Chapter 2697: Finally Return [Planet 8632] [Class M Planet – Savage Level 1] At the far edge of the Neutral Zone, where the stars grew faint and trade routes dwindled to whispers, floated a planet most charts forgot. It was a dark, rain-drenched world that offered nothing but stone, metal, and hardship. For generations, miners had lived here—barely two hundred souls, carving out an existence in the shadows of greater empires. On this night, the storm fell heavily, cloaking the colony in sheets of water. Within the scattered outpost, the colonists moved like ants in chaos, rushing to and fro with crates stacked high on grav-lifts. Mud splashed under boots, voices rose above the roar of rain, and all paths led toward the single mid-sized transport ship parked in the colony’s center square. Its engine core throbbed with a faint hum, ready for launch. At the heart of the frenzy stood a broad-shouldered old man, hair silver but back still straight. He shouted above the chaos, voice like steel cutting through thunder. "Check the seals—twice over! No leaks, no mistakes! Move fast, we don’t have much time!" Beside him, weaving through crates and workers, came a small figure. A girl, no older than thirteen, cheeks flushed from the rain. She pulled at his sleeve, her voice soft but trembling. "Grandpa... we’re taking so much. We won’t be back, will we?" 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂 The old man paused. For a heartbeat, the storm seemed to fade around him. He looked into her wide, uncertain eyes and forced a smile that did not quite reach his own. "You’ve always been sharp. You’re right," he said gently. Her brow furrowed. "Why? Is it because of the war? But... we’re a neutral faction!" He laid a heavy, calloused hand on her shoulder. "I’ll explain later. Right now, I need your help. Go—make sure everyone’s accounted for. No one left behind." The girl hesitated but nodded, lips pressed tight. She turned and ran into the storm, vanishing into the tide of workers. The old man’s smile fell away the moment she was gone. His arm device blinked with an insistent light, pulsing red against his weathered skin. He tapped it, and static crackled before a hurried voice came through. "Chief... bad news. Two bogeys incoming. ETA fifteen minutes. Orders?" The old man’s eyes lifted to the sky, his jaw tightening. His breath came slow, heavy. "It’s them," he muttered, voice dark with old anger. "Those bastards." "Should we launch? Maybe we can escape before—" "Not in that transport." His reply was sharp. "We won’t outrun them. And without the cargo, we won’t survive. No. We stand." For a long moment, silence stretched across the comm. "Gather the men." Within minutes, forty figures assembled in the central square. The storm battered them, rain streaming down weary faces. They were strong men, hardened by years of labor underground, muscles carved by stone and sweat. A handful radiated saint realm strength, the rest earth realm, but none carried the aura of true warriors. They were miners, and their weapons showed it—pickaxes, hammers, drills turned to crude arms in desperate hands. The chief stood before them, his coat whipping in the wind, his eyes scanning each face. Some trembled. Some clenched their tools so tightly their knuckles turned white. All knew what was coming. Among them, however, was one who stood apart. A figure draped in a dark cape, hood drawn low to hide his features. Unlike the others, he did not shuffle nervously. He stood still, calm. The storm split as engines howled overhead. Two sleek ships pierced the clouds. They circled above the colony, spotlights stabbing down across the mud and structures. For several long minutes, they hovered low, like predators drawing out fear before the kill. The miners gripped their tools tighter, sweat running cold despite the storm. Finally, the vessels descended. Their landing struts slammed into the earth with a hiss of steam. The ships themselves were brutal in design, armored with jagged plating and painted with the same mark that struck dread in every frontier colony: a blue skull smeared across the hull. The ramps lowered with a metallic clang, and figures emerged. Ten from each ship—twenty in total. Every man and woman among them carried weapons—energy rifles, and brutal melee tools dripping with intent. Their eyes burned with arrogance, their auras sharp and violent. Each one was saint realm. But two stepped forward above the rest. A scarred man, tall and broad, with a cruel grin carved into his face. Beside him, a woman cloaked in flowing blue, her beauty marred by the coldness of her gaze. Power radiated from them both—Magus realm strength, undeniable and suffocating. The old man’s stomach sank. He knew them. "We already gave our tribute last month," he said, voice strained, "We have nothing more." The woman laughed, a sound as sharp as broken glass. The man ignored the plea, his gaze sliding past the chief toward the stacked crates at the transport ship’s side. "I see plenty there," he said, his voice a low growl. "I’m sure you can share more." The chief straightened, though his chest ached with dread. "No. We cannot. We are leaving.... Take the mines if you want them, but not these supplies." The woman’s grin widened. "The mines? Do you think we’d crawl in the dirt like you? Why labor when we can take what you’ve already done?" The miners shifted uneasily, some tightening grips on their hammers, others taking small steps back. The old man’s sweat mingled with the rain on his brow, but he clenched his fists and let his power flare. Magus realm energy rippled through him, thin but resolute. The raiders’ laughter rolled like thunder. And then— "Grandpa!" The voice cut through the downpour. The old man’s heart seized as he saw her, breaking from the safety of the workers, running toward him through the storm. "NO! Stay back!" But before he could move, the female magus blurred. One heartbeat, she was standing by her men, the next she was behind the girl, her arm coiled around the girl small frame. A blade gleamed in her hand, pressed to the child’s throat. The chief staggered forward, every muscle trembling. The woman’s speed... she was half-moon level. He couldn’t match her. "Please," his voice cracked, torn between rage and despair. "Don’t hurt her!" The raider smirked, eyes glinting with malice. "Then give us everything. Or this sweet little thing bleeds." The miners froze, fear etched into their faces. Tools wavered in unsteady hands. The old man’s will faltered. His lips parted, ready to surrender—when another voice, soft yet unyielding, slid into the chaos. "...Excuse me." It was not a shout. It was calm, almost casual, yet it cut through the storm and the terror alike. Every head turned. A man now stood beside the raider ships. Cloaked in black, face hidden beneath a hood, as though he had always been there. No one had seen him approach. No one had felt him move. "Does this ship have warp capability?" he asked, his tone almost bored. The raiders recoiled. The scarred man barked, "Who the hell are you!?" His men shifted instantly into formation, weapons raised. Whoever could appear unnoticed among twenty saints and two magus was no ordinary figure. The female magus hissed, her blade pressing harder against the girl’s neck. "Tell your dog to step away, old man, or your brat dies!" The chief blinked in confusion. His mind reeled—he seemed to recognize the man as his own, yet no memory surfaced. No name. No past. Impossible. He knew every single soul living in the colony. "Please," the chief stammered, desperate. "Whoever you are... please. My granddaughter..." The raider woman sneered. "Pathetic. Even if you’re full moon, my wind dagger is—" Her words never finished. The storm seemed to blink. One moment, she stood tall, knife against the girl’s throat. The next—her body crumpled into the mud, unconscious, blade shattered, rain washing the blood from a shallow cut on her cheek. The girl gasped, free, and the cloaked man knelt beside her, his hand steady and gentle. "Go," he said softly, as though nothing had happened. "Run back to your family." She stared, wide-eyed, before sprinting into her grandfather’s arms. The old man held her tight, trembling with relief and disbelief alike. The cloaked man straightened, beneath the shadow of his hood, his eyes gleaming with restrained power. He was Emery, and he had just used a temporal spell to save the girl. He turned to the raider leader and said casually, "So... does your ship have a warp drive or not? Because I really need to borrow it"