In line with Yang Ying's habits, the first individual born for any unit type became that unit's commander—like Randall the Machine Gunner, Brian the Flamethrower, Katerina the Medic, Kalia the Ghost Operative, and Quentin the Ghost Fighter Pilot—and now, Tyrot the Zealot was added to that roster.

The Protoss excel with dual blades; both Zealots and Dark Templars possess innate combat prowess that allows them to maximize the potential of the twin blades in their hands. The Zealot’s dual-sword technique is in no way inferior to the sword forms of the Nian Neng Temple; both represent combat skills honed to their absolute limits in their respective domains.

Although Yang Ying had acquired the foundational sword techniques of the Nian Neng Temple, as well as the dual-blade techniques from the advanced curriculum, his mastery was still incomplete; the subtle intricacies required time to polish. Consequently, during sparring matches with Tyrot, it was difficult for him to gain the upper hand.

However, Yang Ying was immensely pleased, as his swordsmanship was advancing rapidly through these duels—progress that far surpassed what he could achieve practicing alone by more than ten times.

He had already abandoned the notion of visiting Shaolin Temple on Mount Shaoshi for further insight.

Firstly, what he might gain at Shaolin Temple might not surpass what he had already acquired at the Taiji Temple; moreover, the temple's most renowned Double-Headed Sword style was not aligned with his future path.

Secondly, the gain would not justify the effort. He had already completely obtained the methods of the Taiji Temple and had no need to undertake another risk for a parallel set of doctrines.

The methods from the Taiji Temple, combined with the Psionic Power manuscript, were sufficient for him to cultivate to the level of Grandmaster Pang Qian. Yang Ying’s most pressing task currently was to integrate and digest all this knowledge thoroughly.

Zzzz... zzzz...

In a clearing on the floating continent, Yang Ying fought with his silver light saber clashing against Tyrot’s ice-blue sabers held in both hands. Tyrot’s blades seemed to be wreathed in icy-blue flame, and a powerful surge of psionic energy shoved Yang Ying back.

Yang Ying retreated two steps, watching as Tyrot crossed his hands in front of him, his twin swords lunging forward in a scissor-like motion. Over the past few days, Yang Ying had gradually grown accustomed to Tyrot’s moves, yet each encounter still brought a new "surprise."

Yang Ying pointed the tip of his saber toward Tyrot’s abdomen for a thrust. Tyrot tilted his dual blades slightly downward, clamping onto the silver light saber. He sprang into the air, rested the tips of his twin swords lightly on Yang Ying’s blade, vaulted over Yang Ying’s head, and simultaneously swept the blades forward, aiming to cleave Yang Ying’s shoulders.

Yang Ying pulled his saber back and blocked horizontally. Tyrot flipped over Yang Ying’s back and spun around, swinging one sword toward Yang Ying’s legs.

Simultaneously, Yang Ying spun to meet him, thrusting his saber toward Tyrot’s head. According to his calculations, he could pierce Tyrot’s skull before Tyrot’s blade could reach his own legs.

But Tyrot had two swords; he used the sword in his other hand to block Yang Ying’s attack while continuing the swing toward Yang Ying’s legs.

Yang Ying was forced to step back. Tyrot seized the opportunity to press the attack, bringing his twin swords down in rapid succession from above, below, left, and right. Yang Ying managed to deflect over a dozen strikes but couldn't reverse the disadvantage and finally shouted to stop the spar.

Tyrot stepped back, retracting his dual blades into his arm bracers. "Commander’s swordsmanship has improved again. I am truly delighted."

Yang Ying wiped his sweat. "Let’s pause here for now. We can continue later."

"As you wish, Commander," Tyrot bowed and withdrew.

Yang Ying stood aside, processing the results of the exchange. Katerina, the commander of the Medics, approached, holding a beverage with a straw protruding from the cup.

"Sir, this drink has restorative properties for stamina," she said in a soft voice.

The Terran Supply Station (commonly called the Barracks) could support the living necessities for eight individuals, including providing various foods, such as high-energy military rations.

"Thank you," Yang Ying took the drink and took two sips.

"How is your training coming along, Sir?"

"Tyrot is an excellent opponent. He has brought the full potential of the dual-blade technique to bear, which is greatly beneficial to my own sword practice."

"Then, Sir, when might you be able to defeat Tyrot?" Katerina moved behind Yang Ying and began massaging his shoulders to help him relax.

Yang Ying let out a contented hum. "That will be difficult. With dual swords, Tyrot's offensive power inherently surpasses mine using a single saber, and his technique has reached its peak—his offense and defense are flawless. To defeat him, I would need my psionic power to be greater than his, allowing me to overwhelm him through sheer force. Right now, I’m still a little short."

He had already lit the seventh lamp. The eighth and ninth were nearing completion. Based on his own cultivation experience and calculations factoring in the growth rate of the Zerg population, he should be able to light the ninth lamp by the first day of the Lunar New Year, ten days from now.

However, as the lowest tier of lamps were being ignited, Yang Ying had begun to faintly perceive the rules governing the lights beneath the high tower. Upon reaching the second tier, the rule for lighting a lamp would change: instead of increasing by units of one hundred per lamp, it would increase tenfold—by units of one thousand per lamp.

The first lamp on the second tier would require one thousand; the second, two thousand. The first lamp on the third tier would require ten thousand; the first on the fourth, one hundred thousand, and so on.

While Yang Ying was diligently training in seclusion at the hotel, two figures arrived at the foot of Mount Wudang. The leading figure was tall and thin, while the other was noticeably shorter; they were Qingfeng and Mingyue from the Taiji Temple.

Both wore casual shirts, but their complexions were terribly haggard, looking as if they hadn't slept for ten days and nights.

Upon entering the city, the sight of the bustling traffic stirred intense emotion within them.

Qingfeng immediately collapsed onto a chair by the roadside. "Mingyue, it took me seven days of contemplation to decide to abandon monastic life. I was psychologically prepared for everything, but why did you have to follow?"

Mingyue sat on another chair. "I know you well enough. You are proud and quick-tempered. Without me there to smooth things over, you would only run into walls everywhere."

Qingfeng shook his head and laughed heartily. "I never expected to have such a good friend as you even today."

"But what about you..." Mingyue grew serious. "Why are you leaving the priesthood? Is it because of your defeat by that Layman Yang last week?"

"A little bit, yes," Qingfeng’s face took on a look of recollection. "From Layman Yang's sword, I felt an expansive, boundless feeling I had never known before. It was only then I realized I was a frog in a well, self-satisfied over trivial matters. How could I not go out and seek experience? Besides, I’m naturally restless; entering the mortal realm is more conducive to my cultivation than hiding in some remote mountain valley."

"Just for that feeling, you are abandoning half of your cultivation to return to secular life?" Mingyue was so surprised she thought she had misheard.

"Our feelings can be deceived, but never truly misled. That feeling alone is enough," Qingfeng spoke too quickly and began coughing lightly. "However, you gave up half your cultivation simply because of my feeling—Old Brother, I truly feel terrible about that."

Mingyue shook her head. "Forget it, why bring it up? Better to spend some time thinking about what we’ll do next."

Just then, a gust of wind blew a piece of paper past them. Qingfeng’s eyes flickered, and the paper was seized as if by an invisible hand, delivering itself into his grasp.

Qingfeng read it from beginning to end, then burst into loud laughter.

"What is it?" Mingyue asked. "What does the paper say?"

"A recruitment flyer. It says they are seeking combat personnel globally to reorganize two fleets. This is guidance from Heaven—let's join the army!"

"Join... join the army?" Mingyue’s eyes widened, a look of disbelief on her face.

On the floating continent, Yang Ying suddenly had a sensation—neither auspicious nor ominous, but a very strange feeling. He tried to concentrate on it further, but it vanished as quickly as it came, leaving no trace. He soon forgot the feeling, dedicating himself entirely to his training.