CR CH40

Chapter 40: Misfortune

Thanks to Zhao Hengyi, the news that a recruit from the Z01 ordinary group had placed in the top 1% of the Federation database spread to every corner of the base by the next day.

While the matter itself wasn’t a secret, it simply hadn’t been formally publicized. Even without Zhao Hengyi’s intervention, once the new round of data scores was released, everyone would have discovered to their astonishment that a completely unfamiliar name had breached the ranks of the special group.

“It’s boiling hot.” Jiang Tianji pushed away Huang Qi, who was clinging to his waist, letting out a soft sigh.

“Brother, your junior here truly lacked the eyes to recognize greatness before,” Huang Qi wheedled, sticking close to him with a fawning grin. “My future bragging rights depend entirely on you now.”

Feng Huo couldn’t stand the display. “Look at yourself.”

“What are you acting for? Didn’t you shout the loudest yesterday, getting us all penalized with twenty laps?!”

The daytime mission proceeded smoothly. Lower-level variants possessed a certain degree of destructive power and posed a significant risk to ordinary civilians without specialized weapons, but their tasks mostly consisted of cleanup. The evacuation and dispersal work had already been completed by higher-level units.

The only slight flaw was the constant stream of awed commentary from his teammates. If Ji Yandong hadn’t held them back the previous night, Jiang Tianji’s tiny bunk would have had to bear the collective weight of three tall, heavily built Alphas all by itself.

Monitoring AI sprites hovered high above the base’s mission hub. From an aerial view, the teams resembled columns of ants entering and exiting in an orderly fashion. While the ordinary group recruits had largely adapted to the low-level mission protocols, accidents remained inevitable.

The sunlight struck the tip of the energy tower, creating a brilliant gleam that resembled a polished gemstone.

Jiang Tianji and his teammates hurried toward the main hall. By this hour, most of the squads had returned, gathering in their respective clusters within the hall to conduct their post-mission debriefs.

“What’s the matter over there?” Huang Qi murmured, looking at the scene not far ahead in confusion.

The atmosphere today was distinctly different from usual; a heavy, suffocating silence seemed to ripple through the room.

Two individuals sat right in the center of the hall. Beside them stood several Beastman doctors, bending down to offer low, soothing words of comfort. However, one of the men emotionally shoved them away, showing a violent resistance to physical contact.

“Get away! Don’t touch me!”

The Alpha clutched his head, roaring in a sudden, broken fury, as if triggered by something.

“Calm down? Calm down… how am I supposed to calm down?! Why did this kind of low-probability event have to fall squarely on us? We didn’t make a single mistake!”

“Five out of seven people vanished in a single instant! Why should we have to wager our lives against those kinds of odds?”

“The energy rounds couldn’t inflict fatal damage on the variant at all, and our equipment was entirely fried. We did everything we could, but in the end, we were just left to wait for death.”

His desperate hooves echoed sharply through the mission station. “We’re just helpless, ordinary people! Without specialized weapons, we are absolutely nothing! We can’t fight them, and we can’t outrun them—we could only stand there and watch them die right in front of our eyes!”

His face was deathly pale. As if struck by a vivid memory, he suddenly dropped to the floor and began to dry-heave violently.

“Team member, we understand your feelings…” A doctor leaned over, attempting to assist him up, but was shoved away with considerable force.

“Leave me alone!”

The Alpha stumbled to his feet, his voice hitching with thick sobs.

“This place is just a meat grinder. Why do Alphas have to bear all of this? The disaster of the Blood Project is public knowledge—it was clearly caused by those ranking-shift missions! Hundreds of superior Alphas have sacrificed themselves, and to this day, there hasn’t been a single explanation. Are our lives not worth anything? I don’t want to be paired into a new squad, and I don’t want to be an Alpha anymore. I want to go home… I want to go home…”

He hunched his posture, completely disoriented, muttering the same words over and over.

The surrounding area had fallen completely silent at some point. The crisp sound of approaching footsteps echoed from outside the doors; the commanding officers’ meeting had concluded.

The Alpha who had been sitting quietly behind him the entire time slowly stood up, patting his shoulder. “Li Yuan.”

The Alpha named Li Yuan turned around, grabbing him tightly. “Let’s go home. I don’t want to die like that. Let’s go home…”

“Brother, I came from a D-rank planet. I don’t have a home to go back to.” The Alpha paused, his expression numb. “Even if I did, what I’d face every day would still be the exact same thing. It makes no difference.”

Li Yuan stared at him, momentarily stunned. The heavy main doors were pushed wide open, and the instructors strode inside in rapid succession.

The leader made a subtle hand gesture. The doctors exchanged glances and stepped forward, prepared to use restraining measures, but found that he was no longer resisting. Li Yuan kept his head lowered, his lips pressed tightly together.

Irene handed new equipment to both men. Blue fireflies drifted over from a specific direction, swirling around Li Yuan’s form. The nightmare-like visions were gently swept away, and he quieted down completely, allowing the medical detail to escort him outside.

Yet as he passed by Ling Kongmiao, his head suddenly jerked sideways. His eyes remained clouded; he likely didn’t even comprehend what he was saying.

“If only… you could have been just a bit faster.”

The line held no real malice; it was spoken very softly.

Ling Kongmiao offered no response, though Irene’s expression shifted slightly beside him. Just as she was about to speak, Ling Kongmiao pressed a hand down onto her shoulder, simply letting the distraught recruit leave in a daze.

“Is what he said true? Are we going to face this kind of unpredictable risk at any moment?”

Someone in the crowd was the first to speak up, and gradually, more voices joined in.

“Why has there been no official resolution regarding the Blood Project even now? The leaked recordings were real, weren’t they?”

“Most likely. It was supposed to be an optimization initiative, but it ran straight into a ranking-shift mission. Every single one of those who sacrificed themselves were elite Alphas with off-the-charts talent…”

“Then what is the point of us staying here? Are we just waiting to die?”

“Yeah, who would dare gamble their lives on mere probabilities…”

The hall steadily grew rowdy. The youth of Z01 were mostly teenagers; although their physical attributes had developed rapidly following differentiation, their mental resilience remained in a relatively immature phase.

Faced with a tragedy of this scale, it was difficult to maintain composure. Some voices grew increasingly loud, while others remained silent, though the expressions on their faces were grim.

“Before entering Z01, you were citizens protected by the Federation. After entering Z01, you remain the foundational combat force protected by the Federation.”

“Regarding the ranking-shift missions, we have already drafted a specialized training regimen. Furthermore, the Federation planned the establishment of a reinforcement group several months ago, and the existing operational layouts will be adjusted shortly. In addition,”

Ling Kongmiao’s voice remained perfectly level. As an S-rank mental power holder, he effortlessly delivered his words straight into the ears of every single individual present.

“This land will be defended by any and all warriors—be they Alpha, Beta, or Omega.”

In an inconspicuous corner of the crowd, Jiang Tianji watched him silently.

Whenever Ling Kongmiao stood in the center of a crowd, he always seemed entirely different from the person Jiang Tianji usually interacted with. Those deep blue eyes scanned the room, never lingering on any single face, yet every eye in the hall was fixed securely on that commanding, tall silhouette.

“The term is two years. Your entry or departure remains entirely at your own discretion. During this period, you are free to explore your so-called meaning to your heart’s content.”

“Captain.”

Once the ranks were dismissed, Irene quickly picked up her pace to catch up with the figure ahead.

Ling Kongmiao turned his head. “What is it?”

The dark, shadowed undertones in his gaze had receded, his eyes returning to their normal pale hue.

“…Nothing. I just wanted to say that you did everything you could.” Irene subtly monitored his state, her brows drawing together slightly.

“The energy shift happened too rapidly. In their panic, they depleted their energy rounds and enraged the variants, surviving for less than three minutes. The fact that you managed to arrive and rescue the two of them after the fact is already nothing short of a miracle.”

Ling Kongmiao heard her out and countered, “Otherwise?”

Seeing that he displayed no signs of abnormal emotion, Irene let out a sigh of relief before delivering a soft moan.

“Sigh~ I was just worried you’d cry. Seems I overthought things.”

“Are you telling a joke?” Ling Kongmiao smiled faintly, tapping his finger against his temple. “A friendly reminder: do not harbor unrealistic delusions all day long. Continuing down this path will easily lead to early-onset dementia.”

“…”

“I heard you plan to dump the Special Rescue responsibilities onto Jiang Ziming recently?” Irene smoothly switched topics. “The higher-ups probably won’t approve that, will they?”

“They won’t.” Ling Kongmiao terminated his communication channel, turning his gaze toward his overly anxious subordinate. “Which is why I took a long sabbatical. The timing is about right anyway.”

Irene looked hesitant. “Will the Federation even approve your leave?”

Ling Kongmiao: “No.”

Irene: “Then how exactly are you taking a long sabbatical?”

Ling Kongmiao: “I submitted a resignation letter along with an annual leave application.”

Irene pressed a hand to her forehead. “You…”

“I am using my own personal leave to take a demotion and serve as the Z01 Commander-in-Chief, working for the Federation on a base-level salary. What exactly do they have to be dissatisfied with?” Ling Kongmiao shrugged. “I told Chief Boris that human limitations prevent me from managing two combat units simultaneously—especially when one of them is Special Rescue. If they didn’t approve it, I would resign.”

“While that may be true, the execution sounds an awful lot like blackmail.” Irene was left entirely without a counterargument. “…Did the Chief not try to dissuade you?”

“He attempted to appeal to my human virtue and my responsibilities as a commanding officer.” Ling Kongmiao chuckled. “In the end, our conversation concluded with: ‘Ling, compared to a human, you resemble the Beast clan far more.’“