The Giant Corporations that Started in Night City

Chapter 357 – Desert Stormtroopers Encircle! Paul Activates God Mode!

"You seem to know this place like the back of your hand. Even out here in the trackless sea of sand, you're moving around without the slightest trouble," Paul remarked with a smile.

"Of course," Din Djarin replied without looking back. "I'm the best bounty hunter in this sector—and one of the people who knows Tatooine best. Chances are, I know more than the local thugs who've lived here their whole lives."

Although Din Djarin had only recently started working as a bounty hunter, he took the job very seriously, constantly working to build his credibility and reputation.

After all, back on Mandalore, his people were still being oppressed by the Empire, bought and sold like slaves—yet here he was, fortunate enough to live outside that nightmare.

Din Djarin wasn't a native Mandalorian—he was an orphan taken in and raised by the Mandalorians—but he believed wholeheartedly in their creed and lived according to their way.

And bounty hunting wasn't just a Mandalorian tradition—it was also his livelihood. That's why he pushed himself relentlessly to sharpen his skills.

Before long, under Din's guidance, Paul's group successfully arrived at a local moisture farm.

This was one of the few farming areas on the arid desert world of Tatooine. Here, farmers used moisture condenser technology to maintain underground humidity levels for growing crops.

Owen and his wife Beru came out quickly to greet the group upon seeing strangers arrive. But notably, the two Rebel Alliance droids weren't with them.

"Hello, are you the owner of this farm—Owen Lars?" Captain Cassian stepped forward and greeted them, doing his best to keep a calm and friendly tone.

"Yes, I'm Owen Lars," Owen replied, visibly nervous.

He eyed the group of strangers armed to the teeth—especially the fully armored Mandalorian—and couldn't help but think the worst.

"No need to be nervous. We're just here to ask whether you recently bought two droids from the Jawas: an R2-series astromech and a humanoid protocol droid."

Cassian voiced the question directly.

"Yes, that did happen… Are you the owners?" Owen blinked.

The Jawas were native scavengers on Tatooine—infamous for collecting scrap and salvaging old tech, which they cobbled together and sold to locals in exchange for supplies.

Everyone who bought from Jawas knew full well the origins of those items were… questionable. Now that the original owners had shown up, Owen knew he'd probably have to take the loss.

"That's right," Cassian nodded. "Those two droids fell off our ship. We need to retrieve them."

Left with no other choice, Owen apologized and invited them inside to wait. The droids were currently with his nephew, Luke Skywalker, who had taken them out for repairs and wouldn't be back for a while.

"Well then, sorry to trouble you," Paul said.

With no better option, Paul's team entered Owen's home to wait patiently for Luke to return.

During this time, Owen and Beru graciously served them a meal made from their farm's produce, hoping to smooth things over and avoid conflict.

Cassian had no intention of causing trouble, so he accepted their hospitality. The group spent several relatively peaceful hours there, sharing a calm—if somewhat tense—meal.

But just as they were settling in, their lookout droid K-2SO, who had been stationed outside, suddenly detected approaching Imperial stormtroopers and issued a warning:

[Heads up, folks—we've got trouble incoming!]

Cassian quickly leaned out the window, using his binoculars to scan the horizon—and spotted a squad of desert stormtroopers rapidly advancing on their location.

"Are they tracking us?" he asked.

"No way," Din Djarin replied confidently. "There's no chance we were followed. I would've noticed if Anyone had eyes on us."

Din trusted his own counter-tracking skills. If he weren't good at it, he wouldn't have survived in this line of work.

The sergeant major nodded in agreement. "We didn't leave any trail behind. No way the Imperials tracked us all the way here."

Paul's land speeder had one major advantage—it left no tracks behind.

Powered by repulsorlift technology rather than wheels, the speeder didn't leave any visible marks on the ground.

"That means the Imperials must've interrogated someone local and traced the droids that way."

Paul quickly deduced the likely scenario. The Jawas' massive sandcrawler did leave tracks—and the Imperials probably found them near the wrecked escape pod.

All they had to do was capture a few Jawas and squeeze the information out of them. Their efficiency rivaled Paul's decision to find a bounty hunter!

"What now? Should we run?" Jyn Erso asked nervously, looking around at the group.

Paul glanced back at Owen and Beru, who were clearly frightened. It would be easy enough for them to run—they had the speed and the firepower.

Even if the Imperials caught up, they wouldn't pose much of a threat.

But if they left now, Owen and Beru would likely be slaughtered by the ruthless Imperial soldiers.

"You need to get out of here—fast—before it's too late," Paul warned, explaining the situation outside and urging the couple to come with them.

But Owen firmly shook his head. "No. Luke's not back yet. We're not leaving him behind. I'll talk to them—everything will be fine."

Owen had poured his entire life into this moisture farm.

As a hardworking, honest farmer, he couldn't just abandon his livelihood and go on the run like the Rebels. If he fled with Paul and the others, he'd be labeled a fugitive, and the farm would surely be burned to the ground by the Empire.

"Hurry up! We're out of time!"

While the group argued, the desert stormtroopers arrived and surrounded the farm. They raised their blaster rifles and shouted:

"Listen up! Everyone inside—come out now, or we'll open fire!"

As more stormtroopers closed in, Paul realized escape was no longer an option. They'd have to stay and wipe out the enemy.

With no choice left, Paul drew the lightsaber at his hip and revealed his true identity to Owen:

"This is who we are. Those stormtroopers out there won't spare you."

Owen's eyes went wide. Of course he recognized a lightsaber—and what it meant for someone to wield one.

"You're a Jedi? That makes you part of the Rebellion, doesn't it?!"

Owen had heard news of recent battles—on Jedha, on Scarif. But he never imagined these harbingers of chaos, chased across the galaxy by the Empire, would wind up right at his front door.

Just his luck.

Paul didn't respond—he simply stood ready. They would defend this farm until Luke returned.

"You've got one last chance! If you're not out in three seconds, we'll reduce this place to rubble!"

"3… 2…"

Before the troopers could even say "1," the door burst open—and Paul charged out, lightsaber blazing.

In an instant, the stormtroopers—ready to fire—unleashed a barrage of blaster bolts at him.

But Paul spun his saber with lightning speed, deflecting every shot and sending them hurtling back toward their shooters.

The stormtroopers were stunned. The deadly bolts they'd fired were now ricocheting back into their own ranks, sending them flying in every direction.

No one had expected a Jedi to be hiding inside that house. Had they known, they never would've rushed in so recklessly.

In that one exchange, the Imperials wiped out half their own men. The remaining survivors panicked, ceased fire, and scrambled to call for reinforcements.

With the battle now fully underway, the rest of the Rogue One team joined in, raising their weapons and gunning down the remaining stormtroopers.

Meanwhile, Luke Skywalker was on his way home—walking through the desert after just leaving Obi-Wan Kenobi's house.

With him were the two droids: the barrel-shaped, beep-booping R2-D2 and the golden, humanoid C-3PO.

Having just finished repairs on the droids, Luke had been in good spirits—until he stumbled across a destroyed sandcrawler on his way home.

Surrounding it were dozens of dead Jawas.

Luke recognized several of them—these were the very scavengers who'd sold him the droids.

"This was the Empire's doing."

Obi-Wan, walking beside Luke, made the grim assessment after surveying the damage.

"There aren't many criminal gangs on Tatooine who'd use heavy blaster weapons on Jawas—and none who'd bother."

Obi-Wan knew the Empire's ruthless tactics all too well. Their soldiers were notoriously savage.

"But why would they slaughter the Jawas?" Luke asked, confused. "What did they do to deserve this?"

Then he turned to look at the two droids following him—and suddenly, the pieces fell into place.

"Oh no—!"

Realization hit him like a sandstorm. Luke broke into a sprint, racing home.

If the Empire had killed the Jawas who sold him the droids...

If Luke didn't make it back in time, his uncle Owen would surely be caught up in the crossfire too.

Without a second thought, Luke jumped into his landspeeder and gunned it toward home at full throttle, leaving Obi-Wan and the two droids behind in the dust.

Obi-Wan tried to call out and stop him, but it was too late. Luke had already sped off into the distance, disappearing from sight and leaving them standing there in stunned silence.

Back at the moisture farm, chaos had already erupted.

With reports of a possible Jedi sighting, the Empire had begun flooding the area with reinforcements, encircling the entire farm.

Thankfully, most of Owen's moisture farm was built underground, resembling an igloo with only a few rooftop vents poking up above the sand—just like an old-fashioned shelter.

It gave Owen and his wife Beru a temporary safe haven below ground.

Chani and Jyn Erso stayed behind to care for them, while the rest of the team headed topside to engage in a fierce firefight with the Imperial troops.

This grueling siege would drag on until Luke Skywalker returned. Only then would Paul consider retreating.

Until that moment, they had no choice but to hold the line and resist the Empire's advance.

As for Din Djarin, who could have chosen to stay out of this mess, he now found himself forced to take up arms.

The Empire's standard operating procedure was to kill first and ask questions never. Now that he'd been seen associating with Rebel forces, he too was bound for the Empire's most-wanted list.

If he wanted to survive, he had no choice but to throw in with Paul's side.

In this moment, Din Djarin's powerful blaster sniper rifle came into its own.

Each shot, no matter where it hit a stormtrooper, blew them apart—leaving behind only shattered white armor and gory mists of blood and flesh.

This was, after all, his professional weapon of choice—crafted for bounty hunting and comparable in quality to the best Imperial armaments.

Djarin fought shoulder to shoulder with Paul, using every available scrap of cover—but couldn't help grumbling as he reloaded:

"This wasn't part of the contract. I was only supposed to guide you through the desert."

He didn't outright say he regretted taking the job—after all, he still liked Paul's adamantium blade—but losing his livelihood and becoming a fugitive was a bitter pill to swallow.

The implication was clear: he expected hazard pay.

Paul, a seasoned operator who'd clawed his way up from the bottom, instantly picked up on the hint. He casually tossed Djarin two gold ingots and replied:

"Consider yourself hired. Name your price—just pull your weight."

By now, Paul had risen to the top of the Celestial Vanguard's forward operations unit. He had the authority to allocate Pioner Division funds and even assign personnel directly.

Which meant he could grant someone official status within the megacorp's vanguard forces.

Paul now held real power—access to both resources and manpower—and he had no problem backing up his promises.

Recruiting a bounty hunter was simple: just pay them enough.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Baze Malbus was unloading round after round from his heavy repeater cannon. On this wide-open desert terrain, such a weapon was devastating.

Beams of searing blaster fire rained down like falling stars, ripping through enemy ranks and temporarily suppressing the stormtroopers' advance.

Meanwhile, Chirrut Imwe launched silent but deadly shots with his crossbow-like weapon from the shadows, picking off stormtroopers manning heavy weaponry with unerring precision.

The Rogue One team's coordination was excellent—but the winds were beginning to howl louder.

A massive sandstorm was brewing.

Under normal circumstances, everyone would've sought shelter until the storm passed. But the Empire, unrelenting as ever, was deploying even more desert stormtroopers.

Soon, a variety of Imperial armored units appeared in Paul's line of sight—walkers from the AT-series, and massive desert-ready treaded tanks.

While locals preferred repulsorlift vehicles for daily travel, the Empire had different priorities.

Repulsorlift tech couldn't handle heavy artillery recoil unless fitted with additional stabilizers—which increased production costs significantly.

So the Empire still relied on walkers and heavily armored treaded vehicles for frontline combat.

Once these armored reinforcements joined the fray, Rogue One's firepower was quickly overshadowed.

Even Din Djarin's high-powered sniper rifle couldn't penetrate the tanks' armor plating.

Without specialized anti-vehicle rounds, his blaster fire couldn't break through the shielded plating specifically designed to deflect blaster energy.

"We're screwed—we need to fall back, fast."

Realizing his weapon was useless against the Imperial tanks, Djarin was painfully reminded of the difference between street brawls and full-scale warfare.

In the criminal underworld, his guns and blades were more than enough. But on a battlefield, where Imperial troops poured in endlessly, even the bravest hero could be ground into dust.

The Empire's armored units were closing in fast. Not even the growing sandstorm could slow them down.

The storm's sand and grit only slightly affected their targeting—but every blast from their cannons still tore apart Paul's defenses, blinding the team with dust and debris.

Before long, the battlefield had become a hellscape—scorched by artillery, ravaged by sandstorms.

Blaster bolts flickered like lightning in the swirling haze, but no one could see where they landed—or cared.

"This is flat desert. We've got no cover for guerrilla tactics. But this storm gives us one more window."

Paul studied the situation. With visibility down to ten meters at best, the tanks could only creep forward, relying on guidance updates to avoid friendly fire or getting lost.

Without delay, Paul drew his hardlight saber and charged into the fray.

A streak of brilliant blue light danced through the brown-yellow storm.

To the stormtroopers, it was death itself—flashing between them like a specter, striking them down before they could even react.

Even the ones hunkered in armored tanks weren't safe—some were suddenly skewered through their vehicles by saber strikes that pierced hulls like paper.

In this low-visibility battlefield, Paul's precognition gave him an overwhelming edge. He moved like a phantom, untraceable and unstoppable.

If Darth Vader had been present, he might have caught Paul's agile figure.

But these clueless stormtroopers had no idea they were facing a nightmare incarnate.

By the time the storm began to settle, the only things left around the battlefield were corpses in white armor and abandoned Imperial vehicles.

Even the Rogue One members hadn't seen what happened—they'd only heard screams echoing through the dust.

Then, silence.

Just bodies—and motionless tanks.

No one could believe it. Paul had only been gone two months… yet somehow, he'd grown far stronger than before.

Unbeknownst to them, Paul had become the testing ground for the megacorp's cutting-edge spice enhancements. Any safe and stable formula was handed to him first.

That's the power of being inside the system.

Just like V once showcased god-tier strength due to exclusive access to the megacorp's tech, Paul had just consumed a vial of the latest improved spice before charging out.

It temporarily unlocked his full potential, massively boosting combat power.

As for the side effects…

Well, the company's medical staff would patch him up later.

Staring at the stormtrooper corpses and the dead tank crews, the others were visibly shaken.

"What the hell did you do?" Cassian asked, eyes wide. "How'd you get this strong in just a few weeks? You're not even bald…!"

He glanced at Paul's stylish, tousled, gold-brown curls—which were gleaming despite the dust.

Din Djarin also looked at him suspiciously, trying to eavesdrop for any clues.

Paul just smiled faintly. "Once you join my team, you'll find out how I got this strong."

Djarin still looked confused, but Cassian was already deep in thought—wondering if maybe, just maybe, it was time for Rogue One to join the megacorp.

Compared to the Rebel Alliance, the megacorp's resources and strategic depth were on another level.

If the Empire were to fall, who would seize control? All signs pointed to the megacorp.

And since personnel slots and benefits were limited, it made sense to get in early—secure a seat before the new "Celestial Empire" was born.

At least that way, he could get a taste of the power and influence to come.

"All right, let's clean up and see if we can salvage anything. The Empire won't let this go easily," Chirrut reminded the group.

Even with Paul's one-man rampage clearing the field, more Imperial reinforcements could arrive at any moment. They had to move fast.

"Let's wait a little longer," Din suggested. "The next wave won't be here for a while—and we're still waiting for Luke to return."

He knew the Empire didn't have many stationed troops on Tatooine. Even regrouping and redeploying at top speed, they wouldn't reach the deep desert for at least five hours.

"Fine. Everyone take a break. Once Luke and the droids are back, we'll figure out the next move."

Paul's order was met with unanimous approval. Somehow, at some point, he had become the true leader of Rogue One.

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