books44 Chapter 496 [Empire] Horn
Chapter 496 [Empire] Horn
Chapter 496 [Empire] Horn
Sunlight filtered through thin clouds onto the training grounds, the air fresh and tinged with a hint of morning moisture. On the training grounds, everyone's figures intertwined into fast-paced lines, the clatter of footsteps and the roar of supernatural powers pulsing alternately echoing, as if the entire field were breathing.
Qianmo and I remained on our positions, working in perfect harmony, accustomed to this almost unspoken rapport. Our opponents put a lot of pressure on us from the start, their abilities reacting quickly and their coordination developing its own rhythm.
Qianmo's plant powers remained the primary defensive force. His vines followed him like a shadow, forming a solid barrier that intercepted the attacking energy waves. I was responsible for breaking through this barrier, and I often took the initiative in the attack. His every move was precise, and my attacks were made smoother by his unwavering defense.
Today's confrontation wasn't as easy as usual. I began to feel a dull ache throughout my body, especially in my shoulder when I dodged an energy attack just now. Although Qianmo was still by my side, my strength seemed to be draining away. The dormancy of the green seedling seemed to have caused me to fall into a state of instability, gradually affecting my combat readiness.
One of the attackers suddenly unleashed a powerful energy ball, sending it hurtling towards me. I quickly dodged it, but accidentally twisted my ankle. The wave of pain immediately caused me to lose my balance briefly, nearly falling to the ground.
Qianmo seemed to sense something was amiss with me, his gaze instantly sharp and anxious, yet he remained silent. His vines followed me like a shadow, catching me from the brink of fall and quickly pulling me back to a standing position. Although we didn't exchange many words, I could sense his instinctive protection. Even so, a strange anxiety welled up within me. I could sense my own discomfort, especially without the support of the battle plants. The uneasiness and confinement almost made it difficult to breathe.
"Take a break," Qianmo said softly, as if he realized that I was losing my temper.
I nodded, standing there silently, trying to catch my breath, feeling the heavy fatigue gradually enveloping my body. This training was truly much more difficult than I had imagined.
Sheathing my weapon, I felt a heavy fatigue creeping from the soles of my feet, spreading through every muscle. The noise of the training ground faded, leaving only the echo of my own body, silent and still. The composure forced by my taut nerves now seemed strangely heavy. My gaze vacantly gazed out across the training ground, and I couldn't help but recall what Qianmo had said—he, too, was a plant. His supernatural plants seemed to carry a kind of solid strength rooted in the earth, something I could rely on and depend on.
However, such thoughts made me sneer. I've always been good at self-soothing, constantly reminding myself to be independent and strong. In the past, I was always bound by that proud independence, like a lone tree standing in the cold wind, gritting its teeth, even when no one was around, it remained firm. I used to be proud of this—those who can grit their teeth and persevere are strong. Those who rely on others seem to lack a certain "noble" temperament.
Growing up, "independence" seemed to be the most fashionable symbol, a symbol of personal excellence. But along with it came a quiet apathy. People used "independence" to draw a clear line between themselves and others, using "indifference" to maintain their dignity. I used to be like that, believing that no matter how difficult it was, I had to bear it alone, never worrying others, and even avoiding any opportunity to expose myself to vulnerability.
But now, I can still clearly remember the loneliness those days brought—I could never truly get close to others, could never establish a deep connection with those around me, and always wrapped myself in a cold mask. Even behind those smiles, there was still an unspeakable fatigue deep down.
I took a deep breath, raised my head, and my gaze fell on Qianmo again. He stood in a corner of the training ground, his expression normal, quiet and focused. That stoic, slightly unexpressed warmth suddenly made me feel strangely relieved—I didn't have to grit my teeth all the time, and having someone to rely on wasn't necessarily a weakness.
I know it's not that I don't need him. It's that I once didn't dare admit that I needed him. I'm independent, I'm lonely. Perhaps because I haven't truly let go of anything in so long, I've hidden this true sense of dependence so deeply.
Perhaps, I am not cold and heartless. As Qianmo said, I can also be like a plant, with roots and dependence. I can show a little vulnerability in front of others and admit that I am not indestructible.
"It's not wrong to be able to rely on others." I said softly, my voice a little low, but as if I was comforting myself.
I turned around, wanting to tell him that it wasn't that I didn't need it, but that I hadn't dared to rely on anyone before. But there seemed no need to say that. I had already acknowledged in my heart that, sometimes, being able to rely on others is the greatest form of courage.
I stood quietly in a corner of the training ground, my gaze fixed on the cold sky in the distance. The sky gradually darkened, the clouds thickening as if suppressing some unresolved emotion. The gray-blue silence left me feeling lost, as if the entire world had become distant and speechless. The wind blew gently around me, carrying a biting chill, but this chill didn't frighten me. Instead, it filled me with a deep sense of calm. My heartbeat seemed to slow, my breathing even. There was only this tranquility.
In this silence, my heart becomes remarkably clear. I used to tell myself I didn't need anyone, didn't need any dependence; as long as I was strong enough, I could handle any adversity. But now, that kind of resilient loneliness isn't something to be proud of. Looking up at the sky, I suddenly realized that dependence doesn't equate to weakness, nor does it mean losing yourself.
I wanted to rely on others, perhaps because I'd been wrapped in a solid shell for too long and was finally tired. Humans always crave connection, and this connection is precisely part of the meaning of our existence. And in moments like this, I could feel a part of me begin to loosen. The feeling was no longer repressed, but a tenderness that was finally released.
My gaze fell back on Qianmo. He stood quietly not far away, seemingly noticing my gaze and turning slightly to glance at me. That look was filled with a depth, as if needing no further words. I saw myself in his eyes, my once hard shell and the vulnerability I once concealed, now exposed to his gaze. And this, in turn, freed me from shame and instead filled me with a profound sense of relief.
Perhaps dependence isn't shameful. Perhaps allowing oneself to accept vulnerability is true courage. I took a deep breath and gently closed my eyes: I can rely on others. I can allow myself to rely on others. And this is precisely the strength deep within me that I've never realized.
Opening my eyes, I looked up at the sky again. It was still cold, still distant, but I no longer felt it was insurmountable. Perhaps, within its coldness, I could find my own warmth. Find my own peace in the company of others.
A sharp horn blast suddenly pierced the still, cold air, like a cold blade piercing the heart. The sound was piercing, swiftly cutting through the surrounding silence, reverberating across the training grounds and gradually spreading to every corner. Unlike the slow, melodious blasts that occasionally rang out during training, it was rapid and tinged with a hint of panic, urgently cutting through the dreary atmosphere of winter, as if reminding everyone—the time for alert had arrived.
My eyes instinctively scanned the surroundings as the sound reached me, and the other students' reactions were almost instantaneous. We'd been at this military academy for so long that our sensitivity to such sounds was almost instinctive. The Eleventh Military Academy was unlike any ordinary training school. It wasn't just a place for training those with special abilities; it was also a crucial base for producing qualified soldiers for the Imperial Army. Unlike other ordinary military academies, the Eleventh Military Academy was directly under the control of the Fourth Wang Army. It was a gamble: upon graduation, we could enter the Fourth Wang Army's corps, or we could lose our eligibility to join any corps forever. Regardless, we were now a part of the corps, our relationship with the army had long been one. This was evident on the military computer we'd been upgraded with upon arrival. The cadets were students, but those at the Eleventh Military Academy were soldiers. Every time I heard the warning horn, I couldn't help but feel nervous, an indescribable feeling welled up within me—not pressure, but something else entirely.
On the training ground, nearly everyone stopped what they were doing, their eyes growing alert. Even the air seemed to grow heavy. Even the students, who had been playfully laughing and joking, had calmed down and stood still, their expressions solemn. All the noise vanished instantly at the sudden blast of the horn, leaving only the sound of the wind and the rustling of approaching footsteps in the distance.
In a sense, this sound signifies a warning, a threat. Although we are in a military academy, and our daily training has honed us to cope with all kinds of difficulties, the moment the warning horn sounds, all courage and composure seem to be suppressed by the sudden tension. It is a soldier's instinct, a life-or-death alert.
I could hear my heartbeat accelerating, and every inch of the air around me felt strangely different. Even the chill of the training grounds felt icy and biting. All the weapons and equipment suddenly became true "equipment," not just training props. Everyone adjusted their positions, preparing for the upcoming mission, their movements quick and decisive, as if they were already accustomed to this sudden change. But it was only as if.
"Alert." A low command broke the silence, and then everyone began to consciously enter a state of preparation. I knew what the meaning behind this alert horn was.
The heaviness of the backpack became increasingly noticeable on my shoulders, especially at this moment. The opening of the backpack bulged slightly, and the plants within, motionless and unwieldy, seemed incredibly heavy. The green seedlings were increasingly crowded inside the backpack, though they remained dormant, their branches and leaves tightly curled together, as if trying to conserve their last bit of energy. Their vitality was astonishing, but at this moment, they clearly couldn't offer me any help.
Unlike the green seedling, the transparent young vine remained silent. It remained translucent, as thin as a silk thread, its icy aura faintly visible as it flowed through the air. Though its size remained unchanged, the chill it exuded gave me a faint sense of its continued power. The transparent young vine coiled tightly around the corner of my backpack, like a cold snake ready to unfurl, silently awaiting my command.
Although they're not as vigorous as they once were, especially the young green seedlings that have fallen dormant, they still give me a deep sense of dependence. I dare not underestimate them, even if they're not at their best. Carrying them feels like a responsibility, knowing they may not fully support me. But at this moment, they're the only source of hope.
I unzipped my backpack and gently pulled the transparent young vine out. Although it didn't release cold air as quickly as usual, it still felt cool to the touch, like a tiny stream of cold air sliding through my fingertips. I glanced down at it, knowing that in the battle ahead, it would be the only strength I could rely on.
"Well, it seems it's you," I whispered to myself, silently stretching it out, feeling a surge of tension rising within me. While it lacked the powerful suppression power of the green seedling, at least its frost power could provide some cushion. Right now, its icy cold was exactly what I needed.
The cyan seedling in my backpack was still in a deep dormancy, and I couldn't force it to wake up. I could only rely on the transparent young vine before me, hoping it would be able to exert its due effect at this moment.
A tense atmosphere hung in the air. With the blast of the bugle call, the entire training ground suddenly filled with bustle and noise. Though the sky remained overcast, threatening snow, the atmosphere within the academy grew tense and solemn. The troops standing in the center of the field stood in unison, majestic and powerful. Each member's gaze was singularly focused. Though they didn't speak to one another, their slightly tense expressions revealed a shared understanding that this was no ordinary training exercise.
The Beast Taming Squad stood to one side of us, surrounded by a formation of well-trained exotic beasts. They formed a deep bond with the team members, as if they were one. They stood in perfect alignment, each beast enormous and mighty, emanating an intimidating aura. Their gazes intertwined with their masters', as if responding to a mutual understanding. The scales and fur of the exotic beasts shone in the chill wind, as hard as cold steel. Their presence heightened the tension in the air.
My class, Superpower Class 1, was still the most eye-catching in the crowd. We stood in a row, perfectly aligned. Everyone's expression was serious and focused, not daring to let down their guard for even a moment. Our abilities came from superpowers, not physical strength, so we didn't rely on superpowers or mechas like other classes did. But the unique aura created by our superpowers still felt like a hidden threat.
Standing behind us was Mecha Squad 1, draped in heavy mecha components. Their outer shells shone with a metallic sheen, thick and imbued with a powerful presence. While seemingly unwieldy, they possessed a perfect combination of strength and speed. In combat, they could instantly transform into simple, body-enveloping mechas. While not as capable as full-fledged mecha pilots, they possessed basic mecha capabilities. The Level superpowered mechas, in particular, possessed exceptional mobility and attack power, often inflicting immense damage in a short period of time.
Yet, even within our class, not everyone possesses powerful superpowers. Each student has their own strengths, but most are capable of excelling in one-on-one or small-scale confrontations. However, today's gathering is more than just a simple exercise. At this crucial moment, each of us understands that this isn't a test of individual strength, but rather a challenge to our collective unity and rapport.
I could feel the pressure and tension all around me. Everyone was silently preparing themselves. Both me and my classmates knew the upcoming battle would be an unprecedented challenge.