Beneath the Traction Field (Part 1)

On the operational map, the distance to the South Pole had shrunk to the size of a pen tip. The Stream Blades battle formation slowed down, maintaining its forward momentum while quietly making final preparations before stepping onto the infernal battlefield. "Did you finish talking to them?" On one side of the marching formation, Han Qingyu stopped and turned his head to glance at Wen Jifei. He spoke in dialect, his lips curving into a brief, easy grin as he finished. "Yeah," Wen Jifei nodded, his lips curling into a similar smile as he looked up. *Leave. Everyone, leave. Harbor no illusions, and under no circumstances linger to fight.* That was the message Wen Jifei had just passed to Azure. In truth, there was one more thing he hadn't said, because there was no need to—*We will make one final attempt to destroy that traction field.* For the Lost Continent Expedition, humanity was already destined not to conclude it with a "victory." As for Stream Blades, after carving their way here, all they needed to do now was maintain constant pressure on the traction field. Whether they broke it or not, the strategic objective of the Redemption Offensive was already fulfilled. Aside from a fraction of blindly overoptimistic civilians, hardly anyone in the human world who knew the true battlefield situation dared to dream that a mere 4,500 people could actually destroy that super traction field. That was an objective Azure had originally planned to throw hundreds of thousands, perhaps even a million soldiers, at to achieve. "Still, there's no way back... so we might as well give it a shot." That was the consensus Han Qingyu and Wen Jifei had just reached. The icy wind of the tundra scraped against their cheeks, catching snow in their unkempt black hair and sending it whipping about. In that instant, both men felt a dazed pang in their chests. Who could have imagined that two boys who used to brawl together in high school and fail their college entrance exams side by side would stand here years later, waging a battle unto death to redeem all of humanity? "Didn't say goodbye?" Han Qingyu asked quietly. "Didn't give them any instructions about Yao Yue back on the Peninsula?" "I thought about it." Wen Jifei tilted his head toward the Peninsula for a fraction of a second, then turned back, speaking slowly. "But if you say goodbye to one, there are too many people to say goodbye to. If you cling to attachments, there are too many people you can't let go of. I'm not the only one here like that..." He met Han Qingyu's eyes and broke into a self-deprecating chuckle. "Fine. I asked around. She's aboard the mothership, and the Doomsday Great Wall hasn't been breached. I believe she'll get away... This time, I choose to believe in fate." "Yeah, me too! Got no choice but to believe," the Little Prince chimed in from the side with a grin. On this journey, Stream Blades had reached the point where their only two masterminds had both chosen to leave everything in the hands of fate. That meant there truly was no longer any room for trickery or clever maneuvers. All they could do was give their all and leave the rest to heaven. "Is that so? Ha, hahaha..." Hearing the Little Prince's words, Han Qingyu burst out laughing. Wen Jifei, the Little Prince, Ashleia, Ian, and many soldiers in the ranks all turned to look at him in bewilderment. He usually wasn't like this. He usually only acted cool in the middle of battle... Under thousands of puzzled gazes, Han Qingyu stopped laughing, though his smile lingered as he raised a finger to point at his own chest. "Then today, I am fate." What he actually meant to convey was probably, *Trust me. Believe in me.* Yet he said it in a way entirely unlike his usual self. The moment the words left his mouth, his smile hardened, and the gentleness in his eyes turned chillingly stern. He turned around. "What did he mean?" In the rear, He Tangtang, still getting accustomed to his newly surging strength, looked up and asked blankly. At this stage of the battle, if there was still anyone among the 4,500 troops of Stream Blades who remained optimistic—or at least not pessimistic—it was him. What Tangtang was currently pondering: *Is Daie tasty? What will happen if I eat it?* "He's doing psychological conditioning for the soldiers... and for us," the Little Prince explained stiffly, turning away with a look of distaste. "Qingzi wants us to believe in him unconditionally—to permit him to do whatever he wants, to try whatever he must," Wen Jifei rephrased quietly, his eyes sorrowful. The entire core circle of Stream Blades knew Qingzi was in bad shape. But facing that battlefield ahead, if they harbored even a shred of reluctance or the faintest desire to preserve his life, they would have zero chance of success. They had to let him try, let him shoulder the burden, and even let him die. *** When Wen Jifei looked back, that posturing bastard had already walked some distance away, heading back to the very front of the formation. *Fine,* Wen Jifei thought, finding a quiet sense of release within himself. *We've already come this far. Whether we doubt him or cling to him, would the outcome change?* Of course, Han Qingyu himself might actually have a shot at fighting his way out. Considering combat strength and speed, he and Wu Xu both had a real chance of making it out alive. But that kind of logic, that kind of option, simply did not exist within Stream Blades. In a situation like this, tell him that humanity's future rested on his shoulders? Pointless. He had never once claimed he was willing to do anything for so-called humanity or the world. Back then, he had only agreed to join Azure because he had to survive. Later, for Captain Milla, he had leapt up as a mere recruit to slay his very first Great Spike. For his innocent brothers in Squad 1777 who had died, he chose to hunt down the subordinates, the kin, and the person of Azure's first-generation Starlight. Entrusted to the death by General Ivan, and out of sentiment for Old Man Chen, he had chosen to charge Daie alone... That was who he was. The world knew him as formidable and sharp, never realizing that deep down, he was simple and occasionally tender... because he despised showing that side of himself. So, "Hey, Qingzi, do you know how cute you were during that bout of amnesia?" "Yeah, dumb as a brick. Actually pretty cute." "If you ask me, he was funniest when he chickened out. Looked just like some little critter clinging to a windowsill staring out at the world... made you want to grab him by the scruff of his neck and hoist him up." "Right? Utterly hilarious." "Hahahaha, he even went on a blind date!" "..." Like a pack of hyenas, the big shots of Stream Blades suddenly swarmed together, mercilessly mocking him... They had waited an eternity for this chance, fearing they might never have another. Han Qingyu played it cool, refusing to respond or look back. They didn't care either, trailing behind him, chattering and laughing the whole way... Until, at a certain moment, they crested an icy ridge. Every single one of them stopped dead in their tracks, sucking in a sharp breath. All chatter vanished in an instant. Everyone fell utterly silent. First, the leaders at the head of the formation fell still as one, frozen in place, staring in the exact same direction. The soldiers behind them were still chatting and joking among themselves... Then the second rank came up, stopped, and fell silent. The third rank. The fourth rank. ...Soon, all 4,500 soldiers of Stream Blades had crossed the icy ridge. Retaining their formation by sheer habit, they stood atop an enormous slab of glacial rock, completely silent, every set of eyes fixed in the same direction. They had known long ago that the Great Spike traction field at the Pole was towering and colossal. Long before this, they had seen Rejector photographs showing the dense, monstrous swarm of Great Spikes surrounding it... They had believed that with their will to march into hell, their resolve to die, and the surging morale sparked by Major Qing's return, they would be able to face it all with calm, unwavering resolve. Yet at this moment, after battling through eleven defensive lines to finally stand here, when their own eyes actually beheld it... The fearless warriors and generals of Stream Blades stiffened unconsciously—their gazes frozen, their bodies frozen... Then their legs turned weak, and tremors began to shake their bodies and the hands clutching their blades. These violent rogues had always carried an air of reckless defiance and could weather anything. Yet at this moment, not a single one could hold their ground. Not one. Constructed entirely from dead iron, the traction field was pitch-black and ruthless. It was far too immense. Even standing at a considerable distance, they had to tilt their heads back to take it in—the angle was so steep that their necks ached. And the Great Spikes surrounding the field... In the high-altitude satellite images from the Rejectors, they had appeared as a dark, murky expanse. Seeing them in the flesh, it was impossible to estimate their numbers by eye; they stretched past the horizon with no end in sight. The immediate visual shock made them feel as if their 4,500 men had foolishly rushed here to assault an entire country—no, an entire alien civilization. Against such a contrast, their own insignificance reduced every shred of ironclad resolve to brittle, fragile ash. "Fuck!" Someone in the ranks cursed softly under his breath. At this point, every single one of them had mastered their Huaxian profanity.