Jing Xi’s generation was an only son, as were his father and grandfather, which meant he had almost no experience dealing with children.

So when he accidentally caused a four‑ or five‑year‑old to cry himself into a fever, he found it impossible to forgive himself.

In the office, Fang Liang stood before his desk reporting.

“The two batches of grade‑four ore have been delivered to the factory. They’ll be ready to ship in ten days. Do we keep them for our own use, or put them on the black market?”

Jing Xi: “Hold them for now.”

The black market was a gray zone he’d only heard of but never had time to explore. He wasn’t familiar with many of its rules.

Fang Liang nodded. “The Ghost members have already been moved into Zone B. Ten people signed up for a Zone C challenge. By custom, once numbers meet the requirement, it opens that very afternoon. It’s begun.”

Zone C—the bloody game arena. As long as enough registrants joined, a new round would begin.

“They entered Zone C? For what?” Jing Xi raised his head. “To earn departure privileges?”

Fang Liang shook his head. “They want Zone A—for money and a better life.”

Wanting freedom was understandable. Nobody wanted to live as a captive.

But fighting their own comrades for money and comfort… that was sheer cold‑bloodedness.

Jing Xi’s fingers tapped against the armrest as he thought of Gold Mask; then he rose.
“Let’s go see.”

The two walked out, and halfway ran into Li Yuan rushing up.

“Boss, big haul!” Li Yuan crowed. “Old A’s team brought back a full hold of processed grade‑three energy! Old Dog’s team, three advanced fighters—and an active military mech!”

Jing Xi frowned. “I told you already—no illegal seizures.”

“What d’you mean, Boss?” Li Yuan grinned sheepishly. “They didn’t rob anyone.”

Fang Liang, walking on his other side, interjected: “Then where did these come from?”

Li Yuan beamed: “Maintaining order.”

Jing Xi: “…”
Fang Liang: “Order for who?”

Li Yuan counted on his fingers. “Two mercenary groups—we heard they basically forced us to take their energy, said no wasn’t an option. As for the fighters and mech, Tiger gave them. They’d just looted a battlefield—these were stolen.”

Jing Xi’s eyes chilled instantly.

The military’s control over armaments was strict. If weapons went missing in wartime, whoever was responsible faced crushing punishment, careers ruined.

“Send them back,” Jing Xi ordered coldly. “Wherever they were stolen from.”

Li Yuan: “…Huh?”

He and Fang Liang exchanged looks. “But they didn’t say from where…”

They reached the hovercar. Jing Xi pulled the door open, one long leg stepping onto the runner, and slid inside.

“Set me a meeting with Tiger’s leader. I need to talk to him.”

Li Yuan gaped. Over some random war machines? Wasn’t this overkill?

Already taken—who returns things?!

Climbing grudgingly into the car, he muttered, “What’re you even gonna talk about?”

Jing Xi: “Order.”

Li Yuan: “…”

---

Zone C Complex.

Once office towers, the buildings now stood cracked and overgrown in mutant plants. Extreme Shadow hadn’t redeveloped them, only seeded game equipment inside—leaving ruin and jungle fused together.

In the entrance hall, Jing Xi snapped his fingers. The building’s AI flared on, projections showing the Ghost members already engaged on the third floor.

“They moved quick,” Li Yuan whistled. “Ghost recruits tougher every day.”

Elevator doors slid open; the three ascended.

Upstairs, contestants marked with numbers fought inside nine‑grids across the floor.

Each grid had an initial set of numbers. Duplicate numbers lost value. Worthless numbers meant elimination.

The simplest way to make your number useful? Kill the ones who made it duplicate. Remove them, and only your set remained valid.

From behind one‑way glass, Jing Xi studied their faces.

They wore Ghost uniforms, but no masks. Stripped of them?

His gaze traced their hands, exposed throats. Skin looked normal.

Then was Gold Mask’s grotesque change unique—or just one instance?

Li Yuan was busy critiquing their combat styles with Fang Liang.

“Don’t kill them all,” Jing Xi said flatly, and turned away. “I still have use for them.”

Self‑fallen men, he thought coldly, deserved no pity.

---

Meanwhile, Chi Yao tossed the suppressant ampoule into a recycling bot without hesitation.

An unidentified injection—like hell he’d use it. What if it scarred that beauty’s face? Where would be the fun in that?

But going through a rut… damn, what a pain!

By the time the warship landed at Imperial Army HQ, he’d endured a night of it, forcing down tears, burying pheromone scent by sheer willpower.

“Major General Jing.”
“Good morning, Major General Jing.”

Salutes echoed as officers passed, but he ignored them, jaw tight. Afraid a single reply would betray the sob in his throat.

Outside, crowds of officers gathered for the welcome. By status, Jing Xi should’ve walked behind Pei Zhenyue. But Chi Yao kept his distance—he didn’t do “old men.”

Yet everyone’s eyes locked on him.

The same uniform, the same face—but today Major General Jing seemed different.

Eyes rimmed faint red, sharp gaze softened, his usual overwhelming aura dulled. Without the edge, his god‑tier looks shone brighter still.

More personnel gathered, watching.

A middle‑aged alpha major sidled up, unable to resist.
“General Jing, sir! I’m from Training Camp 18. Been an admirer for years.”

Chi Yao didn’t answer, kept walking.

The man licked dry lips and pressed closer, eyes greasy.
“Sir, will you be dining later? Allow me the honor?”
“You don’t look well. Maybe come rest at my place first? I live close by…”

Others saw the sycophant buzzing around Jing Xi, and noticed Jing Xi’s tolerance. Maybe… a chance to cozy up too?

Ranked or marginalized, he was still a major general. Even scraps from his table would last them months.

Just as ambition sparked—the air cracked, a scream breaking it.

The man flew meters, clutching his gut in the dirt.

Blood drained from faces. One word, and he strikes?

Chi Yao loomed over him, shadow cold, killing intent sharp enough to draw breath.
“Scum like you—also think you can covet me?”

The major turned crimson, exposeda and shamed.

“You can’t just assault people! Even if you’re a major general! If you refuse, just say no! Does skill give you the right to—”

But he got no further—Chi Yao grabbed his neck, hoisted him off the floor.

“You?” Chi Yao sneered. “Think you’re fit to share a meal with me?”

The man choked, face turning black. Any struggle only tightened the chokehold.

“Help—!” His toes barely scraped the ground before Chi Yao drove a knee into his ribs, twisted his arm backward until it cracked, then booted his calf till it snapped.

The man crumpled, shrieking.

Spectators jerked to intervene—only to be flung aside by Chi Yao’s single‑hand counters. One after another they fell.

His blade‑sharp eyes cut across the circle.
“What? You want broken limbs too?”

Every officer who met his gaze froze as if facing death.

Was this the true Major General Jing? So brutal, fearsome—it was terrifying.

Chi Yao never tolerated insult, but coupled with the rage of a foreign body’s rut, his emotions had warped into bloodlust.

Better to slaughter these hypocrites… wipe out the filth.

“I… I’m sorry! I don’t dare!” the broken major gurgled through bloody lips, soaked in cold sweat. His jaw trembled, words spilling as he begged.

Chi Yao’s boot slammed into his face.

Body hit stone with a dull crunch, twitching.

When word reached Pei Zhenyue, the man was already half‑crippled.

Storming in, Pei Zhenyue dismissed non‑essential personnel. “Jing Xi!”

Chi Yao paused mid‑step, tossing his gloves into a recycling drone.
“If I hadn’t held back, would he still be alive?”

Pei Zhenyue’s brow furrowed, gaze on the mangled officer.
“You think nothing can be solved by words? Where did your discipline go?”

There were too many eyes watching. Even he might not cover Jing Xi if this escalated further.

“Discipline?” Chi Yao’s lip curled. “It’s because I follow every rule that vermin feel free to climb on my head. Don’t blame me for warning you—anyone who comes at me, better wash their necks clean first.”