Beyond the Zenith

Han Qingyu ultimately lost the match. Fighting with his left hand in a defensive stance, he held out until the very end, but even he never found a real opening to counterattack, even by the time the energy core in his combat case ran dry.

The few forced attempts he made during the fight didn’t produce the results he wanted either.

This was the combat experience of a ten-year veteran of the Witnesses. When they isolated an ordinary Sharpie on the battlefield and moved in for the kill, they rarely left openings for a counterattack or breakout.

Han Qingyu’s biggest weakness was precisely this aspect.

The fight ended with Lao Jian standing less than two meters in front of Han Qingyu, his iron blade pointed level at the latter’s throat. Lao Jian’s expression wavered slightly, as if remembering something from the past, and he unconsciously tilted the blade away a fraction.

That small shift was all it took for the blade to snap. The larger piece hit the ground with a clang and shattered into hundreds of tiny fragments.

The blue glow from Lao Jian’s combat case didn’t fade until that very moment.

“Shameless,” Mira muttered under her breath from the bleachers, finally seeing through Lao Jian’s cunning.

Lao Jian stood in the ring with a faint smile curving the corners of his lips, as aloof as a legendary swordsman from an old wuxia novel. In a quiet voice, he said, “At least I’ve finally managed to teach you something. Remember to swap your energy cores before you fight.”

“You’re the one who gave them to me!” Han Qingyu snapped, shooting him a frustrated glare.

“Yes, and that’s the real lesson. In combat, you need to keep a constant eye on your source energy and control your expenditure,” Lao Jian lectured, expression remaining perfectly level. “Your opponents on the battlefield, whether Sharpies or humans, will never give you a chance to swap energy cores. Once you’re drained, killing you is as easy as slaughtering a chicken.”

He walked past Han Qingyu with a blank expression, unaware that, with both of their energy reserves depleted, Han Qingyu could have done precisely that—killed him as easily as a chicken.

Absorbing two raw metal cores had raised Han Qingyu’s baseline strength to a level that no ordinary veteran could match. On top of that, he still had liquid source energy stored inside him. While its output was nowhere near as overwhelming as the surging tide of a maneuvering device, it was still source energy.

Han Qingyu stood frozen on the ring, his mind running through his combat style for the very first time. Does that mean I should fight like a brute from now on? Going all out, trading blow for blow, and burning through energy until I’m the last one standing? What about Sharpies? Just hack at them head-on too?

Meanwhile, Lao Jian had already descended the steps with steady, unhurried strides.

The handful of people in the bleachers rose and offered polite applause.

Lao Jian raised a hand in acknowledgment, but didn’t stop.

“Lao Jian, where are you going?” Regiment Commander Li Wangqiang called out, leaning forward.

“I really need to use the bathroom,” Lao Jian said flatly before disappearing around the far end of the hall.

Outside the arena, Wen Jifei and He Tangtang were among the first to spot Han Qingyu as he left.

They crowded around him immediately. “Little Qing, how’d it go?”

Many recruits had followed, and nearly every one of them was looking at Han Qingyu with expectant gazes.

“I lost,” Han Qingyu said tonelessly, then turned and walked toward the mailroom.

The answer wasn’t exactly surprising. It just didn’t have the explosive thrill of a victory. The recruits watched his tired figure walk away with a brief pang of disappointment before belatedly realizing that most of them should have been rooting for Lao Jian.

After all, they had similar integration levels. In fact, Lao Jian was a C-ranker, which was actually higher than most of them.

Around the same time, a group of seven or eight recruits had rushed into the arena to use the restroom, only to find the bathroom door closed. Someone was inside, so they lined up to wait their turn.

That was when they heard it—the hacking and spitting of someone coughing something up.

Inside the bathroom, Lao Jian was hunched over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror as he reached up to wipe his mouth and chin with water.

God dammit, good thing I held it in back there. If I hadn’t, that “Blood Gourd Boy” name would’ve followed me to the grave. So this is what an A-ranker’s source energy surge feels like, able to command and unleash all that ferocious source energy at once.

Wait, that’s not right. I’ve sparred with other A-rankers from my generation before, and it was never this intense. I guess the gap between A-rankers can be huge too, just like how C-rankers vary from person to person. Guess I really did bring the Coalition something just short of S-rank.

Lao Jian’s mind didn’t wander any further than that. As an ordinary veteran, the idea that the measurement of one’s source energy integration level could be wrong was virtually unthinkable. He had also gotten into the habit of not questioning or doubting Han Qingyu.

Another coughing fit struck him, followed by another mouthful of blood.

After cupping some water to rinse his mouth and wash his face, he checked his teeth in the mirror for bloodstains.

Lucky for me, the brat’s source energy control is still unsophisticated, and he lacks actual combat experience. Otherwise, I could’ve genuinely embarrassed myself up there today. I should figure out how to help him improve on both fronts as quickly as possible.

It didn’t even occur to him that he’d lose the next match if he helped Han Qingyu improve. Lao Jian ran the water to clean the sink, smoothed his hair, and opened the door.

A dozen pairs of eyes stared back at him. They stood face-to-face in stunned silence for about two seconds.

“What are you looking at?! Think I’m going to leave the door open so you can piss side by side with your instructor?!” Lao Jian snapped at the recruits in a fluster, then straightened up and walked out with all the composure he could muster.

I just coughed up a little blood. No big deal.

The recruits filed into the restroom after him. One sharp-eyed soldier immediately spotted a thin streak of red lingering at the bottom of the sink. That, combined with the hacking they’d heard earlier...

“Holy shit. Han Qingyu made Instructor Lao cough up blood!” the recruit exclaimed.

Two versions of the story spread rapidly from this incident.

The first claimed that although Han Qingyu lost, he still made Instructor Lao cough up blood. The Erasers’ strongest recruit in ten years was every bit as terrifying as the rumors said.

The second delved into the touching tale of Instructor Lao’s nickname as Blood Gourd Boy. According to the rumors, Instructor Lao had a special trait that conflicted with source energy, leading to him coughing up blood every time he fought with his device on. However, coughing up blood also made him stronger. He fought and bled so that he could win. That was the origin of Blood Gourd Boy.

***

Lao Jian had been on his way to the training ground that afternoon to make his debut as the acting head instructor and meet the recruits for the first time when he heard these two stories. Hearing them nearly broke him.

The second version in particular almost made him cough blood on the spot.

He barely held it together, telling himself that the bigger picture mattered, that the head instructor’s image mattered. When he reached the training ground, the recruits hadn’t formed up yet, so he stood at the edge of the field, scanning the crowd with a neutral expression.

Then, in one swift motion, he drew a dead iron straight blade from his back and tossed it into the air.

The blade spun vertically in a slow, precise arc toward Han Qingyu.

Han Qingyu caught it easily.

“Your left-hand blade work isn’t bad either,” Lao Jian said. “The military had a spare, so I registered and requisitioned one for you. From now on, you can use two blades.”

These words were delivered in a cool, level tone. It was very smooth. If only he had stopped there.

“Remember to get your uniform altered, alright?” he added, sounding like a nagging mother and ruining the moment entirely.

By this time, the recruits had finished falling into line.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Lao Jian raised a hand in an informal greeting. It was obvious he wasn’t quite comfortable with the role, probably because he’d never been an instructor before.

The recruits snapped to attention. “Instructor—Blood—Lao, sir!”

Somehow the word “Blood” could be heard in the loud, crisp greeting with suspicious clarity, and from more than one source at that.

This actually wasn’t intentional. The recruits all had tremendous respect for a serving district platoon leader with ten years of experience on the front lines of the Witnesses, and who led the most-deployed platoon in the entire regiment this year, Platoon 752.

The problem was that the nickname had just started circulating and was incredibly catchy. Making matters worse, recruits from the 491st Regiment were also present for joint training, along with several other recruit units that had been pulled back early from their field exercises because they’d gotten too close to the District 1123 lockdown zone.

Lao Jian coughed into his fist. “Ahem... My surname is Lao. My given name is one character: Jian. I’ll be serving as your head instructor, taking over from Instructor Zhang... to see you through the last month of your recruit period.”

The recruits fell quiet at once, their expressions turning serious.