Chapter 18: Robbery

What place could allow you to gain a quicker and more comprehensive understanding of an unfamiliar era?

A library? No, Wen Luan discovered that the interstellar pirates’ makeshift warehouse was even better suited for this purpose!

Wen Luan found himself within a peculiar semi-circular fortress known as the “Lighthouse” by the pirates. This served as both a landmark delineating their territories for raids and a storage facility. Each pirate had their own spaceships or space warships; none actually resided on the Lighthouse itself.

Nevertheless, the Lighthouse functioned as the mobile base of operations for the pirates, always receiving the highest level of protection.

The leader of these interstellar pirates—a former 19th-century American plantation owner who had somehow changed professions—resided on the very top floor of the Lighthouse. His subordinates were not limited to Pacific Octopuses but included many other intelligent species, each one unique and bizarre in its own way.

As Xi’er put it, “The virtues of noble individuals know no borders; they can overcome prejudices based on race and skin color, allowing diverse groups to coexist harmoniously. Yet ironically, the greed of despicable beings has much the same effect.”

Wen Luan felt that this mecha had already embarked irreversibly down the path of philosophy.

Just like Caesar Octopus, who spoke standard English, pirates engaging amicably with their victims in conversation were indeed few. Most interstellar pirates remained utterly crude; this was evident from how they demanded everything without exception—never letting anything pass by as they flew past.

Wen Luan had personally witnessed one such incident: the lost pilot of a small fighter plane from a small country was forcibly intercepted by pirates.

In accordance with their “five percent” robbery principle, the pirates dismantled the fighter plane’s spare navigator. Then, using laser weapons to intimidate and threaten the victim against any movement, they discovered the pilot carried no money whatsoever. Undeterred, they proceeded to yank off all the buttons from his military uniform before departing.

These dozen or so buttons along with the navigator thus ended up tossed into the pirate warehouse.

Were the pirates short on buttons? Of course not.

“We are pirates with impeccable professional ethics!” Caesar Octopus exclaimed dramatically, waving its tentacles exaggeratedly. “How could we refrain from stealing just because something on the victim isn’t valuable? That would be a violation of our professional conduct!”

“…”

So it was truly unsurprising that the pirates’ makeshift warehouses turned into junkyards over time.

There were even more pitiful cases—for instance, survivors of civilian interstellar flights who drifted through space in life pods before being “rescued” by pirates.

The pirates would tow these life pods to their temporary living quarters, courteously inform the survivors of their situation, and provide them with the most unpalatable concentrated food tablets and water. Just as the survivors were about to burst into tears of gratitude, the pirates would audaciously pounce on them, stripping off all their clothes. Then, laughing heartily, they’d tell the trembling survivors, “We’re pirates, dear! Meeting you in this vast cosmos is truly fate.” Finally, they’d hurl both survivor and life pod onto another merchant ship they had just robbed, waving farewell one last time: “If you get stranded again, remember to pass by here; hey, we’ll give our regulars a discount—I promise we won’t strip you naked next time. Here, keep your socks.”

“You can’t expect all pirates to be as erudite as I am!” Pacific Octopus boasted proudly. “The types of goods carried by interstellar merchants are simply too diverse—for example, there’s a rare energy reserve mineral that looks just like worthless rock. As a pirate, you must seize everything possible to minimize losses as much as you can.”

The temporary warehouse did not store precious metals or energy blocks—hard currency that could be used as money anywhere. These had long since been moved to the highest level of the Lighthouse. What remained were all sorts of miscellaneous items. The Pacific Octopus rummaged through this mountain of junk, diligently introducing Wen Luan to his duties: “Therefore, as a qualified temporary warehouse manager, one must possess the ability to distinguish these various objects.”

Wen Luan was silent.

He realized that even if he worked here for another three hundred years, there would be no hope of transitioning from Caesar’s assistant to a full-fledged member of the crew.

This guy has eight arms! How can my work efficiency compare?

Faced with the terrifyingly piled-up mountain of trash, the octopus swiftly sprang into action, categorizing everything neatly in no time.

Items ranged from those that could be sold at the black market for cash, to components awaiting disassembly when spaceships needed repair and replacement parts; some exceptionally rare goods had to be handed over to the pirate chief, while others included currencies from various countries. Following Caesar Octopus’s standards based on their regions of use, these currencies were divided into n categories, locked away in the pirates’ communal storage, and labeled accordingly—to facilitate business dealings upon visiting different nations.

“What should we do with these?” Wen Luan asked, staring blankly at the largest pile in the warehouse—the collection deemed utterly worthless after thorough assessment.

Many of the items plundered by pirates were indeed junk—such as buttons or clothes.

Caesar cast a careless glance at them and waved his tentacles dismissively.

“Sell these to planets with low-tech civilizations.”

The Pacific Octopus extracted a map and informed Wen Luan which star systems’ intelligent life was still in their primitive stages—during the era of ignorance, one might say. In such societies, a bit of junk could be traded for large quantities of raw minerals, precious metals, and even food.

As for clothing and similar goods, they should be sold to regions plagued by constant warfare throughout the year.

Even the most worn-out spaceship screws could find buyers among planets just beginning to explore the universe—places where they couldn’t yet construct their own spacecraft! The demand would fetch high prices, allowing for ample exchange with local specialties!

“We are interstellar pirates who uphold professional ethics,” Caesar boasted proudly. “We only rob in outer space and never overstep our bounds! We must protect those less advanced civilizations, my dear companions; after all, they are our future targets for plundering. As the ancient Terrans said, ‘Sustainable development’ is key.”

“But I don’t understand,” Wen Luan asked, puzzled. “Why does your business always succeed every time? Take those spaceship screws, for example—isn’t there no other technologically advanced nation willing to engage in trade like this?”

“Oh!”

The Pacific Octopus Pirate laughed so hard he rolled over. “Could their armies and merchant ships traverse large distances past neighboring countries’ surveillance to conduct business with remote, less advanced civilizations? The risks would far outweigh any potential gains! Only we pirates can freely cross these national borders, sailing to every corner of this magnificent starry sky!”

The great octopus leaped onto the wreckage of a flying saucer, his body color shifting to bright gold. With wisdom gleaming in his large eyes, he let out a powerful howl:

“Only science and piracy know no bounds!”

“…”

Wen Luan unfortunately twisted his ankle, the pain snapping him back to reality instantly.

What kind of world was this?

He had picked up a mechanoid hoping to conquer the cosmos, only to finally encounter a familiar face—a pirate—after much struggle. In this era, while searching for a temporary place to get by, he met yet another colleague brainwashed by the pirate profession.

Most frustratingly, Xi’er incessantly cheered from within their mental link:

“Brilliant! So true indeed!”

“My lord, you’ll stay here, won’t you? I’ve discovered that there’s ample data available for replication here, which will greatly aid my upgrade of the intelligence core. There are also numerous components everywhere; I could convert energy reserves autonomously to replenish myself.”

Just as Xi’er was about to add “pirate” after what should have been the most ideal profession in the universe, Wen Luan hastily called for a stop. He had already noticed how Xi’er particularly resonated with adventure plans and tales of passion. What were those scientists thinking when they created this mecha?

In truth, it happened because shortly after booting up, Xi’er mistakenly identified Wen Luan as a missing person and replicated all the lost population files from the White Whale Galaxy. Almost every “missing person” file contained narratives of their unique origins, poignant life experiences worthy of song and tears, bittersweet love stories, and occasional accounts of individuals who ultimately remained on Deep Blue (vampires seizing the opportunity to blend into human society). These latter few were described as eloquent speakers with profound academic knowledge—perfectly successful figures whose struggle-filled histories read like novel protagonists’.

Having been influenced by these first replicated documents he encountered upon activation, Xi’er naturally evolved into his current state.

When the Pacific Octopus pirate first saw this metallic sphere, he was greatly surprised because he couldn’t recognize what it was. Wen Luan could only steel himself and repeat the lie once more: “The latest photobrain from Deep Blue.”

To his unexpected delight, the two quickly struck up a conversation.

Three days later, Wen Luan woke groggily from sleep, barely able to bear it any longer. “Haven’t you two ever stopped talking?”

The metallic sphere of Xi’er spun around, and the equally round Pacific Octopus Caesar also indicated a shake of his head by spinning.

“Caesar, you don’t need to sleep?”

“That’s correct,” the octopus replied cheerfully. “The successful evolution of our species’ intelligent life has been extending lifespan and evolving a second brain. Throughout our lives, we never require rest; instead, we alternate using both brains. This allows us to enjoy more time in life and acquire greater knowledge. It is precisely this reason why Commander Saitra appointed me as the warehouse supervisor.”

Wen Luan was utterly defeated.

After deciding to completely ignore those two, Wen Luan’s life gradually returned to normalcy: When idle, he used the language machine to learn the common tongue of the White Whale Galaxy; when there were tasks at hand, he followed Caesar in identifying pirate loot and organizing the warehouse.

Wen Luan had even selected a small ray gun from the pirates’ armory for self-defense. Occasionally, he would stand in the corridor outside the warehouse, observing the pirates’ raiding activities. To him, it was all just spectacle—a layman watching chaos unfold. During intense conflicts, various firepower erupted amidst the vast darkness of space, creating displays more dazzling than fireworks.

Few ever put up a futile resistance. The inhabitants of the White Whale Galaxy were always pragmatic; upon realizing they couldn’t win, they surrendered promptly. Thus, Wen Luan never witnessed any tragic struggles where individuals fought bravely to their deaths. Instead, what he saw every day were nothing but farces.

As if shaving off five percent of their victims’ hair and drawing several syringes full of blood were not enough—when idle from boredom, pirates would even completely dismantle a victim’s spaceship before reassembling it again. Their justification was that the victims had hidden valuables within its components. During this process of reassembly, some backup instruments and parts, whose absence wouldn’t affect flight safety, would be withheld by them.

Just as Wen Luan suspected he might temporarily live like this until he understood all the common knowledge of this era, Xi’er was also quietly observing him. The robot had attempted to mention the mysterious disappearance of Wen Luan’s snow wolf fur coat on multiple occasions, but by the very next day after each discussion, Wen Luan had entirely forgotten about it. He remained utterly perplexed by Xi’er’s questions, convinced that he must have lost his original clothes at the port on Deep Blue; thus, he now wore garments provided by Jim.

“That must be a significant secret—a truly extraordinary one!” Xi’er pondered gravely.

On Deep Blue, Raymond Gaeton—the holder of such secrets—had deceived Wen Luan with lies. While appearing to care for him, he had actually confined Wen Luan here completely! It was indeed a highly cunning method of imprisonment—a clear conspiracy beyond any doubt!

“Insufficient data; unable to analyze.”

Xi’er chose to wait for changes to occur. As for telling Wen Luan the truth? It didn’t even know the truth itself yet.

Time slowly slipped away as Xi’er silently recorded:

—Today, my master yawned four times within an hour—a highly abnormal phenomenon. Perhaps what those pirates said was true?

Wen Luan maintained a proper attitude towards learning new and interesting things. After all, he had to find ways to adapt to this era and survive. Recently, he had been earnestly tinkering with the cockpit of an armed robot, but he appeared persistently lethargic, on the verge of falling asleep at any moment.

Seven days later, Wen Luan’s symptoms worsened significantly. He leaned weakly against a soft chair salvaged from a pirate ship, having been repeatedly struck by his language learning machine. During the final impact, he failed to get back up and simply fell asleep cradling the device in his arms.

The meals provided when pirates went out to work were uniformly poor quality, consisting only of various flavored compressed food tablets and solidified water bricks. Consequently, Wen Luan ate less and less each day. His sleep duration also gradually increased from seven hours to encompassing an entire day and night.

“Based on my understanding of intelligent species…” The Pacific Octopus moved closer to the deeply sleeping Wen Luan, scratching his head with one tentacle while staring intently. “Only species that have broken free from the constraints of their original environmental conditions can develop an intelligent civilization. How could Luan possibly hibernate? Do humans need to hibernate?”

Humans certainly did not.

But then again, an ordinary human would never consume dreams. Just what was Wen Luan?

“Inadequate information, insufficient data,” Xi’er muttered.

Although Wen Luan lay in a deep slumber, his spiritual fluctuations remained consistently strong—this was why Xi’er wasn’t rushing to act. Various readings showed that there were no signs whatsoever that he might die.

Just as Xi’er was about to take necessary measures, Jim excitedly rushed over.

“Hey, Luan?”

Wen Luan didn’t respond; even his breathing had slowed significantly.

Xi’er observed quietly from the side. Wen Luan’s spiritual fluctuations were now doubling rapidly. If this guy dared to harbor any nefarious intentions, he would surely die very—

Bang!

Jim was sent flying across the room. Mid-air, his body stretched like pulled noodles, growing taller instantly. His entire physique sprouted dense fur, and intricate patterns spread across his face.

Caesar, who was in the midst of organizing the warehouse, flailed his tentacles with surprise and rushed over. Upon arrival, he found Wen Luan unconscious, floating from the chair without any semblance of humanity—his eyes tightly closed, limbs still dangling limply.

“Ghost!” The Pacific Octopus shrieked, twisting its head around to flee. Mid-flight, it collided with Xi’er, causing both spherical forms to tumble into a tangled heap.

Xi’er also sensed something amiss; its autonomous consciousness was gradually being overridden by commands from the highest authority. The entire metallic sphere instantly heated up. With a pitiful scream, the octopus pirate’s spacesuit began burning through, emitting a scent akin to grilled seafood.

Crack

The metal sphere completely disintegrated, transforming into irregular chunks of metal scattered across the floor.

Simultaneously, various components—haphazardly stored parts, spaceship spare instruments, remnants of armed robots—all went flying out from within the warehouse, circling around Xi’er.

Xi’er received a vague yet intensely powerful will—a command that could not be ignored. As Wen Luan held the highest authority, Xi’er had no choice but to comply.

Thus, after Jim stood frozen for three seconds, he let out a wretched howl: “Prince Saitra, quickly escape! It’s dire!”

In response, a knight clad in silver-white armor materialized instantly. On his handsome face, those blue electronic eyes darkened to pitch-black as he declared emotionlessly:

“Xi’er, initiate at one hundred percent. Confirm—ultimate combat state!”

With a bang, the silver-armored knight disintegrated again. Countless fragments viciously embedded themselves into the warehouse walls. Immediately after, the floor distorted and bulged upwards; some areas seemed as if they had been folded in half, transforming into a ridiculous right angle. The suspended components from moments ago—including Wen Luan and Jim along with their weapons—were all swallowed by the twisted walls.

The pirates aboard this “Lighthouse” clung fearfully to the swaying cabin walls.

Inside the once-familiar space fortress, it was now like a child’s sandcastle being arbitrarily squeezed and warped. Even the copper buttons on their clothes, the silver buckles around their waists, and the gold necklaces around their necks—all items made of metal—vied to be the first flung outwards.

Some frenzied crew members drew their weapons amidst shouts. As expected, the alloy barrels flew off first, followed by various parts. The energy blocks within the weapons emitted dazzling blue light before being sucked away entirely. In the end, all that remained in their hands were the shoulder straps of the energy cannons—or non-metallic leather holsters.

“Boom!”

The floor collapsed entirely. They plummeted into a pitch-black tube, finally rolling into a dark cavernous room where they nearly met their demise upon impact. The Pacific Octopus pirate and Jim suffered the same fate.

“No, no—the Leader’s energy reserve warehouse!” Caesar wailed in anguish. Before being thrust into this situation, he had seen one last sight: terrifying yet dazzling blue light flickering above the ceiling. This was the color indicating activated energy reserves—on such a massive scale it could easily destroy half of an entire star system.

Outside the Lighthouse, pirates who moments ago were joyfully piloting their ships to commit robbery now stared back at their base with stupefied expressions. The semicircular space fortress had been utterly transformed.

First appeared a beautiful silver horseshoe shape.

Then came the sleek contours of muscles, gleaming with a metallic sheen. Indistinct mane-like features emerged, along with a head held high and proud. Enormous wings, resembling sharp blades, gently fluttered once assembled from these forms.

Though only half the size of the original space fortress, even just one feather from this celestial steed far exceeded the dimensions of Jim’s spaceship.

Upon the flying horse sat a silver-armored knight, his tall and imposing figure slowly extending his hand. Amidst waves of terrifying energy, the silver knight’s long spear gradually took shape.

In the pitch-black starry sky, this silver-armored knight atop his flying horse slowly raised his head, suddenly opening eyes as dark as midnight!