Top Warzone Analyst Chapter 57

Sun Zhenghao thought he had misheard, but the next moment, Cheng Feng set up a specialized training session focused on back cuts. Rows of question marks popped up on the screen, jolting everyone wide awake in the early morning.

Visitor: Although I’m your senior, I’m still young, don’t mess with me.

Visitor: I’m your senior and also your alumnus – let’s keep it real, no need for all this scheming.

Visitor: Didn’t we come here for tips on manual operation techniques? Am I still asleep? This dream is way too real!

Visitor: Is this even reasonable, Cheng Feng? You’re someone who can beat Zhong Yijie now! Why are you still doing specialized training on back cuts?

Cheng Feng glanced at the comment section and asked with even more surprise, “Don’t you all do basic training?”

Among the commonly used code sequences in this update, 26 of them conflicted with the old framework. Although these 26 instructions generally wouldn’t appear all at once, if you can’t even master the most frequently used code sequences, what’s the point of talking about overcoming challenges?

A flurry of excited responses flashed through the comment section: “We do!”, “Give us the advanced stuff!”, “We’ll handle the basics ourselves – just show us the high-level stuff!”.

Cheng Feng wanted to tell them they were being utterly delusional, but the training session had already started, so she immediately shifted her focus and didn’t have time to respond.

Inside the training room, a black mech raced across the map along the route designated by the system, with artillery fire marked by red circles occasionally landing in front of or behind it.

Evading, transforming, accelerating, vaulting, back cutting…

It was no different from their daily training, and the difficulty was only moderate. It hardly matched her status as a prodigy.

They faced such monotonous and dull scenes countless times each day, rarely worth watching and seemingly of little significance.

Unable to understand the intention behind the training group’s arrangement, Sun Zhenghao minimized the livestream screen, tucked it into the top-left corner of his interface, and opened his learning software to focus on his own tasks.

Half an hour later, Cheng Feng’s training session came to an end.

Sun Zhenghao maximized the livestream again and put on his headphones.

The other students were probably just like him – still holding out hope for the so-called secret techniques.

Visitor: What’s next?

Visitor: Is the warm-up over? Can we get to the real stuff now?

Cheng Feng was reviewing the training data from earlier.

Perhaps because the speed wasn’t fast enough, the error rate for back cuts wasn’t high. When Cheng Feng constantly emphasized the correct code sequences in her mind, she could effectively avoid mistakes.

The biggest issue was that in an actual match, all kinds of chaotic and complex information would swirl around in her brain at once, leaving no room for such a small string of code.

Visitor: Not bad. C-tier difficulty.

Visitor: Come to think of it, in that match against Zhong Yijie, our junior didn’t use a single back cut.

The manually operated mech had been relentlessly chasing after Wusu. Despite being the one on the defensive, it clung to Zhong Yijie like a mad dog. Forget back cuts or transformations – it didn’t even take a single step back.

“Take a break,” Cheng Feng said, closing the performance panel. “Time to slack off.”

Cheng Feng’s idea of slacking off was taking her audience to the San Yao video page, selecting high-viewership match compilations, and pausing to analyze the battles. She would explain what a manually operated mech should do in similar disadvantaged situations and what the correct code sequences were.

This segment was far more interesting than solo training and made it easier to grasp a person’s combat style.

However, Cheng Feng didn’t seem to have much talent for teaching. Providing the complete answer was already generous, and offering a few extra explanations was purely on a whim. Unless the match was particularly complex, she would typically breeze through a scenario in ten seconds, completely unaware that her livestream audience couldn’t keep up with her pace.

Most freshmen hadn’t yet reached the level where their minds could instantly translate a complex string of code into a corresponding battle scene. They were left completely bewildered, forcing the training group staff to frantically post explanatory notes in the comment section.

Even so, some students still couldn’t take notes fast enough to match Cheng Feng’s pace. Even the seniors among them found it a stretch, with no time for second-guessing or deeper reflection.

After Cheng Feng finished watching two videos, she glanced at the comment section and realized that the viewers were already on the verge of arguing among themselves. The moderators, exhausted from answering questions, simply told them to send private messages if they had any issues.

Visitor: Sorry, I’m still watching that A2 video. Why do you use so many transformation-type codes, Cheng Feng? Shouldn’t complex operations generally be avoided?

Visitor: Your code library is huge. Your playstyle is mainstream yet not rigid – how do you manage that?

Visitor: How do you combine the codes with the visuals? How long will it take for me to become that proficient?

“Watching more matches and memorizing more codes is essential,” Cheng Feng said. “I find transformation codes really useful. Without transforming, you can’t switch weapon arsenals. And sometimes, transformation can help you omit multiple code strings.”

She was about to give an example when a viewer sent her a tip.

Cheng Feng’s voice immediately perked up with energy. “Thank you!”

When the break was over, Cheng Feng heard the prompt tone and switched her interface back to the training room. This time, she set the difficulty to B-tier.

Visitor: Again?

Visitor: You’re not really going to stay in the training room all day, are you? [Horrified]

Cheng Feng said, “That’s how it should be.”

She didn’t say much more, as the system countdown ended, and she threw herself entirely into training again.

Sun Zhenghao found it hard to believe that her daily routine was really like this and decided to stick with her livestream for the day.

But with each training session lasting an hour, Cheng Feng kept up the pace, only stepping out once to use the restroom. The training difficulty increased to A-tier, and her error rate also went up slightly.

At noon, Cheng Feng said, “I’m going to grab lunch first.”

After following along for an entire morning, Sun Zhenghao felt inexplicably exhausted. Letting out a sigh of relief, he took off his headphones, stretched his arms vigorously to ease his stiff shoulders, and then headed to the cafeteria.

He ate quickly, his mind still on Cheng Feng’s livestream. After hurriedly finishing a few bites, he returned to his dorm. When he opened his optical computer, he was surprised to find that Cheng Feng had already started another session and was in the middle of a new round of training.

Visitor: Cheng Feng eats so fast. Did she just come back?

Visitor: Of course she’s fast. Thirty seconds to scarf down a piece of bread, another thirty seconds to chug a carton of milk, and she came straight back.

Visitor: ??

Sun Zhenghao felt a restless unease creeping in.

He pulled up the system’s background data and took a look at his browsing history for the morning.

He had to admit – despite believing he had strong self-discipline, over the course of more than five hours, he still found himself getting distracted from time to time. His efficiency in learning code wasn’t as high as usual either.

More importantly, he realized that after six rounds of systematic training, Cheng Feng’s test performance had shown tangible improvement, while he himself couldn’t pinpoint any clear gains.

…Was it the match analysis? Or the few new combos he had picked up from Cheng Feng? Perhaps the half-hearted strategy guides he had skimmed during his breaks?

Sun Zhenghao felt a sense of urgency.

First, because of the gap that had opened up between him and Cheng Feng in just a single morning.

Second, because he realized that the root cause of this gap wasn’t some distinction between talent and mediocrity.

The other students had also begun to notice – Cheng Feng’s rate of progress wasn’t as astonishing as they had imagined. At least by the standards of UFU students, it wasn’t enough to intimidate them. She advanced step by step, steadily, with every improvement traceable.

Her extraordinary judgment, too, stemmed from long-term accumulation, not some favor from fate.

After Cheng Feng finished another training session, a student made one last reluctant inquiry.

Visitor: Is there really no shortcut for geniuses?

Visitor: With this kind of training every day, how do you manage to write so many guide reports? By sheer willpower?

“What shortcut is there for muscle memory?” Cheng Feng said. “Besides, everyone who got into UFU should have been a genius at some point, right?”

The audience fell silent.

They were all outstanding figures who had fought their way across a single-plank bridge. Before experiencing setbacks, they had indeed been confident enough to call themselves geniuses among their peers.

Visitor: But this approach is too crude. There’s no skill to it at all.

“A crude approach?” Cheng Feng said calmly. “I think the crudest approach is sitting around waiting for a non-crude one.”

Sun Zhenghao’s mind, which had been in a fog for days, finally cleared. He patted his face, which still held a trace of bewilderment, and let out another self-mocking laugh.

The gloom of the past few days seemed like nothing more than a passing dark cloud, yet he had panicked and fled under its shadow, trying to escape an imagined storm.

He opened his training software, deciding to follow Cheng Feng’s approach – starting from the most fundamental level to tackle the new system update.

As the parameters were loading, Cheng Feng suddenly asked an odd question, “Do your smart robots also nuzzle up against you?”

Visitor: ? You’ve really asked a lot of questions today that I can’t answer. Please don’t do this, okay?

Visitor: If I remember correctly, your smart robot is an owl. Quick reminder: owls aren’t cats.

Visitor: There must be a glitch in the programming. That owl is acting way too cat-like. Looks like it’s broken.

“Don’t talk about my friend like that,” Cheng Feng retorted. “It’s just a little adorable!”

Since they were all among friends, the audience humored her with a few agreeable comments.

Cheng Feng found herself getting lost in the stream of praise, her energy gradually building up.

“I do have a little insight, though. It might not work for everyone, so take it as you will.”

Forgetting Mr. Kong’s advice, she enthusiastically shared, “In high-pressure situations where mental focus is intense, mech pilots do tend to rely heavily on muscle memory. But when it comes to learning new techniques, it’s relatively simpler. We can break the commands down into smaller parts.”

As she spoke, she demonstrated a flashy move she had pulled off in a previous match.

“When facing an attack head-on, you can first use three slide rails to move downward, lowering your mech’s stance. Then use the air cannon and thrusters to propel forward, ensuring your mech can quickly retreat. This way, even if your transformation is only half-complete, you can still achieve a back-cut effect. Just be careful not to flip over – I…”

Before she could finish, a bright red warning box popped up in the middle of the screen.

[Manual Operations Training Group: Risky maneuver. Warning – mute!]

Cheng Feng fell silent, clearly displeased.

This group was really hard to please.