SZAR Chapter 92

At the adjutant’s “Fire” command, a cascade of artillery fell from the sky, raising dark clouds of dust. Black and gray coated the gang’s territory, turning the outside world into an oppressive shadow.

Erwen stood by the window. He could not see the scene outside, relying solely on his hearing. The sounds were familiar, the main cannon of the annihilation ship striking the ground.

Silently, he clenched the spatula in his hand.

Outside, Adjutant Clade and his squad descended under the cover of artillery fire. He gestured south and north, signaling his team to split and detain the surviving gang members, then knocked on the door.

“Admiral?”

Erwen’s voice was deep and steady: “Enter.”

Clade paused. Though the tone was calm and the voice measured, the sixth sense of a high-rank female zerg warned him that the admiral was teetering on the edge of rage.

“Understood!” he said, standing at attention, then respectfully pushed the door open.

Erwen remained by the window, his unseen eyes clouded with a darkness heavier than the smoke outside.

Clade shuddered, snapping to a salute. “Admiral, the annihilation ship has arrived. The first volley has been fired, wiping out nearly half of the fleeing criminals. Preparing for the second volley, awaiting your orders.”

Erwen said, “Cease fire.”

Clade froze briefly, then said, “Admiral, this garbage planet is filled with vicious, lawless raiders. To eradicate them completely, I believe—”

“I said, cease fire!”

The four words were like iron. Erwen’s teeth clenched tightly; his eyes were shut, veins bulging along the arms pressed to the window sill, and upon closer inspection, his hands trembled ever so slightly.

“Yes, Sir.” Clade acknowledged, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “And how shall we handle the bandits who kidnapped you?”

Erwen drew a deep breath. “Capture them, lock them up… do not harm—”

He hesitated, realizing he didn’t even know the strategist’s name or appearance. He corrected himself: “Do not harm a single one of them.”

The First Army moved with exceptional efficiency. Within an hour, they had swept the entire garbage planet, detaining all surviving gang members and placing them in the cells aboard the warship.

Erwen removed his tattered clothing and changed back into his Admiral’s uniform. A silver-white sash hung from his shoulder, his belt embossed with thorned rose patterns cinched at his waist, and his black boots struck the metal floor with crisp echoes.

He gestured to Clade, who stepped forward and called loudly, “Is your strategist present?”

The captured gang members exchanged terrified glances, unsure whether to look at each other. They didn’t know that the strategist’s former slave had become an admiral, nor did they understand what grudge Qu Xia and Erwen might share. They huddled silently like quail for a long moment before someone nervously blurted out, “The strategist is not here.”

Erwen’s brow furrowed.

“Y-yes… he’s not here.”

“Sir, perhaps he was turned to ash by the bombardment.”

Once one spoke, the prisoners scrambled to add their own words, eager to appease the admiral. But Erwen’s expression darkened further. After a moment, he closed his eyes. “Search again.”

“Search again?” Clade froze once more, grimacing. “Admiral, we’ve already combed every area. We used life detectors, there’s no way anyone was missed.”

Erwen turned his gaze toward him, eyes dark and shadowed. Though he could see nothing, Clade felt a chill run through him.

“Search again,” Erwen repeated.

Clade dared not argue and departed to obey.

The remaining gang members were processed one by one, their identities verified and crimes adjudicated according to the law. From their mouths, Erwen finally learned the name of the military advisor:

Qu Xia.

The “Qu” of Quyuan Garden¹ Breeze-Rustled Lotus, the “Xia” of Summer.

A name as brilliantly vivid and carefree as that young man himself.

Erwen’s steps were heavy as he returned to the command center.

The First Army was dispatched once more to search, their specialized equipment deployed with precision. Following orders from above, they combed the planet, seeking a young zerg of uncertain significance, someone whose presence had drawn the elite forces of the Empire.

One hour… two hours… three hours…

As time passed, the sun sank below the horizon of the garbage planet, and stars gradually scattered across the sky. On this barren land, only the faint glow of searchlights punctuated the darkness, like drifting speck on a vast, black sea.

By this time, the First Army had scoured the planet six times over. Every scrap of debris was overturned, life detectors scanned every inch of soil, and yet they found nothing.

Erwen stood rigid by the window, his shadowed eyes reflecting the stars above. Behind him, Clade hesitated, voice trembling: “Admiral… shall we leave?”

“The nighttime temperature is extremely low, and the wind is strong. Flying now is inadvisable. If we do not depart tonight, we can only leave tomorrow.”

Erwen was silent for a long moment.

Finally, in the suffocating stillness, he exhaled slowly: “Set sail.”

Everyone knew the junk planet was now completely empty.

With a tremendous roar, the warship’s bay doors slammed shut. Tens of thousands of tons of steel surged upward, engines blasting, and the colossal craft tore into the sky.

Inside, Clade hesitated at the doorway, silent.

Erwen asked, “Is there something else?”

Clade replied, “Admiral, how should we write the mission report for this operation?”

Deploying a warship meant the report had to be filed and uploaded, but this mission had been chaotic, the rescue unclear, and the circumstances too ambiguous to document properly.

Erwen said, “Record it truthfully: note that the military frequency received a transmission from me atop the junk mountain, that biological data from my remaining blood was collected to locate my position, and nothing else needs elaboration.”

Clade opened his mouth but stopped.

Erwen frowned. “Anything else?”

Clade hesitated. “Sir, this doesn’t match what we observed.”

He explained, “We didn’t receive any military transmissions from the junk mountain. We got a civilian communication request. Somehow, it had knowledge of the military frequency and sent detailed coordinates, along with a clear voice instructing us to retrieve you.”

Erwen froze completely.

He pressed against the window frame, a sinking dread blooming in his chest, as if Clade’s words hid a truth he was unprepared to face.

Erwen said hoarsely, “Play it.”

“Yes, sir.” Clade retrieved the communicator and pressed play.

A voice, somewhere between a teenager and a young adult, came through, crackling with static.

“A high-ranking military female has fallen here. I’ve treated her mental sea; his condition is fine. Please come and retrieve him.”

Please come and retrieve him.

Erwen stood frozen by the window, silent. Clade didn’t dare turn off the communicator, so the short, distorted audio looped repeatedly. Even through the low-quality, garbled recording, Erwen could somehow imagine Qu Xia’s intonation delivering those words.

After a moment, he dismissed Clade and slowly sank onto the sofa. His straight back slumped slightly as he reached up to cover his eyes.

Admiral Erwen had commanded the military for years without ever entangling himself in personal affairs. He neither gave nor owed favors, operating like a precise machine, discarding all human weaknesses.

Yet now, he owed a debt he could never repay.

He sat alone in the command room for a long while before sending an order to his adjutant.

“Investigate why Qu Xia came to the junk planet, and see if he has any parents or relatives.”

If he did, Erwen would do everything he could to help.

………………

Four hours earlier, at the Pamir Star System Advanced Examination Testing Site:

Qu Xia gave one final check before neatly filling in the name field with the original owner’s name: [ Lock.]

The original owner hadn’t left much behind, but there were books and a diary providing the necessary interstellar background. His identity was clear enough to allow Qu Xia to take the exam.

After finishing, he submitted his paper thirty minutes early and stepped out, ordering a serving of fried chicken at a nearby café.

The test had been far too easy; he had already checked it three times, and another look would be overkill.

After finishing quickly, Qu Xia refreshed his light-brain and found a modest nearby inn, booking it for half a month.

Half a month later, the exam results would be released.

Qu Xia had no intention of returning to the junk planet. The gang members there were all wanted criminals who had committed countless offenses over the years. Erwen wasn’t the first military female they’d ever auctioned. Now that the military had intervened, those gang members would inevitably be arrested. Qu Xia, carrying the title of strategist, could easily be implicated; a single mistake could leave him with a criminal record.

Qu Xia aspired to join the Imperial Central Laboratory, where research involving the mental sea was highly classified. A clean background was essential; he had no intention of risking it.

Comfortably lying in the small inn, Qu Xia used the light-brain to scroll through the day’s news. Sure enough, he found reports of the military bombing, accompanied by two images captured by drones.

The leveled ground of the junk planet had been blasted into deep craters, strewn with shell casings and scorch marks. Qu Xia gaped, muttering to himself, “Good thing I ran fast.”

He scrolled further down, but there was no news about the rescue of his housekeeper.

Qu Xia didn’t know whether the military hadn’t reported it or if the shells had accidentally hit the housekeeper. He silently prayed it wasn’t the latter and thought, “If I get the chance, I should check the archives on the main planet next time.”

Half a month flew by in the blink of an eye, and the day the results were released finally arrived.

Without a doubt, Qu Xia had claimed first place in the Pamir Star System for this year. He was admitted to the Department of Neuroscience at the Central University on the main planet. He packed his belongings, tidied his things, and used the last of his money to buy a ticket.

After staying in the inn for half a month, the money he had earned as a strategist was completely gone.

Before boarding, there was one last problem: his luggage was overweight.

Interstellar shipping costs were exorbitant. Qu Xia stripped out all the extra clothes and then held the metal seal from the bottom of his bag in silence.

It was a solid block of metal, heavy and ornate, carved with intricate, luxurious patterns. He had long planned to toss it, but lingering memories told him it was something the original owner valued greatly, apparently tied to his identity.

In the Zerg, gender is visible from the egg stage. Pregnant females aren’t judged until giving birth, and high-rank males being exiled was nearly impossible. A high-rank male ending up on a junk planet was already strange, and carrying a mysterious identity artifact made it even stranger. Qu Xia couldn’t help but feel it was a mixed blessing.

Still, after a moment’s hesitation, he decided to keep it.

It was the original owner’s only cherished possession. Since he had inherited the body, it was his duty to safeguard it.

So, Qu Xia paid a hefty overweight fee and boarded the ship with the metal seal in hand.

He had spent the last of his savings.

With three days until classes officially began, he needed to arrange food and lodging. Qu Xia scrolled through the work-study module and finally found a position assisting a Professor Sylph in the Department of Neuroscience, wiping down instruments.

This wasn’t just any work-study job. Professor Sylph was a long-renowned expert in electromagnetic waves at Central University, with top-tier connections, huge funding, and numerous cross-disciplinary projects. Earning his favor meant direct access to the lab.

After submitting his work-study application, Qu Xia spent the next three days carefully reading all of Sylph’s papers. Then he opened his email and sent a carefully worded message.

He played the part of a clueless rookie, peppering the professor’s work with a bunch of seemingly naive questions. Hidden among them were two subtle insights, clever yet accurate, showing genuine understanding. It made the professor neither feel that the student was impossibly brilliant nor doubt his potential. In response, Sylph wrote a warm, admiring reply, expressing that “It would be an honor to have you operating the instruments.”

Qu Xia wasn’t naturally socially adept, this sort of tact was beyond him, but in his previous life, he had a lab senior who, though mediocre in skill, could charm mentors through sincerity and cleverness. Qu Xia had seen that senior’s networking letters and mimicked the approach, more or less paraphrasing the style.

That very evening, he received a reply from Professor Sylph.

The professor expressed delight at recruiting such a talented student. Upon learning Qu Xia was only a first-year, he showed visible surprise, but ultimately invited Lock over to his home.

“Thank you, Lock. You are truly gifted, but before making any decisions, I need to meet you in person, you know how expensive those instruments are.”

Qu Xia had checked Sylph’s reputation and knew the professor was a social adept. His tone was warm and respectful, showing no condescension toward a first-year student.

“Of course, I greatly admire you as well,” Qu Xia nodded, then added with a hint of difficulty, “But if you could decide quickly, I’d appreciate it. I’m strapped for cash, and without the work-study stipend, I can’t even afford meals.”

Sylph looked slightly surprised, pondered for a moment, then said, “Well, tomorrow I happen to be hosting a welcome dinner for a friend. It’ll be a sizable gathering, and if you don’t mind, you can join us. You can eat and stay at my place for the night. How does that sound?”

Free meals and lodging, plus the chance to observe the potential mentor up close. Qu Xia nodded happily. “Thank you. I’ll be there on time.”