Gu Changming · Chat

Dark Night Headquarters, Training Ground No. 1. As Ling Huai'an returned to his seat, Shen Zhuo glanced sideways at him, his lips moving slightly, whispering something only the two of them could hear. Ling Huai'an didn't answer, but simply raised his hand to rub his nose and sat up straight. The forty-seven recruits below the stage were still immersed in the story of the wildfire. What they had just heard was the Empire's strongest fire-type sentinel confessing that he had almost burned down a military warehouse—not out of boasting or self-aggrandizement, but a young man exposing his most unsightly scar to tell them: I have lost control too, and I have been afraid too. Ling Huaizhi remained standing in the shadows behind, his trench coat completely still. Then Gu Changming stood up. His movements were not fast, but there was not a single wasted motion. From his seat to the podium, five steps, each stepping to the exact same rhythm. The soles of his boots landed on the stage, steady and heavy, like a pile driver. Standing at 195 cm, he was the tallest of the four commanders, and when he stood before the podium, the light over the entire formation seemed to be blocked by a fraction. He didn't speak immediately. He just stood there, looking at the crowd below. His gaze was not as cold as Ling Huaizhi's, not as dangerous as Shen Zhuo's, and not as bright as Ling Huai'an's. His gaze was flat and deep, like a pool of water that would never ripple. Then he spoke. His voice was neither fast nor loud, but every word fell clearly into everyone's ears. "I am Gu Changming. Codename Qianjun. Commander of the Heavy Armored Forces. My speech is very short. I only have one question for you." He held up one finger. "Do you know how many tons of pressure the Empire's most advanced military alloy—Mystic Steel-VII—can withstand?" Silence. No one could answer. He lowered his finger. "Forty-seven tons. Per square centimeter. But that's in a laboratory. On the battlefield, it might not even hold up for three seconds. Because the laboratory won't give you a frontal impact from an A-class Apocalypse Knight, won't give you forty consecutive collisions, won't give you metal fatigue, stress cracks, high-temperature softening, and low-temperature embrittlement." His voice was as steady as if he were reading data. "I'm telling you this not to make you memorize numbers. I want you to remember one thing—the world does not run according to plan. The enemy will not wait for you to be ready. No matter how well you build a wall, there will be a time when it is smashed open." He paused. "What are you?" No one answered. He didn't need an answer. "You are the thirty-seventh graduating class of the Dark Night. Among you, there are Sentinels, Guides, future assaulters, snipers, and commanders. But in my eyes, right now, you are all the same thing—rough blanks." Two words, not heavy, but they weighed heavily on everyone's heart. "Rough blank is not a derogatory term. It is a fact. The foundation you laid in the training camp is just raw material, not a finished product. The real quenching begins today. On the battlefield. When the defense line is torn apart. When a teammate falls right in front of you. When you find that after studying for three years, you can't even make the simplest decision." He paused for a beat. "At that moment, you will be quenched. Some will crack, some will become harder. Those who crack, I cannot fix. Those who harden, report to my unit." The audience was dead silent. Gu Changming took a step back and raised his hand in a salute. The movement was crisp and neat, like a period ending a sentence. Then he lowered his hand and turned to walk back. As he passed by Shen Zhuo, Shen Zhuo looked up at him and said in an extremely low voice, "Old Gu, is this what you call a 'very short speech'? You're even better at stabbing hearts than me." Gu Changming didn't stop or look down. He simply replied without looking aside, "Excluding the Q&A session, it is shorter than yours." Shen Zhuo froze for a moment. Then he smiled—not the kind of smile on the podium that made the recruits' hair stand on end, but a smile of surprise and amusement, like being caught off guard by an old friend's retort. "Fine, you win," he said, then nudged aside to make more room for Gu Changming. Gu Changming sat down. He adjusted his posture, his back straight and his hands resting flat on his knees. Then he turned his head slightly and glanced at Ling Huaizhi on the stage—the Chief Commander hadn't spoken yet; there was still one last part of the graduation ceremony.