Chapter 51: Never Admit Defeat

Tifa, Mitch Fran, and the others found themselves unable to intervene; Han Feng single-handedly dealt with all the remaining pirates. He simply couldn't afford to be anything less than proactive—each of those pirates was as good as a pile of gleaming star coins, and especially those three martial artists. He had no intention of letting them die at someone else's hands and lose a significant cut of the profits.

“Commander Han Feng, what do we do next? The ship’s energy shield is back online, but we lack any effective means of counterattack. How are we supposed to deal with those two pirate warships outside?” Mitch Fran approached, clutching his arm. His golden hair was matted with blood, a testament to his injuries—he’d faced two opponents alone and suffered multiple broken bones.

Han Feng frowned in thought. The Taurus-class vessel did have some single-pilot fighters on board, but those required squadron tactics to be effective. They were as fragile as eggshells—one hit from enemy artillery and the pilot would be lucky to escape becoming frozen treats for star beasts.

The Taurus-class was a small industrial transport ship, carrying just five such fighters. Five fighters against two destroyer-class ships wasn’t just a losing proposition—they couldn’t even break through the enemy shields, let alone destroy the ships. These weren’t the ironclad cavalry fighters of a carrier; the two models were worlds apart in capability.

Such ordinary light fighters were only suitable for ganging up on corvette-class ships. To take on a Blood Tiger or a Three-Headed Serpent would be like waving an axe before Master Lu Ban, or brandishing a broadsword in front of Lord Guan—a laughable display.

This was a tough situation. They couldn’t exactly pin their hopes on ECM drones and pray for a miracle, could they? The odds of those actually interfering with the enemy’s targeting systems were slim to none—if it were possible, it would have worked already. The fact that nothing had happened so far only proved the enemy’s electronic warfare resistance was more than enough to counteract the ECM drones’ interference.

Han Feng swept his gaze over the assembled group and suddenly an idea took shape. Whether it would work or not would depend on their luck.

His eyes finally settled on Jordan Piris. Feeling Han Feng’s gaze, Jordan’s heart skipped a beat. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Jordan, I’ve got an idea, but I might need your help.” Han Feng packed away the Greyshiel and outlined his plan to Jordan Piris and Mitch Fran.

“I think it could work. It’s worth a try,” Mitch Fran nodded after hearing Han Feng’s proposal.

“Uh, I’m not sure I can do it. You all saw for yourselves—I specialize in summoning magic. I only stumbled across that particular spell while reading a magic tome. I know the incantation, but I was boasting earlier when I said it works sometimes—it never actually worked after I learned it,” Jordan stammered, waving his hands.

At his words, Han Feng, Tifa, and Mitch Fran all stared at him intently, until he wished he could shrink into the floor.

“A man can’t say he can’t do it. You’re the only mage on this ship—if you can’t, who can? At a time like this, if I say you can, you have to make it happen. If not, you’d better come up with another feasible plan,” Han Feng replied, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Er, maybe we could try contacting the system defense force again?” Jordan scratched his head.

The others looked at him in silence. Everyone knew the Lowian System Defense Force was notoriously slow to react, small in number, and not particularly strong—always stretched thin. And up until now, not a single distress signal from the Taurus-class had gotten through, because the surrounding area was blanketed in pirate jamming fields.

“Ahem, well, maybe I’ll give it a try,” Jordan finally said, clearing his throat and managing a sheepish smile.

“Hurry up already!” Mitch Fran urged.

Mitch stood quietly as Jordan began his incantation. The pages of his spellbook fluttered on their own, and the magical energy around him grew steadily more intense. Suddenly, Jordan pointed at Mitch.

A blue beam of light enveloped Mitch Fran.

A puff of white smoke rose from Mitch’s body.

And then…

Nothing happened.

“Uh, maybe I didn’t get the cadence of the incantation quite right. Let me try again,” Jordan said nervously, feeling the weight of the plan resting squarely on his shoulders.

With another puff, Mitch Fran was transformed into a pig-headed man—complete with a sow’s features.

Just as Mitch was about to explode in anger, Jordan cried, “Sorry!” and hastily cast another spell.

Puff! Puff! Puff!

After more than a dozen attempts, Jordan was drenched in sweat and nearing magical exhaustion, but the spell still hadn’t succeeded.

Finally, one last attempt—Jordan’s reserves were nearly depleted.

A final cloud of white smoke, and Mitch Fran’s appearance changed dramatically—his figure broadened, his handsome golden features morphing into those of a rugged man. He now looked exactly like Tradon Viller.

Mitch gazed at his reflection in amazement. “It really is uncanny,” he remarked, his voice transformed as well.

“At last… it worked.” Jordan collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily. The sensation of being drained of magic was excruciating, but seeing Mitch take on the intended form, he relaxed and closed his eyes, falling asleep where he lay.

Five minutes later.

Inside the Taurus-class transport’s control room, “Tradon Viller” sat with an air of authority, seven or eight “pirates” standing behind him with their backs to the camera, guns trained on the “prisoners” lying on the floor.

Han Feng had been singled out and tied up, thrown on the ground. Tifa and Sun Fei, along with the other women, were also bound and kept separately under guard, their clothes artfully disheveled to sell the illusion.

Of course, those “pirates” were actually the Hunter warriors in disguise—they’d stripped the uniforms from the dead pirates and put on the costumes themselves. The “prisoners” were really the ship’s crew, all participating in the ruse.

“Tradon Viller” stared intently at the ship’s communications screen, which was in the process of requesting a call with the two pirate warships outside.

Beep!

The video feed connected. On the screen representing the Three-Headed Serpent-class ship appeared a middle-aged man with a sharp, rat-like face—he looked every bit the cunning old rodent. On the Blood Tiger-class ship’s screen was a red-skinned giant.

The red-skinned man stood up at once when he saw the people on the call. “Commissar Mao!” he called out, then added, “Captain Viller!”

Hearing the order of the salutations, Han Feng’s heart tightened. He hadn’t expected Tradon Viller to not be the highest-ranking figure among these two pirate warships.