crash straight into that launch bay... and blow the damn thing to pieces."
The sudden impulse stirred in his mind. Lubi Azha's gaze locked, his hands gripping the control yoke tightly as he took a deep breath.
In the bridge of the space carrier Doomsday Great Wall, every member of the flight crew worked and waited in a state of extreme tension.
"Almost there."
"Should be soon."
The carrier had not yet finished its startup charge.
A mothership-class vessel naturally took longer to power up than small and medium craft. Even though Azure had poured immense effort into retrofitting and fine-tuning it, a certain delay was unavoidable.
"If only Major General Yang Qingbai were here. When his hands work the exact same console, it always seems to respond differently," they thought when their impatience flared.
They knew, however, that on this expedition—both on the journey here and for the journey home about to begin—Major General Yang Qingbai piloted Craft CA117.
That vessel, reputed to be the fastest in human history, was dedicated to carrying Major Qing and was meant to charge into battle and engage in dogfights alongside him. Pilots joked among themselves, often calling it "humanity's first source energy fighter jet."
Every one of them believed that Major General Yang Qingbai and his CA117 had surely completed their startup long ago, poised and ready to strike.
Everyone knew that the only reason CA117 had yet to appear within sight or in the takeoff reports was that it was waiting... keeping a watchful eye on Major Qing's battle at every second.
Chapter 939