Former Interstellar Mercenary In Urban Cultivation World
Chapter 1181: Rallying the Troops

Chapter 1181: Rallying the Troops

Surrounding it were seven or eight smaller vessels, all heading toward the same destination—Teutonia.

Inside the massive battleship, marked with a black skull emblem, Prince Ceodore summoned his trusted subordinate, Gren.

"Any news from Nemel?" Ceodore asked.

Gren bowed his head slightly. "Your Highness, there’s still no word from Nemel. Normally, by this time, he should have sent something..." He hesitated. "Could something have happened?"

"I trust Nemel’s abilities," Ceodore responded dismissively. "Even if Teutonia has cultivators, they couldn’t detect him back on Planet Veloxia. There’s no reason he would be discovered on Teutonia. Besides, it’s only been a day since he departed. Let’s wait a little longer."

Gren hesitated before speaking again. "But, Your Highness, if something really did happen to Nemel... I’m worried. It’s always better to be cautious."

"If something did happen, it wouldn’t change anything," Ceodore said coldly. "Nor would it change anyone else’s decision. Aelra’s battleship is mine. I will claim it."

His eyes flashed with an icy glint, his tone revealing that he had never intended to share the battleship with Galtron or any of the others.

With Aelra’s battleship in his possession, his power would grow exponentially, giving him the strength to contend with the great fleets of other star systems.

This would become his greatest advantage.

The entire Andromeda Universe had only 24 Battleship that was spread across nine star systems.

If anyone could control even two of them, they would hold an overwhelming strategic advantage.

Prince Ceodore had only pretended to withdraw from the battle for the battleship to buy himself time.

However, the chance to dominate the Andromeda Universe was now within his grasp—there was no way he would simply hand it over.

Gren saw that the prince had already made up his mind, so he left with a heavy heart.

Nemel still hadn’t sent back any news, and Gren had a growing sense that something had gone wrong.

With Nemel’s abilities, ordinary people shouldn’t have been able to detect him.

But if General Aelra had truly been taken down, then the one who had killed him could hardly be considered ordinary.

Yet, he couldn’t convince the stubborn prince.

All he could do now was hope that things weren’t as bad as he feared—perhaps he was simply overthinking it.

Meanwhile, as Duviel and the soldiers anxiously waited, Amalia finally returned after an hour.

Something about her seemed different, yet at the same time, she appeared just as she had when she left.

By now, the sky had begun to lighten with the first traces of dawn.

In just two more hours, the sun would fully rise over the mountains, which also meant the aliens would arrive soon.

Only two hours remained.

Duviel was growing desperate.

Amalia had told them to wait for her return, but he hadn’t expected her to be gone for five full hours.

Now, with only two hours left, even if they wanted to evacuate, it was no longer possible.

"All right, I need to head over to the army and say a few words to them. Do you want to come?" Amalia took note of their anxious expressions but offered no explanation.

Duviel remained silent for a moment before sighing. "We’ll go with you. Whatever’s coming, we’ll have to face it."

"Then let’s go." Amalia nodded and took the lead, stepping through the door.

Before long, they arrived at the encampment where over three hundred thousand infantrymen were resting.

Many of them had already woken before dawn.

Over the past year, due to the constant alien attacks, they had all developed the habit of rising before sunrise.

Their arrival quickly drew the attention of the troops.

"It’s our benefactor, Ms. Amalia! Why is she here?"

All eyes gradually turned toward Amalia, while Duviel and the soldiers accompanying her were largely ignored.

Duviel stepped forward and announced, "Ms. Amalia has something important to say to everyone. Please listen."

The murmurs among the soldiers died down instantly.

"Everyone," Amalia’s gaze swept over the vast gathering.

Her divine sense enveloped them all, subtly calming their nerves.

"There’s something you must know. In two hours, the aliens will launch their attack on Teutonia."

Despite the gravity of her words, the expected panic did not erupt.

Instead, the soldiers stared at her in stunned silence.

A few showed signs of struggle on their faces, but their expressions quickly relaxed as if their fears had been smoothed away.

The sight left Duviel in awe.

How had she done that?

These were ordinary soldiers—more than three hundred thousand of them—yet none of them were reacting as one would expect when faced with impending death.

Duviel turned to look at Amalia again, his gaze now filled with admiration.

He didn’t understand what she had done, but there was no doubt that she had played a role in it.

"You can all rest assured. Since I’ve chosen to stay here, and Major General Rafiq has entrusted you to me, I will not let anything happen to you. This battle will not only be fought—it will be won, and it will be won beautifully. We will show the aliens that humanity is not weak, that we, too, can be strong. The more they look down on us, the more we must prove them wrong.

We will also show our comrades who have gone to fight on Planet Gallia that infantry soldiers are not much weaker than mecha pilots. With your own hands and feet, you can carve out your own destiny. Your future should only ever be in your own hands—it will never be handed over to the aliens to decide."

Amalia watched this scene as determination slowly settled on their faces and continued, "Would you like to see the looks on our comrades’ faces when they return and find that we’ve utterly defeated the alien army?"

"Yes!"

What started as a few hesitant voices quickly grew into a thunderous roar.

They wanted this more than anything.

Even though they were infantry, they wanted to kill aliens, too.

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