The Starfield Farming Sovereign (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 223

The test results made his fingers tremble slightly. These seeds had vitality and purity far beyond even the best seeds on the market.

Elizabeth added from the side, “Seed quality is important for how good the final crops will be, but it’s not the only factor. Since our growing methods are different, what you grow here might not reach the same quality as ours.”

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Chapter 223 A Fair Trade

Fir shed

“Tomatoes, cucumbers, spinach, lettuce … even broccoli and bitter melon!” she sighed happily. “With these varieties, my garden is finally going to feel complete.”

She looked out the window at the clouds passing by and thought out loud, “Marcelino’s reliable… Looks like we can work together long–term.”

Then she turned back, already excitedly making plans. “Fiona, once we get back, we’re planting all of these! I’m finally not stuck eating just potatoes and sweet potatoes anymore…”

She could already see it: in the near future, her farm would be a lush, green paradise full of the smell of fresh fruit.

At the edge of the Empire, GH–7 Defense Outpost.

The massive hull of the heavy troop carrier Ironclad slowly pulled into the port.

The ship’s exterior was covered in horrific new scars and black scorch marks from energy weapons. Several armor plates were twisted out of shape, silently telling the story of the brutal battle they had just ¡urvived.

The hatch opened with a heavy hydraulic hiss. But there were no cheers this time. No celebration.

nstead, a thick smell of burnt metal, blood, coolant, and the sickeningly sweet leftover scent of mental >ower waves drifted out, weighing heavily on everyone waiting at the dock.

Cristian was the first to step down.

His combat suit was torn in several places, with a deep gash in his shoulder plate. His arm was wrapped in

blood–soaked emergency bandage. His face was smeared with soot and someone else’s blood.

The scariest part was his eyes–they looked like frozen ice over a pit of burning rage. His jaw was clenched ight.

Behind him, his soldiers followed like a silent, heavy river of iron. They leaned on each other to walk. while others carried stretchers holding unconscious comrades. Every so often, a muffled groan of pain

broke the silence.

Victory!

Yes, the mission was completed.

All the Phantommare insect swarms with mental attack abilities had been successfully lured into a trap and wiped out, though at a huge cost. For now this part of space was safe

But looking at the casualties, Cristian didn’t feel a bit of joy

Sixteen dead.

Three hundred and seven were seriously injured.

Minor injuries… basically everyone.

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