Chapter 58: Reflection

Chapter 58 Reflection

The swirling shroud of dust settled slowly.

At the base of the massive crater lay a dead silence, broken only by the faint, nearly imperceptible hum of power armor life-support systems.

Kro’s mountain of flesh rested motionlessly upon the reddish earth, his dark, hollow eye sockets staring blankly up at the grayish-yellow sky.

Beneath him, a dark green, foul-smelling fluid seeped gradually into the parched soil, staining the ground with the hues of decay and misfortune.

The battle was over.

Yet, there were no cheers of victory, no sighs of relief for having survived.

The remaining students stood or sat in silence, gazing upon the devastated battlefield.

A few scrambled to administer emergency treatment to their wounded comrades, the sparks flying from ruptured armor plating mirroring the grim expressions on their faces.

Chu Lan struggled into a sitting position, glancing first at the horrifying dent in his chest piece and then at the broken horse-chopping saber not far away, his expression unreadable behind the T-shaped visor.

Shi Potian clutched his chest, coughing violently, each breath spitting a fine mist of blood.

At his feet lay his standard-issue long blade, shattered into countless fragments.

Qian Duoduo was in even worse shape, half-buried beneath the warped remnants of a tower shield, his heavily damaged armor locked down by emergency protocols and leaving him entirely immobilized.

A heavy, oppressive atmosphere settled over every heart, almost tangible in its weight.

It was at this moment.

The figure of their homeroom teacher, Wu Shangfeng, materialized silently upon the soil that had just borne witness to the bloody clash.

He did not look at the injured students, nor did he look at Qin Feng, who had turned the tide at the final hour.

His gaze fell calmly upon Kro, and the corpses of the other Nurgle cultists.

He offered no lectures, no commentary, merely walking quietly to the side of Kro’s body.

Extending his right hand, a flamethrower manifested upon his wrist terminal.

"Hum—"

A sphere of blazing fire ignited out of thin air.

"The souls and flesh of Nurgle’s followers have already become breeding grounds for pestilence."

Wu Shangfeng’s voice sounded flatly across everyone’s communication channels, shattering the suffocating silence.

"Their vitality far exceeds that of ordinary men, and even in death, the billions of pathogens within them remain highly active. Without thorough purification, it takes only days to turn a mining planet into a barren world of plague."

"It requires psionic cleansing."

"Of course, the flame projected by this torch is converted from psychic energy and can be used directly."

As he spoke, he flipped his palm, and the flame, as if possessed of its own life, descended upon Kro’s corpse.

"Sizzle... sizzle..."

There was no violent combustion, no roaring blaze.

The fire behaved like a living entity, swiftly enveloping Kro’s immense form.

Wherever the flames touched, the rotting flesh, pustules, and maggots vanished into a pure, black ash amidst a silent annihilation, dissolving into the air.

The entire process was eerie and efficient.

Wu Shangfeng’s gaze swept over the remains currently being purified as he continued:

"In imperial history, a black-hole level Great Unclean One of Nurgle once fell during a fleet engagement. The 'Ultimate Plague' born from its corpse swept across the entire inhabited system. Billions of planets in that system were reduced to mindless walking corpses within a single standard year. Ultimately, the Imperium could only declare an Inquisitorial Exterminatus, erasing that star system entirely from the physical plane."

His voice carried no ripple of emotion, as if he were stating a fact completely detached from himself.

Yet the cold, cruel truth embedded within his words sent a chill deep into the souls of every student present.

What they had faced today was not even a speck of dust compared to a cosmic catastrophe of that scale.

Soon, under the purification of the flames, all the corpses at the bottom of the crater were incinerated completely, leaving not a single trace behind.

The stench that hung heavy in the air dissipated along with them.

Having dealt with everything, Wu Shangfeng opened his wrist terminal.

"Mission submitted."

He spoke succinctly.

"Prepare to return."

The warp transit initiated, and a torrential surge of spatial energy coalesced once more.

A blinding white light consumed everything.

When the students opened their eyes again, they were back at Qiming First Martial Arts High School, in the exclusive martial arts hall they knew so well.

The light of the morning star streamed through the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows, casting bright, warm patches on the floor that formed a stark contrast with the uncleaned filth on their power armor.

Everyone stood frozen in silence. After stripping off their armor, many found their training uniforms completely drenched in cold sweat.

The faces of some classmates bore the paleness of a narrow escape; the eyes of others betrayed frustration and resentment at their own performance; while the majority simply kept their heads bowed, their eyes filled with loss and confusion.

Kro’s despairing roar before his death seemed to still echo in their ears.

Every single phrase was like a poisoned thorn, burying itself deep into the hearts of these favored children of fortune who had been raised under the Imperium’s glorious education.

Wu Shangfeng walked to the front of the podium, looking down at the students and their varied countenances.

"I will give you half an hour to reflect."

His voice remained cold and rigid. "Reflect on your performance in the battle just now, reflect on your every movement, your every decision, and... every mistake you made."

"In half an hour, I expect to hear your self-criticisms."

Having spoken, he stood quietly on the podium with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, resembling a silent statue.

The entire martial arts hall became so quiet that a falling needle could be heard.

The students nodded slightly and dispersed, finding their own corners to silently begin the "reflection" Wu Shangfeng demanded.

Reviewing this battle, the process was simple and brutal.

While clearing the infected miners on the periphery, the students of Class 3, Grade 1 had demonstrated the caliber expected of top-tier imperial martial high schoolers.

Each combat group had coordinated seamlessly and executed decisively, suffering zero casualties and efficiently completing the first phase of the mission.

However, this "excellent" report card had been built upon a foundation of absolute, overwhelming strength.

Even so, glaring issues had been exposed during the fighting.

Over half the class had appeared utterly helpless when confronting those Nurgle cultists who feared no death and possessed stubborn vitality.

Their attacks could hardly inflict any effective damage upon those bloated, resilient bodies.

Their footwork appeared clumsy and rigid within the chaos of the battlefield.

This weaker portion of the class had practically reduced themselves to liabilities that required protection during the fight.

The only ones truly holding the line were a handful of top elites led by Qin Feng, Shi Potian, and Chu Lan.

And when the final enemy, Kro, with a vitality index as high as 14.5, made his appearance, this gap in strength was bloodily and infinitely magnified.

Even Chu Lan, wielding his horse-slaying blade, was shattered in a single blow.

Even Shi Potian, channeling the *Ninefold Thunder Blade*, ended with his weapon broken, grievously wounded, and spitting blood.

Their proud killing arts seemed fragile and pitiful before Clo's absolute strength and defense, blessed by the evil god.

Their combat experience, their mastery of killing techniques—clearly, they were far from matching the enemy they faced.

Before Clo, they did not even qualify to join the battle.

They would be instantly annihilated.

In the entire Class 1, Grade 3, when facing the final boss, only Qin Feng could step forward.

And Qin Feng, too, was reflecting.

He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he replayed every detail of his fight with Clo, over and over.

That final "Flowing Light Chasing Shadow" was a new killing move he had comprehended at the brink of life and death, fusing all his insights, under the mysterious blessing of the "Nail of Favor."

This move had broken free from the sweeping, grand style of "Ten Thousand Troops Yield," becoming a pure spear thrust that pushed speed and precision to their absolute limits.

With the comprehension of this move, he could clearly feel that his understanding of the *Ten Thousand Troops Spear* had ascended to an entirely new level.

On the system panel, the suffix beside the [Ten Thousand Troops Spear] entry had quietly changed from "Minor Mastery" to "Major Mastery."

This meant his spear technique had truly entered the hall of mastery.

But Qin Feng's thoughts went beyond these things.

What echoed repeatedly in his mind were Clo's words.

"I bled for the Empire! I broke my leg for it!"

"My three sons... all died in the internal strife of the planetary administration!"

"This Empire, from top to bottom, has long rotted through!"

And then there were the Emperor statues at the edge of the mine pit, eroded and mottled by wind and sand, weeping "tears of blood."

And Clo's despairing figure, stuffed into a cold mining mech, toiling day after day.

Qin Feng did not know if he should ask.

Were those words true?

If they were true...

(End of this chapter)