"Even if it cannot serve as a shield, it would still be quite commendable as a means of remembrance." Qin Mo ceased his contemplation on the matter of the ashes and turned his focus to a task of greater significance: designing warships.
In Qin Mo's vision, when facing a fleet battle in the future, our side would temporarily possess only two types of warships: frigates and cruisers.
The Tyron System indeed has a fleet, but it is weak, comprising merely a single moon-class cruiser and three sword-class frigates. Thus, Qin Mo is entirely amenable to the prospect of these fleets being entirely corroded, possessing absolute confidence in his ability to contend with these vessels.
Both the cruisers and frigates, whether of his own design or otherwise, would predominantly utilize energy weapons. Furthermore, there would be no Geller fields or void shields.
The rationale for this is that warships employing dimensional engines for interstellar teleportation would not enter subspace, thus eliminating the need for Geller fields. Instead, a colossal infantry teleportation protection device would serve as a substitute, generating a barrier during the ship's transit to ensure that both the vessel and its crew's souls and bodies would not be torn apart within the dimensional corridor—this would suffice.
The absence of void shields stems from Qin Mo's inherent discomfort with subspace; instead, a one-way energy barrier would be employed, capable of intercepting external fire while allowing our attacks to be launched from within the barrier, impervious to slow-moving objects.
Cruisers, categorized as higher-tier warships, would serve as the primary output force, equipped with a particle lance mounted at the vessel's bow, allowing for sustained attacks against enemy ships from considerable distances.
The frigates' duty would be to intercept enemy aircraft and various assaults, carrying only small naval guns, with most armaments consisting of close-range laser defense weapons. They would also deploy teleportation beacons into enemy vessels, providing more precise data for the Marine Corps during boarding operations—naturally, this is only under dire circumstances requiring such an action.
During the phase of direct bombardment, the cruisers would not be lacking either; missiles and an array of energy munitions would devastate enemy forces at close range.
One thing is certain: our warships would forever possess a greater arsenal than most enemy vessels of the same tier… for Qin Mo would never allow a chapel aboard his ships.
Moreover, the crew's living space would be compressed to the utmost limits to create additional room for more equipment. The crew would operate the vessel from its most vital core, eliminating the need for unnecessary movement; they would be housed in pods and linked to the warship via neural interfaces, maneuvering the ship with ease as if it were an extension of themselves.
During times devoid of combat and absent docking stations, the crew would remain in stasis within their pods.
Should the warship be destroyed, there would be no cause for alarm; an embedded dimensional teleportation device would ensure a swift return home within a second.
As Qin Mo immersed himself in his research, the nobility of the Nest City convened for a meeting.
This assembly was significantly larger than the previous one, with nearly all the nobles from the spire in attendance. Furthermore, the location was not the governor's estate but the cathedral at the pinnacle of the Nest City, under the watchful gaze of the Master of Humanity.
"Ladies and gentlemen, David is dead." Under the scrutiny of all present, the governor disclosed news that unsettled everyone.
The nobles exchanged glances, feeling a mix of shock and underlying resentment toward the governor, thinking how fortunate it was that David had met his demise; otherwise, he would remain hidden from view.
"The examination results indicate that David succumbed to heart disease," the governor read aloud a condition that nobles typically only encountered in their studies.
This revelation prompted the nobility to reflect; David truly was a devout man, so virtuous that he refused to employ implanted devices.
"Who do you believe is responsible?" the governor inquired.
Immediately, a response arose: "The answer is obvious; it was the First Army."
"Why?" the governor pressed.
"Because... he was an opponent." The noble's expression cracked under the strain as he declared to the assembly: "If I were in the First Army, I would have dispatched that old fool myself."
Laughter erupted within the cathedral at his remark.
It was amusing for the nobility to have someone articulate the shared but unspoken understanding. Yet, as they laughed heartily beneath the gaze of the Emperor's statue, the servants in the cathedral looked on in confusion, unable to fathom how their masters could shift so rapidly from shock to laughter.
Their emotions were volatile, unlike their usual demeanor, which was already rather unstable.
"Enough, enough," the governor chuckled, signaling for silence before announcing loudly: "Our war with the rebels is now unavoidable; let the existing forces within Nest City launch an attack against them while we take the opportunity to hide on Tyron III."
"What if the followers of the Lord of Wisdom refuse our command?" someone queried.
"In that case, we shall unite and eliminate the higher-ups of the Lord of Wisdom," the governor replied, his expression turning cold and fierce.
The nobles leaned back with pride.
Conspiracy was their forte.
"However, be advised, the forces I refer to within Nest City do not include the planetary defense units; I mean those stationed on Tyron II," the governor cautioned, his gaze settling on one of the nobles donned in marshal's uniform. "Poison Spike, you shall handle this matter."
"Yes," Poison Spike stood, bowed, and then resumed his seat.
The nobility was somewhat reluctant to comply with the governor's decision, as Poison Spike was merely a slave in the governor's household, lacking even a name. His elevation to nobility had already irked many, and assigning him command over the army would not garner any willing supporters among them.
The governor discerned their discontented expressions: "I believe Poison Spike need not assume command; he is better suited to shed the uniform and continue as a slave, for the position of marshal should be bestowed upon someone more courageous—someone capable of withstanding the rebels for a time after we depart."
"I do not concur with you, Governor; Poison Spike is evidently the best candidate for marshal."
"I echo Coria's sentiments."
"No one is more qualified than Poison Spike."
The nobles hastened to express their approval.
The governor turned to Poison Spike with a smile: "Make it exquisite; do not merely initiate an assault with your forces and consider the matter resolved."
"Understood, my lord," Poison Spike nodded.