Safe travels

The air around the deafening arena was thick with the burning smell of countless pheromones.

A spectacular competition was underway. Inside the coliseum, a fighter moved with fierce illusiveness, transforming the simple test into a display of power and beauty. Sweat scattered onto the sand, pearling into perfect beads and, with a light final landing, he pumped up the whole crowd as three deafening bells rang out—

DING! DING! DING—!

The test was over. On the towering vertical rankings screen, an ID number skyrocketed, trampling countless other names as it shot straight to the top.

A new record!

In an instant, the cheers and shouts became deafening. The Alphas, aggressive and drawn to strength, thrashed so hard it was as if they wished to wave the chains around their necks like glow sticks, forcing the prison guards to hit the electric shock warnings.

That’s right. This was not some high-end sports arena; it was the Empire’s largest and most brutal prison.

These rabid “fans” were, without exception, vicious criminals, each bearing sentences hundreds of years long.

The supervisor read down the list. “Number 1470, Bai Ling.”

“Here.” The man walked slowly from the finish line, panting lightly. His loose prison uniform was damp with sweat, clinging to his torso and outlining a slender waist.

The supervisor couldn’t help but stare.

His spine was perfectly straight, his frame like a tall, unbending poplar. Though his features were disheveled, his posture was meticulous and upright, revealing his origins at a single glance—

The Imperial Regular Army.

The supervisor’s leering gaze landed on his right leg.

As he got closer, the supervisor could finally see the prosthesis visible beneath the man’s pant leg.

Wires tangled chaotically around exposed mechanical ports. Sand, stuck to the limb from the test, fell from the seams of the metal knee joint as he walked. Combined with his cold, detached air, he looked like a battle-damaged android just pulled from the front lines.

The supervisor snapped, “Lift your face. Stand on the verification platform and align your pupils with the camera.”

The young man lifted his chin. Beneath his damp, messy hair, a cold, exquisite face was gradually revealed.

A Lake Aske blade.

This thought surfaced in the supervisor’s mind for no particular reason. It was an exquisitely decorated weapon, thin as a cicada’s wing, yet capable of slicing through metal as if it were mud. The high-born aristocrats adored it for its elegant lines and astonishing power.

Just like this face: fragile, beautiful, yet terrifyingly strong.

A face like that belonged to some pampered Omega socialite, not a disabled soldier.

Maybe he slept his way to the top? The supervisor dismissed the thought the next second. The data was glaring.

“Mental Strength: SS”

“Stamina: S”

“Agility: SSS”

Seeing the last item, the supervisor slowed his speech, with a tone full of leering.

“Fertility: D. Let’s see… you have old injuries, and you’ve just entered your first differentiation. A bullet went through your spine and into your abdominal cavity. Your differentiation forecast report shows a 99% probability of presenting as an Omega. Indeed, that soft little reproductive cavity of yours is likely damaged beyond repair.”

“An Omega with no fertility is worthless.”

The supervisor concluded with a hint of pity.

Bai Ling showed no reaction.

Ever since the New Empire was founded ten years ago, the new Emperor, Kaide, had established fertility as the sole criterion for an Omega’s value. This was an indisputable, iron-clad law known to everyone.

The supervisor continued, “A genius pilot. The top ace of the Empire’s Outer Space Mecha Legion. Yet you attacked a superior officer, resulting in the destruction of a national military base. Do you have any idea how many years you’re supposed to rot in this prison?”

Bai Ling’s thin lips barely moved. “I do. Immediate execution.”

Closing the register, the supervisor’s tone turned frivolous. “But you’re a lucky one, pretty little Omega. You’re so young. After you differentiate, you might still be usable. As long as you can produce thirty fertilized eggs within five years, your death sentence will be waived.”

Commuting a sentence through egg-laying sounded merciful.

However, everyone knew that even for the Avian hybrids, a subspecies renowned for high-efficiency reproduction, the consequences of continuous egg-laying were tragic.

An Omega with a fertility grade as low as his would, without a doubt, be assigned to a low-tier, D-class Alpha. He’d be forced to endure it for four or five years with a damaged reproductive cavity and severe nutrient deficiency, and even if he didn’t die, he would be completely ruined.

Fragments of memory appeared in Bai Ling’s mind.

What did he do in his last life?

He remembered fighting his way out of the prison, with a bloody, broken body. He had managed to steal a ship and find a mecha mercenary associations that should have taken him, only to be turned away. The reason being: “You’re about to differentiate as an Omega; unsuitable for continued combat.”

After that, he had dragged his weak, pained body through the city squares, living in a tattered tent. He survived by picking through trash and patching tires for others, enduring countless insults and scornful looks.

During five long years of this nomad life, he had saved up startup capital, bit by bit. Relying on self-taught skills, he assembled a junk mecha from secondhand parts and joined a small, unknown association.

After that, the name “Mad White Falcon” had exploded onto the scene. He’d become infamous, annexing nearly 300 of the Empire’s mercenary legions, large and small, at a terrifying speed. He launched an all-sector invasion, routing the perpetually arrogant Central Legion and forcing Emperor Kaide himself to the negotiation table.

And what had he said then?

Oh, he remembered. He had planted one foot on the dog-tyrant’s desk and his fingertips toyed with a King chess piece. With a smirk, he informed the entire galaxy:

“I bow to no man.”

Bai Ling was just about to recall his own death when a sharp pain suddenly shot through his right leg.

Fuck this phantom pain. When he got out this time, he was definitely stocking up on high-efficiency painkillers. Therefore, this time, he had made up his mind—

“I accept the death penalty.”

The supervisor’s disdainful expression held a trace of pity. He was worthy of being a human weapon from the Outer Space Legion. Even when saddled with false charges, he would rather die than be reduced to a low-class breeding slave.

But this was for the best. Someone had paid him five million interstellar credits to ensure this Omega was executed. Since the prisoner had chosen execution himself, the supervisor wouldn’t have to feel bad about taking the bribe.

“Sentence pronounced. The execution is in one hour. Go through the door on the right and wait.”

Before Bai Ling could walk out of the review area’s final scanning zone, he was suddenly called to stop.

“Wait,” the supervisor raised an eyebrow in surprise, staring at the scan results. “What’s that on your thigh? A tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say?”

Bai Ling turned around slowly. Backlit, half of his mouth quirked up in a mocking smile that was lost in the shadows.

“Safe Travels.”

“S-Safe Travels…?! You tattooed that on your inner thigh?” The supervisor sucked in a sharp breath.

This was utterly depraved! It flew in the face of all Omega virtues! It was an attitude that seemed determined to viciously stomp an Alpha’s pride into the dust. He might as well have spelled out the mockery on his face:

This intersection sees a lot of traffic, buddy. Full throttle and hard braking, who the hell do you think you are?

The supervisor trembled with thrill: “You little slut. Just what I’d expect from the military. You really are a pervert.”

A combat-type Omega who wore a control inhibitor all day, yet was secretly this depraved. It gave him the same scalp-tingling shock as discovering the words “Welcome, come on in!” tattooed beneath an ascetic monk’s robes.

Haaa. How exciting.

The supervisor reached out to grab Bai Ling, but his face suddenly changed. He looked down at his own vibrating restriction ring.

[WARNING! Watch your words and actions! 10 credit points deducted.]

Seizing the opportunity, Bai Ling allowed himself a small smirk and walked straight out of the scanning area.

The moment he stepped through the door on the right, a team of fully armed guards sprayed him with anesthetic. Someone had clearly given prior orders: an elite soldier from the Legion, even with one leg, was not to be underestimated.