"Qin Tian… I'll teach you the Spirit Awakening Technique."
The words came suddenly.
Too suddenly.
They didn't belong to the quiet rhythm of eating, to the dull clatter of utensils against metal trays, to the fragile illusion of peace inside the barracks.
Qin Tian paused.
For a moment—just a moment—his thoughts stalled.
He had imagined this.
Planned for it.
Calculated possibilities, approaches, exchanges.
But not this.
Not given freely.
Xiao Yunlong set his chopsticks down, his usual carefree tone gone.
"I thought about something after the nap."
Across the table, Qin Dadi's expression shifted slightly.
He knew.
He understood where this was going.
His lips parted—
Then closed.
He said nothing.
"There's a flaw in clone technology."
Simple words.
Heavy weight.
Qin Tian felt it immediately.
A subtle tightening in his chest.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Anticipation.
"You only live three years."
No build-up.
No hesitation.
"Some don't even last one."
Silence.
The sound of chewing stopped.
Even breathing seemed quieter.
Three years.
Qin Tian lowered his gaze slightly.
His mind didn't reject it.
Didn't panic.
Didn't resist.
It simply—
Processed.
A fixed limit.
A countdown already started.
Strangely—
That made things clearer.
Cleaner.
His fingers moved slightly against the table.
He could feel the strength beneath his skin.
The steady rhythm of recovery.
The sharpened reflexes coiled within him.
I'm not standard.
The thought came naturally.
Not hopeful.
Not arrogant.
Just… factual.
"And becoming a Spiritualist solves that."
Xiao Yunlong leaned back slightly, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"So? Worth it, right?"
"Thank you."
Qin Tian's reply was immediate.
Calm.
Measured.
Gratitude.
That was the expected response.
So he gave it.
But inside—
Something colder formed.
Extend lifespan.
Increase survival probability.
New objective confirmed.
"It's not a big deal," Xiao Yunlong waved it off. "You can buy the technique if you've got money. Whether you awaken or not… that's up to you."
"I understand."
Qin Dadi finally spoke.
"Don't fixate on it too much."
His tone was steady, but there was something beneath it.
Experience.
Loss.
"Not everyone succeeds. And if you fail… there are other ways."
Other ways.
Unspoken.
But understood.
Replaceable methods.
Qin Tian nodded.
"Understood, Captain."
They resumed eating.
But something had changed.
The food—
Tasted duller.
The air—
Heavier.
Three years.
The number lingered.
Not as fear.
But as a shadow.
Stretching forward.
Beep.
Qin Dadi glanced at his wrist.
His expression hardened.
"What is it?" Liu Zhaozhao asked quietly.
"No mission tonight."
A pause.
"Tomorrow… we join the main force."
That was worse.
Everyone knew it.
Special operations had edges.
Control.
Precision.
A way out.
War—
Didn't.
No one spoke immediately.
Because there was nothing to say.
This is where people disappear.
Qin Tian observed them.
Subtly.
Carefully.
Tension in Yunlong's shoulders.
The slight tightening in Zhao Zhao's jaw.
The way Qin Dadi's eyes dimmed for just a fraction of a second.
Fear.
All of them felt it.
And yet—
They would go.
Why?
The question surfaced.
Simple.
Direct.
No answer came.
Because the answer didn't matter.
Orders were absolute.
Then adapt.
Qin Tian's gaze lowered slightly.
More enemies.
More corpses.
More evolution points.
Higher survival probability.
"Qin Tian. Yunlong. Zhao Zhao."
Qin Dadi stood.
His hand extended into the center.
"Let's survive."
One by one—
Hands stacked.
Warm.
Solid.
Human.
Qin Tian placed his hand last.
"Survive."
The word echoed.
But inside—
It felt different.
They want to survive.
I want to continue.
Not the same thing.
The Next Morning
The army moved.
A machine of war.
Endless.
Unstoppable.
Engines roared.
Tracks crushed the earth.
The ground itself seemed to yield under the weight of intent.
Above—
Fighter jets tore through the sky.
Sharp.
Precise.
Dominant.
Inside the carrier—
Xiao Yunlong talked.
Non-stop.
"…FM45 second-generation fighter—Gray Company's work…"
"…that saucer-type—Mosa Company classic…"
Words filled the space.
Not for information.
For distraction.
Qin Tian listened.
Every detail stored.
Filed away.
Useful.
Everything was useful.
Time passed.
Slowly.
Then suddenly—
"Get ready."
They disembarked.
The air felt different.
Heavier.
Charged.
Then—
A sound.
A screech.
Qin Tian looked up.
At first—
A cloud.
Dark.
Shifting.
Then—
Eyes.
Wings.
Forms.
Alive.
Demonra Beasts.
They filled the sky.
Blocking light.
Distorting scale.
The leading one—
Larger.
Wrong.
Its presence pressed down.
Not physically.
But mentally.
Qin Tian's vision sharpened.
Zoomed.
Focused.
Targets.
Jets engaged.
Blue light rained down.
Precise.
Cold.
The sky exploded.
Wind blades tore through metal.
Jets fell.
Beasts screamed.
Bodies burned.
Fragments rained from above.
War—
Didn't begin.
It revealed itself.
And it was indifferent.
Below—
The army didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't look up.
They kept moving.
Forward.
Always forward.
Then—
The Golan Heights.
Rugged.
Fortified.
Waiting.
Watchtowers lined the ridge.
Lights flickering like watchful eyes.
Cages.
Iron.
Heavy.
Inside—
Orcs.
Starved.
Mad.
Their eyes burned with something raw.
Unfiltered.
They roared.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
In anticipation.
Qin Tian watched them.
Silently.
Then—
His hand moved.
Fingers brushing the rifle.
Cold.
Familiar.
Reassuring.
His breathing slowed.
The noise of war faded.
Not physically—
But internally.
Everything became clear.
Targets.
Angles.
Distances.
Outcomes.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Only this—
If I kill enough…
A number will rise.
A limit will move.
A life will continue.
Qin Tian's eyes narrowed slightly.
And for the first time—
He understood something with absolute clarity.
This war—
Was not about victory.
Not about survival.
Not even about the Empire.
It was—
A harvest.
And he—
Had already become part of it.