Chapter 301: The Turbulence of Ten Thousand Races! Volatile Situation! West Academy Top Genius Taimi

Chapter 301: Turbulences of the Myriad Races! Turbulent Times! West Academy Prodigy Taimi! Yunzhou, Son of the Nine-Spirit King!

Within a virtual space woven from sheer light energy and data streams, all was quiet, save for a cold, monumental sense of order that diffused invisibly through the air.

This was the Pantheon, the supreme decision-making center of the Myriad Races Alliance within the Sacred Academy Sea Warzone.

The architecture of this space defied conventional physical perception; there was no distinction between heaven and earth, no boundary between near and far.

Countless brilliant golden torrents of data cascaded like waterfalls from an invisible vault and merged into an unfathomable abyss, forming cyclical, never-ending chains of cosmic law.

At the center of these data strands, a colossally immense, circular council table floated suspended, its surface not solid matter but composed of hundreds of millions of blinking, shifting star charts and runes, each representing an essential strategic coordinate within the Sacred Academy Sea.

Around the council table, psychic projections, each exuding an aura as terrifyingly deep as the ocean, quietly coalesced and finally assumed distinct forms.

They were the supreme decision-makers within this cosmic warzone from over a dozen pinnacle races, including the Crystal, Starry Behemoth, Necroid, Holy Light, Demon, Mechanical, and Shadow races—the Emperor-class powerhouses.

Every projection stood as towering as a mountain, its very presence warping the surrounding virtual laws.

Their wills converged here, sufficient to decide the fate of billions of living beings and to whip up a tempest of war that would sweep across countless galaxies.

The atmosphere of the meeting was solemn and oppressive until, at the head of the council table, the projection of a massive humanoid crystal completely solidified; he was composed entirely of billions of perfect, diamond-like facets, each reflecting a different starry sky, as though a whole universe lay contained within his body.

A crisp voice, imbued with absolute majesty, rang out simultaneously within the deepest depths of the souls of all the powerhouses.

"Everyone."

The speaker was none other than the instigator and leader of this alliance operation, Prism Emperor of the Crystal Race.

His voice carried no emotional fluctuation, yet it held an inherent sense of order that demanded the submission of all things.

"The purpose of this meeting is to conduct a final review of the current phase of the war in the Sacred Academy Sea and to establish our core strategic objectives for the next phase."

Prism Emperor’s crystalline body turned slightly, and the star chart runes at the center of the council table shifted instantly; seventeen of them lit up simultaneously, bursting into a dazzling, A-grade red glow.

"According to the comprehensive calculations of my race, combined with the intelligence shared by all parties, there are currently seventeen important secret realms within the Sacred Academy Sea evaluated as 'Grade A' or above.

These seventeen secret realms concern our resource acquisition, strategic depth, and containment of Human Race forces within the Sacred Academy Sea Warzone over the next million years."

He paused briefly, and one of the illuminated runes suddenly magnified, transforming into a three-dimensional projection of an island floating above the council table.

The island was pitch-black all over, wreathed in an aura of death and misfortune; it was the Island of Death's Demise.

"And among these seventeen Grade-A secret realms,"

Prism Emperor’s voice suddenly grew heavier, bearing an indisputable finality, "the strategic value of the 'Island of Death's Demise,' after final deductions, ranks first."

He extended a giant finger composed of crystal and tapped it lightly against the projection of the island.

The projection unfurled instantly, revealing the countless resource nodes within that radiated a seven-colored halo, as well as a mysterious mark at the island's core, flickering as if connected to another dimension, exuding an aura of eternity and immortality.

"It is not only the secret realm with the richest reserves and highest quality of known resources, but the 'Cosmic Crystals' it produces can directly replenish our alliance's lack of high-end combat power. More importantly,"

Prism Emperor's gaze swept over every Emperor present, "according to my race's oldest star charts and prophecies, the psychic tide of the Island of Death's Demise possesses a direct psychic vein connection to the 'Mount of Immortality,' which is set to appear several tens of thousands of years from now.

Occupying this island today is to place the most critical opening pawn for the battle over the Mount of Immortality tens of thousands of years later.

This battle is the foundation of our alliance's campaign to strike at the Human Race's fortune and designs for the next million years; its importance requires no further elaboration from me."

As Prism Emperor’s words fell, beside the council table, a form composed entirely of a liquid-metal-like data stream began to fluctuate violently; its shape shifted hundreds of millions of times within a millisecond, finally freezing into a simple humanoid silhouette, followed by a synthesized voice entirely devoid of emotion.

"Agreed with Prism Emperor’s strategic value assessment."

The speaker was Zero Emperor of the Mechanical Race.

Every word he spoke was based on the absolute rational analysis of massive amounts of data.

"My database has performed a deep learning and summarization of all the Human Race's wartime behavioral patterns over the past three hundred thousand years."

Upon Zero Emperor’s projected body, countless complex blue streams of data emerged, forming a massive logical analysis chart.

"The data shows a clear generation gap among the prodigies of the current human generation. At the Domain Lord level, they lack the decisive power to contend head-on with our race's God-Forbidden prodigies.

And the known geniuses who have displayed astounding potential at the Black Hole level, such as that recently renowned Qin Feng, as well as Caesar, Fire Dragon, and others, have been confirmed by the latest intelligence to have not yet broken through to the Domain Lord level."

Zero Emperor’s voice was cold and precise.

"Based on this core variable of 'a gap in high-end combat power,' combined with the human race's strategic character of being 'cautious' and 'resilient' but 'not taking risks unless necessary,' we deduced their behavioral patterns and concluded: under circumstances where they cannot gain an advantage on the Domain Lord battlefield of the Island of Death's Demise, there is a 97.3% probability they will choose a 'strategic retreat,' trading space for time, defending their core territories, and waiting for the next generation of prodigies to mature."

Zero Emperor's analysis instantly received the crude agreement of another entity.

"Hmph, a correct analysis! A bunch of spineless cowards!"

Boom!

A thunderous roar erupted within the virtual space, and a ferocious beast-head projection, so massive it occupied nearly half the seats, manifested with a roar.

It was the head of a Starry Behemoth; even as a mere projection, the primitive, wild, and all-consuming ferocious aura it exuded caused the surrounding data streams to show signs of disruption.

The representative of the Starry Behemoths, Great Jaw, opened and closed its black-hole-like maw, letting out a deafening roar: "Intelligence is the most direct proof! My scout forces have been watching the other warzones for centuries! The Human Race has shown signs of large-scale troop movements in the other sixteen Grade-A secret realms, especially the 'Primal Ore Vein' and the 'Void Pantheon,' even exhibiting the psychic fluctuations of Marquis-class powerhouses."

"Except on the Island of Death's Demise!"

Great Jaw’s tone was filled with disdain and mockery. "What did they do? They only sent a small detachment comprised mainly of Black Hole level cultivators! A single detachment! Are they joking with us? A reinforcement of this scale isn't even enough to fill the gaps between the teeth of the warriors under our command!"

"This is undoubtedly a smokescreen of sacrificing the rook to save the king!"

Great Jaw let out a conclusive roar, "They have completely abandoned the Island of Death's Demise! Sending this small detachment now is nothing more than wanting to use the lives of these cannon fodder to put up a token resistance, delaying our pace in completely occupying the outer island to buy precious time for their operations in the other sixteen battlefields!

Laughable! Foolish!"

Great Jaw’s judgment immediately struck a chord in another area.

That area had been shrouded year-round in dense, black death energy, from which a hoarse, cold voice, sounding as though it came from the depths of the underworld, drifted out.

"My race's 'Soul Network' has also reached a similar conclusion."

The black mist churned, and a skeletal figure clad in a tattered black robe could be faintly discerned; it was Wither Emperor of the Necroid Race.

"Over the past epoch, the 'Listeners' of my race have continuously monitored the internal communications of the Human Race in the frontline cosmic cities.

Data shows that the frequency and psychic intensity of communications regarding the Island of Death's Demise have dropped by more than ninety percent over the last three hundred years.

The remaining communications are filled with despair, pessimism, and requests to wait for rotation.

Their internal morale has clearly hit rock bottom."

Wither Emperor's tone carried a hint of amusement and cruelty: "As for that so-called reinforcement unit, in the monitoring of our Soul Network, it looks more like a funeral rite whose script was written in advance.

Their intention is clear: to use the deaths of this batch of cannon fodder to consume our army's energy, making us waste time in the process of hunting down these little mice, thereby misjudging their strategic determination to completely transfer their main forces to other battlefields."

As the representatives of several core races spoke one after another, intelligence and analysis were laid out on the table one by one, forming a complete and logically consistent chain of evidence.

The other Emperor-class powerhouses present—such as Holy Radiance Emperor of the Holy Light Race, whose entire body exuded the light of purification; the eerie Demon Empress of the Demon Race, who possessed nine tails; and Shadowless Emperor of the Shadow Race, who hid within the rifts of dimensions—all nodded in agreement.

In their eyes, everything had become clear.

The Human Race had already made the most rational, yet most helpless choice—to strategically abandon the Island of Death's Demise.

Prism Emperor quietly listened to everyone's analysis, his body of billions of crystal facets reflecting a cold light, clearly highly satisfied with this conclusion.

"Very well."

His majestic voice rang out once more, bringing an end to the discussion.

"Since the strategic intent of the Human Race has been confirmed, we no longer need to have any qualms regarding our next actions."

Prism Emperor's giant crystalline finger swept through the air, and command runes containing supreme will began to generate.

"I propose to launch the 'Cleansing Project.' Assemble all our mobile forces in the starry regions surrounding the Island of Death's Demise, including the reserve forces and elite hunting groups of all races, to launch a decisive, sweeping general offensive against all remaining Human forces on the outer island of Death's Demise!"

His voice turned sharp and sudden, heavy with the chill of impending slaughter.

"Our objective, before the next opening of the entrance and exit—that is, within the next thirty thousand years—is to annihilate every human defender on the outer island, raze all their strongholds, and turn the entire outer island into a true 'island of death'! We shall sever any lingering possibility of them using their 'Resurrection Marks' to turn the tide!"

"Seconded!"

The Star-Beast Monarch roared first, his massive jaws shaking the very foundations of the virtual space.

"Data models indicate the success rate of this plan exceeds 99.8%."

The Mechanical Race's Zero Emperor provided cold, numerical support: "The only potential failure lies in the Human Race producing a peerless Domain Lord with God-Forbidden talent, but the probability is infinitesimally low—effectively zero."

"My race’s undead legions have long hungered for the taste of fresh souls."

The Necro-Race’s Withered Emperor let out a sinister, rattling laugh.

The remaining Monarch-level powerhouses voiced their agreement in turn.

A dragnet aimed at the human defenders of the Dead-Fall Island was woven with effortless ease in these few brief moments of deliberation.

In their eyes, this was merely a formality, a final cleanup operation, a banquet to divide the spoils of a guaranteed victory.

Human resistance was nothing more than a final, feeble death rattle.

This was a once-in-an-epoch opportunity; they had waited ages for this specific window, where the human prodigies were still trapped at the Black Hole level, and no God-Forbidden talent existed among the Domain Lords.

They had to seize this chance!

At the end of the meeting, to ensure the plan was foolproof, the Shadow Race’s Shadowless Emperor offered a final addendum.

"Although the humans are at the end of their tether, we must remain vigilant against the individual breakthrough capabilities of their top-tier prodigies.

I suggest we cross-reference the Universal Wanted List and the Human Saint Academy’s list of elite geniuses to confirm if any possess the potential to threaten our peak Domain Lord combatants."

Though cautious, the proposal drew a few faint, dismissive chuckles.

In the face of absolute superiority, such caution seemed redundant.

Yet, the Mechanical Race’s Zero Emperor executed the command.

A massive golden list materialized upon his data-stream body—the very Universal Wanted List issued by the Alliance of Ten Thousand Races, targeting human geniuses.

Names flickered with brilliant light upon the scroll.

"Qin Feng, Black Hole limit, master of multiple top-tier legacies, possessor of cosmic artifacts; comprehensive combat evaluation: comparable to entry-level and mid-level Domain Lords. Threat level: High."

"Caesar, Black Hole limit, disciple of the human 'Lord of Holy Feathers'; combat evaluation: comparable to ordinary Domain Lords. Threat level: High."

"Fire Dragon..."

"Zhou Yu..."

One familiar name after another was listed by Zero Emperor, accompanied by data analysis so exhaustive it was chilling.

However, when these analyses pointed toward actual combat comparisons, the results were strikingly consistent.

"...Based on existing records and intelligence, all aforementioned Black Hole or entry-level Domain Lords, when facing our God-Forbidden peak Domain Lords stationed on Dead-Fall Island—such as the Crystal Race’s 'Prism,' the Necro-Race’s 'Withered Knight,' or the Mechanical Race’s 'Slaughterer'—have a success probability of less than 0.0001%."

Zero Emperor stated the conclusion coldly.

"This is an unbridgeable chasm. The gap between a Black Hole level and a peak Domain Lord cannot be erased by talent or legacy alone.

Even if they possess God-Forbidden potential, they require vast amounts of time to grow.

And now, they have no such time."

This conclusion served as the cornerstone of their final decision, an iron law in their cognition that could never be broken.

To shake a battle-hardened, God-Forbidden peak powerhouse standing at the apex of the Domain Lord level with a mere Black Hole limit?

Even in the highest councils of the Human Saint Academy, such a notion would be dismissed as a fever dream.

The human Limit Lords themselves had set that ultimate trial, the most brutal in history, to verify Qin Feng’s boast that "below the rank of Marquis, no one can kill me"...

Even the human leaders themselves had initially harbored doubts, needing to witness the miracle with their own eyes before believing—let alone these self-proclaimed noble Monarchs who viewed humanity as their mortal enemy.

They could never imagine, nor would they ever factor, such irrational possibilities into their strategic calculations.

In their cognitive system, built upon cold data and past experience, rules were meant to be followed, and big data never deviated significantly.

Yet, the very existence of Qin Feng was a variable that shattered the rules entirely.

This variable was, at this very moment, silently infiltrating the chessboard they deemed impregnable.

"In that case, initiate the plan."

The majestic voice of the Prism Emperor drew the final period to the meeting.

The virtual conference concluded.

Within the grand temple space, the deep, sea-like projections of the Monarchs dissipated one by one, returning as pure psionic information to the star systems they governed.

But their wills had already coalesced into cold, grim, and absolute commands, transmitted through the secret sub-space network at speeds exceeding light, reaching the distant Dead-Fall Island and the myriad-race armies waiting with bated breath and boiling bloodlust.

A dragnet woven of absolute confidence began to slowly tighten.

Its target: the hundred-odd human squads struggling in despair, waiting for a miracle.

The commanders of the myriad races believed that once this net was cast, there would be no suspense.

They did not know that what this net was about to capture was not a trembling lamb waiting for the slaughter.

But a fierce god, just awakened, quietly opening its eyes in the abyss!

...

Dead-Fall Island, Outer Island, Squad Seventy-Eight.

This had once been a barren asteroid no more than a hundred kilometers in diameter; now, its interior had been hollowed out to form a crude yet sturdy fortress of war.

A shimmering psionic shield, like a thin eggshell, hummed silently beneath the asteroid’s crust, struggling to isolate the chaotic spacetime fields that raged incessantly outside.

The space within the fortress was cramped and oppressive; the cold alloy walls were scarred with the blackened marks of psionic weapon fire and the jagged gouges of monstrous claws.

The air was thick with a complex, acrid stench—the metallic tang of iron, the burnt ozone of overloaded psionics, the dull cycle of life-support systems, and a faint, lingering scent of blood that seemed to have soaked deep into the alloy, impossible to scrub away.

This was the front line.

There were no grand speeches, no glamour, only the day-to-day struggle and combat for the sake of survival.

In the assembly area at the heart of the fortress, ten figures stood in solemn silence.

Six of them possessed a heavy, settled aura; their armor was riddled with scars, their eyes like weathered stone—cold and resilient.

They were the veterans of this squad, the bedrock holding up this fragile line of defense.

At this moment, their scrutinizing gazes fell upon the three newly joined "recruits" and one silent "extra."

"I am Long Zhan, captain of Squad Seventy-Eight."

A voice as steady as a mountain broke the oppressive silence.

The speaker was a middle-aged man of exceptionally burly stature.

He wore heavy combat armor stained a greenish-gold by the fires of war; every seam and every inch of the surface was etched with countless marks of battle.

These were not decorations, but medals—honors, proof of having clawed his way back from the brink of death time and time again.

His skin was dark, and his short, cropped golden hair burned like a flame, radiating a sense of explosive power.

He did not deliberately release his aura, yet the pressure of his high-level Domain Lord realm hung like an invisible volcano, commanding an instinctive sense of awe. His gaze was pragmatic and sharp, sweeping over the new faces before him; there was no welcome, no rejection, only the calm of a man attending to business.

"Welcome to Squad 78. Remember, from this moment on, forget your status, your background, and your glory from the rear. Here, you have only one identity—a human warrior. You have only your comrades beside you, and only enemies before you. Do you understand?"

"Understood."

The response was scattered, yet carried an undeniable note of affirmation.

Standing at the first position to Long Zhan's left was a youth with handsome features and a composed temperament.

He wore a brand-new silver standard-issue battle suit, finely crafted yet utterly unremarkable—the generic model issued by the Human Saint Academy to winners of the genius tournaments. His cultivation was at the primary Domain Lord level, his aura condensed like a drawn sword, sharp yet restrained.

Facing Long Zhan’s gaze, he gave a slight nod and introduced himself with laconic precision: "Yun Zhou, from the Universal Genius Tournament."

His voice was cool, revealing nothing more than the barest facts.

Yun Zhou deliberately concealed his identity as the most distinguished heir of the Nine Spirit King. His deep eyes swept lightly over the other recruits, his expression calm, appearing remarkably low-key—or perhaps, a different sort of arrogance altogether.

Next to Yun Zhou stood a young man who seemed entirely out of place in these surroundings.

He wore a pristine, ornate suit of golden light armor, shimmering with intricate defensive arrays; it was clearly expensive, more an art piece than a tool for slaughter.

His expression was tense, his lips pressed thin, and his body held a slight stiffness as he struggled to maintain his composure, though his darting eyes betrayed his inner turmoil.

His aura was at the Limit Black Hole level, but compared to peers of the same rank, it felt hollow—like a flower forced to bloom in a greenhouse, brilliant but unhardened by the elements.

"I... I am Tami, from the West Academy of the Saint Academy."

He stammered, his voice trembling, "My father... he was a Sovereign who sacrificed himself for our race."

At the mention of his father, he instinctively straightened his chest, a flash of pride and grief flickering in his eyes that he could not hide.

The last man stood at the very end of the line, as silent as a stone by the roadside.

Qin Feng wore the most ordinary black combat suit, devoid of insignias or decorations—the kind of person you would lose the moment you threw him into a crowd.

His aura was perfectly contained at the Limit Black Hole level, not a fraction more or less, mundane to the extreme.

The identity forged for him by the Limit Sovereign himself was flawless, capable of deceiving even the scrutiny of a Sovereign-level powerhouse.

In this dossier, he was an orphan who had risen through the border wars, possessing above-average talent—neither great nor poor—who had been promoted to the battlefield of Dead Meteor Island after a stroke of luck earned him minor merits.

A typical "cannon fodder" image, destined to be swallowed by the tides of war at any moment.

"My name is Qin."

Facing the others' gazes, he offered only those two words.

Having spoken, Qin Feng returned to his silent vigil, his eyelids slightly lowered as if resting, though in reality, he was unobtrusively absorbing every inch of the environment, every micro-expression of those present, and the frequency of every breath into his perception.

The remaining six veterans of the squad showed little reaction after the three newcomers finished their introductions.

To them, the arrival of new recruits was a mundane routine; they might stand here today, only to become cold corpses by tomorrow.

Emotion was the most extravagant luxury on the battlefield.

They reported their callsigns as a matter of procedure.

"Butcher."

A burly man carrying a giant axe grinned, revealing a set of bone-white teeth.

He and another silent warrior in the squad hailed from the "Flesh-Carvers Legion," a group notorious for their fearlessness and brutal methods; the bloodlust radiating from them was almost tangible.

"Iron Fist." "Phantom." "Bulwark."

Three elite soldiers from various universal nations reported in turn, their posture rigid and disciplined—the hallmark of career soldiers.

The final veteran was a lean loner, rumored to have been a high-ranking genius in the genius tournaments of ten cycles past; he merely glanced at the newcomers and rasped a single word: "Crow."

The simple introduction ceremony concluded, yet the atmosphere of Squad 78 remained cold and heavy.

Captain Long Zhan, accustomed to this, turned and activated the tactical light screen behind him.

With a soft hum, a massive three-dimensional star map unfolded before them, marked in red and blue to show the complex, interlocking state of the battlefield.

Red dots were dense, covering nearly ninety percent of the outer island region, while the blue dots were pitifully sparse, like flickering fireflies in the night, liable to be extinguished at any moment.

Long Zhan pointed to the map, his voice turning grave: "The outer island battlefield is currently under the unified command of General Cang Lang. We have a total of one hundred and thirty-seven squads like ours, scattered across this vast region to execute guerrilla, reconnaissance, harassment, and rescue missions."

His finger tapped several key nodes where the red light was particularly intense.

"Remember, the number of enemies we face is at least a hundred times our own.

The Allied Races are determined to take Dead Meteor Island this time, and the forces they have committed are unprecedented.

Therefore, the highest directive from headquarters—the primary principle our squad must uphold with our lives—is: Survival!"

"Only by surviving can you continue to kill the enemy.

Only by surviving can you preserve the seeds of the human race.

If you encounter an insurmountable opponent, choose to retreat immediately; do not hesitate or harbor any wishful thinking.

This is not cowardice; this is an order!"

Long Zhan’s gaze swept over everyone, lingering for a second longer on the tense face of Tami.

"Furthermore, the space-time field of the outer island is extremely chaotic; any long-range communication or detection methods will be severely interfered with.

Our mental perception range will be compressed to a millionth of its usual capacity, or even less.

This is our natural cover, giving us a chance to hide our tracks, but it is the same for the enemy.

Often, you may brush past a powerful enemy squad without ever knowing it, or in the next second, walk straight into their encirclement."

"So, keep your wits about you! This is no trial playground for you to play house; every step could lead you into hell!"

These words caused Tami’s face to pale even further, and he instinctively clenched his fists.

At that moment, the silent Qin Feng suddenly spoke.

His voice was not loud, yet it rang with startling clarity in the quiet space.

"Captain, before I arrived, I heard some news."

Qin Feng looked up at Long Zhan, his eyes as calm as a bottomless ancient well. "It is said that the high command has decided to have us hold the outer island for thirty thousand years. Until the next time the entrance and exit open simultaneously, no large-scale reinforcements will arrive."

The news had already spread; everyone knew it, and Yun Zhou knew it too. Qin Feng’s words were meant for Tami, to prepare the newcomer for the reality ahead.

As these words fell, the air seemed to freeze.

The expressions of the veterans shifted slightly.

None were more shocked than Tami.

He widened his eyes, his face full of disbelief.

Yun Zhou’s question was like a sharp steel needle, piercing the hazy veil of "hope" and exposing the cruelest, bloodiest reality to everyone present.

Thirty thousand years.

No support!

This meant that they, and all the hundred-plus squads fighting on the outer island, had become a lone force—discarded pawns.

Their mission was no longer victory, but to use their lives and their time to buy... thirty thousand years of buffer for the grand strategy of the human race.

After a brief, dead silence, the first to break it was the veteran from the Flesh-Carvers Legion, codenamed "Butcher."

"Hahahaha..."

He suddenly erupted into a coarse, booming laugh that made the entire fortress hum with vibration.

He patted the giant axe at his waist, baring teeth white as bone, his eyes devoid of fear, burning instead with a bloodthirsty fanaticism.

"Thirty thousand years? That’ll pass in the blink of an eye! We interstellar warriors have had our heads on the chopping block since the day we stepped onto the battlefield; we’re used to it!

If you die, you die—who gives a damn! As long as I can drag a few alien bastards down to hell with me, I’ve come out ahead!

Once dead, my soul returns to the Golden Throne, and I’ll still be watching our descendants keep hacking away at those sons of bitches! What a thrill!"

His words were crude, yet they carried a raw, bone-deep bravery and an open-heartedness, a heroic disregard for life and death.

Following the Butcher, it was Yun Zhou who spoke.

Unlike the Butcher’s wild abandon, he offered only a faint smile; his handsome face remained unruffled, his eyes as deep as the starry void.

"This is a decision made by the highest echelons of the human race."

His voice was calm and rational. "Any strategic decision is inevitably based on a comprehensive consideration of the interests of all humanity for the next million, ten million years.

We are trapped within the game, our vision limited to a mere square inch. But those great figures—they see the entire sea of stars."

"As pawns, we need only play our part on the board, in our designated positions, and execute our orders.

This is the sacred duty of a soldier, and the very essence of what it means to be human."

His words revealed an innate "grand perspective," a mode of thinking that was absolutely rational and elitist.

He understood this sacrifice and accepted it, for he deemed it "correct."

Yet, such "correctness" struck Tami like a bolt of lightning.

His face turned deathly pale, drained of all color, his lips trembling uncontrollably.

This news was a far cry from what his mother had said, tearfully, as she sent him away.

"Tami, a stint on the front lines will be good for your growth. Though the Dead Meteor Island is dangerous, it is filled with human elites and masters. Just treat it as a special graduation exam; soon... very soon, you will return safely."

His mother’s gentle words still echoed in his ears, but the reality before him was like a ruthless hammer, shattering all his fantasies and hopes.

Hold for thirty thousand years? No reinforcements?

This wasn't training; this was a death sentence!

He looked at his captain, Long Zhan, in a panic, his eyes—which had once held a glimmer of pride—now filled with terror and supplication. How he wished his captain would step forward and tell everyone that the man in black was just spouting nonsense.

Long Zhan noticed Tami’s agitation. A flicker of imperceptible pity crossed his weathered face, but it was quickly replaced by a steel-like resolve.

He did not rebuke Qin Feng, nor did he comfort Tami. He simply took a deep breath and spoke in a voice of immense weight:

"The directive is indeed as stated. For the next thirty thousand years, we must simply strive to survive."

"We need not dwell on strategic matters, nor could we hope to understand them."

"I only know that the reason our human race stands tall among the myriad races of the universe is not because of schemes or some damn luck.

It is because generation after generation, people like us have used their flesh and blood to forge the edifice we call 'civilization' behind us."

"We are the bricks and mortar that make up this edifice.

Perhaps we are inconspicuous, perhaps we will be worn down, perhaps we will be replaced.

But as long as the edifice stands, we have value."

His words lacked the Butcher’s fervor and Yun Zhou’s profound philosophy, yet they possessed a simple, heavy, and unquestionable power.

"If my sacrifice, if the sacrifice of the 78th Squad, if the sacrifice of all our brothers on this outer island can buy a greater victory for the future of humanity, then it shall be my honor, and the honor of us all."

Having said this, he turned his gaze back to the tactical screen, as if the flickering data were not cold numbers, but the very fate of humanity’s future.

No one else spoke in the assembly area.

The Butcher stopped smiling and silently wiped his giant axe.

A touch of emotion stirred in the rationality of Yun Zhou’s eyes.

Even the silent veterans found their gazes growing ever more resolute.

Only Tami remained immersed in profound bewilderment.

The cruel reality of war, like a mountain looming overhead, had for the first time been laid bare before a "heavenly pride" like Tami, nearly crushing him beneath its weight.

As for Qin Feng, the catalyst for all this, he had acted like a silent, attentive recruit from start to finish. He silently noted everyone’s reactions, recorded every word Long Zhan spoke, and memorized every key coordinate on the star map.

In a moment when no one was watching, a sliver of his consciousness quietly sank into his inner world.

It was a vast, boundless starry sky, where a singularity radiating primordial light rotated slowly.

Surrounding the singularity, thousands of mechanical avatars of varying forms and terrifying auras floated silently, like the most loyal of sentinels.

"'Thunderbolt,' activate."

A silent command was issued within Qin Feng’s mind.

One of the God-Forbidden class mechanical avatars, identical in form to a standard mechanical combat weapon, flashed red in its eyes and detached from the formation without a sound.

It caused no spatial ripples, merely transforming into an imperceptible streak of light that pierced the relay station’s psionic shield and merged into the chaotic space-time field outside.

This avatar, codenamed "Thunderbolt," would become Qin Feng’s true eyes and blade, scouting intelligence on the outer island of Dead Meteor Island in the shadows and executing special missions that could not be brought to light.

Meanwhile, Qin Feng’s primary consciousness, bolstered by the terrifying computing power of the [Primordial Singularity], had begun to race at a frantic pace.

On one hand, he fed the tactical maps obtained from Long Zhan, known enemy deployments, and the first batch of real-time chaotic field data sent back by "Thunderbolt" into the [Primordial Singularity] for analysis and deduction, constructing a battlefield model far more precise and three-dimensional than the one on Long Zhan’s screen.

On the other hand, he was also deducing his own secret techniques.

The "Ancient Luo Hammer," "Inch Radiance," and the vast sea of thirty billion secret techniques were being continuously dismantled, reorganized, and optimized within the light of the singularity to adapt to the unique environment of this current battlefield.

To the outside world, Qin Feng was a silent recruit.

But in secret, he was a war machine operating at peak efficiency.

Qin Feng’s gaze fell on the corner of the tactical screen, at the line of countdown numbers ticking away.

[Time until entrance/exit fully closes: 9 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes...]

His eyes were calm and waveless, as deep as an abyss.

Like a single drop of water, Qin Feng had silently merged into the stream known as the "78th Squad."

While integrating into the squad, he continued on his own path, constantly perfecting his ultimate secret technique.

He waited only for his ultimate technique to be perfected enough to be recognized by the will of the universe, and he would be able to ascend directly to the rank of Domain Lord!

Qin Feng’s ultimate technique was grand in its conception; if perfected, it would be at the very least a high-level Domain Lord technique, or perhaps even a peak Domain Lord technique.

This meant that once Qin Feng ascended, he could reach the level of a peak Domain Lord!

"Thirty thousand years—I wonder if I can walk the path of the ultimate and ascend to Domain Lord."

"If I succeed, then there will be no suspense in slaughtering my way through Dead Meteor Island."

Qin Feng whispered to himself.

(End of chapter)