This was clearly not right. Who would make heartfelt confessions in the middle of this???
But if they didn’t act now, were they supposed to wait until the enemy snapped out of it?
The squad leader made a split-second decision, wielding a heavy weapon and blasting toward the enemy.
The others reacted quickly—they’d obviously worked together many times, and even shorthanded, were perfectly coordinated.
With all kinds of advanced technology, the overall competence of interstellar residents had risen as well. Defensive measures became more sophisticated, and though the vast Holy Cas Empire couldn’t cover every corner, the protection for these mine guardians was always solid.
In contrast, the thieves had far less in the way of defences.
They were drifters, hitting and running—thieving valuable resources from the loose borders of the wealthy Empire and selling them offworld. All their equipment was geared for offence; big, destructive weapons.
Especially these underlings, who hadn’t even realized what was happening before being blown to the ground by the squad’s counterattack.
The next round of fighting started quickly, so quickly that not even the little leader understood why he suddenly felt such nausea—and he had no time to dwell before facing the incoming attack.
But the thieves did have numbers.
Even with the Holy Cas squad seizing the initiative, they were soon pressed hard.
It was just that things were a bit easier on the squad side—because that bizarre “mutual confession” seemed to spread among the enemy like an infectious bug.
In brief firefights, anyone who picked up a heavy weapon got “controlled” and taken out by the squad.
For a while, I-love-you’s flew alongside curses, making for a… beautiful scene.
Amid this chaos, the outnumbered squad was able to withstand the attack.
The fighting didn’t last long, and with little cover, the squad had to protect the tents behind them. They were first to realize the real problem: the little one from Imperial Planet hiding behind them seemed to have a special kind of spiritual power!
Making use of vehicles and household items, they dragged things out for ten plus minutes. At this point, even the dumbest enemy could see something was up—not a disease, but someone pulling the strings!
“Damn it, out of my way!”
The little leader kicked aside the guy who’d, for the umpteenth time, confessed his affections and angrily hefted his rocket launcher—which, oddly, whoever aimed it would giggle and lower it instead.
He’d made it to leadership for a reason—he realized someone was meddling, that the group was weirdly protecting that tent, and grew frantic.
He just wanted to smash this squad and intimidate the locals. With so many attackers, a cosmic disaster disrupting comms, this should’ve been easy.
He never expected zero casualties on the other side.
In fact, they even seemed to be turning the tables.
He took a deep breath, hefted his weapon, and shifted position.
Little Chu Zao watched from the door.
He still held his little bow, his body swaying, and its golden glow was already fading—Zao Zao was so tired.
His big, beautiful eyes shimmered with tears. He was scared, and the high mental and physical toll nearly hit his five-year-old limit.
And now the enemy moved lightning fast; Chu Zao couldn’t keep up.
That black muzzle aimed right at the tent.
“Baba… Grandpa Meilun…”
The cub trembled, gripping the bow.
Baba had said—he must rely more on himself.
But, but Zao Zao was still scared.
There was no time to aim—
He tried to fire again, but was clearly too slow.
But in the atmosphere above Mining Planet 78, a small starship hovered silently.
Having exited the field, Kaman watched, feeling he ought not intervene but remained for reasons he couldn’t explain.
He intended, at least until the Holy Cas army arrived, to spare the mine guards heavy losses.
But things had slipped out of control from the start.
What was with all the “I love you” talk? All these guys wielding heavy guns were falling for love and peace?
It all felt very strange.
Kaman couldn’t put his finger on it.
Since earlier, he’d felt something was off.
In the shadows of the control room, his pale face was lit by the screen, fingers restlessly tapping on the panel—restless in a way even he didn’t notice.
Next to him, an open can of nutrient fluid—after one sip, he’d left it aside in distaste.
Above, a black halo appeared, in far worse shape than Meilun’s. It could hardly even be called a halo—a thin rim, threatening to break at any time.
A new message came in—Kaman’s target, a particularly cautious thief leader who’d skirted Holy Cas’s net multiple times, known to rebuild after every loss and increasingly hate the Empire, now invited him to a celebration after his latest success.
Kaman sneered—about to catch this guy at last. Once, none of these petty villains ranked as enemies of the Crown Clan, but now, with his own end near, he’d rather not die alone and forgotten.
He was a “traitor” now, and he had no desire nor way to go back.
Kaman opened the hatch.
Though in space, the Crown Clan’s bodies handled it easily.
He took a few steps to the bay door, summoned spiritual power into the form of a javelin, thought for a moment, then dialed down its force, letting the weapon’s glow fade.
Downcast, he aimed, and as the leader fired—
“Meilun may not need this, but isn’t there a strange little cub with him?”
Kaman muttered.
“That cub will need it.”
Or else the squad would be severely hurt.
Adult Crown Clan spiritual power descended; just as Chu Zao loosed his last arrow in panic, and the mine squad scrambled to assist—
The shell exploded midair, its force much reduced by Crown Clan power.
And as Kaman’s energy faded, a soft little wave of spiritual power banged into his.
Back inside, Kaman’s eyes flew open.
In the final moment, something special reverberated; his heart hammered, a flush rising to his pale cheeks, hand flying to his chest.
Thump—thump thump—
Faster and faster.
It felt as if something longed-for—but always out of reach—was right there!
What was happening?!
Kaman snapped back as the explosion left no casualties but blew open the temporary door. As he looked to check again, alarms shrilled—the scanner showed a mass like a cloud, pressing down, coming for him.
He cursed instinctively. “What the hell???”
It was—the Holy Cas war fleet.
When did they get here?
All these ships for Meilun? Was he that valuable??!
Kaman was baffled.
Maybe these ships were after him? But that was overkill—Amos alone could take him!
Downcast as he was, Kaman panicked.
Then the ship comms crackled: “Hello, Prince Kaman, this is the Ninth Army. General Yemeng greets you by order of His Majesty, who is about to arrive…”
Crap!
Old Meilun’s stock really had soared!
Kaman punched in escape coordinates, not caring to listen further—he’d already known the army would be coming for Meilun, but not this many, nor this fast—and even Amos himself!
He didn’t have time to think too hard about that strange feeling—Amos had scared him off.
The small ship sped away.
The general noted Kaman’s departure and quickly reported up the chain.
Amos fixed his gaze on Meilun’s signal. Kaman didn’t want to return and would be hard to catch for further treatment.
But Amos had bigger priorities.
“Never mind him. Break the atmosphere, descend at full speed. Open the warship landing bay upon entry.”
Amos and the Ninth Army arrived first. Frey and Anya, also searching, were coming too, though slower and diverted by Amos to hunt the escaping Hymn starship.
Almost… there!
Chu Zao’s last spirit arrow flew, but he was so tired he could hardly stand.
The explosion wind was huge, blasting away cover; the cub fell heavily.
The confused thief leader saw it: a five-year-old holding a golden bow, blinking watery eyes up at him.
What the—was this cub the source of the chaos?
“Dammit!”
The squad leader, shaken by the blast, coughed and shouted.
He signaled the others: protect the cub and his unconscious grandpa.
Any doubts were gone—in fact, they wouldn’t have survived without the cub.
Holy Cas people didn’t forget their debts!
“What strange spiritual power—grab that cub!”
The leader advanced, muscles bulging and eyes fierce.
Chu Zao shuddered, utterly exhausted.
He hesitated—run to Grandpa Meilun, or try to escape?
Trying to get up with his little bow, he stumbled to hide.
The squad stalled the attack, but the cub was depleted; he had no more strength to wield his bow, and was quickly spotted.
The miners, briefly with the upper hand, were surrounded again.
Wen Qingfeng and Wen Qingyu shielded the cub but were injured, growing desperate.
“Backup isn’t here yet?”
“We ran far—maybe ten more minutes, just hold on.”
They all knew—they just had to hold out ten minutes, and the thieves would retreat when they failed. But those ten minutes were grueling.
In a way, the thieves, seeing the cub’s spiritual power, hadn’t aimed heavy weapons at the tent anymore.
But the leader kept coming.
The wind from the fight ruffled Chu Zao’s black hair; his little hands trembled, old wounds bleeding anew.
“Haha—even if I fail, if I catch you, it’ll be enough.”
He hefted his weapon as a club. Wen Qingfeng blocked him; the impact numbed his hand.
“Run—!” he murmured.
The cub seized the moment—his halo flashed out, along with his bow, and his wings, one drooping pitifully. He pulled the string, aimed, and fired again.
Then collapsed.
His round face was smeared with dust and blood, soft and pale, adorable in misery. He trembled, but still found one more opening to attack, confusing the leader for a moment.
The leader glared at Wen Qingfeng, his own mind wrecked by the cub’s spirit arrows, his thoughts growing more aggressive and manic.
He thought—how could he be so rough to this likeable young man? Then he jerked away from it.
But while his grip eased, Wen Qingfeng kneed him, fired again—only to be blocked by defenses.
At this point, though, no one cared—they all stared at the dimming, graying coronet and halo.
That was… what?
A halo?
A coronet… halo??
“No—don’t come any closer!”
The baby voice wavered, strained.
His white, downy wings fluffed in distress, and his spiritual power, trembling and weak, began to weep, seeking a parent to cling to.
Inside the tent, Meilun’s eyelids flickered, veins bulging, but he still couldn’t move.
Only the outside defenders stood in front of the cub.
Still in shock—
Someone muttered:
“A Crown Clan… that coronet…”
“Is that a Crown Prince?”
“Are we protecting a Crown Prince?”
“No, wait—the little prince just protected us! It’s just like—just like—”
Like ages past, when the Crown Clan saved them all.
The prince had no reason to help them.
But could the Crown Clan even have a little prince?
None of that mattered.
To Holy Cas, the greatest hope was to add glory to Their Majesty’s coronet and halo.
For millennia, the Crown Clan protected them—and they, in turn, supported this “ticking time bomb” race, in a way incomprehensible to outsiders.
Chu Zao could no longer lift his bow, looking blankly up at those who surrounded and shielded him.
Their bearing had changed, now tinged with remorse and fury.
Like a berserker mode had been activated—
“I didn’t block well enough… let the Prince get hurt…”
“I really thought it was bearable—turns out…”
“Your Highness, move away—”
“Let’s fight to the end!”
“Damn it!!!”
The thieves were intimidated.
The leader, bloodshot eyes filled with disordered power—forgetting the Crown Clan’s terror, forgetting that Holy Cas was too vast to patrol, fueling their boldness—now only raged wildly.
“So what if he has a halo? That doesn’t prove he’s Crown Clan! There aren’t any others here! Take him out, and as long as—”
Before Chu Zao could speak, the plea for help in his exhausted spiritual energy got a response.
The cub blinked, eyes welling with tears he quickly wiped away.
The leader’s speech cut off—he himself hadn’t yet realized his own mind was broken.
Some of the underlings lost their nerve.
“Boss, maybe he really is Crown Clan—this will bring disaster, and their backup’s nearly here, should we…?”
A few droplets of blood sprayed onto the ground, and all sound stopped—
The leader froze in place, his heavy cannon thudding to the earth. That burly man stared wide-eyed, blood running in a line from a wound piercing his forehead—
At some point, maybe just now—
Someone had appeared behind him.
A spiritual longsword gleaming with dark light thrust in through the back of his head, so swift not a word could be uttered before everyone froze in terror.
Sssch—a soft sound, the sword sliding out, letting blood drip.
Dense black lashes lifted: a pair of calm, blood-red eyes, above which sat a complex, magnificent silver-black coronet and halo.
Amos was looking at Chu Zao. He should already be familiar—on the way, he’d watched that video dozens of times.
But now the cub looked much worse—utterly spent, battered and bloody, his pale, pitiful face, the dulled little halo, and most of all—that limp wing.
Behind Amos, snowy wings flared open, the surge of spiritual force radiating anger, the pressure unbearable for the thieves, all of whom immediately collapsed.
They panted, glancing upward.
“What—?”
“The sky—look at the sky—”
At the horizon, shadow after shadow appeared—
Blotting out the light, swarms of dark dots like a host of bees, closing fast.
Upon the chassis of these war machines, the Dwight family’s coronet crest was stamped, its center in ancient Holy Cas script emblazoned with a great “9”.
—The Holy Cas Ninth Army, fully deployed.
Vast warships violated standard landing protocols, descending in a blanket, weapons aimed in all directions—any rash move and the thieves would instantly be vaporized.
Against that black backdrop, only Amos’s scarlet eyes glowed, radiating fury.
What happened?
Too quickly—in the moment Amos arrived, everything was over with no time for resistance, still barely understanding—Crown Clan?
Really the Crown Clan?
Amos let go, his spiritual sword dissolving, and strode over to Chu Zao, blocking his gaze from the bloody scene.
He crouched, meeting the cub’s eyes, mouth opening—Amos wanted to speak, but for an instant, didn’t know what to say.
Everything seemed pale and useless; he couldn’t judge the cub’s mood.
He was still adjusting to the transformation from white furball to small, battered child, and didn’t dare reach out. With the little wings drooping, Amos felt his chest tighten unbearably; he couldn’t speak.
His giant wings folded around, shielding the cub.
Chu Zao, seeing Amos, just about burst into tears, but forced himself to hold back, wiping at his eyes, the little voice soft and choked.
“Baba… Zao Zao knew you’d come. Zao Zao protected Grandpa Meilun… Zao Zao’s been through storms now, does that count as growing up?”
Still wiping his eyes, the cub repeated words he’d heard from Amos before.
He wasn’t relying only on others, really.
Amos was stunned, hands slowly clenching.
The cub sniffled, tentatively reaching out: “Baba, Zao Zao is strong… Zao Zao didn’t cry—”
Can Zao Zao have a hug? Zao Zao really wants a hug.
Nobody had ever answered before; Zao Zao had always been alone… even a small hug.
Amos finally couldn’t hold back—he swept the trembling little one into his arms, voice striving for warmth, but sounding hoarse, “It was my fault—”
With the cub in his arms, just feeling the warmth and familiar scent—
The tough little guy, insisting he hadn’t cried, burst out into tears, soaking Amos’s clothes, his trembling shoulders heaving with soft, broken sobs.
Zao Zao had only never said—being alone—was so scary.
brought tears to my eyes…