Everyone can stay and enjoy yourselves
by M1zushiBefore leaving, Anna handed him a bag.
When he opened it, the first thing that caught his eye was a particle gun, fully loaded with ammunition.
Anna maintained her mature beta “big sis” persona, arching a thin eyebrow. “It packs a punch. Perfect for a fledgling.”
A faint smile touched Bai Ling’s lips. Anna always called him “fledgling”. Beyond their training, she truly cared for him like a mother bird protecting her young.
Perhaps these Corvids, who loved to group up and bully others, also had a tender side for their own.
There was something else in the bag. Bai Ling squeezed the folded fabric doubtfully. “Is this… a combat suit?”
“Correct,” Anna said succinctly. “The Commander heard about your situation and told me to bring his for you to use.”
“This suit happened to be custom-ordered in a size too small; he’s only tried it on once. The material and heat dissipation are top-notch. Just take it to a tailor for some slight adjustments, and it should get you through the competition.”
Bai Ling nodded. “Please thank him for him,” he calmly said.
He had never met this Commander in person; they had only spoken once over comms. Once the man confirmed his military background, he had let him join the group. Furthermore, he made an exception allowing Bai Ling to avoid guarding the association’s headquarters, requiring him only to show his face during major matches to win glory for the organization.
In short, the man seemed open-minded.
Bai Ling climbed into Rattlesnake and set the route. The deep blue mecha took flight with an elegant posture, and the reddish night sky after the blizzard gradually came into view.
Following standard combat practice, he checked the particle gun beforehand. After confirming that everything was in order, he casually tucked the gun into his leg straps.
Oh, it wasn’t a plastic zip-tie anymore; it was the old man’s leather belt.
Bai Ling intentionally shoved the muzzle in deep, stretching the belt until it looked ready to burst, before giving it a satisfied pat.
Not bad! Sturdy. Just the way a little bird likes it.
His gaze inadvertently swept over the bag, and a vague thought crossed his mind.
…He forgot to ask what’s the Commander gender.
Whatever. It was all the same. He’d just soak it in laundry detergent for two days once he got back to wash away the pheromones.
Gram liked to conduct his business aboard aircraft carriers.
In the words of his noble sycophants, he was an alpha with a great sense of “ritual.” A private vessel was not only cleaner than a hotel but also equipped with various custom facilities.
Such as the “Falconry Room,” the “Solitary Confinement Room,” and the “Honor Room.”
The Honor Room was his favorite place to visit—both alone and with guests.
“This purple ribbon was earned by a little female in the Army who had to blow up three Zerg nests to get it.”
“On that shelf is a National Defense Medal. Quite rare. It belonged to that Star Fleet commander, what’s-his-name. I forgot. Anyway, he’s the one who led the Central Army out of a black hole; it was all over the news back then. Now? Hmph, probably rotting in a nursing home.”
Pavo noticed a single medal placed under a separate glass cover. The design featured a cross-and-bird motif, with the spread wings surrounded by a circle of gold lettering that read: Elite Soldier of the Entire Armed Forces.
“Whose is this?” Pavo asked.
Gram followed his finger. A haze of gloom instantly flooded his eyes, and he said in a heavy voice, “It belonged to a bitch.”
The group fell silent instantly, not daring to bring it up again.
The veins in Gram’s neck bulged. He slowly exhaled, his expression shifting to one of smug, vengeful satisfaction. “But that little whore is dead and buried. I keep it here to remind myself never to give those omegas another chance to push their luck—”
“Major General, the pilot you requested has arrived at the door,” someone came to report.
Gram nonchalantly picked up a whip, testing its tension in his palm. “Let him board.”
Pavo and the others bowed like lapdogs. “Then we shall take our leave. Please, take your time and enjoy.”
Gram nodded arrogantly, preparing to speak.
“Why leave? Everyone can stay and enjoy yourselves.” A cold voice pierced the air.
Pavo pretended to decline. “Ah, that’s too kind, but if you insist—”
The surrounding area fell into a dead silence. Pavo suddenly realized something was wrong. He looked up, only to find that the one giving the order wasn’t Gram at all!
Everyone’s eyes turned toward the door. There stood a person with a lean, strong build, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. His expression was as cold as frost, his fir-like brows slightly arched. Combined with eyes that looked as though they had been polished by the vicissitudes of life, he possessed an aura that was both exquisite and chillingly aloof.
A top-tier specimen.
The same evaluation appeared in the minds of every alpha present.
But they quickly discovered that the person was holding a gun.
If someone appears before you holding a weapon with a composed expression, there are only two possibilities: either they’ve gone mad, or—more likely—they have absolutely no intention of leaving survivors.
Gram’s pupils shrunk violently. How is this possible? How can this be!
“YOU LITTLE WHORE… HOW THE HELL ARE YOU STILL ALIVE!?”
The person before them looked nothing like the broken, fragile mess who had been humiliated in the military camp. Instead, he looked radiant, his face flush with a healthy color. He looked well-nourished and full of vitality. Clearly, someone had picked him up and meticulously nursed him back to health.
Bai Ling tilted his head slightly, a smile spreading across his face that could only be described as cruel. “Surprise. Your Thanksgiving gift has arrived.”
Clack-clack. The sound of a round being chambered made everyone’s scalp tingle.
The Neostead XR: a dual-magazine, large-caliber scatter-particle gun. Tsk. The weapon of choice for a close-quarters brawler.
The alphas were fast at drawing their weapons, but no matter how fast they were, they couldn’t outpace a 3S Agility-grade Peregrine Falcon.
“Protect Major General Gram first! Then gun him down!” someone roared ferociously.
The next second, a massive hole appeared in that man’s throat, and hot blood gurgled out.
It was a mechanical, precise, and high-speed assault, comparable to a robotic arm on an operating table or an inorganic cutter in a slaughterhouse. It was emotionless and relentless, his movements were so fluid they barely required thought. Every muscle movement was a conditioned reflex of highly militarized reaction nerves, perfected to the point of being flawless.
It made one wonder if he had practiced this 1×7 battle thousands of times in his mind.
Gram’s eyes nearly burst from their sockets as he watched the muzzle of the particle gun shoot out. Deathly ghost blue particles instantly pierced through two alphas before shattering the medal cases behind them, sending glass flying everywhere.
“AIM BETTER, YOU USELESS TRASH!” Gram shrieked.
The remaining alphas were suffering in silence. Three of them were the second-best marksmen in the Army, yet they couldn’t even graze the outline of his silhouette.
They didn’t realize that while bullets were fast, the Peregrine Falcon was the pinnacle of speed in biological evolution. His four-quadrant eagle eye vision could slow down the trajectory of incoming projectiles, allowing him to dodge attacks with ease at a god-tier speed of 389 km/h.
“Dammit, where are the guards? Are they all dead?!”
Bai Ling answered, “Yes.”
They were all piled up at the corner of the wall.
Gram frantically mashed the alarm button under his desk. It was designed to automatically call the Central Army for reinforcements and deploy tear gas to buy time for an escape.
However, despite pressing it over a dozen times, there was still no response.
Bai Ling said flatly, “I stopped by the restroom to wash my hands before coming in. I cut the lines while I was at it. Any other questions?”
His tone was like a robot executing a program.
He sneered inwardly. He wouldn’t fall for the same traps Gram had used against him in his past life.
Gram and the remaining alphas turned deathly pale, their expressions filled with despair.
Gram, in particular, had suffered at the hands of this Peregrine Falcon before and he knew how terrifyingly surgical his gunplay was when he began his harvest. In the past, Gram hadn’t dared to even get close without shackling the Peregrine Falcon’s right leg with three separate sets of electric shackles.
“Next.” Bai Ling stepped on an alpha’s leg bone and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession.
Pavo shook like a leaf in a gale. He was merely a trust-fund brat living off his family’s dwindling fortune; he had never served in the military or set foot on a battlefield, so he had never seen a scene this horrific.
No—it wasn’t just the airtight dodging or the seasoned efficiency of the slaughter that was terrifying; it was the assailant’s expression!
It was cold, numb, his lips curled into a standardized, android-like arc that triggered a deep sense of “uncanny valley” dread.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Treating Alphas like worthless weeds or swine in a slaughterhouse, Pavo felt as if he were merely an eyesore of a worm blocking the road, and this man was the last wheel he would ever see before he died.
“Relax, I’m not a murderer.” Bai Ling reloaded with one hand, stepping over an alpha’s bleeding knee as if it were nothing.
It was a one-sided massacre.
The only one left standing, barely, was Gram.
Bai Ling scrutinized Gram’s expression of fear mingled with rage and let out a somewhat sickly laugh. “That’s the look. Scared to death of me, yet barking with false bravado like a maggot in a slop bucket.”
“You’re the goddamn maggot, you bitch!” Gram fired wildly at him.
Bai Ling drew the Lake Askid Dagger, spinning the blade so fast it became a steel shield. A sharp clash rang out, sparks flying as Gram’s bullet, traveling at 450 meters per second, struck the edge and was flexed back by the resilient metal—
Squulch. It buried itself in Gram’s chest.
Bai Ling gave the blade a clean flick and returned it to his waist.
He favored this method of counterattack—letting people bring about their own ruin. Besides, it didn’t get his knife dirty.
The floor was littered with incapacitated alphas, half of whom had lost consciousness from shock and pain. But Bai Ling didn’t give them a quick death, nor did he leave.
He went to the cockpit, started the ship, and scanned the vast navigation charts until his gaze locked onto a single point:
[His Majesty Kaide’s Flagship: Emperor I]
Emperor I was currently docked at the Royal Starport on the edge of the artificial atmosphere, where a miniature casino was located. Most of the time when the Tyrant wasn’t at the palace, he was overlooking the world from the heavens, indulging in wine and beautiful omegas.
He called it “Divine Enjoyment.”
Today was Thanksgiving, and Bai Ling hadn’t yet prepared the handmade gift for “The Great King” assigned by the Etiquette Officer of the Omega Virtue class. So, to showcase his unique “Omega Virtue,” he decided to manually set a flight path and send TGK a “Great Firework.”
You’re welcome.
Circling from the ground to the outer atmosphere would take nearly an hour. Bai Ling returned to the [Honor Room], glanced up at the two words on the gilded plaque, and reached up to tear it down, throwing it to the floor and crushing it under his foot.
He had one more important thing to do.
Retrieve the medals.
Not just his own, but everyone else’s.
Bai Ling splashed a bucket of water on Gram, dragging him awake like a dead dog. He sat on a chair with his long legs crossed, while Gram lay on the floor, tied up and gasping for breath.
Bai Ling gathered the scattered medals and asked, one by one, “Whose are these?”
“…” Gram turned his head away, baring his teeth in silence.
Bai Ling kicked Pavo awake and commanded, “Want to live? Go to the ship’s galley and get some salt.”
Gram shrieked in terror, “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!” Then he turned to Pavo with a raspy threat, “IF YOU DARE GO, I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL MAKE SURE YOUR WHOLE FAMILY SUFFERS A MISERABLE DEATH!”
Bai Ling idly twirled the short dagger in his hand, leaning down with interest. “Do you think he’ll listen to a man destined to die, or to me?”
Pavo was a coward by nature; he felt zero psychological pressure in switching sides. He hurried back with the sea salt, his face wearing an overt, fawning smile. “My respected Omega Lord, how do you wish to use it?”
Bai Ling tilted his sharp, cold chin. “Rub it into his wounds.”
Pavo scrambled to comply.
Bloody veins spread across Gram’s eyes as he began to writhe like a worm dipped in brine. “AAAAAAAAAGH! It hurts! I’ll talk, I’ll talk! That one belongs to Major Dankov of the Army!”
“Mm, Major Dankov.” Bai Ling wrote the name on a slip of paper, wrapped the medal in it, and pulled out the next one.
“This one.”
“Lieutenant Hull of the Navy. Help me, I’m dying, just kill me, AAAGH!”
“Mm-hmm. Lieutenant Hull should be quite pleased.”
“And these,” Bai Ling smiled chillingly, a look that made one’s skin crawl. “Report their origins to me, every last one of them. For every one you miss, I’ll scrape off a scale, you swordfish.”
Gram spat out a large mouthful of black blood. For the first time in his life, his eyes took on the dull gray look of the dying.
When he had relied on his privilege to bully officers with no background, he never dreamed that one day he would find himself unable to live and unable to die over these “worthless” medals.
Bai Ling looked thoughtful as he gave Pavo an order. “By the way, raw pickling requires soy sauce, vinegar, and lemon, doesn’t it? Bring a whole basin of the mix and let our Major General Gram take a soak.”
Gram gasped for air, howling, “YOU VICIOUS, EVIL BITCH!!! I WON’T LET YOU GO EVEN AS A GHOST!”
Bai Ling propped his chin on his hand, his expression holding a touch of innocence amidst the coldness.
“In this galaxy, the only one qualified to be a ghost that people fear is Izsu Paraiso.”
“You… aren’t qualified.”
Author’s Note:
Mixing up a full set of raw pickling sauce.
Wuhu! Today we have a cool little bird slaying his enemies.
Little Bird: After eating the old guy’s premium beef and boosting my hemoglobin, I’ve got plenty of strength for a beatdown!
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