Little Sprout clung motionlessly to her head, whispering, "Ziye, I saw it. They've installed a force field generator five hundred meters outside the camp perimeter."

A sharp chill ran down Ziye’s spine. Force fields were not easily set up or transported. Did this mean the ambush had been meticulously planned?

Roar…

A wolf's howl suddenly split the air. Ziye froze, snapping back to attention. In her haste to escape, she had forgotten to monitor her surroundings and had blundered right into a wolf pack!

The wolves gave her no chance to react, lunging straight for her. Ziye fought to maintain her composure, drawing her dagger, gripping it backward. She sighted the lead wolf’s throat, crouched low to evade the initial rush, and slashed across its jugular vein.

The sound of the blade slicing the artery was like metal scraping metal. Ziye was startled, but the next second, the wolf’s head slammed towards her. Ziye threw up a kick, connecting squarely with its throat, but the beast was formidable; no matter how hard she kicked, it wouldn't release its grip. Panicked and anxious, Ziye channeled her mental energy into her arm and wrenched the wolf's head free.

With a sickening crunch, the internal components spilled onto the ground.

Ziye felt a jolt of horror. This wasn't an ordinary wolf—it was a machine wolf!

Another lunged for her back. Little Sprout let out a high-pitched shoo, releasing a bolt of electricity. The machine wolf shuddered but maintained its momentum. Alarmed, Little Sprout intensified the charge by a million volts and fired again.

With a sizzling zzzt, the synthetic skin implanted over the machine wolf’s exterior was scorched black, revealing blackened metal beneath. Terrifyingly, it still moved, still pouncing toward Ziye.

Gazing at the baring, clawing beast, Ziye knew she couldn't treat it like a natural predator. If it was a machine, there had to be a trick; if she could just find the key component, she could use minimal force—a gentle flick with the dagger—to make it fall apart.

The thought had barely formed when metal scattered like rain in mid-air, the flying fragments peppering Ziye’s face and head. Little Sprout's electrical discharge had been too strong, fusing and shattering the components.

Slicing through the wolves, the sound of falling metal became a constant accompaniment. Ziye quickly found her rhythm, abandoning brute force. Instead, she precisely targeted the machine wolves’ vulnerable pressure points; a single, accurate slice was enough to dispatch one.

What had started as being surrounded by a pack now transformed into carving a bloody path forward.

“Ziye, run! Someone’s coming,” Little Sprout cried, fluttering onto her, flattening its small body against Ziye’s waist to minimize drag.

Ziye darted in the direction Little Sprout indicated, weaving through the forest as swiftly as a darting pigeon. With machine wolves deployed, the enemy certainly wouldn't give up easily!

Indeed.

Thwack, hiss!

Ziye slammed flat to the ground, dodging a bullet, then immediately rolled, evading a follow-up razor blade. A dark silhouette flashed from the shadows. Ziye sprang up from the ground—thinking she could escape? Not so easily!

With a whoosh, Ziye vanished into the darkness.

The shadow whipped its head around, only to find Ziye already standing before him.

The figure was a tall man in forest camouflage, his face also smeared with paint, rendering his features indistinct. Despite his surprise, his hands were lightning-fast, driving a punch straight for Ziye’s nose.

In close-quarters combat, Ziye was hardly lacking. She sidestepped the blow, wrenched the razor blade from the tree it had lodged in, and swept it directly toward the man's neck—a lethal opening move.

The man expected her to lack the strength, reaching out to block, intending to casually reclaim the blade, but Ziye shifted her grip mid-swing, using the reverse side of the blade to slice his wrist.

Right at the artery.

A fountain of blood erupted.

The man showed a flicker of shock, quickly retreating backward before flipping into the dense undergrowth, vanishing into the darkness within seconds. Following the principle of not pursuing an enemy into deep cover, Ziye did not follow. She merely gazed thoughtfully at the blade; it bore no markings, only superior craftsmanship and cutting edge, unlike anything ordinary.

She sheathed the blade, and as she turned, she was met by the muzzles of several dark firearms aimed at her.

Too careless!

Ziye's back broke out in sweat. During Little Sprout’s training, she had faced far larger engagements without ever being surrounded by genuine live ordnance like this. But surrender was not in her nature. She leaped sideways, breaking the circle of encirclement, and chose the nearest opponent, stabbing out with her dagger aimed directly at the chest.

The tip struck the chest with a dull thud but failed to penetrate. The man wore hard armor, layered at least three deep. Her dagger pierced the third layer, and sensing danger, she yanked the blade free and retreated hastily.

“You’ve run out of chances!”

The voice, accompanied by a raised hand-blade, descended; the next second, Ziye plunged into unconsciousness.

Ziye awoke feeling distinctly unwell. Her hands were tied behind her, her fingertips brushing against a thick rope, possibly cowhide. Her legs were bound slightly looser, allowing minimal movement. She lay on the floor in an arc, her back aching dreadfully, but thankfully, she wasn't missing any limbs, nor could she see any obvious injuries—which would have been fatal in this condition.

It seemed her captors had a specific purpose for taking her.

Ziye didn't yet know their objective, but having a purpose meant she still had a chance to survive. She let out a breath and surveyed her surroundings. She was inside a metal structure that, at first glance, resembled a section of a space station. It was sealed front and back, without windows, and empty of personnel. The far walls were fitted with slatted metal vents, reminiscent of a wanderer's temporary shelter in the void.

There was no light outside; it was pitch black.

Unable to locate Little Sprout by sight, Ziye frantically called out mentally, “Little Sprout, where are you? Little Sprout?”

No response came.

Seeing no one and hearing nothing, Ziye grew anxious, but her bound hands kept her immobilized. She couldn't fathom the captors' goal. If they were official military personnel, they would have used standard handcuffs, not rope. Rope implied disorganized rabble. But how could disorganized rabble possess such a fine temporary habitat and command vast numbers of machine wolves?

There was only one explanation: handcuffs weren't enough.

The whole incident had been too bizarre, too sudden. She could only hope the people back at the camp were safe, or this would surely become the galaxy's most tragic incident.

As she pondered this, a soft beep sounded, and the metal door slid open automatically.

Two men in forest camouflage entered, carrying a captive between them. Ziye quickly feigned unconsciousness, leaving only a tiny sliver between her eyelids to observe the situation.

The men dumped the prisoner onto the floor like a sack of grain. The captive let out a muffled groan. One man kicked him, then they turned and left. Watching their retreat, a wave of genuine fear washed over Ziye.

Both men had broad shoulders and narrow waists, moved with light, synchronized steps—they looked like highly trained military operatives. If they weren't official military, there was only one other possibility: mercenaries!

Mercenaries worked for coin; even the organizers of this exercise couldn't be the masterminds behind this.

This time, the danger was real…

Ziye sighed internally and turned to look at the captive, who had been tossed behind her, out of sight. She had to start inching forward like an insect, if only to identify her companion. Just as she began to move, a low voice came from behind her, “Who are you? Ling’s?”

The voice was surprisingly familiar.

Ziye froze, then whispered back, “I’m Ziye.”

Upon hearing this, she seemed to sense the person behind her relax. He strained to shift closer to her, murmuring, “Bo*. Aimannit.” He paused, then added, “Don't move. I’ll slide behind you.”

Ziye stopped moving and whispered, “What exactly happened?”

Bo* recalled the terror of the moment with a lingering chill. “I woke up when they used incendiaries. I felt terrible, couldn’t escape, so I rolled into a low-lying area and played dead to see what was going on.”

Ziye urged, “What happened?”

Bo* strained to shift again, wincing from the pain, but he didn't want Ziye to know, letting out a silent breath. “It was chaos. Then a shell landed nearby, kicking up dirt that covered me. When I crawled out at dawn, most of the tents were burned down—empty. I only found a severed limb here and there. That’s when I was ambushed.”

Ziye felt her blood run cold.

Were some students blown to pieces?

This was undoubtedly a malicious attack. If so, everyone else alive must have been captured. What should they do now?

Ziye remained silent for a long moment. Just as she was about to speak, she noticed Bo*’s breathing rhythm was off, deliberately suppressed. She quickly asked, “Are you injured?”

Bo* was surprised by her keen hearing. He managed a wry smile. “I can still bear it. How about you? Are you alright?”

Ziye replied, “I got out when they attacked and was ambushed in the forest. By the way, have you ever heard of machine wolves?”

Bo* looked blank. “Machine wolves? What are those?”

Ziye didn't press the issue.

Bo* continued, “Did you notice anything strange? This kind of sudden attack is too bizarre.”

Ziye felt the same way. “They used a force field generator that forces mental suppression. We must have slipped through the cracks, but they anticipated that, setting up an ambush in the woods.”

Bo* fell silent, inching closer to Ziye.

Ziye felt his presence behind her. While still concerned, she felt a measure of comfort; at least someone else was alive, someone beside her.

She replayed the events of the previous day and realized her stomach was complaining loudly of hunger.

She asked Bo*, who replied sheepishly, “I ate a little this morning; I can hold out.”

Ziye fell silent again. Even if he had eaten a lot in the morning, he’d be hungry now. He probably didn't want them to bond over shared hunger, making them both feel worse—a rather gentle soul, she thought. Ziye mentally called out again, “Little Sprout, Little Sproutling!”

Still no appearance from Little Sprout.

Ziye and Bo* saw each other daily but rarely spoke; now, they had nothing to say. Ziye simply closed her eyes and began calculating their next move.

After an indeterminate amount of time, something soft gently stroked her hand.

She nearly jumped up in excitement. “You little rascal, you’re back?”

Bo* behind her asked in confusion, “Who is the little rascal?”