Chapter Fifteen: The Tragic Figure

“So that’s how it is!” Chu Feng feigned surprise, his mouth agape, then as if suddenly enlightened, he continued, “No wonder you wouldn’t come help me.”

Xu Yan shot Chu Feng a glare. Seeing the food piled on his plate, she laughed, “You really are a wild man—look at how much you eat! I bet those people won’t take this lying down; there’s definitely more drama to come next time. Heh heh.”

Just then, the girl beside Chu Feng spoke to him, “Hey, don’t worry too much. Our big sister may have a sharp tongue but a soft heart. When the time comes, she won’t stand by and do nothing.”

“You little brat, are you looking for trouble?” Xu Yan scolded, her cheeks flushing despite herself.

“Why are there only a few of you here? Where are the others from your dorm?” Chu Feng asked.

Xu Yan huffed, “Forget it. Those people from certain factions aren’t worth mentioning!”

Curious, Chu Feng asked the others and soon learned it had something to do with himself.

As it turned out, after Xu Yan returned last night, everyone in the dormitory questioned her. Upon discovering Chu Feng was merely a newcomer, many attitudes shifted immediately.

Chu Feng understood their thinking. They must have felt that anyone associated with someone as useless as him had little future, so they didn’t want to hang around Xu Yan anymore.

He couldn’t help but smile, for they were destined to be mistaken this time. If those people knew Xu Yan had already awakened her spirit attribute, their expressions would be priceless.

“But not everyone is like that. There are still good-hearted people in the world,” Chu Feng mused silently, recalling neighbors who had helped him, thinking of Xu Lan, Xu Yan, and the three other girls beside him.

He looked at Xu Yan and said, “I’m truly sorry.”

Xu Yan waved her hand dismissively. “Forget it. The value of friendship isn’t in quantity, but in honesty. Those snobs are a disgrace to call friends.”

Xu Yan then introduced the other three girls to Chu Feng: Zhong Yi, Lu Qing, and Huo Xue.

Chu Feng found the situation in the Spirit War Pavilion much better than he had imagined, and his mood soared. His appetite increased, and he ate even more—ten buns in one sitting, leaving the girls speechless with amazement.

At the training grounds of the Twentieth Battalion, the newcomers had yet to arrive, but the instructors were already in place. They’d come early to collect the roster of the students assigned to them.

Five thousand students were divided into fifty squads, each instructor leading a hundred.

The Spirit War Pavilion’s instructors wore golden battle uniforms during training, each radiating a formidable aura.

One instructor, barely in his thirties, wore a golden crown and had a handsome face—he should have been a dashing figure, but his expression was filled with indescribable misery.

He glanced into the distance and sighed helplessly. Whenever he thought of the newcomers, his heart ached.

A middle-aged man beside him tried not to laugh, but couldn’t resist a smile as he said, “Xiao Yue, you’re not that old, so why are you always sighing?”

“Ah, Old Yang, my life is hopeless,” Xiao Yue replied, unfazed by any ridicule.

Hearing this, those around him glanced at Xiao Yue’s gloomy face and burst out laughing.

A middle-aged woman dressed as a beautiful matron chuckled, feigning seriousness, “Xiao Yue, you’re the youngest among us. You’ve only been in the Twentieth Battalion for three years and led just one batch of newcomers. Already you say your life is hopeless?”

Xiao Yue grumbled, “Go ahead and laugh—laugh yourselves to death! What hope is left? I just can’t understand why useless ones flock to me.”

Three years ago, Xiao Yue began leading a hundred students, and every single one failed. In all three years, not one advanced to the main battalions for further cultivation.

In the newcomers’ battalion, the maximum training time was three years; those who succeeded could move to the next battalion for further training, while failures had to leave the Spirit War Pavilion and serve in the army for three years.

Initial aptitude was determined during spirit awakening, which was only a preliminary screening. The Twentieth Battalion was generally inferior to others; most had poor aptitude, though some blossomed later.

Even so, in the Twentieth Battalion, at least ten out of a hundred would usually stay for further training, sometimes twenty or thirty in better years.

But Xiao Yue’s hundred all failed—an unprecedented “miracle” in the history of newcomer training, making him the butt of jokes among all instructors. Whenever they saw his miserable face, they couldn’t help but laugh.

“Xiao Yue, don’t worry. Everyone has their unlucky moments; your luck will turn sooner or later,” Old Yang said, and despite himself, laughed again, thinking of Xiao Yue’s infamous record.

Soon the atmosphere quieted. The chief instructor arrived and handed out slim stone books, each containing information on the students.

Meanwhile, the newcomers began entering the training grounds.

Within the grounds were fifty numbered markers, representing the fifty squads. The instructors dispersed, roster in hand, heading to their respective posts.

On the other side, the newcomers, guided by their iron badges, had already received their squad assignments and quickly converged on their teams after entering the grounds.

Xiao Yue led the Ninth Squad. When he arrived at the marker, all hundred students were present, including Chu Feng.

Seeing Chu Feng towering over the others, Xiao Yue frowned, thinking, “Damn it, what luck? Even giants now—heaven, are you trying to kill me?”

Chu Feng stood in the last row, but the instructor’s expression didn’t escape his notice. He was used to it and paid no mind.

Once everyone was in place, the chief instructor mounted the stage and gave an opening speech, briefly explaining rules and the students’ paths within the newcomers’ battalion, ending with words of encouragement.

The rules weren’t complicated: newcomers could interact between battalions, but had no access to the four main battalions. Fighting was forbidden except on the combat platform.

As for career paths, the students were enlightened—there were many new possibilities.

The path of cultivation was only the main focus in the Spirit War Pavilion, not the sole one.

After all, the Pavilion trained talent for the entire human race, not just spirit warriors. An excellent army was important, but without strategists, it would fail.

Thus, students could pursue cultivation, but if their prospects were limited, they could also specialize in barriers, military strategy, politics, business, alchemy, and more.

As long as someone excelled in a particular field, even without awakening a spirit attribute, admission to the main battalions was still possible, for the four battalions nurtured more than just cultivators.

This revelation inspired everyone, giving them more choices.

After the chief instructor left, each instructor took roll and reviewed their students.

In the Ninth Squad, Xiao Yue’s gaze was sharp as he swept the team and declared loudly, “My name is Xiao Yue. From now on, I am your instructor. I will now call the roll. Step forward when your name is called!”

He waved his hand, opening the stone book. A light screen above showed a list of all one hundred names.

“Zhang Yi!” Xiao Yue called.

“Here!” A handsome youth stepped out of the ranks and stood before Xiao Yue.

Xiao Yue pointed at the name on the screen, and Zhang Yi’s profile appeared. Xiao Yue scanned it, sized up Zhang Yi, nodded in satisfaction, and said, “Stand to the side.”

And so, one after another, Xiao Yue called names and checked profiles. After the sixty-first, he called, “Chu Feng.”

“Here!” Chu Feng responded, and at that moment, ninety-nine other students looked over.

Xiao Yue’s face darkened as he tapped the screen. The next moment, everyone’s eyes nearly popped out—Chu Feng’s profile stunned them all.

Xiao Yue was frozen for a long time, his expression gloomier still, nearly driven mad. In his view, a useless student was at least a little hopeful—but now, a seventeen-year-old who couldn’t awaken his spirit? There was no hope at all; he couldn’t even teach him if he wanted.

“Stand to the side,” Xiao Yue said blandly, not bothering to look Chu Feng over again. Inwardly, he despaired, lamenting the cruel joke fate had played.

Within the squad, the students looked at Chu Feng with odd expressions, whispering among themselves.

“So he’s an orphan from Ancient Qilin City—his luck must be strong.”

“A real oddball, entering the Spirit War Pavilion without awakening. This must be a first!”

“He’s brave to show up, not afraid of ridicule. How could Ancient Qilin City leave behind such a ‘talent’?”

…

Hearing their whispers, Chu Feng couldn’t catch the details, but their expressions told him enough—it wasn’t anything good.

He was unconcerned. His path was his own; why heed others’ opinions? He simply smiled and took his place.

Xiao Yue’s mood was dire. His luck hadn’t turned; instead, misfortune had struck again, certain to fuel more jokes among the instructors.

He quickly finished roll call, then explained the students’ career paths in greater detail than the chief instructor, followed by information about training.

In the newcomers’ battalion, students largely managed their own schedules. Instructors guided, but cultivation depended mainly on the individual.

Still, instructors would periodically teach foundational lessons covering cultivation, alchemy, military affairs, business, and more.

Students could attend lectures by other instructors within the Twentieth Battalion if they were interested.

Instructors also conducted regular assessments and assigned trial tasks, rewarding those who excelled.

“All right, let me see your spirit forms—begin awakening!” Xiao Yue commanded.

At once, students began awakening their spirits. Elsewhere, many squads summoned their spirit forms at their instructors’ request.

In the Ninth Squad, only Chu Feng stood quietly, unable to awaken his spirit. Yet now he no longer despaired; he had found new hope and believed he could forge a path different from all others.

The other ninety-nine wore expressions of pride, feeling particularly superior before one who couldn’t awaken, almost forgetting they themselves belonged to the Twentieth Battalion.