171: Chapter 171 All in on the Little Grey, a gamble that must be accepted.

They originally thought that by rescuing Fourth Prince Daodun, they could secure the position of agents for Grey Alien,

but now they realized that Mothman had never intended to negotiate with any humans from the very beginning.

If the million-strong fleet of Grey Alien was bearing down on Earth to rescue their own prince,

then Mothman's actions were pure slaughter without any reason, any window for negotiation, or any room for agents.

Comparing the two, it was crystal clear which side was more brutal.

And they had just killed Mothman's agent and wiped out Solomon's entire Crane Family.

Within the logical framework of Mothman's essay, The Five Great Families were currently standing on the side of the demon, acting as stumbling blocks preventing the Prince Charming from marrying the princess.

They did not even need to guess; their ending would definitely be anything but good.

Rockefeller III withdrew his gaze from the projection screen and looked back at Soren. His tone remained calm, but his phrasing revealed undisguised gravity for the first time.

"You have analyzed Mothman's technology and intentions to this depth. Based on your understanding of the entire archival system, what will Mothman do next?"

Soren retrieved the encrypted tablet from beside the projection screen, placed it on his knees, and fell silent for a moment.

He was usually extremely decisive when reporting any conclusions,

but this time, his fingers rubbed back and forth along the frame of the tablet several times before he spoke, his tone slower and more prudent than any time before.

"Since Mothman regards Earth as so important—so important that their scientists' casual essays describe Earth as the embodiment of civilization's ultimate dream, and to completely take over this planet, they must rely on suitable vessel shells—"

"human shells have been proven through nearly a century of repeated experiments by the Crane Family to be completely incompatible."

"On the contrary, at the level of basic physiological parameters, the shells of Grey Alien are almost a perfect match for Mothman's consciousness transmission needs..."

He suddenly stopped.

His fingers paused on the frame of the tablet, his lips parted slightly, and his pupils contracted extremely slightly under the cold light.

Anthony Bradley braced his hands on the edge of the conference table, voicing for Soren the bold conjecture that the latter dared not finish:

"Mothman is very likely hiding in the shadows all along, waiting for the million-strong fleet of Grey Alien to appear."

"As long as Grey Alien and humans go to full-scale war, a large number of corpses of Grey Alien will be continuously produced on the battlefield."

"And every single corpse is a perfect vessel shell."

"By then, Mothman won't need to build any vessels themselves, nor will they need to wait for any generation of the Crane Family to slowly research and develop them."

"They only need to wait at the edge of the battlefield, pick up those corpses of Grey Alien one by one to download consciousness, and within a very short time, they can assemble a complete expeditionary fleet sufficient to take over the entire Earth."

Anthony slowly withdrew his hands from the edge of the conference table, letting them hang at his sides. After staring at the five abruptly changed faces before him for a brief moment of silence, he uttered the ultimate conclusion that even he dared not continue to deduce further:

"When the snipe and the clam grapple, the fisherman profits."

"Mothman never intended to personally fight anyone from the very beginning."

"They want to be the biggest hidden dealer behind the scenes."

Samuel straightened up from the back of his chair, pressed the hands resting on his knees onto the tabletop, and applied tight pressure.

Isabelle's lips were tightly pursed, her gaze nailed firmly to Anthony's face without moving a fraction.

Jacob slowly withdrew his hands—which had always been as steady as a rock—from the tabletop, placed them on his thighs, crossed his fingers, and pressed his knuckles until they turned white.

William picked up the flask from the corner of the table and put it down again, repeating the same action three times.

The million-strong fleet of Grey Alien was about to bear down, Mothman's fishing net had been cast long ago,

and The Five Great Families were now caught in the middle; they had killed Mothman's agent while desperately trying to curry favor with the intelligence officer of Grey Alien.

Every party at this poker table was a higher civilization, yet they couldn't even see the cards in their hands.

Rockefeller III flattened both hands on the tabletop, his fingertips pressing against the edge of Soren's encrypted tablet.

His gaze swept across the faces of his old partners one by one,

and then rested on Soren, Elena Chen, and Anthony.

His tone recovered its habitual calmness and precision, as if making a final decision tone after completing the assessment of all risk exposures.

"This is extremely important intelligence."

"While we wait for the approval of Grand Commander Nailong, this piece of information can earn us greater trust from Zeta Star."

"Mothman's true intentions, the entire process of their manipulation of the Crane Family behind the scenes, and their plan to use the corpses of Zeta Star fallen soldiers to manufacture vessel shells..."

"If the Commander-in-Chief can master this information in advance and make targeted defense deployments before the fleet deploys its tactical array,"

"then the value of The Five Great Families in the eyes of Zeta Star will no longer be errand-running agents delivering cola and spicy fire noodles, but strategic intelligence providers capable of influencing the direction of the entire battlefield."

Samuel Astor was stunned for a moment.

The hands that had been trembling slightly with fear just now were flattened out on the tabletop, his lips parted slightly, and then he nodded slowly.

Isabelle interlocked her fingers, placed them on her knees, and after a moment of silence, followed with a slight nod.

Jacob slowly loosened his fingers that had been pressing against each other until they turned white, placed both hands on either side of the file folder on the table, and said in a low voice but with extremely clear articulation:

"Since Mothman has already laid their butcher's knife out in the open, there is no longer any room to bargain with them."

William pushed the flask to the furthest corner of the table and followed with a hoarse, low voice:

"Then let's bet everything on Grey Alien."

"If we win, The Five Great Families will be the sole Zeta Star agents on this planet henceforth."

"If we lose, even a higher civilization lost to another higher civilization; we mortals can consider ourselves as willing to accept the loss of our bet."

Rockefeller III looked at the four old partners standing shoulder to shoulder with him in front of this poker table for too long. He didn't speak again, but gently curled the fingers flattened on the tabletop and nodded.

...

Hollywood Hills, detached villa.

Zhang Yi leaned against the back of the sofa, while two dense prompts of emotion points income flickered on the system interface before him.

Over at the White House, Biden, Harris, Graves, Mark Milley, and other high-ranking officials were arguing endlessly over The Five Great Families taking the lead to wipe out Solomon; wave after wave of anger, anxiety, grievance, and fear surged upward;

over here in Manhattan, Rockefeller III, Samuel, Isabelle, Jacob, and William went from being shocked all the way from the Level 5 civilization source of Mothman's technological system to that essay about the Earth princess,

and their fear value had never dropped since discovering that Mothman could directly and forcibly deploy consciousness,

although there was a split second when it was pushed back half a notch by Soren and Anthony's "no shell will be left behind,"

it was immediately pushed to the ultimate peak again by the ultimate deduction that when the snipe and the clam grapple, the fisherman profits.