Water can extinguish a fire. When water turns cold, it becomes ice. But when ice itself becomes flammable, the fires of war can consume the entire galaxy.

　　In a race to seize "Combustible Ice"—a resource that is effectively everything in this age—a Great War is on the verge of erupting in a distant spiral arm of the Milky Way...

　　Inside the Captain’s Quarters, the Combat Command AI announced in a cold, mechanical drone: "Commander, we have arrived in the low-Earth orbit of Planet Sora. Shall we convene the pre-war military briefing as scheduled?"

　　Hearing the prompt, Clark—the commander of the Clark Mercenary Group at the Sora Colony—stirred from his half-conscious stupor. Ever since this old mercenary leader, now nearing sixty, had wrested the mandate for this Star-Soul homeworld from the United Earth Federation, he had spent nearly every night in a drunken stupor of celebration. Even now, he wasn’t fully sober. He let out a rough cough, stretched his limbs, and muttered, "Start the meeting."

　　Before long, the AI spoke up: "Tactical Officer David will arrive at the command center in 20 seconds. Assault Captain Li Ling is already on the line."

　　In the time it took to take a quick swig of water, the automatic door’s facial recognition camera identified David waiting outside. Without even asking Clark for permission, the door slid open. David was a seasoned tactician in his early forties, standing at a medium-tall height. He was a veteran who had followed Clark through countless campaigns across the stars. In fact, it had been his idea for the Clark Mercenary Group to gamble everything on securing the mandate for Planet Sora. Having been summoned by the AI, he strode briskly into the Captain’s Quarters.

　　David looked at Clark and asked, "Li Ling is online. Shall we begin?"

　　"Let’s do it," Clark replied.

　　Immediately, the holographic projector in front of him beamed a naked-eye 3D image of Li Ling, who had been geared up in the drop pod for some time. Li Ling appeared to be in his early thirties—not particularly tall, with lean, weathered, tan-to-dark cheeks and eyes that burned with intensity. Clad in lightweight special-ops exoskeleton armor, he looked every bit the formidable warrior.

　　The AI began its routine battlefield reconnaissance briefing to the attendees: "Our landing zone on the Star-Soul homeworld, Planet Sora, is Sigma Heights. This site was formerly the Star-Soul Military's 107th Combustible Ice Production Center, responsible for supplying fuel to the 7th Fleet of the Star-Soul Holy See. However, due to the 'Shell-Soul' biochemical attack, the Holy See was forced to abandon their home planet. In the aftermath, numerous interstellar pirates have invaded this derelict world..."

　　"Alright, enough," Clark interrupted, his voice thick with impatience. "Cut the bedtime stories, Mom. Give us the bottom line!"

　　David nudged the AI further. "Cut to the chase. Identify the hostiles and their force composition."

　　The AI continued in its flat, deadpan drone: "Our engagement is with the Purplebeard Raiders. Reliable intel suggests that the leader, Purplebeard himself, is not present. They have deployed 27 light infantrymen armed with shotguns. Additionally, there is one 11-barrel Gatling automated turret."

　　Clark’s face twisted into a look of pure contempt. "That old bastard still hasn't learned how to do the math. What good is a pack of light shotgunners in this kind of terrain? Now, an 11-barrel Gatling turret—that’s how you hold a defensive line."

　　David spoke up, "Captain Li Ling, the enemy has the numbers, but their heavy fire is limited to that single Gatling turret. We’re hitting these mines to seize them from unauthorized pirate occupation, and we can’t afford to burn through too much Combustible Ice in the process. So, what do you say to four mortar-men and four shotgunners for your squad?"

　　Li Ling looked taken aback. "You want me to take eight guys against twenty-seven entrenched hostiles?"

　　Clark curled his lip. "Are you doubting your own tactical micro, or are you just getting cold feet?"

　　David offered a thin smile and looked at Li Ling. "As long as you can bait them out of their defensive positions, your optical cloaking device will make short work of them. Remember, Purplebeard isn’t there; that Gatling turret is their only means of detecting a cloaked target."

　　"We're here to turn a profit," Clark added. "The higher the cost, the lower the payout. The plan is solid. Do it."

　　Li Ling steadied his nerves. "Understood!"

　　As the nine drop pods of the Clark Mercenary Group slammed into the ground, the pirates—who moments ago had been idling about, huddled in small groups gambling—snapped to attention.

　　"We’ve got company!" shouted Saburo Tanaka, the tall pirate leading the group.

　　The short pirate beside him muttered, "Looks like human drop pods. Doesn't seem like they're ours... they would've radioed ahead if they were."

　　"They had to pick the exact moment Purplebeard left to pull this crap," Saburo Tanaka growled. "Kid, take a few men down there and check it out."

　　The short pirate curled his lip in annoyance but didn't argue. He led several shotgunners down the ramp, cautiously approaching the landing zone.

　　To their bewilderment, all nine drop pods were empty.

　　The short pirate keyed his comms: "Boss, something’s wrong. They dropped nine empty pods!"

　　Tanaka was about to respond when a single gunshot cracked through the air. On the other end of the line, the short pirate went silent—his signal was gone.

　　Then, several more shots rang out in quick succession.

　　The realization hit Tanaka like a physical blow. The pods weren't empty; the occupants were cloaked! Just like Purplebeard!

　　Ever since optical cloaking technology became widespread, this ability—despite its notoriously short duration—had a habit of working miracles in specific scenarios. Like now: a nine-man squad against twenty-seven hostiles backed by heavy weaponry. Using his brief window of optical stealth, Li Ling warped the light around him, forcing the enemy’s eyes to see only the background behind him. To the world, he simply ceased to exist.

　　"Heads up!" Tanaka screamed into the channel, his voice tight with panic. "Cloaked hostiles! Ambush! Everyone, fall back to the turret!"

　　The 11-barrel Gatling automated turret was a standard-issue Earth Federation defense unit. Because of its excellent cost-to-performance ratio, its schematics had long ago leaked into every dark corner of the galaxy. Everyone from licensed mercenaries to rogue interstellar pirates relied on it as their go-to point-defense weapon.

　　The system utilized anti-cloaking radar to detect any target lacking a friendly IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) transponder. Once locked, the fire-control computer would direct the 11-barrel rotary Gatling to unleash a torrential storm of lead, creating a wall of fire designed to shred anything that dared to approach.

　　Even armored vehicles didn't dare get close. When fire density reaches that extreme, and enough rounds impact the same point in a split second, the "water-drops-piercing-stone" effect happens in mere moments. As for the kinetic exoskeleton armor worn by shotgunners? Don't even think about it. Before the shell casing from the very first bullet could hit the ground, a man and his armor would be turned into a bloody pulp.

　　More importantly, when facing expensive cloaked units, that anti-stealth radar became the only lifeline for the shotgunners. What the naked eye couldn't track, the radar could.

　　Just as the pirates were spiraling into a panicked frenzy, Tanaka heard the most terrifying sound of all—the thumping whistle of incoming mortar fire.