175: Chapter 175 Captured Alive

Lin Mo returned to the officers' courtyard in the middle of the night.

Most of the lights in Ironwall City had been extinguished; only the searchlights on the city walls slowly swept over the battlements, casting pale beams of light into the night.

Occasionally, the sound of metal clanging could be heard in the distance—night-shift craftsmen were still rushing to repair the crystal energy turrets damaged by the bombardment.

Apart from that, the entire city was as quiet as a giant beast that had finally closed its eyes.

Lin Mo retreated to his bedside, sat down, leaned the longyuan blade against the headboard and the wall, and closed his eyes.

Outside the window, a searchlight swept over the jujube tree in the courtyard, casting sparse shadows of its withered branches against the wall.

A low rumble of thunder rolled across the distant wasteland, very far away, sounding like the movement of another world.

...

The next morning, Lin Mo was awakened by a delicious aroma.

It wasn't the unchanging burnt smell of military rations, but the genuine scent of meat.

He opened his eyes and discovered that two enamel basins had appeared on the table at some point.

One basin held stewed meat, the other held steamed buns, and a small dish of pickled radishes was placed on the side.

The enamel basins were new; they even had labels stuck to the rims that hadn't been peeled off cleanly, clearly stock dug out from the depths of the warehouse.

Ji Wuchen was already awake, staring blankly at the basin of meat: "What is going on?"

Shen Yi rubbed her eyes, looked at the spread on the table, and said with a voice still hoarse from sleep: "It doesn't look like something City Lord Yan Yue sent."

Lin Mo got out of bed and walked to the table.

The spot where the cold military rations had been sitting last night was now filled with stewed meat and steamed buns.

A crumpled note was pressed under the bottom of the enamel basin. The paper had been torn from a military ration package, and the words were written in charcoal, crooked and shaky:

"Captain Lin, this is from the cooking squad. Don't tell the City Lord. He doesn't allow us to have special treatment, but we really wanted to do it just this once."

There was no signature.

Ji Wuchen leaned over to read it, froze for two seconds, and then smiled. It wasn't loud, but it was more genuine than usual.

"The way the border soldiers send gifts," he said, "is really not romantic at all."

"It's romantic enough." Shen Yi picked up a steamed bun, tore it in half, and handed half to Lin Mo.

"The meat the cooking squad pooled together is more substantial than the meals the City Lord hosts."

Lin Mo took the bun and took a bite. The meat was ordinary pork, not stewed very well, and too much soy sauce had been added.

But in a frontier fortress city, fresh meat was a luxury.

The fact that the cooking squad had taken out their bottom-of-the-barrel stock for this meal meant something very clear: they were no longer just reinforcements arranged by Yan Yue, but one of their own.

After eating and heading out, Lin Mo discovered that the changes outside were not limited to the basin of stewed meat.

On the stone steps at the entrance of the officers' courtyard, there were more things.

A new military canteen, a pair of semi-new combat boots—the size was exactly Lin Mo's—and a tin box.

When the box was opened, it contained a pair of earplugs, the kind used for night shifts on the city walls, to block out cannon fire and allow the ears to steal a moment of peace in the gaps between bombardments.

The canteen was a gift from a veteran, the boots were dug out of the warehouse by a logistics soldier according to his size, and the earplugs were shared by a sentry on night watch from his own portion.

No one left a name, and no one came to claim credit in person.

The way this city expressed gratitude was to quietly place things at your doorstep and then walk away without looking back, as if afraid of disturbing you, or as if afraid that saying one more word would seem overly sentimental.

On the way to the council hall, Lin Mo clearly felt the shift in attitude.

When he walked down this street last night, the garrison troops would subconsciously give way.

That was awe mixed with unfamiliarity, like looking at a beast from a safe distance.

Today was different; the road was the same, the people were the same, but the looks in their eyes when they saw him had changed—no longer the indifference of yesterday, but a kind of natural ease that treated him as one of their own.

Passing by the temporary medical station in the west of the city, a wounded soldier wrapped in bandages looked up and saw him, then grinned and shouted: "Captain Lin, was the meat salty this morning? I told the cooking squad to use less soy sauce, but they wouldn't listen to me!"

"You provided the meat?" Ji Wuchen asked, surprised.

"Half a pig my brother brought back from a frontline outpost," the wounded soldier said, pointing to the bandage on his own chest.

"I meant to save it for the New Year, but last night I thought, New Year? Whether we can even live until the New Year is up in the air, so we might as well eat it now. It's not a loss to feed it to you guys."

Ji Wuchen opened his mouth but couldn't say anything.

Walking further, passing the ordnance repair point, a mechanic covered in grease poked his head out from behind the wreckage of a turret, saw Lin Mo, shouted "Captain Lin," and then raised the wrench in his hand and waved it to greet him.

A few young soldiers carrying ammunition nearby glanced over, and the leader subconsciously straightened his back, only relaxing after Lin Mo had walked past.

That subtle change, from giving way to greeting, from indifference to grinning and shouting, had happened in just one night.

When he reached the entrance of the council hall, Han Xiao was already standing on the steps waiting.

He was leaning on his metal staff, his gaze lingering on Lin Mo for a moment.

"Someone gave you a pair of boots?" he asked.

"How did you know?"

"They have the War Zone serial number on them!" Han Xiao turned around, leaning on his staff as he walked into the council hall.

...

Under the same morning light, a hundred miles away, at the West Federation frontline command camp.

Inside the silver-white operations hall, a massive holographic sand table was replaying that day's rout frame by frame.

In front of the sand table, Legion Commander Augustus stood directly in front, with twelve young figures lined up on either side.

Augustus was nearly fifty, the strongest genius the West Federation had seen in nearly a hundred years, with a cultivation at the mid-stage of the seventh rank, but his combat power approached that of an eighth-rank Awakener.

However, due to an agreement between the two great nations, Augustus had never revealed his terrifying strength on the frontier battlefield.

It was precisely because of Augustus's terrifying talent—being a once-in-a-century super genius for the West Federation—that the West Federation had never sent Augustus to the Sealed Land too early, choosing instead to let him remain on the frontier battlefield.

The other twelve people were all very young.

The oldest was just over thirty, and the youngest looked only twenty, but the aura radiating from every single one of them was far more terrifying than that vanguard army from earlier in the day.

Starting at the mid-stage of the sixth rank, with several at the late-stage of the sixth rank; the young man at the very front had even half a foot stepped into the threshold of the seventh rank.

This was the Holy Temple Knights.

The twelve blades sifted out by the West Federation from millions of young Awakeners.

Each one was a genius, each one had climbed up by stepping on the heads of their peers, each one had never tasted defeat on the Northern battlefield. When they stood together, that silent oppression was even heavier than a full-strength mecha division.

The holographic image froze.

In the frame, Lin Mo's blade was piercing through the command mecha's energy core, his golden-red vertical pupils glowing brightly amidst the fire of the explosion.

"This kid's cultivation isn't high, just the aura of an early-stage fifth rank!" the young man at the very front spoke, his voice light but carrying an irrepressible sharpness.

"Don't underestimate him. Just by himself, he punched through the entire vanguard army's line!"

The intelligence officer in the back said solemnly.

"Currently, his identity has been confirmed: Lin Mo, a young combatant who recently arrived at Ironwall City from the Great Xia side. His cultivation is approximately early-stage fifth rank, but his actual combat performance far exceeds that tier. Preliminary assessment is that he possesses at least sixth-rank level lethality."

The hall was silent for a moment.

Then someone laughed lowly.

"Early-stage fifth rank, sixth-rank combat power." A young Temple Knight standing on the right shook his head slowly, his tone carrying a complexity that was hard to define as admiration or mockery.

"In our West Federation, such geniuses capable of fighting across a major realm haven't appeared in at least ten years. The Great Xia people's talent in martial arts is truly terrifying!"

"Ten years? Ever since Lord Augustus broke through the seventh-rank bottleneck, no one in the younger generation has been able to achieve killing a sixth-rank while at the fifth rank." Another Temple Knight interjected coldly.

"The Great Xia people's talent in martial arts cultivation is indeed something we can't compare to. Don't those old guys always say that?"

As soon as these words were spoken, several Temple Knights frowned.

Inside the West Federation military, a saying had circulated for a long time: when it comes to technology, the West Federation wins; when it comes to martial arts talent, Great Xia is the monster.

This sentence was like a thorn, stuck in the pride of every young genius in the West Federation.

The members of the Holy Temple Knights had grown up being provoked by this saying since childhood.

They refused to accept it. Why? Why should a bunch of guys who didn't even have powered armor be said to have better talent than them?

That was why they fought desperately to climb to their current position.

Twelve people, all of them above the sixth rank, equipped with seventh-generation modified powered armor, were almost unrivaled on the Northern battlefield.

They had proven one thing with their battle records: equipment crushes talent, technology crushes martial arts.

At least that was what they had always believed.

And now, an early-stage fifth-rank Great Xia person had dismantled the vanguard mecha formation into scrap metal in thirty breaths.

This wasn't just slapping the face of the vanguard army.

This was slapping the face of the Holy Temple Knights.

"It was just taking advantage of close-quarters sneak attacks and bursts." A mid-stage sixth-rank Temple Knight spoke coldly, his voice filled with obvious disdain.

"Those trash in the vanguard army—once their mechas are touched at close range, they're sitting ducks. If he were to really run into us, the Holy Temple Knights, head-on, he wouldn't even have a chance to get close."

"That's right." Another Temple Knight agreed.

"Early-stage fifth-rank cultivation isn't enough to look at! Fighting across ranks? That's against those mass-produced goods. Anyone here is at least mid-stage sixth rank, and when bursting, at least peak sixth rank. What does he have to fight with?"

No one refuted this.

Because these words were facts.

Of the twelve members of the Holy Temple Knights, the lowest cultivation was mid-stage sixth rank.

The lowest one, equipped with seventh-generation modified powered armor, had a combat lethality that firmly stood at peak sixth rank.

And the young man at the very front could even trade blows with an ordinary seventh rank in a state of extreme burst.

In their eyes, the early-stage fifth-rank Lin Mo was like a rabbit that could jump very high.

No matter how high it jumped, it was still a rabbit. And they were eagles.

"But I am still very interested in him." The young man at the very front suddenly spoke.

He pulled up a thermal imaging screenshot of Lin Mo from the sand table; that golden-red light moved so fast that even military scanners could only capture a blur.

He stared at that blur, a faint, cold interest surfacing in his eyes, as if he had seen an exhibit in a museum worth stopping for.

"To have this kind of combat power at early-stage fifth rank, he is definitely a top-tier genius even in Great Xia. Such a genius is worth a look."

He paused, then continued:

"But if we were to take action, wouldn't it be using a sledgehammer to crack a nut?"

"His upper limit has already been locked by his cultivation; fifth rank is fifth rank. No matter how talented, it's impossible to cross a major realm to fight us head-on. The vanguard army was punched through because there were no real elites in the vanguard army. But we—"

He didn't finish, because he didn't need to.

They were the Holy Temple Knights, the twelve strongest geniuses of the West Federation, the undefeated myth of the Northern battlefield.

Augustus's gaze swept over the faces of the twelve members of the Holy Temple Knights one by one, finally landing on the young man who had stepped half a foot into the seventh-rank threshold.

"Edmond."

"Present." Edmond stood straight.

"What do you think?"

Edmond was silent for a breath.

"Letting him grow is also a trouble for us! Why not let Monroe and Aiken go together? Let the two of them go." Edmond's gaze fell on the two mid-stage sixth-rank Temple Knights, his tone as flat as if he were arranging a routine patrol.

"From the combat footage, the vanguard army's energy locking system failed to capture his trajectory even once from start to finish. This frequency of movement should only appear in Awakeners of at least late-stage sixth rank and above," Augustus said lightly.

"Lord Augustus!"

"You mean that Monroe and Aiken, the two mid-stage sixth ranks, aren't enough? Are you perhaps underestimating the combat power of our Holy Temple Knights members too much?"

Edmond said with some displeasure.

"No, what I mean is, it's best to catch him alive and bring him back to study!"

Augustus leaned back in his chair, a faint smile appearing at the corners of his mouth, but there was no warmth in his eyes.

"He is indeed a genius, but if he were captured alive by us, would the morale of Ironwall City be worse than suffering a round of orbital bombardment?"

The hall was so quiet that one could hear the low hum of the energy cores running.

"Bring him back, break his limbs. Lord Augustus wants him alive. Can you do it?" Edmond turned to Monroe and Aiken and said.

The two Temple Knights standing in the front row looked up simultaneously, exchanged a glance, and then responded in unison: "Yes! Guarantee the mission will be completed!"

As they turned to walk toward the tent entrance, one of them even laughed lowly to his companion:

"Early-stage fifth rank, break his limbs—sounds like an exercise."

Augustus heard this, but he didn't correct them.

Edmond watched their backs disappear, and only when the footsteps were far enough away did he turn his head. There was no disdain in his gray pupils, only a premonition that made even him feel uncomfortable.

"Legion Commander."

"Speak."

"I think you are overestimating this Great Xia person named Lin Mo. Dare to make a bet with me?"

"Oh? How do you want to bet?"

"Let's bet on how many moves this Great Xia person can last against Monroe and Aiken. How about it?"