"There will certainly be more source energy craft like the CA117 in the future—better ones, and in greater numbers. But as for pilots like Major General Yang, I doubt we'll ever see another."
"Why?"
"Because fusion degree testing technology is improving, and the scope of screening is expanding. Nowadays, kids with a fusion degree below C+ don't even get a chance to enlist... Don't forget, Azure's craft pilots are selected from among them too."
"Fair point. Still, I feel piloting talent has fuck-all to do with source energy fusion degree. I'd suggest Azure reconsider, though putting that into practice would be quite a headache."
This was a conversation between Yang Qingbai and an Azure research division supervisor on the day the CA117 was delivered.
The speaker had voiced it casually, yet it seemed to foreshadow the creeping dawn of an era of "humanity's internal stratification."
Recall that the ideologies of Snow Lotus and Ne shared a similar tenet: they believed that for the overarching evolution and leap of the human race, cataclysmic destruction was merely the tempering of civilization. In that process, all "useless people" were expendable.
Under that framework, Yang Qingbai was precisely one such "useless person."
In fact, at present, among all the blazing stars revealed in this era of source energy warfare, he might well be the only one who held the throne in a domain while remaining a "useless person."
Though he usually bantered and cracked jokes within Stream Blades' core team, Yang Qingbai was perhaps the only one among them who commanded a realm almost entirely his own.
In the brief history and realm of source energy craft pilots, he, Yang Qingbai, was the undisputed strongest—the greatest living legend, boasting the most glorious combat record to date.
Those within that world would never say his strength came from growing up and fighting beside Major Qing and Second Lieutenant Wen.
Nearly every craft pilot in that world greeted one another over the comms with tongue trills just like him, until it gradually hardened into custom and culture.
New recruits there chased in his footsteps, imitating and studying his aerial techniques and maneuvers, dreaming of becoming the next Yang Qingbai.
As a man who had always loved to show off, Major General Yang naturally couldn't help feeling proud and pleased with himself.
Yet deep down, the thing Yang Qingbai truly cared about most was never any of that.
Compared to those accolades, what he cherished far more was another dimension of his existence: he was perhaps the final heroic fantasy and anchor of faith for all those courageous youths in the world whose fusion degrees failed the cut.
Without realizing it, he embodied the last shred of self-esteem, confidence, and refusal to surrender for a massive portion of humanity.
On this expedition to Mars, out of more than a hundred thousand personnel in the fleet, Yang Qingbai was the sole "utterly useless person."
"Watch closely, all of you. Your daddy here is damn well useful as hell." The craft glided at constant speed as Yang Qingbai locked his gaze onto the monitor.
On screen, near and far, at least forty red dots were converging like mad.
Here they come! At the same instant, five Great Spike craft dove head-on while at least eight more pincer-attacked from the left and right, with even more trailing behind... Under these conditions, the correct response was unequivocally to retreat.
Yet from a steady glide, the CA117 suddenly accelerated like a bullet bursting from a barrel, rocketing forward in an instant and leaving the first wave of interceptors behind.
At the same time, it plunged itself entirely into the wave upon wave of Great Spike attack rings.
The second wave pounced immediately.
The CA117 was supposed to dive... but it didn't. It executed a sudden stop, wrenched its bow upward, and bolted straight vertical.
Poised in midair, it made a feint to strafe right...
*Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!* In a flash, four Great Spike craft hurtled toward its right, ramming hard—and struck only empty air.
Left?
Instantly, three more Great Spike craft anticipated a move left and slammed over.
Simultaneously, another five anticipated high, sweeping across the top to intercept.
Miss.
Miss.
If anyone had been watching the battle at this moment, they would have realized that after finishing this entire sequence of maneuvers, the CA117's position in the air had barely moved from where it started.
In other words, over the past five seconds, it had evaded the coordinated strike of the second wave purely through the hull's oscillation.
It looked very much like a desperate gamble on sheer luck. For an ordinary person, it certainly would have been. But for Major General Yang Qingbai, it wasn't. The technical maneuver he had just performed already existed in the world of human source energy craft pilots, and it was extraordinarily famous.
In Azure's Advanced Aerial Combat Manual, it was designated "Type Y No. 7 Axis Shaking," rated S-rank in difficulty.
In the world of craft pilots who idolized him blindly, they called it the "Dance of the Dragon Wings."
Meanwhile, among a certain spiteful crowd that never showed Major General Yang proper respect, they had given it a lengthy moniker that gradually spread across the entire Huaxia cultural sphere: "The 'I Am Innocent!' Wobble."
For if personified, this series of maneuvers truly looked like a person shaking their head, stomping their feet, and wildly flailing both arms in a fit of petulance, vehemently insisting they had been wronged.
After "The 'I Am Innocent!' Wobble," the CA117 found itself in a relatively safe and exceedingly advantageous position for at least three to five seconds.
From here, Yang Qingbai could pitch the bow down to break through straight ahead, or dive into a vertical plunge. Whichever he chose, he would temporarily break free from the Great Spike attack perimeter and seek an opportunity to slip away.
Yet—*whoosh!* The CA117 chose to climb. Its bow tilted slightly forward before aggressively launching toward the Great Spike cluster high on the opposite flank.
This was unquestionably the worst possible choice...
Yet Yang Qingbai did it anyway.
Because over there, those craft had assumed they wouldn't need to join the encirclement and were continuing to fan outward on their search.
"Get the fuck back here, all of you." In the cockpit, Yang Qingbai wore a ferocious glare and a smirk on his lips.
Behind him, the ship's original pilot and the Azure warriors aboard had all followed Yang Qingbai's instructions, strapping themselves securely into their dead iron alloy seats with safety harnesses.
*Boom!* Rising diagonally, the CA117 punched clean through the hull of a medium-sized Great Spike craft from beneath.
Like a knife sinking into a beast's softest belly.
Amid the screech of rending metal, dozens of Great Spikes—including a Red Shoulder—fell toward the surface alongside the splintered wreckage.
Meanwhile, like a predatory beast that had finished its kill, the CA117 shook its head violently. Shucking off the wreckage, its stern swung wide in midair, executing a sweeping spin that brought it precisely around to face a new direction.
*Good thing that was only a medium-sized one, and barely moving at the time. If it had been a large craft, I'd probably be done for after the crash too.*
"I can't ram another one," Yang Qingbai said, in a tone that sounded remarkably like *I can't drink another drop.*
"Got it," Han Qingyu answered over the comms from atop the hull, still seated with one hand gripping the ejection hatch.
By this time, the cluster of Great Spike craft high above had nearly all turned around, pointing their bows downward to dive straight at the CA117. At the same time, the ones evaded earlier were swarming in pursuit from the left.
"Doesn't look like there's anywhere left to run either." Yang Qingbai admitted this frankly, refusing to boast for the sake of pride.
Because it was an objective fact. Under the current circumstances, technique alone wasn't enough for a pilot to resolve this.
Faced with a massive disparity in numbers and an utterly disadvantageous position, relying on the craft alone to break through would leave even a god at the controls with little confidence.
At this point, the CA117 was trapped like a beast in a cage. There were no good headings or routes left to choose from. The only marginally better direction was down and to the right—to flee, betting on speed and even more on luck.
The problem was that the Great Spike swarm had naturally realized this as well. A portion of their craft had already broken off in advance, racing ahead to cut off that escape...
Then, an unexpected scene unfolded before them.
That solitary human craft chose to continue climbing, charging straight at them like an eagle stubbornly soaring into a storm of torrential rain, lightning, and hail.
The descending Great Spike swarm blotting out the sky was overwhelming in number, an impenetrable wall.
"It has a death wish!"
"It's over."
"Wait, what is that?!"
In the eyes of those Great Spikes that had once set foot on the Blue Star, a human figure rose to his feet atop that human source energy craft, standing tall.
"Is that... the super Yanxiu wielder?"
"Yes, it's that human!"
Not even Han Qingyu could have guessed that these low-to-mid-tier Great Spikes fleeing from the South Pole would actually recognize and remember him.
To be precise, they didn't remember Han Qingyu's face; what they remembered was his signature weapon loadout and combat stance.
By now, the CA117 and the Great Spike swarm were hurtling toward each other, both pushing their speed to the absolute limit, neither showing the slightest hesitation or wavering.
Han Qingyu stood there. To his left and right, two blue-glowing pillar swords hung suspended in midair, humming with restless energy.
In his left hand, he held a dead iron battleblade.
His right hand was empty.
His other dead iron battleblade was already airborne. Spinning violently in mid-flight at a speed surpassing even the craft, it blasted straight toward the large source energy craft directly in front of them.
Rusty Sister Dimple Slash... this time, to fell a warship.
Chapter 908