Chapter 302: The Gray Wolf Roars! I Want Him to Die on the Battlefield! Divine Power

Chapter 302 The Gray Wolf Roars! I Shall Have Him Die on the Field of Battle! The Miraculous Noblewoman!

The laws of the universe are twisted to their absolute limits upon the Isle of Dead Stars.

There are no stable stars here, nor any coordinates to serve as a reference.

Everything that meets the eye is but shattered continental debris, the bleached skeletons of gargantuan beasts, and tides of psionic energy that surge and annihilate in an endless cycle.

Chaotic force fields, like billions of invisible blades scraping against bone, lacerate every living soul that dares tread here, compressing the range of mental perception to a suffocating degree.

To those powerhouses accustomed to sweeping their divine senses across light-years at will, this place is like a pitch-black abyss; behind every meteorite, a lethal predator may lie in wait.

Nine years of time, in this silent and perilous "deep sea," is but a fleeting blink.

Squad 78, like a single droplet merging into the vast ocean, moves and shifts in silence, struggling to survive.

...

This is the skull of an unknown stellar behemoth, its sheer volume comparable to a small planet.

The hollowed-out cranial cavity forms a natural labyrinth of caves, serving as the temporary sanctuary for Squad 78.

"Shh—"

Captain Long Zhan raises a finger, his eyes sharp as a hawk's, fixed intently on the distorted light and shadow outside the cavern.

The fire-red battle armor he wears is dim, its countless new scratches recording nine years of blood and fire.

Everyone holds their breath, suppressing even the circulation of their psionic energy to the absolute minimum.

Outside the cave, a patrol composed of twelve Shadow Clan warriors glides by like ghosts.

Born as assassins of the dark, their forms shift constantly within the interplay of light and shadow, nearly merging with the environment itself.

Had it not been for Long Zhan, a veteran of immense experience, detecting a faint ripple in space, the squad would likely have collided with them head-on, completely unprepared.

On the outer reaches of the Isle of Dead Stars, any unexpected encounter spells a fight to the death.

All eyes turn instinctively toward Tami, at the rear of the formation.

Nine years have been enough to temper a pampered hothouse flower into a stubborn stone that has tasted the storms.

Tami’s face has long since shed the panic and bewilderment of his arrival, replaced by a gravity and vigilance forged by his environment. The ornate golden armor he once wore is packed away, replaced by plain, standard-issue combat gear; only a rustic bracelet on his wrist emits a faint, flickering shimmer.

His lips are pressed tight, fine beads of sweat dotting his forehead; clearly, his heart is not as calm as his exterior suggests.

"Tami, do it."

Long Zhan’s voice rings in everyone’s mind via low-frequency telepathy.

Tami takes a deep breath and nods.

He channels the meager psionic energy within him, carefully injecting it into the secret treasure on his wrist.

It is a top-tier Domain Lord-level concealment artifact, one his mother begged for him before his departure: the [Halo of Serenity].

Hum...

A layer of extremely dim light spreads from the bracelet, gently enveloping the ten members of the squad like ripples in water.

In an instant, their aura, heat, and even their psionic fluctuations are smoothed out and assimilated by this halo, blending perfectly into the chaotic background of the force field.

The captain of the Shadow Clan patrol outside suddenly stops, its pupil-less eyes sweeping toward the direction of the giant skull, as if sensing something amiss.

The hearts of everyone in the squad leap into their throats.

Tami is so tense he nearly stops breathing; he can clearly feel that cold, scrutinizing gaze piercing through the bone and landing upon him.

Several seconds of silence stretch out, long as an epoch.

In the end, the Shadow Clan captain seems to find nothing unusual. It tilts its head, leads its squad onward, and soon vanishes into the shadows of another continental fragment.

"Whew..."

Only when the enemy’s aura has completely faded does Tami exhale, his body going limp, nearly collapsing to the ground.

His combat suit is soaked through with cold sweat.

"Well done, kid."

A hand as large as a palm-leaf fan claps heavily onto his shoulder. "Butcher," a veteran from the Meat-Grinder Battalion, grins, revealing a set of white teeth. Though the smile is ferocious, his eyes hold a glimmer of genuine approval.

Over these nine years, while Tami’s combat talent has been mediocre, he has used his endless supply of life-saving treasures to pull the squad from the brink of disaster more than once.

From being viewed as a "dead weight" to becoming an indispensable "functional" member of the team, he has finally earned a measure of respect in his own way.

A shy flush rises to Tami’s cheeks; he scratches his head, regaining a sliver of confidence.

On this cruel battlefield, being able to survive and contribute to the team is more important than anything else.

...

Deep underground, a rushing river of magma illuminates the dark cavern.

The scorching heat is kept at bay by a psionic shield, and the squad members are taking a rare moment of rest.

Qin Feng and Captain Long Zhan stand opposite each other, each holding a standard-issue spear.

"Your spearwork is strange."

Long Zhan frowns, his voice low. He gazes at Qin Feng, his eyes filled with wonder and confusion. "It has no fixed form, yet it seems to contain the 'logic' of every style. Like a mountain goat hanging by its horns, leaving no trace. This level of mastery should not be attainable by a Limit Black Hole-level warrior; even many Domain Lords, in terms of the 'technique' of cold weapons, may not possess such profound accumulation as you."

In their nine years together, although Qin Feng has maintained the persona of a taciturn "new recruit," the glimpses he has occasionally revealed are enough to shock Long Zhan, a high-level Domain Lord.

Especially in his spearwork.

"The Captain is too kind."

Qin Feng stands with his spear retracted, his breathing steady, his face wearing his usual humility. "I just enjoy reading. I’ve looked at all sorts of miscellaneous texts, but my practical experience is lacking—it’s all just theory on paper."

This is the excuse he has prepared for himself.

From the human planet Qiming to the Canaan Star Military Academy, through the Universal Genius Tournament, and three thousand years of bitter cultivation in the Holy Academy, accumulating thirty billion secret techniques—every step Qin Feng has taken has been solid, bringing his martial knowledge to an unfathomable depth.

What he displays now is but a drop in the ocean, merely the basic spear skills refined through the orthodox human training system, yet it is enough to stun Long Zhan, who also specializes in the spear.

Long Zhan looks at him deeply, not pressing further.

He knows that this silent young man named "Qin" hides secrets, but on the Isle of Dead Stars, everyone has secrets.

As long as he is human, as long as he is a comrade, that is enough.

"Your theory has been very enlightening to me."

Long Zhan says sincerely, "In the next battle, perhaps I shall try the method you mentioned: 'channeling force to the tail of the spear, using vibration to create a point.'"

Qin Feng nods, says nothing more, and walks to a corner to sit down.

In the eyes of the others, he has returned to his somewhat eccentric "hobby."

He takes out several half-meter-tall metal puppets from his storage space. These puppets are of various shapes and ordinary materials, looking like the practice work of an apprentice artificer.

Then, he brings out various bottles and jars, along with metal plates inscribed with complex array patterns.

At times, he smears a strange potion onto the joints of the puppets, observing the changes in their psionic flow;

At other times, he combines several array plates, guiding the chaotic psionic energy of the surroundings into the puppets to test their limits.

The entire process is focused and earnest, as if everything in the outside world has nothing to do with him.

The other veterans in the squad had long since grown accustomed to this.

In their eyes, "Qin" was merely a "scholar-type" soldier, possessing a wealth of theoretical knowledge but only mediocre combat ability.

His tinkering with machinery, formations, and potions was seen as nothing more than a way to vent the pressures of the battlefield.

Only Yun Zhou, with those perpetually calm eyes, would occasionally cast a look of deep contemplation toward Qin Feng.

He always felt that "Qin" carried a weight far beyond his cultivation level, as if beneath a placid lake lay a bottomless abyss.

Yet, no one knew what terrifying deductions were unfolding behind Qin Feng’s seemingly "amateur" actions.

With his primary consciousness bolstered by the near-infinite processing power of the [Primal Singularity], he was using these mundane puppets as vessels to simulate the myriad possibilities of his own "path of limits."

"...Using the 'Intelligent Devouring Secret Art' as a core to construct a spiritual circuit, simulating the lower structure of the 'Tower of Babel'... Failure; a 1.7% loss in the conversion efficiency between spiritual force and psionic energy leads to circuit overload..."

"...Integrating the striking techniques of the 'Ancient Hammer' into the mechanical structure to create an attack module that balances burst damage with sustainability... Feasible, but the material requirements are too high; current rare alloy reserves are insufficient..."

"...Solidifying formation runes into psionic potions and injecting them into the power core in liquid form to achieve a 'mobile formation base'? Possible, but stability and duration remain the greatest obstacles..."

Every experiment was a deep integration and innovation of his three grandmaster-level auxiliary crafts.

He was melting his vast ocean of knowledge into a single furnace, forging the most solid prototype for a "limit-breaking" martial path that no one had ever trod before.

...

As night fell, a bonfire fueled by psionic energy burned quietly in the center of the cavern, dispelling the lingering chill.

This was a rare moment of relaxation for the squad.

"...Back in the day, when I was serving in the 'Star-Shatter Belt,' I ran into a thing called a 'Void Jellyfish',"

The veteran Butcher took a swig of strong liquor, boasting with spittle flying, "That thing usually looks like a piece of tattered cloth drifting in space, but once you get close—heh—it can swallow you and your ship in one gulp!

Its belly is a space unto itself, and its digestive juices are more toxic than aqua regia!

My cruiser, the 'Butcher,' was melted down into molten iron by that beast!"

"Then how did you get out?"

Tami’s eyes widened, listening with the rapt attention of a curious child.

Nine years of military life had left him yearning for such bizarre and wondrous tales of the cosmos.

"Heh,"

Butcher patted his chest triumphantly, "I was inside its belly, and I detonated all three hundred 'Heart of the Sun' bombs I had on me! That creature was blown into the biggest firework the universe had ever seen! That scene, tsk tsk..."

The group erupted in good-natured laughter.

They all knew Butcher was blowing smoke, but no one bothered to call his bluff.

In an environment where life hung by a thread, tall tales were the best spiritual solace.

Yun Zhou, who had remained silent and clad in silver armor, spoke up softly: "The Void Jellyfish, scientifically known as a 'Kraken subspecies,' belongs to the spatial alien race.

Its stomach pouch does indeed connect to a sub-space, but it is unstable.

According to the 'Compendium of Ten Thousand Races,' the best way to deal with it is not forced detonation, but using high-frequency spatial oscillation weapons to disrupt the spatial structure of the stomach pouch, allowing for an easy escape.

Senior Butcher’s survival was more a matter of luck; the detonated psionic energy happened to hit a specific resonant frequency."

He spoke at a measured pace, his logic clear, always striking at the heart of the matter with a profound insight that belied his age.

Butcher choked on his words, his weathered face flushing red as he stiffened his neck. "Theory is theory, combat is combat! You kid haven't been swallowed, so you don't know how tough it is inside!"

"Hahaha, that is true."

Yun Zhou smiled faintly and ceased the argument.

The poise and nobility he carried could not be fully concealed, even by his standard-issue combat armor.

He was like a piece of jade polished to a mirror finish, maintaining its warmth and luster regardless of how filthy the environment might be.

Qin Feng sat quietly to the side, listening to the chatter while sinking a strand of his consciousness into his inner world.

Deep within his sea of consciousness, an incredibly complex virtual intelligent model was quietly running.

This model was constructed entirely from his terrifying "pure black" quality spiritual force, its structure far more precise than any intelligence created by the Mechanical Race.

This was the prototype of the intelligent assistant he had tailored for himself—the "Tower of Babel."

For nine years, Qin Feng had been absorbing and parsing the chaotic field data from the outer islands of the Dead Meteor Island.

To other powerhouses, this data was lethal interference, but to him, with the [Primal Singularity], it was the most precious nourishment.

The massive torrent of data was filtered, organized, and analyzed through the "Tower of Babel," eventually constructing a complete and dynamic environmental model.

In this model, the trajectory of every spatial fault, the intensity of every psionic tide, and even the flight path of every meteorite were crystal clear.

This gave him an intimate knowledge of the Dead Meteor Island’s environment, as if he had activated a "full-map vision."

At the same time, this continuous data processing was, in itself, a tempering of the "Tower of Babel."

The chaotic fields acted like a whetstone, constantly grinding the "soul" of this pure spiritual creation, making its structure more stable and its intelligence increasingly sophisticated.

Qin Feng’s goal was clear: once the "Tower of Babel" fully matured and possessed a true "self," he would devour and refine it without hesitation, turning it into the fuel for his own spiritual growth.

This was the core, and most domineering, mystery of the "Intelligent Devouring Secret Art."

Beyond the "Tower of Babel," another preparation was proceeding in an orderly fashion.

Millions of kilometers away from the squad’s camp, in a "junk belt" composed of countless metallic wrecks, a robot indistinguishable from a Mechanical Race warrior lay in silent ambush.

Its codename—"Thunderbolt."

This God-Forbidden-level mechanical avatar, crafted by Qin Feng’s own hands, was the sharpest blade he had hidden in the shadows, and the keenest pair of eyes he had for observing the big picture.

Over nine years, "Thunderbolt" had traversed almost every safe corner of the outer islands.

Like the most patient hunter, it had recorded the activity patterns, personnel configurations, and even the combat habits of dozens of alien squads.

A detailed map of the outer islands, containing countless vital pieces of intelligence, had already been constructed within its database.

Without anyone noticing, Qin Feng had quietly completed his layout.

He knew very well that the calm was only temporary.

Beneath the surface of tranquility, there were always surging undercurrents.

...

Accidents always arrive when least expected.

During a routine relocation, the squad discovered a ruin at the core of a shattered planet where a fierce battle had occurred not long before.

Several remains clad in human combat armor lay scattered across the cold ground.

Their deaths were gruesome; some had been severed at the waist, others had their skulls pierced, and some had even had half their bodies melted away by some highly corrosive psionic energy.

The air still held a lingering trace of blood and despair that had yet to dissipate.

The atmosphere, which had been full of laughter just moments ago, instantly plummeted to freezing. Everyone fell silent; even their breathing became heavy.

Even a veteran like Butcher saw the smile vanish from his face, replaced by a grim and sorrowful expression.

They silently gathered the remains of their comrades, their movements gentle, as if afraid to disturb the eternal rest of the fallen.

"Captain..."

Tami’s voice trembled with an irrepressible tremor as he gazed at the cruel scene before him, his lips drained of color. "Are we... are we fighting here for this? Just to stall for thirty thousand years?"

Long Zhan tucked away the final identification tag, remaining silent for a long time before slowly turning around.

His gaze swept across the face of every team member, his voice hoarse and low.

"Our mission, beyond stalling, is something far more vital... it is to survive."

Seeing their bewildered expressions, he continued, "Or rather, our very 'survival' is a mission in itself. Because as long as we live, we prevent the enemy from obtaining something of critical importance—the 'Resurrection Mark'."

"Resurrection Mark?"

Tami repeated the words, dazed.

"Exactly."

Long Zhan nodded and unfurled a tactical light screen.

"The laws of the Dead Meteor Island are unique. Here, whether it is us or the myriad races, slaying an enemy grants a form of psionic energy called a 'Mark'. These marks serve only one purpose—to resurrect the Marquis-level powerhouses who have fallen within the 'Inner Island'."

His voice grew heavy, each word landing like a stone:

"Slaying a Limit Black Hole-level grants one mark. A Half-Step God-Forbidden, three. A true God-Forbidden level, ten."

"As for Domain Lords: a Minor Domain Lord is ten, a Median is thirty, a Major is one hundred, and a Peak Domain Lord is three hundred."

"But," Long Zhan’s fist tightened, a flash of blood-red intensity in his eyes, "to resurrect a Marquis-level predecessor who fell in the Inner Island requires only... a single mark."

Boom!

This cruel exchange ratio struck their minds like a heavy bomb.

Tami’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief.

It took the slaying of a Peak Domain Lord to earn three hundred marks, yet those same marks could resurrect three hundred Marquis-level warriors!

This was a fundamentally lopsided war!

Long Zhan’s voice sank further, as if narrating a desperate reality: "The Inner Island is the true main battlefield that determines the fate of Dead Meteor Island.

We of the human race have over a hundred Marquis-level predecessors there; they are the final barrier protecting this place and the key to our race’s fortune for the next million years."

"But... just before our current batch entered, I received word that the resurrection marks for our predecessors have... nearly run dry."

"Right now, at least thirty or forty predecessors who fell in the Inner Island are waiting for that life-saving mark to return to the battlefield."

"So, do you understand now?"

Long Zhan’s gaze was like a blade, sweeping over each of them. "Our 'expendable' unit, our hundred-plus squads wandering the Outer Island—every one of our lives is inextricably linked to the war in the Inner Island!"

"Every day we live, the enemy is denied a mark they could use to resurrect their own Marquis-level warriors!"

"Every enemy we slay, even if it is only the weakest Limit Black Hole, earns another shred of hope for one of our fallen predecessors to return!"

"Our goal for these thirty thousand years is not to wait passively, but to use our lives to accumulate the capital for a comeback!

We must survive, anchoring ourselves here like iron nails!

At the same time, we must hunt every enemy we see like the hungriest of wolves!"

Inside the cavern, a deathly silence reigned.

Long Zhan’s words were a heavy hammer, smashing against every heart, shattering the desperate shell of being "expendable" to reveal a tragic, sacred core beneath.

They had not been abandoned.

They were, in themselves, a part of the hope.

Deep within Qin Feng’s eyes, a sharp light flickered and vanished.

His brain, bolstered by the [Primal Singularity], whirred at an unprecedented speed, instantly re-evaluating his own strength.

The [Primal Singularity] provided near-infinite recovery, and the [Twin Mask] had bound over a thousand God-Forbidden mechanical avatars, creating a qualitative leap in his power.

Combined, these granted him a true "immortal body."

The conclusion was that no attack below the Marquis level could fundamentally kill him.

Even a Peak Domain Lord, utilizing a top-tier containment array, could at best "trap" him, but never "kill" him.

His rate of recovery would outpace their rate of destruction.

His core killing move, [Inch Radiance], combined with his monstrous physique and mental power, was enough to threaten a Major Domain Lord.

An ordinary Major Domain Lord could not last more than a few rounds against him.

However, against a true Peak Domain Lord—especially those monsters who had steeped themselves in the Peak level for years, or even stepped half a foot into the "God-Forbidden" realm—his offensive power felt somewhat stretched.

Against common Peak Domain Lords or Half-Step God-Forbidden ones, he could guarantee his own survival and remain invincible.

But if he encountered those top-tier monsters who had touched the "God-Forbidden" realm, once restricted by their special means, the possibility of falling was not zero.

On this Outer Island battlefield, as long as he was not besieged by multiple God-Forbidden Peak Domain Lords with powerful containment methods, he possessed absolute survivability.

He, alone, was an army.

He, alone, could become the greatest source of "Resurrection Marks" for the predecessors in the Inner Island!

An unprecedented fighting spirit began to rise within Qin Feng’s chest.

On the other side, Tami was left silent, struck by the cruel and tragic truth.

He stared blankly at his own hands, feeling for the first time the weight of such a heavy responsibility.

Every time he activated a secret treasure, every time he helped the squad escape, he wasn't just saving his own life—he was weakening the enemy’s forces for Marquis-level predecessors he had never met.

His existence had meaning.

He was... a true warrior.

An indescribable sense of mission surged from the depths of Tami’s heart, washing away nine years of fear and confusion.

His gaze grew increasingly resolute.

The atmosphere in the cavern was oppressive, yet no longer desperate.

A flame called "mission" was rekindled in everyone’s eyes.

...

[Time until entrance/exit closure: 1 year, 0 months, 0 days]

Nine years of time had slipped away in constant maneuvering and frayed nerves.

To cultivators who often spent millennia in seclusion, this was but a flick of a finger.

But on this land soaked in blood and death, every day had been as agonizing as a century.

The temporary camp inside the asteroid was as crude as it had been nine years ago, though the rock walls bore new scars, and the faint scent of blood in the air seemed thicker, settling into an indelible background color.

The members of Squad 78 sat together for their daily routine of rest and intelligence exchange.

Captain Long Zhan assigned the patrol routes for the coming month in a low voice, the veteran "Butcher" maintained his notched giant axe, and Yun Zhou sat with eyes closed, a wisp of silver light dancing at his fingertips as if calculating something.

Tami, the noble youth who had seemed so out of place nine years ago, was now far more composed.

The golden soft armor he wore was no longer pristine, its edges marred by jagged scratches—medals of his several brushes with death.

He focused intently on replenishing the psionic energy of his concealment treasure, his expression earnest, devoid of the vanity and panic of his arrival.

Nine years of guerrilla warfare had long since forged them into a singular, cohesive entity.

Together, they had evaded the pursuit of peak-level domain lords, turned the tide against squads of god-forbidden enemies in desperate straits, and buried comrades who had fallen in the line of duty.

Even "Qin," who appeared the most unremarkable of them all, had earned everyone’s respect through his elusive mastery of formations and his uncanny ability to provide precise intelligence at the most critical moments.

No one knew that his so-called "hobby" had long since woven a web of intelligence covering the entire outer island theater.

The camp was quiet, save for the faint hum of the spiritual life-support system.

This tacit understanding and tranquility, built on the razor's edge of life and death, were their only solace in this desolate wasteland.

Yet, at this very moment.

Hum—!

Hum, hum, hum—!

An unprecedented, violent vibration erupted without warning from the communication talismans at everyone’s waist.

It was not a routine request, but a mandatory, wide-area link of the highest authority; the very material of the talismans groaned under the onslaught of such violent spiritual energy, their surfaces fracturing into fine, spiderweb cracks.

The squad’s expressions shifted in unison, and they instantly froze in their tracks.

Long Zhan furrowed his brows, Butcher tightened his grip on his battle-axe, and Yun Zhou snapped his eyes open, two sharp glints of light piercing the air.

What had happened? Had the General Command been overrun?

Or had the Allied Races launched a full-scale offensive engulfing the entire outer island?

Before they could even speculate, a roar that seemed to tear the soul asunder and shatter the stars—laden with boundless, almost tangible fury—exploded from the tiny talismans, echoing deep within the soul of every person present!

The owner of this voice was none other than the Commander-in-Chief of the Human forces on the outer island, a peak-level domain lord: "Grey Wolf!"

"Everyone, listen to me clearly!"

The roar struck like an invisible hammer against every heart, causing dust to cascade from the camp’s hardened rock walls.

Grey Wolf’s voice carried an undisguised, savage bloodlust, like a primordial beast pushed to its absolute limit.

"You will hold this godforsaken place for thirty thousand years!"

Every word sounded as if it were squeezed through gritted teeth, possessing the metallic ring of clashing blades and an unquestionable, iron-blooded will.

"Don't you dare think about cutting corners or slipping away through the exits that haven't fully closed! That is desertion! That is treason against humanity! I will kill anyone I catch!"

This sentence caused the atmosphere in the camp to instantly solidify.

The veterans' eyes turned sharp as knives; they thought of the cowards who had fled in past wars—a disgrace no soldier could tolerate.

Grey Wolf’s rage clearly had not subsided; instead, it intensified, his voice rising sharply, filled with the fury of betrayal and utter exhaustion.

"And another thing! I stay awake day and night, analyzing the situation at high intensity, planning every single one of your retreat routes, all so that you might live!

My brain processes trillions of calculations per second; I don't dare lose focus for even a split second!

Yet, there are always some 'noble' figures with such vast connections that they can transmit messages from the Holy Academy straight into my talisman!"

The sheer weight of this information caused the pupils of the sharp-minded, like Long Zhan and Yun Zhou, to contract violently.

They could hear the heavy sense of responsibility in Grey Wolf’s words, and even more so, the boundless rage ignited by the pressures from the upper echelons.

The Commander-in-Chief had actually been pushed to the point of using such a method to vent and issue a warning!

Sure enough, Grey Wolf’s next words struck like a thunderbolt in the deathly silent camp.

"You want me to look the other way and let your precious son walk out through an exit that’s about to close?!

To sacrifice hundreds of soldiers' lives just to carve out a gap for one person?!

Bah! I’ll send his son to the very front lines instead! To fight the hardest battles!"

"Precious son"... "Noble figure"...

As these words fell, the air in the camp seemed to be sucked dry, plunging into a suffocating silence.

Everyone’s movements ceased.

Butcher’s hand, mid-way through maintaining his axe, hung in the air; a look of disbelief crossed Long Zhan’s rugged face, and even Yun Zhou, usually as still as an ancient well, furrowed his brows deeply.

Gaze after gaze, as if drawn by an invisible force, slowly and simultaneously converged upon the same figure.

Tai Mi.

The young man who, nine years ago, still had eyes shining with pride when he spoke of his fallen father.

The son of a Sealed Emperor, clad in ornate golden armor that looked so out of place on this bloody battlefield.

Grey Wolf’s roar continued, every word landing like a resounding slap across Tai Mi’s face, and upon the hearts of every soldier who heard it.

"I won't name names! Since you’re already here, if anyone dares to shake the morale of the army again, whoever it is, I will have them executed by military law!"

"This is the front line! Not a place for you to gild your reputation! If you want to go back to your mother, either wait thirty thousand years and return with honors, or I will personally send your ashes back in thirty thousand years!"

"I don't care if your father is a Sealed Emperor or a king of connections! Once you reach the Island of Dead Meteors, if you’re a dragon, you coil; if you’re a tiger, you crouch! You are all my soldiers!"

Boom!

With the final sentence, heavy with supreme authority and iron-blooded discipline, the violent spiritual energy in the communication talisman dissipated instantly.

Within the camp, there was a deathly silence.

One could hear a pin drop.

Only the hum of the life-support system remained, sounding piercingly harsh.

All eyes were firmly nailed to Tai Mi.

In those gazes, there was the undisguised suspicion of the "Flesh-Carver" veterans, yet also a trace of confusion.

They were the lowest-ranking soldiers, having spent their lives fighting alien races, and they despised nothing more than the privileged class that used power to undermine military regulations.

In their eyes, such behavior was no different from stabbing every comrade fighting in the blood-soaked trenches in the back.

There were the complex looks from the elite soldiers of various cosmic nations.

Born into military families, they understood the helplessness of high-level political maneuvering, yet they could not accept this subversion of morale.

This was about honor; it was about the most basic bottom line of a soldier.

Of course, they believed in Tai Mi; they had watched his growth over these nine years, but the incident had indeed occurred, and it had provoked the Commander-in-Chief to such fury.

They waited only for Tai Mi’s explanation.

Captain Long Zhan’s heavy gaze lingered.

For nine years, he had watched Tai Mi shed his naivety, gradually growing into a qualified soldier; he had once believed this piece of raw jade had been polished by the fires of war.

But now, Grey Wolf’s roar had shattered all his recognition and expectations.

He needed an explanation!

Even Yun Zhou, who had always appeared detached from the world, simply watched him quietly, a hint of indescribable alienation hidden beneath his calm gaze.

Only Qin Feng remained sitting in the corner, his expression calm, as if he were an outsider.

He merely watched quietly, observing every person at the center of this storm, and every subtle shift in their emotions.

"Swish!"

Tami’s complexion turned paper-white in an instant, drained of every drop of blood.

His body began to tremble violently, as if all strength had been siphoned away, leaving even the simple act of breathing a struggle.

He could feel, with agonizing clarity, that the gazes once filled with trust, approval, and camaraderie had transformed into sharpened blades, stabbing deep into his heart and shredding his pride and dignity to pieces.

Shame, like a bursting dam, surged forth to drown him in an instant.

So, without his own knowledge, he had been branded with the shameful marks of "privilege" and "deserter-in-waiting."

So, his nine years of growth and combat had, in the eyes of others, been nothing more than a meticulously staged journey of "gilding."

A tidal wave of fury and grievance erupted from the depths of his soul, flushing his deathly pale face a burning crimson.

He was no coward!

He feared death, yes, but he had never once contemplated being a deserter!

Over these nine years, he had skirted the edge of the grave time and again, personally slaying God-tier enemies and suffering grievous wounds to shield his comrades.

He had believed his actions proved his worth, that he had integrated into this collective and become a true warrior!

Yet now, everything was stripped away, reduced to nothingness.

"Kid, we’ve watched you all these years. I choose to believe you. I’ll ask you just one thing: was this your doing?"

A cold, gravelly voice cut through the suffocating silence.

It was "The Butcher."

The veteran from the Flesh-Carver Legion stood, his hulking frame casting a massive shadow that swallowed Tami whole.

Though his great axe remained sheathed, the murderous aura honed in mountains of corpses pressed against Tami like a physical weight.

Everyone watched Tami, waiting for his reply.

"I... I don't know..."

He finally squeezed out the words, his voice parched and raspy.

His eyes were filled with bewilderment and agony, like a lost child.

"To be honest, at the start, I wanted to serve my country with loyalty; my blood was truly boiling... I didn't expect... I didn't expect it to be... to be so cruel."

"I admit that after arriving here and witnessing the brutality of war, I did entertain thoughts of leaving."

"But I endured!"

"After surviving death time and again, after countless team efforts, after burying the remains of my brothers, I no longer want to leave!"

"I swear, I never asked my mother to pull me out!"

His voice rose sharply, carrying a desperate, earnest intensity.

"For these nine years, I have been steeling my resolve; I am ready to fight!"

"I have even thought that if I were to die here, it would be the honor of a human warrior!"

"Please, believe me! Though I fear death, I am willing to continue the fight; I have absolutely no intention of leaving!"

Tami’s gaze remained exceptionally firm.

The camp remained deathly silent.

The Butcher’s weathered face betrayed no emotion as he stared deep into Tami’s eyes, as if trying to peer into his very soul.

Slowly, however, the murderous aura radiating from him began to recede.

Finally, The Butcher let out a heavy grunt, a sign of acknowledgment.

He then reached out a hand, thick with calluses and scars, and struck a heavy blow against Tami’s ornate, battle-scarred golden armor.

"Thud!"

A dull, resonant sound echoed.

The gesture offered no comfort, yet it held more power than any words could convey.

It represented a veteran’s most direct judgment of a recruit—he believed Tami’s words.