Originally dark eye bags now took on a sickly bluish-purple hue, looking especially terrifying.
His pupils were nearly dilated, his gaze unfocused.
Drool unconsciously trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Drip, drip, slowly falling onto the stiff collar of his military uniform.
Yet he remained completely unaware, as if his soul had long since left his body, leaving only an exhausted shell mechanically functioning.
Field slowly turned his stiff neck like a rusty gear, his gaze unfocused as he looked to the side.
The first mate was trembling as he picked up a tube of energy potion, preparing to tilt his head back and drink it.
Field then asked.
Each word carried a heavy nasal tone and a sense of utter exhaustion.
"H-has it been... 72 hours yet?"
The first mate stiffened all over, frozen for a full two seconds before sluggishly responding.
"Huh?"
He slowly raised his right hand and looked at the military wristband on his wrist.
He stared at it for a long time before hoarsely reporting, his voice weak.
"C-captain, it's been... 71 hours and 54 minutes. Just 6 more minutes until 72 hours."
A difficult smile forced its way onto Field's lips.
"Soon... soon we can return."
He murmured softly, as if trying to encourage himself, or struggling in despair.
He paused, looking down at the empty potion tube in his hand.
"That last one was already the 38th one I've drunk."
He gave a bitter laugh.
"If it weren't for being on this damned front line,
I'd almost think those pampered nobles
were trying to clear out their warehouses of expired potions by dumping them on us lowly soldiers."
Hearing the captain's complaint, he couldn't help but join in the grumbling.
"Tell me about it!
Who knows what those higher-ups are thinking, maybe their brains are clogged with stardust!"
He shook his head forcefully, a flash of anger in his eyes.
"Not enough patrol fleets, so they force us to work non-stop.
A few extra patrols would be one thing, but each mission is a full 72 hours.
Not even time to close our eyes.
And after finishing a mission, we only get 2 hours of rest before having to go right back on!"
"Even Ultraman would be flashing red by now!"
The angrier he got, the more his voice trembled.
"The long mission times are bad enough, but the most outrageous part is that even these energy potions to keep us alert, we have to pay for ourselves!"
He gritted his teeth, his tone full of resentment.
"We're out here risking our lives guarding the border, and what do they do? Sit back in the rear enjoying themselves, still sucking our blood!"
Field lifted a hand covered in red veins and rubbed his throbbing temples hard, letting out a long sigh.
He raised his head, gazing out the viewport at the unchanging starscape.
"Who knows what's so important to patrol about this damn border anyway."
He muttered to himself, his voice full of confusion.
"As if our few small patrol ships could actually stop the Pluto Fleet if we really ran into them."
He paused, adding self-mockingly.
"If the enemy truly intends to infiltrate, even if we increase patrols tenfold or a hundredfold, it would be useless—merely self-deception."
Finally, he shifted the topic.
"If they really do attack, perhaps... it wouldn't be so exhausting."
He turned to look at the first mate beside him.
"I've heard that the Federation implements a 996 work schedule."
"At least they aren't treated like cattle or expendable tools by nobles, as we are. At least... they have some room to breathe."
Soon, the five small warships of Patrol Squad 103 passed through the icy airspace.
However, no one noticed that less than ten minutes after they left the area, an overwhelmingly massive fleet quietly emerged from the stardust belt they had just traversed.
It was none other than the Pluto Fleet.
As if anticipating the enemy's course, they precisely avoided detection.
Bridge of the Mount Tai.
Qin Bei Wang stood tall and straight before the command console, his gaze fixed intently on the system star chart visible only to him.
On the star chart, densely packed red dots moved slowly and rhythmically, each representing an Imperial patrol squad.
Their real-time positions, courses, and navigation speeds were clearly marked.
For Qin Bei Wang, this deep infiltration into enemy territory felt less like a perilous, life-threatening mission and more like an exquisitely precise game of evasion.
All he had to do was focus on the star chart, seize the gaps between patrol movements, and calmly issue orders to guide the fleet through those fleeting openings, avoiding all detection.
It was as simple as that.
Suddenly, Qin Bei Wang issued an order over the communication channel.
"Course 373, pitch angle -9 degrees, navigation speed 120,000 kilometers per second."
"Received!"
The helmsman's clear response immediately echoed through the communication channel.
The massive Pluto Fleet, like a precisely controlled puppet, slowly adjusted its hull attitude and steadily turned according to the command.
Twenty minutes later, Qin Bei Wang spoke again.
"Maintain current course, reduce speed to 80,000 kilometers per second!"
"Yes, Commander!"
The helmsman did not dare slack off, quickly adjusting the parameters.
The fleet's speed smoothly decelerated.
Thirteen minutes later, Qin Bei Wang's voice rang out once more.
"Course 351, pitch angle +3 degrees, increase speed back to 100,000 kilometers per second."
"Yes!"
On average, Qin Bei Wang issued an order every fifteen minutes.
Such a high frequency of commands made him seem less like a strategic fleet commander and more like a navigator meticulously focused on course precision—attending to every detail with exacting control.
Yet, despite the dense and almost tedious stream of course instructions, the entire fleet crew carried out each order without the slightest doubt or deviation.
Throughout their journey, they had not encountered a single Imperial warship.
The entire Machu Picchu System, seemingly tightly guarded and impenetrable, felt as if it offered no defense against them under Qin Bei Wang's precise command.
They moved as if traversing unoccupied space, with astonishing smoothness.
And the newly enlisted officers and crew, after this experience, held their commander in even greater reverence.
The rumors circulating within the Fleet about their Commander possessing the gift of foresight grew increasingly convincing.
Outside the viewport, the starry sky remained as deep and cold as ever.
The massive Pluto Fleet steadily advanced toward the Grace System, right under the noses of the Imperial Patrol Fleet.
In stark contrast to the Pluto Fleet's silent, stealthy voyage, the Bushman Star System had already descended into a hellish inferno of carnage and bloodshed at that very moment.
Artillery fire, dense enough to suffocate, tore through the icy void like thunderclaps.
Countless scorching energy beams crisscrossed and collided in the darkness, erupting in violent explosions.
The entire boundary of the Bushman Star System flickered incessantly, as if billions of fireflies were dancing across the starry expanse.