Chapter 46 Verification

Silence fell on the other end of the comms, broken only by the hiss of static.

These few brief seconds felt longer than the life-or-death moments that preceded them.

Finally, Mu Chenzhu's voice sounded once more. His tone gave away neither joy nor anger, yet carried an unquestionable weight:

"Information received. Explorer 7, hold your current position. Arbitrator, secure the perimeter. No one is to approach that vessel without my command. Xu Yan, lead your key personnel aboard a transport craft and proceed immediately to Berth One of the Lyra. I will be waiting for you there."

The communication cut off.

Absolute silence gripped the bridge, broken only by heavy, ragged breathing.

Did they succeed? Had they actually... succeeded?

Duan Peng collapsed into a chair, his mouth opening in a grin that pulled at his injuries, turning the expression into a grimacing hiss of pain.

Ouyang Nan leaned back against the backrest like a drained battery, closing her eyes as her chest heaved violently.

Wu Mingjie silently watched Xu Yan, his single hand slowly clenching into a fist.

Xu Yan slowly straightened up, casting his gaze once more out through the viewport.

That single spark of truth had pierced the darkness, shooting straight toward the highest echelons of power.

And they, a band of battered soldiers, were about to knock on the gates of ultimate judgment, carrying the stench of gunpowder and irrefutable evidence.

The road ahead remained uncertain, but the spark had already caught, destined to start a prairie fire.

*****

The atmosphere at Berth One of the Lyra space station was palpable, dense as physical matter.

Beneath the colossal metal dome, sterile lights illuminated every inch of the deck with ruthless clarity. The air lingered with the residual ozone of docked warcraft and a silent, crushing pressure.

A small transport craft—the sole surviving lifeboat of Explorer 7—sat quietly at the center of the berth. Its hull was scarred with scorch marks and impact dents, resembling a survivor who had just crawled back from the depths of hell.

The transport's hatch slid open with a metallic shriek, and Xu Yan stepped out first.

The left sleeve of his combat uniform was crudely bandaged, the bloodstains darkened and dry. Though weariness etched his face, his spine remained ramrod straight, and his gaze was calm, as if he had not just raced against death moments before.

Behind him, supported by Ouyang Nan, Duan Peng limped down the ramp. His face was pale from blood loss and pain, yet he still fought to steady himself. Wu Mingjie emerged last, his single arm hanging at his side as his vigilant gaze swept the surroundings.

Surrounding the berth stood elite soldiers in full combat gear, clad in the direct command uniforms of the interstellar headquarters. Expressionless and sharp-eyed, they sealed off all passageways like statues.

Further away, a few figures in the deep gray uniforms of the Inspection Office flickered in and out of sight. At their forefront stood Shen Shanli, his face livid, his gloomy eyes fixed viciously upon Xu Yan's group, though he dared not approach in the face of the overwhelming force present.

The sense of oppression was nearly suffocating.

Right then, a steady, forceful cadence of footsteps echoed from the main corridor.

Every guard snapped to attention simultaneously, executing a uniform, synchronized salute.

General Mu Chenzhu had arrived.

He wore no formal general's dress uniform, but rather a dark service combat tunic. The stars on his shoulder boards flickered with a cold, hard glint under the lights.

His pace was unhurried, yet it carried the crushing momentum of an advancing army. His cropped, graying hair stood on end, and his face was etched with the weathered lines of authority.

His gaze, like a physical spotlight, instantly locked onto Xu Yan. It swept over the wound on his arm, brushed past his battered yet unyielding companions, and finally settled on his calm eyes, which burned with a hidden flame.

There were no pleasantries, no wasted words.

"Xu Yan," Mu Chenzhu's voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly across the entire berth with unquestionable force. "I received the message you transmitted. Where is this evidence you claim to possess?"

Xu Yan stepped forward, drew a heavily encrypted solid-state storage chip from his tunic, and offered it with both hands.

His movement was standardized, neither servile nor overbearing.

"General, all raw data, signal logs, spatial fold parameter analysis reports, and our intercepted, decrypted fragments of the Redeem organization's communications are stored right here. This includes... corroborating coordinate data regarding the truth behind the disappearance of the Pathfinder survey team." His voice remained steady, though he deliberately emphasized the final words.

An aide stepped forward, accepted the chip, and plugged it into a portable, high-security decryption terminal he carried.

A massive holographic screen flared to life at the edge of the berth. Complex data streams, warped spatial models, harsh recordings of encrypted signals, and those fatal lines of decoded text—*Project Gateway Phase 2*, *Pathfinder Survey Team Data Confirmed Erased*, *Preparation for Induced Wormhole Collapse Experiment*—unspooled like a freezing tide, laid bare before everyone present.

Shen Shanli's face turned instantly ashen. He instinctively took half a step forward, his lips parting as if he wished to speak.

Mu Chenzhu raised a single hand, preempting any sound he might have made.

His gaze remained locked onto the screen, rapidly scanning the data models and shocking textual evidence that far exceeded standard technological frameworks.

His weathered face betrayed no change in expression; only deep within his eyes, a storm seemed to gather.

Absolute silence reigned over the berth, broken only by the faint hiss of refreshing data streams.

A few minutes later, Mu Chenzhu slowly turned around, casting his gaze back toward Xu Yan. This time, his look carried a layer of deeply complex scrutiny.

"These data models," he pointed toward the frequency-synchronization stability model on the screen—the one drawn by Xu Yan, fusing the sciences of Earth and the world of Ram, "especially this wormhole stabilization theory based on energy resonance rather than physical materials... did you formulate this independently?"

"It was derived and verified through field survey data and... unconventional lines of thought, with the assistance of my team members," Xu Yan answered cautiously, sidestepping the existence of the Parasite.

Mu Chenzhu's gaze was sharp as a blade, seeming to pierce through every disguise.

He fell silent for a few seconds before suddenly issuing an order to the technical team nearby: "Set up a micro spatial resonance simulator on-site. Use standard energy sources and execute a real-time verification according to the parameters in his model."

The order was executed swiftly. A compact simulation unit was wheeled forward.

The technical officers looked at Xu Yan with skepticism and a trace of hard-to-conceal anticipation.

Xu Yan took a deep breath and stepped forward.

He closed his eyes. Deep within his consciousness, the cold calculating power of the Parasite merged seamlessly with his own comprehension and resolve.

*'Energy output calibration, frequency offset compensation 0.03%, phase synchronization commencing...'* The Parasite's prompt was flawlessly precise.

Xu Yan's fingers danced across the control interface, inputting a sequence of commands.

His movements possessed a strange rhythm—possessing both human decisiveness and superhuman precision.

The simulator whirred to life, a deep hum vibrating through the air.

Energy beams intersected within the sealed chamber. The space ahead began to warp slightly, and an extremely tiny, highly unstable point of light flickered into existence, struggling and trembling...

Everyone held their breath.

Shen Shanli's hands instinctively clenched.

The point of light trembled for a dozen seconds, on the verge of annihilation just like countless experiments before it—

Xu Yan's brows knit slightly, his fingers punching in one final, exceedingly subtle, counter-intuitive frequency micro-adjustment.