Intergalactic conquest with an AI-Chapter 413: The enemy within.

He didn’t know what it was. He hadn’t even noticed it was there. But in that brief moment, he understood.... had Lyra not spoken, his head might have left his shoulders.

He swallowed hard, trying to pretend he wasn’t shaken.

Lyra yawned again, stretching once more with a tired groan. "Forgive my bodyguards," she said lazily. "They get a little jumpy whenever someone tries to act clever. They’re a bit too protective. To them, I’m a kind of royalty, you see."

Then she waved the topic away like dust in the air.

"But let’s skip the awkward part. I assume you didn’t come all this way just to insult me." She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and placing her chin on her hands.

"So? Tell me why you’re here. I’d like to wrap this up soon since I have very important business with my pillow."

She yawned again, her fangs flashing as if to remind them, royalty or not, she was still a predator.

The middle-aged man gave a nervous cough, subtly rubbing his neck as if trying to erase the lingering sensation of something cold and sharp having brushed against it. Even though he hadn’t actually seen anything, the feeling remained vivid... like the ghost of a blade that had almost ended his life.

"Ahem... I assure you, Commander, I have no intention of taking up more of your valuable time than necessary," he said while adopting a courteous and respectful tone.

"I come bearing two things: first, some important information that may benefit us both, and second, a humble proposal for cooperation between our forces."

With a snap of his fingers, one of the two guards who had accompanied him stepped forward. The guard, who was also clad in shiny, high-grade armor, reached into a compartment on his hip and carefully placed a small USB-like device on the sleek metallic table.

Immediately, Tyty stepped forward. Without needing to be asked, he picked up the device and scanned it with a set of built-in protocols, searching for any malicious code, viruses, or digital traps.

Once he confirmed the device was clean, he inserted it into the command table’s interface. A moment later, the entire room lit up with a spread of floating holographic screens.

The air shimmered with the glow of blue light as files began to display photos, video footage, thermal readings, and written reports. All of them were about the same mysterious creature that had repeatedly attacked the Kaelzar outpost.

Lyra studied the data carefully, her crimson eyes glowing faintly as she leaned forward in her seat. She scanned one of the videos, a blurry feed from a helmet camera showing a massive shadow tearing through defensive lines, followed by panicked screaming and static.

Once she had seen enough, Lyra looked directly at the middle-aged man; her voice this time was sharp but curious. "So what you’re telling me is... this creature isn’t acting alone? That someone is pulling its strings?"

The man gave a polite bow of his head. "Exactly as you’ve said, Commander," he replied. "Our investigation over the past two months has shown a pattern: each time an outpost is overrun by the infected, it begins the same way: an aerial bombardment from an unknown group."

Lyra narrowed her eyes slightly. "You mean those airstrikes are softening the target before the infected arrive?"

"Precisely," the man continued. "The bombs strike the defensive walls or core generators first. Then, not long after, the infected swarm in. The timing is too perfect to be a coincidence. Someone is guiding the chaos. And they’re good at staying hidden."

Lyra reached out and took a glass from a small tray that a bot maid had quietly brought to her. She took a sip; the cool liquid did the work of calming her thoughts. "Let me guess. You don’t know who these aerial attackers are?"

The man gave a weary sigh and nodded. "Correct. Despite the resources given to us by our sponsors to investigate, we’ve found no clues to their identity. We’ve sent out scout teams, dispatched drones, and even sacrificed an entire squadron of fighter pilots to track their trajectory."

"And?" Lyra asked, tilting her head slightly.

"None of them returned," he admitted grimly. "Whoever they are, they’re not infected. That much is clear. These attackers fly coordinated missions, use high-tech equipment, and strike with precision."

"The infected, as you know, are primal; they move on instinct or under the direction of mutant leaders, and they certainly don’t fly bombers or strategize like this."

As he finished speaking, the man found himself once again watching Lyra while her sharp mind clearly worked through the implications.

She was beautiful, undeniably so. With her silver hair tousled like moonlight and her blood-red eyes glowing like dying stars, she radiated the kind of beauty and danger that could make a man forget his own name.

But the seasoned mercenary forced himself to look away. He was old enough and smart enough to know better than to let desire override caution.

Especially when it came to the Blood Clan. They weren’t just exotic... they were lethal. And anyone foolish enough to forget that could find themselves bleeding out in a dark corridor, wondering where they went wrong.

Several minutes passed in thick, heavy silence. The only sound was the quiet hum of the outpost’s systems and the occasional flicker of a holo-screen.

Lyra slowly twirled her empty glass between her fingers, crimson eyes fixed on the middle-aged man. Finally, she broke the silence with a calm, almost casual voice that carried a sharp undertone of curiosity.

"So," she said while resting her soft cheek on her hand, "you mentioned a sponsor earlier. Who is he?"

Her gaze was sharp yet relaxed, almost like a cat eyeing a cornered mouse. The glass in her hand caught a glint of the soft lights above, casting a tiny reflection across the table.

The middle-aged man gave a small sigh and scratched the back of his head. "That... I honestly don’t know," he admitted, shrugging slightly. frёewebnoѵēl.com

"As you’re probably aware, Commander, we’re just a hired mercenary company. Our job was to protect a group of researchers and scientists sent by our sponsor. That’s all we’ve been told."

Lyra narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "But surely, he contacted you at some point? You must’ve received direct orders, or something. I’d imagine you’d at least have a comm link or two you could share with me... just as a gesture of good faith... no?"

She flashed a teasing smile that, despite its charm, held a subtle warning beneath it.

The smile was devastating. Her crimson eyes, framed by long silver lashes, sparkled with mischief. It wasn’t just beauty; it was the kind of beauty that could make stars burn out of jealousy.

The middle-aged man, seasoned as he was, didn’t falter. He’d dealt with femmes fatales before that were all beautiful women with dangerous tempers and sharper blades. He knew how to keep his composure.

But Martin? Martin was a completely different story.

The younger mercenary’s face flushed bright red the moment Lyra’s eyes met his. He stiffened like someone had poured ice water down his spine... and then dropped it all into his pants.

All his blood rushed to his head... or rather, the wrong one. He quickly looked down, trying not to trip over his own thoughts.

The middle-aged man let out a tired sigh, already sensing the incoming disaster. He didn’t even need to turn around to know Martin was about to open his big mouth.

"It’s not that we don’t want to give you the contact info, my lady," Martin blurted out in a hurry. "It’s just... our sponsor changes his identity every time a supply convoy shows up. He leaves our orders through physical paper cards."

The moment the words left Martin’s mouth, silence fell again. The only thing that moved was Tyty’s optic lenses, subtly zooming in on Lyra’s face to watch her reaction.

Lyra blinked once. Then twice. "Cards?" she repeated. "You mean... actual cards? Made of tree paper?"

Her tone wasn’t mocking; instead, she sounded genuinely surprised. After all, in an era where data was stored in quantum cores and sent across light-years in milliseconds, using wood-based materials for communication was absurd.

It was a luxury. No... more than that... it was a statement. Wood was one of the rarest organic resources in the galaxy, with only a handful of planets producing it, and most of them controlled by elite factions or megacorporations.

The middle-aged man didn’t reply immediately. He just closed his eyes and slowly exhaled through his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had led to him bringing Martin here.

{Dammit, Martin... you absolute simp,} he cursed internally while trying not to strangle the boy on the spot.

"Hmm... interesting," Lyra finally said, her voice remaining thoughtful. She leaned back in her chair, processing the revelation. This wasn’t just some rogue scientist or under-the-table benefactor. This was someone powerful. Someone with megacorp ties. Possibly even a board member.

Still, she didn’t press further. Instead, she pivoted with a sharper question, the one that had been on her mind since the moment they asked for a meeting.

"Well then," she said while setting the empty glass down on the table, "before I decide whether or not to trust you, I want to know something else."

Her gaze turned colder, more focused.

"Why now? Why did you wait until after I took over the outpost to come crawling here for cooperation? You’ve been on this planet for months. You’ve known about the threat for a long time. So why only reach out now?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper, but the room somehow felt heavier with each word. "What changed?"

It was a simple question... but the answer could decide whether she considered them allies or future targets.

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