Chapter Thirty-Six: An Unconventional Mission

“Twenty-six years old—a woman at twenty-six, do you know what that means?” Chen Cao lowered his head in contemplation. He understood what the number meant in Guo Qianshuang’s mouth; her age had reached the upper limit for this training project. She would never be able to pass the committee’s selection for the assignment.

Chen Cao saw the regret in Guo Qianshuang’s expression. Suddenly, someone came to mind, and he said, “Even so, your training program is still suitable for most people. Isn’t Great Bear a good candidate? In terms of speed, strength, and courage, he’s an excellent choice!”

“He’s not agile enough.” Guo Qianshuang walked to a large tree, running her fingers over the marks left by a blade. “It’s not that I haven’t considered him, but even though he trains diligently, he’s already reached his limit. In a few years, he'll be just like me—unable to make any further progress.”

Then she changed the subject. “Chen Cao, honestly, you don’t need to say it—I already know. You’re a natural-born soldier. Anyone from 0611 who stays in the army will move toward a commanding role, and you’re an elite in individual combat training. Although my project was excluded from your training plan...” Guo Qianshuang looked at Chen Cao, her eyes flickering with hope.

“You really do have the mind of a combat strategist, Instructor Guo,” Chen Cao said with a slight smile. The psychology he learned from Linghu Ruomu wasn’t wasted; with a glance, he could see Guo Qianshuang’s intention.

“For you, mastering another skill is never a bad thing,” Guo Qianshuang replied with a smile.

“And you’ve gone through all this trouble, waiting here to perform this little play for me.” Chen Cao sheathed his dagger at his belt and nodded. For a woman obsessed with the military, an instructor striving for her dream, how could he refuse such a request?

“I simply want my military techniques to have an heir—there’s nothing wrong with that!” Guo Qianshuang tossed her blade to Chen Cao. “I’ll teach you the secrets of my swordplay. I know your time is tight—just this one afternoon, or it will be discovered. If the committee finds out I’m teaching without authorization, the principal will have my head.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s begin!” Chen Cao said, taking the blade.

When Chen Cao returned to the cabin, the bright moon had already risen, but he showed no intention of going back in. Instead, he turned and headed for that little hill—the place where a hero was buried, his only friend in the past two years.

Chen Cao carried a roast chicken in his hand. As he climbed the slope, he noticed someone already sitting before Heikui’s grave. This person was all too familiar.

It was Duan Tianya, the chief instructor who, over the past year, had comprehensively improved Chen Cao’s skills and managed his overall training rhythm. He should be counted as Chen Cao’s master, yet Chen Cao had never actually called him “master.”

Duan Tianya stood quietly beside Heikui’s grave, gazing at the wooden headstone. The bloodstains on it had long since dried—that was Chen Cao’s handwriting from a year ago, now faded and blurred.

Chen Cao did not greet Duan Tianya directly. Instead, he silently approached the grave and gently placed the roast chicken before the mound, saying nothing.

The evening breeze carried the earthy scent of leaves.

Breathing in the tranquil air of the woods, Chen Cao murmured, “I should have known you’d come.”

Duan Tianya, as always, didn’t waste words. Staring at the epitaph, he addressed Chen Cao: “Where’s the dagger?”

Without hesitation, Chen Cao drew the dagger inscribed with the character “Li” from his belt and tossed it over.

Duan Tianya caught it, flipped his wrist, and immediately began carving on the wooden headstone with swift precision. Before long, under the sharp dagger, neat seal script emerged on the wood.

After finishing, Duan Tianya stroked the characters on the blade and said to Chen Cao, “I’ve always been an atheist. Perhaps as death draws near, I find myself more superstitious—call it fate.”

“What’s the mission this time?” Chen Cao sensed a different emotion from Duan Tianya than in previous meetings.

Duan Tianya looked up at the bright moon but said nothing.

After so much psychological cultivation from Linghu Ruomu and countless combat trials, Chen Cao had become calm and reserved. He simply stood quietly beside Duan Tianya.

Lighting a cigarette, Duan Tianya asked, “Did you memorize the sword technique Guo Qianshuang taught you?”

Chen Cao’s gaze remained serene. From the moment he agreed to learn Guo Qianshuang’s techniques, he’d never intended to hide it from Duan Tianya. Here in 0611, nothing could be concealed from this man, a lifelong hero of the Republic.

“I think you’ll need it very soon,” Duan Tianya said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “We have a squad that’s been trapped on the battlefield during a special assignment. It’s been a month since their last contact. Their mission is of utmost importance—the secrets they carry directly affect national interests. I need you to find them and bring them back to Dacheng...” At this, he took a fierce drag, exhaling slowly, clearly leaving much unsaid.

“What if I can’t get them out?” Chen Cao looked at Duan Tianya.

“Execute them on the spot.” Duan Tianya seemed unwilling to utter these words, smoking furiously until a fit of coughing wracked him—yet he kept smoking.

Though mentally prepared, Chen Cao was still momentarily stunned. But he quickly calmed himself, squared his shoulders, and said to Duan Tianya, “Understood. I will complete the mission.”

In the face of a mission, Chen Cao had always obeyed—especially when the orders came from Duan Tianya.

Duan Tianya walked over and handed the dagger back to Chen Cao. “You must complete this mission. I’ll brief you on the plane tomorrow.” With that, coughing violently, he disappeared into the night.

Days later, Chen Cao lay in Linghu Ruomu’s cave, receiving psychological counseling. For the past few days, his chief instructors had been busy preparing for his mission; to outsiders, they seemed like loyal aides willing to serve him without complaint.

They had pinned so many hopes on him, and this mission would send him into the perilous battlefield of Oderu. They had to prepare him thoroughly.

Oderu—a nation of fanatical religious zealots. For centuries, it had been engulfed in war. Among a population of tens of millions, there were hundreds of armed factions locked in mutual restraint. By all logic, these unruly mobs should have been crushed by foreign powers.

Yet history proved otherwise. Despite centuries of invasion, Oderu had never truly been conquered. Even the former world power, the Kokora Republic, sent hundreds of thousands of troops—only to be shattered in the end.

It wasn’t just their abundant gold and energy resources.

These militias possessed not only exceptional mobility and guerrilla tactics but, above all, an unyielding faith. A person cannot live without faith—their faith was in their one true god. Whenever the nation was invaded, these hundreds of factions, like squabbling brothers, would instantly unite against the outside enemy. Only after repelling the invaders would they resume their infighting.

It must be said that their internal strife, at most, involved light weapons and group brawls. But against outsiders, their methods became horrifying: suicide bombers, guerrilla raids, midnight assassinations, and, when that failed, rolling up their sleeves and choosing mutual destruction. Captured enemies rarely survived, and their deaths were always gruesome.

Now, Chen Cao had to go alone into Oderu, a war-torn land. The country was under attack by multiple armies, all aiming to plunder its gold and diverse energy resources.

At present, over a million troops fought in Oderu. To survive and make it out unscathed was no easy feat.

The Dacheng Republic, renowned for its policy of non-interference in other nations’ affairs, had always been a symbol of peace and civilization. But civilization does not mean neglecting military preparedness. The establishment of Special Forces Unit 0611 was the best testament to Dacheng’s constant vigilance in national defense.

“This mission must be extraordinary—or there wouldn’t be such emphasis on it,” Chen Cao thought as he crushed the sheet of paper in his hand, turning it into scraps that fluttered through the air. “I have to bring them all back. I, Chen Cao, could never kill my own comrades!”

Once more, Chen Cao lay on the chair, Linghu Ruomu preparing him for departure. She didn’t hypnotize him—her tone was more like a nagging conversation.

“Old Li said you can’t bring too many weapons this time. Make sure you remember all the skills he taught you... Old Zhou couldn't come, but asked me to remind you that when you’re there, remember your identity as an heir to the organization—don’t get into fights easily... Old Shang wanted me to tell you...” Linghu Ruomu kept on and on, and before long, her eyes had grown red.

“I know. I’ll adapt as needed,” Chen Cao replied calmly. Inside, he found it amusing; this Teacher Linghu, so ruthless and composed when teaching anatomy, so alluring during psychology lessons, now looked as soft as a little girl. He thought, “I’d better watch out. One careless move, and I’ll fall for it.”

“And another thing...” Linghu Ruomu, facing this student she’d poured all her energy into, seemed unable to stop. Though past missions were dangerous, they were usually minor tasks like dealing with drug traffickers—child’s play for an elite like Chen Cao, trained by 0611’s best. This time, though, was different—his first major, unconventional mission, fighting alone amid a million soldiers. How could she not worry? After all, she was a woman, and women are more emotional.

“Damn it, what’s happening to me?” Linghu Ruomu fought to keep the tears from falling.

“All right, time’s up,” Chen Cao said, already hearing the thrum of helicopter blades outside.

“Oderu, here I come!”