Everything Sangses said tonight seemed trivial, and he didn’t mention much about how Shen Ningze should be dealt with. The senior ministers came in tense and left just as confused.
Just as baffled were the nearby small- and medium-sized planets. They cautiously sent out scouts, only to find that the battleships were still hovering in the sky in full formation—no matter how you looked at it, it didn’t seem like a cultural exchange.
To be safe, they also activated their defense modes, in case a war broke out and they got dragged in for no reason.
“Chief Xie Li.” The Deputy Chief of the Investigation Department came chasing after him.
Chief Xie Li of the Ministry of Justice looked grim. This time, he had lost both face and favor—he’d jumped out to recommend a fraud, and was most likely already noted unfavorably by His Majesty. Even more nervous than him was the deputy, whose attempt to play clever had not only offended Xie Rongjue, but also angered quite a few people by providing false information.
The deputy forced a smile and tried to make conversation: “What do you think His Majesty meant by this?”
Inside the empire, they were putting on a front of peaceful cultural exchange, while outside, war looked ready to break out at any moment.
The Chief of Justice didn’t tear into him on the spot and replied coldly, “Showing a willingness to go to war is secondary—the real goal is to clean out a batch of people.”
“His Majesty is far-sighted. I’ve only grasped a bit of the surface.” The flattery was ingrained deep in his bones. He added irritably, “In any case, this is not the time to play smart.”
That remark was just shy of outright mockery. The deputy’s smile nearly faltered.
When he looked up again, the Chief of Justice had already walked away, and Xie Rongjue was nowhere to be seen—who knew where he had gone.
…
Not long ago, the state guesthouse sent a message saying the delegation requested a meeting. The moment he left the palace, Xie Rongjue headed over.
The meeting spot was close to the affiliated high school.
His spirit barrier shielded him from some of the heat, but summer’s swelter couldn’t be fully blocked. Sweat beaded along Xie Rongjue’s neck. A hundred meters ahead, the tall Marshal stood holding a black umbrella at the edge of the rain.
The storm cloud he’d conjured would last until five in the morning.
The two met face to face—one drenched in heavy rain, the other sweating in the heat.
Xie Rongjue briefly closed his eyes, already accustomed to Fog Star’s way of doing things.
Land got straight to the point: “Where is the star pirate who injured His Highness?”
Every planet’s StarNet had encryption—login required not just an ID and password, but biometric verification as well. Without resorting to violence against civilians, Fog Star couldn’t have accessed the Empire of Galan’s network to find out what Su Cha had been through. That star pirate who had once nearly cost Su Cha his life—they would take him no matter what.
“The morgue.”
In the rainy night, Land’s eyes darkened, as if a blaze of fury in his heart had only landed on cotton. Finally, he asked slowly, “Did he die easily?”
“It was suffocating,” Xie Rongjue answered honestly. A once-notorious star pirate, falling twice to a single child—he probably died in utter shame.
“Still not enough.”
Xie Rongjue said, “The star pirate was merely a pawn. The mastermind is still out there.”
Earlier in the day, he had mentioned live experiments at the hospital, and that was the real reason Land had stayed. The person who came forward to introduce Shen Ningze had only briefly mentioned that a lab base had been wiped out, but in truth, the live experiment case was far from over.
Unexpectedly generous, Xie Rongjue pulled a stack of classified files from his briefcase and handed them over as he spoke: “The research institute extracted a special compound from the corpse—one that can blur a person’s presence, making them seem half-real, half-not.”
“Cracking it is always easier than creating it,” he added. “If your side is willing to provide researchers, we could find a breakthrough in the compound soon.”
Land barely glanced at it before tossing it back.
“A waste of time,” he said flatly. “This kind of compound must have flaws and needs a stabilizer to keep the user alive. The ones currently available on the market aren’t good enough.”
Basic stabilizers required mafei as a base, and the best ones couldn’t be made without fozhi. But with complete restrictions on fozhi sales—even in special cases requiring supervision—it was impossible to produce advanced stabilizers. Without them, users of that special compound wouldn’t survive long.
Both nations were ruthless, but when it came to going to extremes, Fog Star clearly took the lead.
Land was calm, but every word dripped with grim intent: “I can’t wait to see what they look like when their bodies explode.”
Xie Rongjue smiled. “His Majesty’s intent is to purchase a sufficient batch of stabilizers from your country—makes it easier to clean up the conglomerate while he’s at it.”
Otherwise, if the conglomerate suddenly halted production, there’d be no way to meet civilian demand in the short term. None of the surrounding planets had the capacity to supply that much.
…
To most students at the affiliated high school, last night was just an unusually cool and refreshing rainy night. They had no idea that because of a short conversation, a quiet and bloody storm would soon sweep through the Imperial Capital.
Today, everyone got up especially early.
“A planet capable of wiping out king-class strange beasts—Fog Star people are definitely no joke.”
“Do you think they’ll teach us mixed martial arts?”
Some were still stunned by Su Cha’s identity. “Can’t believe he’s a prince who got lost among the commoners. So he’ll be heading back soon, right?”
The students were either excited or curious. Passing the admin office, they didn’t act as restrained as usual, getting caught up in endless discussion.
Li Huai shook his head when he saw it. When Su Cha came downstairs, Li Huai called him over and said just a few words: “Keep an eye out.”
Su Cha knew he was concerned that the Fog Star people might be too rough in class. They wouldn’t go as far as physical abuse—after all, the stronger the race, the less they cared to bully the weak—but verbal attacks or overly harsh sparring? Entirely possible.
That’s also why the principal had chosen Su Cha’s class as the test group.
Li Huai reminded him, “Today’s exchange class is being live-streamed across the entire network. Don’t screw it up.”
Su Cha’s expression finally shifted noticeably. “Live-streamed?”
“Cultural exchange isn’t a trivial matter,” Li Huai said. “We have to put on a bit of a show. Of course, if the interaction turns out friendly, all the better.”
Su Cha nodded and walked outside.
Land had also arrived early and was standing near the teaching building. He hadn’t slept all night, but there was no trace of fatigue in his eyes. When he saw Su Cha, his lips lifted slightly—but Fog Star people didn’t smile often, so even that rare smile looked a bit stiff.
At this moment, Land didn’t seem like a marshal, but a designer. He pointed at an open space and said, “His Highness’s bedroom could’ve faced the teaching building directly—the distance would’ve been just right.”
Su Cha said, “It’s not great to wake up, pull open the curtains, and see people heading to school.”
Just imagining the scene already felt strange.
Land, still unwilling to give up, tried to persuade him: “As long as the building is high enough, we can construct a sky pavilion.”
Su Cha smoothly changed the topic: “I brought you breakfast.”
A poor distraction technique—but on Land, it worked exceptionally well. Instantly, his muscles tensed, and he solemnly accepted the food from Su Cha as if cradling a royal crown.
Su Cha said, “The taste is mediocre, but it’s nutritionally balanced.” On this planet, one couldn’t expect the food to be delicious.
Land didn’t eat it right away. Several ideas flashed through his mind about how to preserve the food permanently… freezing? Making it a specimen?
But once he recalled Su Cha saying the food didn’t taste good, he immediately planned to send over a few top chefs and didn’t forget to subtly belittle the Galan Empire: “They can’t even serve a decent meal. Your Highness has suffered.”
Su Cha replied, “It’s actually not so bad. The people at school have been pretty nice to me.”
They talked as they walked, and at one point, Su Cha brought up the ambush in the desert. Land’s expression turned cold and grim, wishing he could revive the star pirates just to tear them apart all over again.
Such a life-threatening encounter was brushed over with just a few words. Su Cha said seriously, “I really owe it to my teammates. Even in the face of death, none of them thought to abandon me.”
Before they knew it, they had arrived at the school field. In the distance, cameras were already set up. The first cultural exchange class was about to be broadcast live across the entire network.
There were still over ten minutes until class began, but the official livestream was already overloaded—eager citizens of the Empire, known for their bravery and love of battle, all wanted a glimpse of the Fog Star people’s abilities.
The moment Su Cha appeared, he became the center of attention.
His story was too bizarre to ignore. Although there were many rumors among the public, the authorities hadn’t officially announced anything about Su Cha. But to the students who had witnessed the Fog Star Marshal kneeling on one knee, everything was already certain.
Thankfully, compared to his mysterious identity, the students—especially the less gossip-prone ones—were more interested in the class itself.
Su Cha quietly rejoined his class. A soft voice asked near him, “Are you okay?”
Looking up, he saw Wu Shui’s concerned gaze. Su Cha nodded to indicate he was fine.
Wu Shui said, “Don’t stress too much.”
Even a windfall from the sky is hard to digest—being the center of such public attention certainly wasn’t as easy as it seemed from the outside.
After a few words, the school bell rang across campus, and everyone fell silent on their own.
Cameras were set up all over the sports field. Drones hovered in the sky, ensuring the livestream covered every angle.
A self-introduction was the most basic show of mutual respect. Land scanned the students, and when his eyes landed on Su Cha—noticeably shorter than the others—his gaze automatically softened.
“I’ll be teaching today’s class.”
“You can call me Instructor Land. I come from Fog Star.”
So far, everything was proceeding smoothly. The head instructor, who had rushed over specifically, let out a long sigh of relief. Many of the school’s senior teachers were observing nearby as well, partially driven by curiosity about the Fog Star people.
Land called someone to step forward—the one chosen happened to be Wu Shui, who was to spar with Rong Shao.
After just three moves, Land mercilessly criticized: “Your movements are sluggish, your footing unstable, and your focus is completely off.”
Being harshly critiqued in front of a live global audience didn’t feel great for either of them.
“Why are you stopping?”
The two quickly resumed sparring.
Land’s gaze was razor sharp—every movement looked like it was under a microscope. Just as their forms started to grow sloppy, their limbs suddenly stopped responding.
“I’ll only demonstrate once.”
Dozens of thread-like filaments, as fine as silkworm silk, appeared around the students. Every angle of their sidesteps, every joint movement, was perfectly calibrated like a training video. Fog Star people had largely similar spirit and psychic abilities, but in many aspects, theirs were more refined and adept at redirecting force.
Su Cha’s ability to lend strength to others was, to some extent, a derivative of Fog Star traits.
Even someone at 3S level like Li Huai couldn’t replicate this. Control and attack were two different skills—he might blast a building apart with psychic force, but he couldn’t use it to help a student fine-tune their posture.
Land withdrew the silk-like filaments formed by his spiritual power. “Continue.”
Combat wasn’t Rong Shao’s strong suit. When Wu Shui’s long leg swept toward him, he was half a beat slow and instinctively raised a fist to block the solid sole of her shoe. They were less than a few millimeters apart when a force separated them.
The training match came to an end.
Land looked at Rong Shao. “Not strong enough? Then work on your speed. How are you managing to be bad at both?”
Rong Shao flushed red and lowered his head.
“Your hands are nimble—perfect for a mechanic—or maybe you’ve already been training in that direction. But I haven’t seen even a trace of care for your own hands.”
Then Land turned to Wu Shui. “You lack explosive power. But the real issue is your inferiority complex.”
Wu Shui’s eyelashes trembled. She knew her talent was limited. She had only managed to get into this school thanks to the strength boost when fighting alongside her brother. All along, she had been suppressing her lack of confidence.
The field was dead silent.
It took over half a minute before anyone finally spoke in the live stream’s bullet chat:
Animal Paradise: [No idea why, but such overwhelming pressure.]
80YearOldBringingIllnessToTheBattlefield: [Reminder to everyone—yes, you can breathe while watching this.]
PridefulTiny: [Our instructors are strict too, but this feels… different.]
In their daily training, strictness from instructors had basically become tradition, and the students were used to being scolded. But the tone of the Fog Star man was always calm—never raising his voice, his expression never remotely vicious.
It was a kind of indescribable cold indifference that made you afraid to even breathe.
Their eyes were rulers, their words knives. Every lightly spoken phrase felt like it could slice flesh.
80YearOldBringingIllnessToTheBattlefield had voiced what all the students felt: [They must be torn—hoping to get called on, but also terrified.]
Strictness was one thing, but Land could coldly and clearly point out every flaw and give precise directions for improvement.
The drills continued in order from the first row.
Finally, it was Su Cha’s turn.
He demonstrated a few moves. At first, things looked alright—Li Huai had corrected his form a few days ago—but then his style shifted into something clearly self-taught. Viewers watching online couldn’t help but frown.
This guy was going to get roasted alive, wasn’t he?
Su Cha, though, seemed to be enjoying himself. He was sparring with Ji Tianjin, who wasn’t using his full strength and was clearly going easy on him.
It was so obviously staged that viewers were already anticipating both of them getting thoroughly chewed out. They went back and forth for dozens of moves before Ji Tianjin finally took a step back, catching Su Cha’s wrist to block an incoming punch. “Let’s call it a draw.”
Never mind the viewers—every student present had the same thought: That’s insanely bold.
Land still hadn’t reacted. You could say the match had left even the instructor speechless.
Rong Shao hung his head, unable to watch the storm that was surely coming.
Silence all around.
Then—clap, clap, clap.
The students looked up in disbelief and saw that Land wasn’t mocking them out of anger, but was seriously applauding.
He clapped, nodding in praise. “Not a single wasted move. Smooth and fluid. Very impressive.”
He looked like he still wanted to keep complimenting Su Cha but didn’t know how to express it well.
Then, shifting his gaze to Ji Tianjin, Land’s tone turned sharp: “Your dominant hand is the left, but that doesn’t mean your right hand is useless. Your right punches are far too slow.”
He then turned to Su Cha, asking with great concern, “You’ve been standing for so long—you must be tired. Want some water?”
The mood shifted from silent to awkward.
It was normal to favor someone. But to do it so openly, in front of everyone, was something the people of Galan couldn’t comprehend.
Usually, to win people over, one should be stricter with those they’re close to.
But every one of Land’s compliments came from the heart.
Forget “regression to ancestor”—in Fog Star, even a child with a 70% pureblood rate would never undergo this kind of structured military training before their awakening. And yet Su Cha could spar, move with such fluidity—he was in shockingly good health.
Su Cha more or less understood Land’s thinking. From a certain angle, he was both a victim and a beneficiary of the living experiment. If he’d been born in Fog Star in the regular way, his body would never have become this resilient.
What Su Cha didn’t know was that he’d once gone through an extremely fragile phase in the nutrient pod—so fragile that even Wolenson and Dr. Jin had lost hope and chosen to abandon the attempt.
Now, facing such undisguised partiality, Su Cha managed a strained smile and waved it off.
Suddenly, the skies brightened—the sun broke through the clouds. But Land’s eyes dimmed. The artificial rainfall hadn’t been timed properly. He was also dissatisfied with Galan’s trees—plenty of them, but few leaves. He couldn’t even find decent shade.
Unsurprisingly, Land returned to his frosty demeanor with the next student and got straight to the point.
After correcting everyone’s movements one by one, they moved into free practice.
Su Cha had barely exchanged two moves with a fellow student before the other guy—who wasn’t about to go easy like Ji Tianjin—set up for a heavy over-the-shoulder throw.
But just as he was about to strike, a loud gasp could be heard from afar. The student instinctively looked up and caught sight of several Fog Star soldiers staring at him with ghostly intensity—as if their resentment had crawled up from the depths of h*ll.
He blinked—and the chill radiating off Land broke his concentration. Su Cha tripped him up.
Su Cha blinked too. “Hey, Classmate need to focus more.”
But he himself didn’t feel any pressure from the Fog Star folks.
Galan students were naturally proud and stubborn. The boy cursed at himself. How could he be scared off by just a look?
He charged at Su Cha again, but as he was about to land a hit, that same look from the distance made his knees buckle.
Seriously?
Gritting his teeth, the student turned around and said, “Instructor Land, please maintain your professionalism.”
Land replied coolly, “Su Cha is so small and frail. Do be careful not to hurt him.”
“Frail?”
Su Cha was the only student in the class to reach a third-stage awakening! The boy finally snapped. “Bullsh*t!”
He yelled before he even registered the chilling stares directed at him. “Have you ever fought him? How can you say he’s weak? That’s a different kind of prejudice! You’re insulting him by underestimating him!”
For the second time that day, the entire field went silent.
Watching from afar, the dean nodded in satisfaction. That’s the spirit our students should have—standing their ground when they have a point.
Land didn’t argue. He didn’t even deny it. The protectiveness born of his environment was etched into his very bones, like part of his DNA. He’d seen too many children die in their prime—still conscious in their last moments, calmly telling doctors, “I’m going to die now.”
That image—of someone issuing their own death notice—was unforgettable.
The Fog Star bloodline forged extreme unity, which meant they didn’t have the messy interpersonal dramas Galan was known for. The tragedy, however, was that children with high purity simply couldn’t handle the power that came with it.
The dean coughed, stepping in to defuse the tension.
“Crude words, but fair sentiment. Don’t define someone as weak so lightly. How about this—let’s settle it with a match.” He continued, “Let’s go to Wastestar and hold a points-based battle. Half an hour long. Marshal, you’ll face off against a whole class. If you agree, the school will submit the application to the military immediately.”
Land raised an eyebrow. “A bunch of kids who can’t even fight…”
He trailed off, then corrected himself seriously: “That doesn’t include the immensely promising Student Su Cha.”
“Them?”
Hot-blooded as any teen, one student stretched his neck: “One match and we’ll see.”
The same student who had protested earlier said bluntly, “Then let the so-called frail Su Cha be our commander. He’ll lead us useless students and prove who’s really stronger in the end!”
“One match! One match!”
The students chanted in unison. Su Cha also looked excited. It wouldn’t hurt to show them that he wasn’t made of paper—it might actually put everyone’s mind at ease.
Under Su Cha’s expectant gaze, Land’s eyes softened. He weighed the risks quietly, but in the end, he gave in to that earnest look. He agreed—with the condition that their warship provide backup protection.
Walking up to Su Cha, Land gently instructed, “Take care of yourself. Don’t get hurt.”
Affected by traditional values, his concern became even more obvious. These kids weren’t even as tall as a single leg of a strange beast, yet they were being sent into danger. His tone turned stern:
“If you run into a really strong beast, don’t try to tough it out.”
“If you see more than three beasts, don’t hesitate—run.”
“Stay with your team. Beasts love picking off stragglers.”
Meanwhile, the bullet chat exploded:
[Give them a StarNet account—please, I can’t take this.]
[Seriously. Open your eyes to the world.]
[Oh mighty Fog Star visitors, have you ever seen a whole valley of beasts in heat? Have you seen ‘pig squads’ charge into a beast horde?]
[I have just one request. If this gets streamed, have the military adjust the censorship rating from R18 to R300. I don’t want to watch a blur of censorship bars at the climax.]
…
Unfortunately, the Fog Star people couldn’t see the on-screen chaos. To them, they were united, and all they saw was Su Cha’s small, fragile figure.
Su Cha himself had his head slightly lowered, thinking about tactics for the evening. Should he go aggressive and unleash his “Pig” spirit form? Or stick to the traditional route—inducing the beasts’ mating phase ahead of time?
Would that scare Land and the others? Probably not. They had seen the pictures from the Ten Schools Award Ceremony. They should know what he was capable of.
But to the Fog Star soldiers watching him, that lowered head said it all: Weak, pitiful, and helpless.
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