Surface of the Seventh Planet

Ninety percent of the planet’s surface was smothered in barren desert and gravel plains—lifeless, austere, and unyielding.

Only within a massive crater in the southern hemisphere did the last scraps of green cling stubbornly to existence.

The crater stretched for hundreds of miles, and from the ground it could easily be mistaken for an ordinary canyon. After leading his squad to land at its edge, the Teleopean captain activated the multifunctional cuff on his left arm and began advancing toward the coordinates where The Ultimate Weapon’s last signal had been detected.

It wasn’t long before the Teleopeans’ heightened senses caught something sharp and metallic in the air—the faint tang of blood.

Under the veil of night, a dozen Fenreigan corpses lay scattered across the dry soil, twisted and incomplete, their faces frozen in agony.

Some were missing limbs; others had been cleaved clean in half.

Their dark violet blood had already clotted, staining the grey earth into deeper shades of black.

The uneven gashes across their bodies made it clear—they had not fallen to weapons, but had been torn apart by brute force.

A few meters ahead, a lone figure stood amidst the carnage. His stance was taut, coiled like a predator ready to strike at the first sign of movement.

Golden hair glimmered faintly even in the darkness, and from the shadows came the reflection of eyes of the same metallic hue. Slender limbs, and behind him—folded wings.

He was Teleopean.

The squad members exchanged uncertain glances.

Their kind rarely ventured to this side of the galaxy—and there were no records of any ongoing Teleopean operation here.

Worse still…

the man was wearing the ceremonial uniform reserved for the royal bloodline.

“Captain Xiao?” one of the soldiers whispered, uncertain, turning to their commander.

All three looked to him, awaiting orders.

The usually expressionless Captain Xiao furrowed his brows—a rare crack in his composure. His narrow eyes glinted with a mix of disbelief and recognition.

He knew that face.

He had seen it once before—in the classified archives of Teleopea’s royal registry.

Slowly, Xiao raised his right hand to his chest and bowed his head in formal salute. Under the bewildered stares of his subordinates, he spoke in a calm, steady voice:

“My name is Xiao. Tian. Xiao and I have come to escort Your Grace back to Teleopea.”

The stranger said nothing.

Expressionless, he regarded the squad with detached indifference, his head tilting slightly to the side.

There was a strange contrast in him—something almost childlike in his stillness, yet radiating a raw, animal danger that made the air itself tremble.