In the depths of the eternal night, where there is no light, the seawater is like solidified ink, and a ghostly fleet is tearing apart this ancient tranquility.

Five submarines were arranged in a wedge shape, their dark gray hulls almost blending into the deep sea, with only the blue exhaust fumes from their thrusters leaving faint streaks of light behind them.

The pressure of the deep-sea submersible ground through the several-meter-thick metal walls, producing a faint grinding sound. A brown-haired, blue-eyed man was standing in front of the main control panel of the largest submarine.

His broad shoulders were taut, almost bursting out of his crisp wetsuit, and his face showed a hint of displeasure.

The man's anxious fingers tapped unconsciously on the cold alloy tabletop, producing a dull thud that sounded particularly jarring in the command room, where only the low hum of the instruments and the slight hiss of the oxygen supply system could be heard.

"Are you sure that's the X11?" He turned his head sharply, his voice carrying his usual condescending tone, his sharp blue-gray eyes fixed on the short-haired woman in front of the control panel next to him.

The woman's skin was not as pale as the man's, so she was clearly of Asian descent.

“Driving at this high speed…do you know how many submarines you’ve mobilized from headquarters to power this time? If in the end…” The man didn’t finish his sentence, but the threat hung in the air like a tangible blade.

The short-haired Asian woman did not immediately answer her boss's question. An impatient expression clouded her young, well-defined Asian face as she stared intently at the talisman floating in front of the submarine.

The paper talismans shimmered with a faint glow, and instead of dissolving in the seawater, they floated for a long time, moving forward.

"Can't you see?" she finally spoke, her voice cold and smooth, without a trace of emotion. "I used a tracking talisman, and it's tracking us in a southeast direction, which means the target is moving faster than us!"

She raised her eyes, her sharp gaze piercing the white-haired man's sharply defined face. "Captain Tritans, in your opinion, who else do you think can outpace the combined speed of all 26 teams under Clinton, besides X11 who has held the mileage leaderboard for years?"

She deliberately emphasized the phrase "retained the title to this day".

Tritans was clearly displeased with her sarcastic attitude, so he raised his voice: "Of course I know you used a tracking talisman, but activating a tracking talisman requires the 'remains' of the person involved, doesn't it?"

"You don't need to worry about that." The woman's eyes flickered, but her voice remained steady. "In short, I've already reported this matter to General Celine and obtained special authorization to carry it out. I am the chief executor of this operation. Do you understand, Captain Tritans?"

“This is a ‘cleanup’ order directly from higher-ups. You just need to carry it out, Captain.” She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over Tritans with an undisguised pressure.

"Killing X11 isn't just about eliminating a problem; it's a direct route to the top of the power ladder. Don't tell me you can afford to be a hindrance?"

Upon hearing this, Tritans's expression instantly cooled, replaced by a complex look that mixed wariness and ambition: "Of course not, Agent Valerie. But don't forget, if things go wrong, it will be the fault of our entire W team, and no one will escape responsibility..."

Before the words were even finished, the sturdy hydraulic door of the command room slid open silently.

A figure wearing faded navy blue overalls and with a slightly hunched posture strolled in.

The metallic rust smell unique to the deep sea seemed to be briefly invaded by a faint, stale smell of cooking oil.

“Captain Tritans!” The voice carried a deliberately strained, almost humble respect, “Miss Valerite!”

This is the famous "Sister Qian" from the logistics team. Because she speaks English well, she gets along very well in the team.

Sister Qian rubbed her rough, calloused hands, her eyes darting around nimbly through her clouded vision: "The emergency report just now... with our logistics team of so few people, we probably can't keep up with the pursuit on the front lines. You see, receiving and transmitting signals, maintaining equipment, and resupplying are our duties. In this hail of bullets..."

Tritans didn't even take his eyes off the tracking symbol, only letting out a muffled hum.

The short-haired Asian woman called Valerie suddenly turned around: "Sister Qian."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable penetrating power, as if warning the middle-aged woman in front of her not to say things she shouldn't.

"Your crucial intelligence was invaluable in enabling this operation to pinpoint the target. The leadership will remember you."

A hollow compliment was glossed over, followed by a cold, sharp remark: "As for whether the logistics team goes to the front lines, we have our own arrangements. You are a hero, and I can only guarantee that you won't have to go to the front lines. As for the others, that's not your concern."

Sister Qian clearly lacked any sense of righteousness and didn't care about others at all. What she was waiting for was Ya Nu's words of reassurance to her, and her face instantly filled with smiles.

“After it’s done, you’ll get your share of the benefits.” Valerie’s gaze swept over Qian’s face, paused, and then her voice suddenly turned cold, carrying a blatant warning, “More importantly, you’d better keep a close eye on your daughter.”

The forced smile on Qian Jie's face vanished instantly, revealing a stiff, ashen complexion underneath.

She had hoped to use her intelligence to rise through the ranks, but she never expected that her own daughter would block her path to success.

In that instant, the veins beneath the loose skin of her neck bulged noticeably. "Yes...yes! Don't worry! I will...I will never let her cause any more trouble!"

The sound squeezed out of his throat was dry and hoarse, carrying a sense of humiliation and resentment, as if he had been choked.

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