Chapter 1038: Recruitment

Chapter 1038: The Recruitment

Somewhere within the Emerald Star Cluster, a small consortium’s exploration fleet drifted through the cosmos. Organizations like these, lacking the might to claim resource-rich worlds, could only scrape together profits through routine surveys and contracted work, a common sight in the modern Gleaming World.

Exploration vessels and freighters formed the backbone of this armada. As an expeditionary force, it carried not only the essential crews for each ship but also a surplus of personnel housed aboard a dedicated passenger liner. Fitted primarily with living quarters, this vessel could accommodate far more souls than the utilitarian exploration craft, serving as the daily residence for most staff who held no operational duties.

The long-haul liner resembled a mobile space station, dwarfing even the industrial freighters in the convoy. It shouldered the burdens of personnel logistics and food supply, while also boasting an array of recreational amenities to cater to the crew’s leisure needs. In the fiercely competitive industries of the Gleaming World, one could hardly attract talent by treating employees as mere beasts of burden without daily perks. For a commercial syndicate, loyalty was a luxury; comfortable living conditions were the true magnet for labor.

The station’s grand hall functioned as a multifaceted social and entertainment hub, brimming with amusement facilities and assorted shops for crew consumption. Serving as the ground floor, its vertical architecture featured ring-shaped corridors, meaning the space above the hall consisted of horizontal bridges crafted from transparent material. Looking upward, one could watch pedestrians traverse these glass spans, giving the entire structure the appearance of a bustling, densely populated commercial plaza.

One section of the hall housed the staff cafeteria, a lively and clamorous space where workers from every trade could be found.

At this very moment, tucked away in a corner of the cafeteria, Evans sat alone at a table, picking at his staff meal with half-hearted bites. His cheeks rose and fell rhythmically with each chew, his eyelids lowered, his gaze fixed on the tabletop as he drifted into a distant reverie.

He still wore his yellow protective suit, the helmet visor flipped open. He looked utterly unremarkable, the very picture of an ordinary ground crewman. Ninety-nine percent of those who did this work were mundane individuals, occupying the lowest rung of the consortium’s hierarchy.

Surrounding him, tables were packed with fellow ground crew members, chatting and eating, their conversations punctuated by bursts of laughter. Occasionally, a glance would sweep past the solitary Evans, but it never lingered, treating him as mere air, utterly invisible.

Evans had long grown accustomed to this. Ground crew members were mostly ordinary folk, sluggish in their work, with many prone to dragging their feet. By contrast, he was diligent, never shirking his duties, and often exceeded his quotas. Consequently, he frequently earned public praise from his squad supervisor and a fair share of bonus pay.

Yet this very diligence bred resentment. Whether out of jealousy or simply an aversion to a former convict fresh from prison, a handful of colleagues had banded together to isolate him, and gradually, others followed suit, cutting off all contact.

Evans cared little for the ostracism. He had never bothered with office politics, and after spending years behind bars, he had long since ceased to care what others thought of him.

“Huh, Evans, sitting all by yourself?”

A familiar voice cut in from beside him. Evans looked up to see an acquaintance standing there with a tray in hand: the supervisor of his ground crew squad.

The ground operations department was divided into numerous squads, each further split into smaller teams. This supervisor was merely a low-ranking cadre with little authority, yet he was the direct superior who had always shown Evans favor.

“Looks like the seat next to you is free. Mind if I join you? No offense, I hope.” The squad supervisor grinned.

“Not at all.” Evans gestured for him to sit.

The supervisor took the seat opposite, engaging Evans in casual conversation as he ate. Only then did the surrounding ground crew members feel compelled to acknowledge Evans’s table, turning to greet their superior.

Sighing inwardly, Evans lowered his voice. “Supervisor, there’s no need to rescue me. I genuinely don’t care about their exclusion.”

“Can’t have that. What if you get down in the dumps and slack off? Our squad’s performance metrics might just depend on you.” The supervisor shrugged.

Evans offered a bitter smile. The supervisor was an ordinary man himself, a gentle soul who looked out for Evans due to his exceptional work ethic, treating him with genuine kindness.

Finishing his meal in a few swift bites, Evans gave a quick nod to the still-eating supervisor, stood up with his empty tray, and walked over to the cafeteria’s recycling chute, dropping it inside.

Just then, several figures clad in powered armor strode into the cafeteria. They were low-tier mercenaries, their faces flushed with an unnatural, excited crimson hue, marching directly toward his direction and catching his eye.

“Superpowered individuals... Looks like they’ve downed some kind of psycho-stimulant. Riding a chemical high.”

Evans cast them a few extra glances, preparing to brush past and leave the cafeteria, when the volume of the mercenaries’ conversation suddenly spiked. One of them seemed particularly agitated.

“Don’t believe I’ve figured out a new application for my ability?! I’ll show you right now!”

As the words left his lips, the agitated mercenary clenched his fist. The air whistled and coalesced, forming an invisible sphere of wind that he slammed violently into the floor. The sphere detonated, shattering into a spray of razor-thin wind blades.

Consortium regulations strictly forbade the use of supernatural powers in public spaces, with penalties ranging from fines to termination. Yet these D-rank mercenaries, riding the chemical high of their stimulants, had completely lost their wits, utterly forgetting the rule.

Chaos erupted instantly. The floor was scarred with cutting marks, and nearby staff suffered from the sudden misfortune, scrambling for cover.

The wind sphere’s power was limited, so others escaped serious injury. But Evans, being the closest, was thrown back by the concussive force, his protective suit shredded to tatters.

A splash of vivid crimson appeared in everyone’s sight.

“Someone’s been hurt!”

A crowd quickly gathered to gawk. Ground crew members pushed their way in, and upon realizing the injured man was Evans, their steps faltered. They hesitated, debating whether to step forward and help. Before they could decide, the squad supervisor had already hurried over, anxiously lifting Evans to inspect his wounds.

“Where are you hit? Let me see.”

“Just a scratch. I’m fine. Hiss...”

Evans kept his face tight, but the twitch at the corner of his eye betrayed the sharp pain. Over a dozen gashes from the wind blades marred his body, flesh torn open, bleeding steadily. The blood quickly stained his protective suit a deep scarlet.

At that moment, several patrol guards, alerted by the commotion, rushed in.

“What’s going on here?!”

The squad supervisor’s face darkened with anger as he pointed at the mercenaries. “They broke the rules. Used their abilities in public and caused accidental injuries.”

The guards frowned, scanning the scene. Noticing Evans’s injuries, they turned their gaze to the mercenaries and asked in a low, stern voice, “Is this true?”

The incident had sobered them slightly. The mercenary who had thrown the wind sphere cleared his throat. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I’ll go report for punishment later.”

“Well, at least only one person was hurt. A few days’ pay deducted, nothing serious.” Seeing this, the guard offered a few reassuring words to the mercenaries, then turned to Evans. His eyes lingered briefly on Evans’s ground crew uniform before he casually remarked:

“You’re Evans, right? Just some flesh wounds. Go to the med bay for bandages. You won’t die.”

“That’s it?” the supervisor bristled. “Not even a single apology?”

“My oversight. Sorry.” The offending mercenary flicked a glance at Evans, offering a perfunctory excuse that reeked of dismissive arrogance, utterly devoid of sincerity.

“What kind of attitude is that!” the supervisor retorted, indignant.

The guard cut in impatiently. “Enough. He’s apologized, and he’ll be fined anyway. Don’t push your luck.”

Though the guard maintained a professional demeanor, his attitude revealed a clear double standard. He was a superpowered individual himself, and seeing a mercenary accidentally injure a mere ground crewman struck him as trivial. In his view, while the mercenary had broken the rules, acknowledging the penalty warranted some soothing words. He was far more important than an ordinary civilian.

The mercenary, equally self-assured, seeing that Evans wouldn’t die, lost interest and turned to chat idly with his companions.

This scene did not go unnoticed. Many ordinary people around them wore expressions of bitter complexity.

Most superpowered individuals simply did not care about the impact they had on ordinary folk, a fact the mundane were painfully aware of. Even when the guilty party apologized and accepted punishment, their underlying indifference remained. Witnessing this, a nameless fire began to smolder in many hearts.

The privileged status of the gifted was an unspoken universal law, dividing humanity into two distinct castes. It had long since become a chronic disease of class antagonism.

At that moment, Evans tugged at the supervisor’s sleeve, pushed himself up using his knees, and stood. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, splattering into crimson blossoms. Through gritted teeth, he said, “It’s fine. Just bad luck. Walk me to the med bay.”

The supervisor shot a glare at the mercenaries, abandoned any thought of arguing further, and turned to support Evans, silently guiding him out of the crowd.

“It’s handled. Disperse.” The guard waved a dismissive hand.

Yet in that very instant, disaster struck!

BOOM!!

The ship shuddered violently, as if brought to an abrupt halt. Even the internal shock-absorption systems failed to dampen the massive inertia. Everyone on board stumbled and crashed to the floor in a panic.

“What was that?”

“Looks like the ship was forced to stop!”

“Could it be space pirates?!”

As people scrambled to their feet in terror, ready to swarm out of the cafeteria for shelter, the ship’s internal broadcast suddenly crackled to life, echoing through every corridor so that all could hear.

“This is the Black Star Legion. Your vessel has been temporarily forced to a halt by our forces. Remain calm. We are here to locate a single individual. His name is Evans, a ground maintenance crew member among you...”

As the transmission ended, every gaze in the hall snapped onto Evans.

Whoosh!

In an instant, the space around Evans cleared completely. Everyone recoiled, avoiding him as if he were a venomous snake, their faces etched with shock and suspicion.

The Black Star Legion was specifically asking for this guy?!

How had he provoked the Black Star Legion, causing them to go to such lengths to find him? Did he have some hidden background?!

At that very moment, Evans’s utterly unremarkable appearance suddenly took on an aura of profound mystery in the eyes of everyone around him.

“The Black Star Legion?” Evans himself was left utterly stunned.

Was this not a lofty faction far beyond my reach, and what business did they have with me... surely they had mistaken their target.

He turned his gaze toward the squad supervisor, who had long since wrenched his hand free and retreated to a distant corner, his face pale with terror.

Evans was about to speak when he noticed the guards and mercenaries stepping forward, their formation subtly closing around him.

"What are you doing?"

"To prevent your escape. Since the Black Star Legion wishes to see you, you will wait here quietly," the guard replied in a cold tone.

Evans's fists clenched abruptly, his chest heaving with rapid breaths; after a moment, his hands fell limp once more as he sighed, "Rest assured, I have no intention of fleeing. I wish to understand what is happening just as much as you do."

After a brief wait, footsteps echoed from outside, and a procession entered. The normally haughty executive officers now walked with bowed heads and deferential manners beside a contingent of Black Star Legion soldiers, while their leading captain radiated a formidable surge of energy—a Class B esper, an utterly formidable figure to these lowly workers.

The room fell into a silence so profound that a falling pin could be heard, and not a single person dared to draw a heavy breath.

As the group approached Evans, the fleet commander raised a hand and pointed, "He is the one you seek."

"Indeed." The Class B warrior of the Black Star Legion remained expressionless, his eyes sweeping over Evans from head to toe. "You are Evans?"

Evans drew a deep breath. "That is indeed my name, yet I share no ties with the Black Star Legion. I fear you may have mistaken your man."

At this, the Class B captain produced a dossier and held it forth. "This is your record, is it not?"

Upon closer inspection, Evans felt a jolt of surprise, forced himself to nod stiffly, his face a mask of bewilderment and confusion.

Could the Black Star Legion truly be searching for him?

"Then there is no mistake. You are the one we seek. Come with us," the Class B captain nodded.

"Wait a moment. I must know, why exactly are you looking for me?" Evans could not help but ask.

Every person present perked up, straining their ears in quiet anticipation of what would follow.

They too harbored the same curiosity: what possible reason could compel the Black Star Legion to mobilize such forces for a mere ordinary man?

Hearing this, a smile suddenly bloomed across the Class B captain's face as he extended his hand, speaking with warm enthusiasm:

"You are a talent personally selected for recruitment by Lord Black Star himself. Brother, welcome to the Black Star Legion."

The words hung in the air, and for a fleeting moment, the entire room was swallowed by silence.

Boom!

Then, as if a detonation had shattered the stillness, a wave of stunned murmurs erupted violently!

"What?!"

The squad supervisor trembled violently, his eyes wide with disbelief, while the guards and mercenaries from before stood utterly petrified, paralyzed by sheer horror.

Every soul in the room wore an expression of profound shock, some even doubting their own hearing, as countless eyes filled with utter disbelief fixed upon Evans.

Had they truly heard that correctly?

That renowned Super-A rank Black Star had actually singled out an ordinary man for recruitment?!

Could he truly be a talent capable of captivating even a Super-A?!

He must have been deliberately concealing his abilities all along.

One truly cannot judge a book by its cover!

Awe shimmered in every pair of eyes, while minds raced with relentless astonishment.

Especially those colleagues who had long marginalized Evans hastily shrank their necks and bowed their heads, drenched in cold sweat, terrified of catching his gaze, their hearts heavy with regret.

"Recruit... me?"

Evans was utterly dumbfounded.

In that very instant, he plunged into a profound abyss of self-doubt.

What virtue or merit could he possibly possess that a Super-A would take interest in him?

Could it truly be as he had fancied in his childhood...

—that sealed within his flesh lay the wicked, untamed power of the Cosmic Overlord, Lord of Annihilation, the Dark Demon King?!

...

Meanwhile, across the vast expanse of the Ancient Star Desert, within a clandestine facility, several silhouettes gathered in a private chamber to discuss the recent emergence of the Chaos Arcane Energy,

"Another primordial ability vessel has surfaced."

"It is actually the Chaos Arcane Energy. We must devise a way to seize it."

"It has fallen into Black Star's hands. He is a newly risen Super-A of recent decades, his growth rate astonishingly rapid, making him a formidable adversary."

"Black Star will live for a long time, and we lack the luxury of waiting. The primordial vessel is the key to unlocking the Third Sanctuary; we cannot afford to lose it... Deploy the products we have developed over these years. The Chaos Arcane Energy is a crucial component for the synthesis, and it must be reclaimed."

"A pity that the alien deity's corpse has fallen into the hands of the Crimson Empire; otherwise, his abilities would have served as the perfect instrument."

"Speaking of which, the project at Wan Ying is nearing maturity. In little time, we should be able to reap the harvest."

"Before the appointed date arrives, we must have the awakening ritual fully prepared."

"May the glory of the Primordial One never fade."