Chapter 197: The Fires of Purgatory (3)

Such a colossal warship was almost equivalent to a small planet. The gravitational pull generated by its movement could affect the normal interstellar orbits of the entire star system. Inside the Titan Ship, there wasn’t just the fleet commander’s army, but also massive weapon and supply depots, ensuring the fleet wouldn’t lose support even without supply ships.

Therefore, the true status of the Titan Ship was as the mother of the fleet.

Right now, Yang Hao was inside this “mother of the fleet.” As soon as he entered, he realized he had stepped into a gigantic maze. The number of rooms and corridors here rivaled the capital city of the planet Laimon, making it utterly impossible to search thoroughly through this elliptical, fortress-like behemoth in such a short time.

Moreover, this was the enemy’s headquarters. Although Yang Hao’s intrusion had been sudden, alarm bells still rang out promptly. From all directions, soldiers of the Sunset Fleet surged forward. While these soldiers might not possess much combat prowess, even if they simply threw their particle guns at him, Yang Hao would still have his hands full dodging them.

“What should we do?” Yuan Huanzi was truly irresponsible, actually asking his apprentice for a plan at this critical moment.

“Kill!” Yang Hao gritted his teeth. He pulled out the precious sword from behind his back, channeling a surge of true energy into it. Instantly, the Aurora’s glow shimmered at the sword’s tip. Before the soldiers could rush forward, countless thin rays of light had already shot out.

Normally, the Aurora required some time to reach its full power, but Yang Hao, eager to find Amanda before the Doomsday’s Kiss struck, released it hastily. Still, it was more than sufficient to deal with the current enemies.

In an instant, hundreds of soldiers had already fallen before Yang Hao. In this critical moment, he had no time to consider how many he had killed, relying solely on his acute perception to guide him forward at full speed.

“Where is she?” Yuan Huanzi watched Yang Hao unleash the Aurora to kill enemies while rapidly advancing with his Flying Petals and Shadowless Steps, worried he might dash into the wrong area.

“Where do you think Lordon would hide his fiancée?” Mentioning the word “fiancée,” Yang Hao clenched his teeth. Although he had no intention of marrying Amanda himself, it was still hard to bear knowing his woman had become another man’s fiancée.

“The command cabin?” Yuan Huanzi guessed randomly. “If she’s just locked in some random room, we’ll have a hard time finding her. The Doomsday’s Kiss is approaching fast. If we can’t escape in time, we might perish along with these imperial soldiers.”

“Knowing Amanda’s temper, she’d never allow herself to be imprisoned peacefully,” Yang Hao, who understood this crimson companion well, replied. “She’d rather die than be locked up. She’s so stubborn that if Lordon just locked her up, she’d commit suicide.”

“Then where could she be?”

“There’s only one place on this Titan Ship where Amanda would be kept alive as a hostage.” Yang Hao smiled, his Aurora sword still slicing through enemies. In just a few seconds, at least a few hundred more souls had fallen beneath his blade.

“Where?”

Yuan Huanzi couldn’t guess, but soon found out, as Yang Hao had already fought his way there. This location was the central hub of the Titan Ship—its most crucial and vital core.

The Central Intelligence Control Center!

Every spaceship had its own intelligence center, equivalent to the brain of the vessel. Although the ship was commanded by a captain, in reality, neither the captain nor the personnel in the command cabin could fully manage all the ship’s affairs. Their role was merely to set coordinates, flight direction, and speed. The true manager of the ship was the intelligence core.

The intelligence core was a life form, a crystallization of wisdom combined with mechanical technology, possessing infinite intelligence and control, capable of handling thousands of complex tasks simultaneously.

Different ships had intelligence cores of varying ranks. Naturally, the Titan Ship’s intelligence core was the leader among all fleet intelligence cores.

Amanda came from a family of mechanical engineers. Only when faced with such complex and incredible advanced technology could she forget everything around her.

And now, Yang Hao had arrived precisely at the Titan Ship’s Intelligence Core Control Center, guided by his acute perception.

Of course, the seven layers of security measures couldn’t stop Yang Hao’s heaven-defying sword strike. As he broke through the steel-plated doors, Yang Hao swiftly drew out the Flame Sword. A long flame erupted, carving a beautiful arc through the air, instantly severing the heads of two guards.

In another corner, two swordsmen hadn’t even drawn their blades when blood spurted from their necks. They died without ever understanding what had sliced through their arteries, not even catching a glimpse of the sword that had killed them.

Gliding in gracefully and eliminating the guards in an instant, Yang Hao finally exhaled in relief.

Amanda was indeed here.

It had been so long since he’d seen her that he almost didn’t recognize her. Indeed, all their classmates from the Laimon Advanced Academy had undergone tremendous changes. The Amanda who used to be straightforward and playful had now become so calm and serene.

She wore a black sweater on top and, as usual, a silver hot-pants below.

Her long legs, glowing with a wheat-colored hue under the light of the intelligence core, were mesmerizing.

“Amanda, it’s me, Yang Hao! Quick, come with me!”

“Yang Hao!” Amanda was startled but immediately turned back to stare at the intelligence core. “Wait a moment, just a little longer!”

Yang Hao was already frantic inside. Others could wait, but the Doomsday’s Kiss wouldn’t. It would soon collide with this massive ship. Whether he could escape or not was already a matter of luck; he certainly didn’t have time to waste waiting.

But Amanda was focused, even more meticulous than usual when she was building something. She stared intently at the largest object in the room—the intelligence core, massive as a mountain.

Undoubtedly, the Intelligence Core Control Center was the largest room aboard the Titan Ship, towering hundreds of floors high. Almost the entire space was occupied by the central object, a gigantic crystal chandelier-like structure hanging from the ceiling. This massive “chandelier” was as large as a mountain, adorned with countless crystal-like pendants, each glowing with a dazzling array of colors.

This was the intelligence core.

Each of these colorful crystal pendants was an individual intelligent life form, integrated with mechanical technology, forming the core of almost all technological weapons in the Galactic Empire. These intelligence cores controlled warships, naval bases, and even played a role in decision-making within the Privy Council by providing analysis.

In essence, the entire Galactic Empire’s operational hub was these intelligence cores. Yet people were so confident in their control that they never noticed the unchecked growth of the intelligence cores’ own power.

“There’s no time!” Yang Hao grabbed Amanda and tried to rush out. “No time to explain, let’s escape first.”

“No! Just a moment longer!” Amanda used all her strength to shake off Yang Hao. “We haven’t been able to construct a Titan Ship until now because we lack such a massive intelligence core. I must figure out its structure so we can replicate one back home.”

“Figure out its structure?” Yang Hao was stunned. Even if you could somehow take this mountain-sized intelligence core home and dismantle it piece by piece, it would still take months. And he was currently on a spaceship about to be destroyed in mere seconds—where was the time for such leisurely work?

Without another word, Yang Hao simply scooped Amanda into his arms, ignoring her attempts to scratch and bite him, and ran toward the exit. However, just as he was about to dash out of the control room’s door, he faintly heard a voice.

“Yang Hao…”

“Yang Hao…”

The first time the voice sounded, it merely caused Yang Hao to pause briefly. But when it repeated a second time, Yang Hao couldn’t help but turn around, his eyes filled with astonishment.

He had to stop. He had no choice but to stop.

Because the voice had come from the intelligence core itself.

Amanda was equally shocked, her mouth agape. All Imperial technological experts understood that intelligence cores were merely crystallizations of wisdom, functioning like a CPU in a computer, serving only as processors. They had no consciousness of their own, let alone the ability to speak.

Yang Hao hesitated only briefly before once again carrying Amanda and rushing out the door. He knew that if the intelligence core truly spoke, its voice would follow him no matter where he was on the ship.

Sure enough, as Yang Hao sprinted through the corridors outside the control room, the intelligence core’s calm, colorless voice still pursued him like a shadow: “Yang Hao, do you know what you’re doing?”

“What am I doing?” Yang Hao snapped, “Obviously, trying to survive!” The world had truly changed—having an old ghost constantly nagging inside his belly was bad enough, but now there was another ghost chattering outside.

“And after surviving?” The intelligence core sounded as if it knew everything. “The Dan and Ding Dual Cultivation Sect? The leader of the Anti-Empire Alliance? The hatred of the Senate? The mission from the Celestials? Which of these will you pursue?”

Yang Hao was stunned, nearly losing his composure. If the first few matters were things the Galactic Empire might know, the Celestial mission—collecting ten divine artifacts and opening the Celestial barrier—was a secret he alone knew. How could the intelligence core possibly know this?

“You’re wrong, Yang Hao.” The intelligence core sighed softly, its voice surprisingly youthful, though its tone was ancient and weary. “Yang Hao, you’ve always been wrong. You possess great abilities, but you have no goal of your own. You don’t even know what you should do.”

These words, filled with sorrow and lamentation for Yang Hao, struck him deeply. He nearly stopped running, eager to hear more from the intelligence core.

Because the question the intelligence core posed was precisely what had troubled Yang Hao all along—what should he do?