Mattias felt a chill run down her spine, an absurd and unbelievable sensation rising in her heart.
According to the fleet inventory sent from the base, the number of spaceships had been steadily increasing over the past few years.
There had been no major armed conflicts in the last year, and aside from normal retirements, no spaceships—especially large ones—had been lost.
Yet the military requisition documents told a different story. Comparing the quotas from six months ago to the last two months, there was a discrepancy of nearly twenty spaceships—one Agamemnon, three Nelsons, and dozens of Drakes.
It wasn't just the missing ships. From the crew salary pool, thousands of wages had abruptly stopped being paid—exactly matching the number of personnel required to crew those ships.
This was no small oversight. An entire small fleet of warships had vanished without a trace.
Mattias immediately called officials at every level, but their responses only deepened her unease.
"Are you sure? We never produced those ships."
"Must be a clerical error. There aren't even enlistment records for these people. Maybe if you check their names, I can look again?" But no matter how many times she searched, there was no trace.
"Am I just overthinking this?"
Her mind grew hazy. "I must be overthinking it."
Exhaustion suddenly weighed on her. When she checked the time, it was already 5 a.m. the next day.
Time to rest…
Leaving the office, she took her private car home and collapsed onto the bed in a daze.
Deep fatigue washed over her, her eyelids growing heavier by the second.
BANG!
The wooden door burst open, slamming against the wall.
Mattias jolted awake, her mind clearing instantly—but at the same time, a sharp pain stabbed through her skull as if someone had struck her.
Clutching her head, she pushed herself up, her face twisted in pain as she scanned the room in confusion.
At the doorway, several burly men in black suits entered and took positions on either side. Then, an elderly woman with gray hair and deep wrinkles slowly shuffled in, leaning on a cane.
Turning, Mattias frowned at the sight of the visitor before forcing a smile. "To what do I owe this visit, Elder?" Her gaze swept over the group. "Barging into the clan leader's quarters with an entourage seems a bit presumptuous."
THUD!
The old woman struck the floor with her cane, her nearly toothless mouth opening to release a voice like scraping metal. "Clan leader? Mattias! How dare you refuse to confess your crimes!"
Mattias stood, her posture graceful and composed, and smiled. "Crimes? Even the elders shouldn't make baseless accusations."
"Hmph!" The old woman's lips twitched as she revealed an eerie smile. "Nonsense? You can judge for yourself whether I'm spouting nonsense, Mr. Mattias!"
The smile froze on his face before darkening moments later. "Where's your proof?"
"Brother, long time no see."
A pleasant female voice came from outside the door as Maltis, with her long blue hair, stepped in.
Now her eyes sparkled with vitality, her radiant face framed by an ornate silver-adorned dress—a far cry from her frenzied state months prior. "Maltis..." Mattias murmured his sister's name, staring at her in confusion. "Why?"
"Simply because I don't want the Clan to perish under your leadership," Maltis replied, her lips curving into a composed smile. "For centuries, our Clan's rule has dictated that only women can be leaders. For a man like you to occupy the position of Clan Head—that is taboo."
"Mattias!" the old woman barked. "Given that you haven't brought ruin upon the Clan so far, I'll grant you the dignity of admitting it yourself. Otherwise, don't blame me for having you inspected."
Ignoring the old woman, Mattias kept his gaze locked on Maltis. "What exactly are you trying to do?"
Her smile remained flawless. "Naturally, it's for the Clan."
"Mattias!" The old woman, now disregarded, turned pale with fury.
"Silence!" Mattias snapped, his willow-leaf brows furrowing. "Until I relinquish my position, I am still the Clan Head. You have no right to interrupt a conversation between me and the future leader!"
The old woman choked, wheezing like an old bellows, looking as if she might keel over any second.
"So, brother acknowledges me as Clan Head now?"
Not a single trace of emotion flickered in Maltis's smile.
"It's yours. This position was always meant to be yours..."
A tremor passed through Maltis's lips, cracking her mask-like composure. "Take him away. Make sure he's watched closely. Everything he owns now belongs to the Clan."
Black-suited bodyguards stepped forward, but a single icy glare from Mattias froze them in place.
Striding forward on his own, the old woman and the guards instinctively retreated, clearing a path.
At the door, he paused and turned back to Maltis. "Did Mother ever truly exist?"
The mask shattered. Maltis's smile vanished, her eyes darkening with something unhinged.
"I..." Mattias recalled his earlier investigations, suddenly sensing something amiss within himself. "I may have... misjudged you..." Yet Maltis showed no joy at his words, her voice frigid. "Shut up! Trying to win me over now? Too late. Take him away!"
After Mattias was led out, the old woman studied Maltis. "Though you've become Clan Head, remember this—the Clan is not a place for your whims. Every action must serve the Clan's future."
A smile returned to Maltis's face. "Of course. I've already devised a solution. What our Clan lacks most is formidable combat strength. But that Zhou Tianming taught us a lesson—superior skill paired with cutting-edge weaponry can turn the tide of battle single-handedly."
"If we had ten, a hundred, even a thousand Zhou Tianmings, not even the Three Council Nations could stand against us."
The old woman's eyes gleamed, her grin widening. "Excellent! Excellent! Maltis, you are clever indeed. Lead the Clan well, and we shall rule the world."
"Of course!" Maltis smiled, but her eyes were icy as she watched the excited old woman.
"However, our genetic technology isn't yet up to par. It will require significant resources for development, and it might take..."
The old woman waved her hand dismissively. "Then invest them. With the Eurasian secret intelligence department's backing, money and authority aren't an issue."
"I understand."
A few days later, Zhou Tianming received a reply from the Junk Guild.
It listed dozens of trustworthy metal and mining companies.
Tianming carefully cross-referenced each of the hundreds of materials listed in the [Psycommu Alloy] formula.
To protect the secrecy of the formula as much as possible, he selected over a dozen companies to supply the basic materials and two major corporations for the rare components, even mixing in some irrelevant materials to mislead potential thieves.
With the materials secured, the next step was finding a reliable processing plant—after all, he'd have to hand over the formula to them.
Comparing reputation, reliability, and production speed, Tianming narrowed it down to two candidates.
The first was an established metal and ore processing company, founded in CE 30, with a consistently excellent track record.
The second one, however...
Tianming's expression turned odd. In every aspect, this second company paled in comparison to the veteran firm. There was only one reason he'd picked it.
The company was called Yamato Mining.
When he visited their official website and saw the founder's profile, Tianming's lingering doubts were laid to rest.
A neatly combed black-haired man with an ordinary, honest face—Haruma-Yamato.
Why was Kira able to move around so freely and attend elite schools?
Why could Kira study at the same academy as children of high-ranking officials like Frey and Sai?
How could his adoptive parents have connections with Orb's Prime Minister Asuha, even arranging for Cagalli to be adopted by them?
Here was the answer—they owned a mine!