books44 Chapter 465 [Empire] Victory
Chapter 465 [Empire] Victory
The passage of time seemed to slowly erase everything, and I began to get used to the days without Ye Qing. News from the battlefield was so distant, and aside from occasional snippets from other soldiers, there was almost no concrete information about him. Clearing the battlefield wasn't just about striking the enemy; it was about facing countless unknowns and dangers. Every second was filled with the suspense of life and death.
My days here gradually became both busy and fulfilling. I began to adapt to the pace of this military academy and gradually realized my place. Although I was still not the strongest, at least I had found my own space here. The daily training left me with little time to think about the things happening far away on the battlefield. Sometimes I even thought, if Ye Qing had never appeared, perhaps I could have spent every day in this peaceful state.
But every time the night was quiet, that empty feeling would creep in. Had it been too long since I'd heard from him? Perhaps his mission was truly difficult, or perhaps... he simply didn't plan to contact me again?
These thoughts kept nagging at me. I knew I should let go and adapt to life here, but my deep concern kept me from completely relaxing.
Don't care, but care.
That day, I was walking on the training grounds of the military academy when the news suddenly hit me. Every corner of the Star Network seemed to be awash with reports about Ye Qing—his resounding victory, Wang Sijun's successful annihilation of a massive insect nest. The videos, interviews, and battle analysis were almost too much to take in. The overwhelming amount of news made me stop in my tracks, and I couldn't help but rewatch every piece of news on the computer screen several times.
"Ye Qing, Wang Sijun." These words echoed in my mind, as if everything suddenly became much more real.
At that moment, I finally realized clearly that every battle Ye Qing fought wasn't just for his own victory—it was the fate of the entire empire. The Wang Si Army he led was no longer just a simple military unit, but a "living legend" of the entire interstellar world. Countless Zerg nests and countless alien threats were reduced to ash before him and his team.
The report described the battle in detail.
It was an operation to eliminate an entire hive—a vast, menacing hive lurking in the empire's borderlands, a long-standing threat to the safety of multiple planets. Ye Qing and his four Wang armies launched the assault with breathtaking speed and precise tactics. They braved every ounce of danger and struck directly at the heart of the hive. After dozens of days of desperate fighting, the hive was finally completely destroyed.
Ye Qing in the video remains the calm and decisive figure. His command is a match made in heaven, every decision carefully considered, every command resolute and resolute. With him as their core, the soldiers of Wang Sijun march in unison, never letting up a second. In the video, Ye Qing's figure is sometimes clearly visible, sometimes barely visible amidst the smoke. His undeniable aura nearly eclipses all surrounding light.
I watched the images play out, a mixture of emotions. That was a Ye Qing I had never seen before—no tenderness, no sense of belonging, only endless responsibility and ruthless victory. I realized he wasn't the man I'd imagined, not the warm and nurturing person he'd been. He carried the weight of life and death, the responsibility of an entire empire, and even more. Behind him lay not only a family but also the entire battlefield.
These news and reports seemed to remind me all the time that Ye Qing was not under anyone's control. He was a big man who belonged to the battlefield and the empire, and I was just a spectator standing in a distant corner.
However, this information also made it crystal clear to me—he had truly survived, and with his army and his mission, he had won this crucial battle. No matter how difficult his next mission might be, at least at this moment, the people of the Empire were cheering for him, and his name was once again being hailed by people in every corner of the galaxy.
My emotions were mixed, as if an inexplicable force was surging within me. My concern and anticipation for Ye Qing were instantly drowned out by the news. Should I go find him? This question remained unanswered.
At that moment, my heart was filled with an inexplicable emotion. Hatred? The answer to this question seemed long buried in the depths of the past, yet suddenly it was unearthed at this moment. The original owner's past, the mother and daughter who lived together in the Orcish Alliance, the hero who would never see his father again—these memories seemed to weigh on my chest with an invisible weight, making me breathless.
He was Ye Qing. A figure no one could ignore, a hero of the empire, a great general. To others, he might be a symbol of greatness, an immortal legend. But to the original owner's mother, he was an untouchable regret, an insurmountable distance. Her mother passed away without ever seeing the man she loved. The original owner's mother and daughter relied on each other's company to get through difficult times, but they never received the love and care of their father.
Hate? I'm not sure. Perhaps the original owner's mother once harbored intense resentment. After all, she lived for love, yet ultimately died alone. Perhaps the original owner also harbored resentment and anger toward her father, facing such an indifferent father, the pain she felt had nowhere to vent. However, these emotions haven't spread to me. Perhaps it's because I'm not entirely the original owner. I still haven't found the answer to whether I should hate him, or whether I should regret this incomplete father-daughter relationship.
I tried to calm myself, to sort out my chaotic thoughts. No matter what, he remained that distant, unreachable presence, still standing on the distant battlefield, shouldering his responsibilities and mission. I had no clear answers, only a complex wave of emotions surging within me, unable to subside for a long time.
"Hate?" I asked myself silently.
I still have no answer, only deeper silence.
The excitement in the air subtly shifted with my changing mood. The boys in the dormitory, who had been sharing the news of Ye Qing's resounding victory, suddenly fell silent. Their expressions held a sense of perceived concern, as if they could sense my inner turmoil. The earlier frenzy of excitement over the army's victory was shattered by my silence, as if a moment of celebration had suddenly turned solemn.
A few of the boys exchanged glances, seemingly realizing that I was feeling a bit off. The cheers that had once surrounded Ye Qing's victory gradually died down. They seemed afraid to bring up the topic again, fearing it would irritate me.
One boy, perhaps the most sensitive one, whispered, "Are you okay?"
Although this sentence was simple, it carried a subtle care. His tone was without any unnecessary meaning, as if he wanted to give me some space instead of forcibly breaking the silence.
I simply nodded slightly, pursing my lips. An indescribable wave of emotion surged within me, yet it never fully broke through my defenses. Perhaps they didn't fully understand the complexity of this emotion, but I could sense their thoughtfulness and respect. This silence, in turn, brought me a surprising comfort.
"Don't worry," I whispered. Although my heart was still turbulent, I tried to suppress these emotions and give myself and them some space. "I'm fine."
This situation was truly complex and delicate. Although everyone in the class was competing with each other in energy and strength, for me, the competitive pressure unexpectedly disappeared. My "weakness" wasn't just ordinary weakness, but the kind of "weakness" that no one dared to underestimate, but also didn't create excessive hostility. They knew that my fighting power didn't come from my own abilities, but from my battle plants. The battle plants possessed a powerful suppressive force that could overwhelm almost any enemy, but that wasn't my true strength. Thus, in this competitive environment, I became a unique existence.
Yes, I was still considered "weak," but at the same time, no one dared to see me as a potential threat. My position was precisely one that required no competition, no challenge. This state of affairs made everything feel strange. Although my "identity" wasn't powerful, I was surrounded by an inexplicable respect. This sense of contradiction never arose, but in a way, it also made me feel a sense of relief.
The boys in my class gradually shed their initial sneering and sarcasm towards me and began to approach me in a more friendly way. The stares that might have initially glared at me, questioning whether I was a worthy opponent, gradually relaxed. Some even reached out to me, inviting me to join their small groups to share training tips or chat during breaks. While these invitations and actions were not malicious, I could clearly sense the subtle shift in attitude.
We began to get along like friends. There was no threat, no hostility. We practiced, discussed, and even casually joked with each other. The atmosphere was relaxed and natural. Those looks that initially seemed cold, even repulsive, gradually became peaceful, even tinged with warmth.
Of course, all of this presupposes that I will never be a threat to them. In this class, other students either strive to compete based on their strength or strive to earn that rare spot in the "Wang Sijun" category. It seems I only need to maintain my current status quo, neither outstanding nor the worst. My "weakness" is seen as "unique" by them, but it poses no real challenge.
Gradually, I realized that I was no longer a competitor. I was like an undisturbed spectator, standing in the fierce competition without having to actually participate.
While this peacefulness didn't conform to the conventional rules of competition, it did allow me to find my place to some extent. The absence of hostility and competition allowed me to easily and comfortably integrate into this class that had once oppressed me.
However, I knew deep down that this state of affairs wouldn't last forever. Eventually, I would have my own "tests," and I would no longer be able to remain a comfortable spectator.
In this upcoming first-level small group competition, my role has become extremely delicate. Each group's results are related to the selection points for the final qualifiers, and as a "non-standard" competitor, I seem destined to be in an awkward position in this process.
The students in the special abilities class were naturally considering whether to invite me to join their group.
After all, logically speaking, my existence didn't conform to traditional competition rules—I possessed no real offensive abilities, relying solely on the combat plants in my backpack. While my abilities were powerful, they didn't belong to me, almost like an external force. The "external" nature of these abilities made me question whether they could truly provide any tangible benefit to the team during the competition.
So, everyone was hesitant. On the surface, they didn't show any rejection of me. Instead, they were subtly waiting for me to make a request, as if the moment I spoke, everyone would automatically invite me to join. But no one actually spoke. After all, while my battle plants had sufficient suppressive power, no one knew if I could fully utilize my strengths in teamwork, and no one wanted to take excessive risks in such a crucial match.
I stood there like an outsider, clearly playing a crucial role in this season's competition, but still no one included me in the team. When I realized this, I couldn't help but feel a mixed feeling: they might not exclude me or deliberately target me, but this subtle neglect made me feel a little uneasy.
Moreover, I also understand that what I really want now is not to join anyone's team, but to gain enough independence and trust through my own continuous efforts, and eventually no longer be a "alternative" to be chosen - but a partner who is truly valued.
Yes, it's easier said than done. While I knew everyone had to participate and form teams, finding my place in such a complex environment was no easy task. The students in the special abilities class had already established a certain tacit understanding and trust with one another, and that "consensual" interaction had long made me feel like an outsider. Even if every class was expected to participate, breaking down existing relationships and structures would take time.
I'm not so much hesitating about whether to team up with the rest of the psychic class as I am weighing the pros and cons. If I do join, I'm afraid I'll just be an "add-on," relying on the abilities of combat plants rather than my own strength, and sooner or later, someone will see me as a "burden" or "dependency." Furthermore, their strengths might not necessarily be compatible with my psychic powers and fighting style. Whether joining them will truly benefit me remains a question.
Collaborating with other classes presents another risk. Competition within the Special Ability Class is already fierce, and other classes might not accept an outside force like ours. Everyone strives for their own interests, and any collaboration is likely to lead to even more scheming and complex game-playing. I even began to consider whether I could enter the competition in a different way, fighting alone, or finding a way that wasn't so directly dependent on the group.
But then again, just thinking about all this feels so far-fetched. Since everyone else has to participate, I need to find my own rhythm and identify my true strengths. Perhaps it won't depend on a particular class, but rather on my own interactions with those around me, finding a path that works for me. Ultimately, no matter what, I don't want to be the one passively waiting to be chosen by others.