If her assessment was correct, the mastermind behind this whole affair was utterly despicable! Launching nocturnal attacks on students, deploying explosives, burning tents, and outright killing—their methods were more savage than any pirate's.

How many students from Lingsi have endured such terrifying treatment? This was more brutal than any military special training. Forcing people to seek survival amidst terror and despair wasn't just physical torment; it was psychological devastation.

Are the instructors at Lingsi University always this ruthless?

Ziye pondered this as she walked, when the little sprout suddenly piped up, "Someone's ahead."

Her heart leaped, and she instinctively dove into the undergrowth, concealing herself, and signaled Bo* to silence. Bo* nodded, and the two quietly edged toward the direction the sprout had indicated. Soon, they heard sobbing, punctuated by hysterical shouts: "Get out! We don't need a teammate as heartless and disloyal as you!"

Another voice followed, sharp as an ice spring, utterly mismatched with the crying: "Fine. Don't follow me later." Ziye found the voice strangely familiar—could it be the Twins'?

Ziye cautiously peeked out. Not far off, under a tree, the Twin stood with a boy. Two other girls were sitting on the ground, and one was lying prone, whom Ziye couldn't tell if she was injured. One of the seated girls clung to the Twin’s leg, pleading, "No, don't go. If you leave, we'll die."

The gun held by the Twin pressed against the girl's temple. She snapped, "Let go!"

Internal strife? Seeing the situation deteriorating, Ziye rushed out of the bushes, calling out, "Twin!"

The Twin whipped her head around, her expression easing slightly upon seeing Ziye. She asked, "Why are you here?"

Ziye pointed to Bo* behind her. "We escaped together."

The girl whose head was being targeted by the gun was about to speak when she saw Bo* emerge behind Ziye, immediately scrambling over to clutch Bo*’s leg: "Bo*, please save me."

Bo*’s leg was injured, and the unexpected clutch made him stumble. He quickly used Ziye’s shoulder to steady himself and asked, "What happened?"

The girl’s eyes were red and swollen, her face ashen. Her once beautiful curly hair now looked as if she’d been rolling on the ground—strewn with twigs, weeds, and sweat, a truly ghastly sight.

With a trembling hand, she pointed at the girl lying on the ground and accused, "The Twin killed her!"

Ziye turned to the prone figure. She was covered in bloodstains, looking as though savaged by a beast, with jagged, shocking wounds all over—comparable to the corpses they’d seen in the metal house.

If the instructors orchestrated this attack, would they really resort to such brutality? On her journey here, even when ambushed, she hadn't struck a vital spot.

If they killed her, how could the wounds be so irregular? A body mauled by a wild animal wouldn't likely be left intact; the flesh would be stripped down to the bone.

Alternatively, even if this was the work of the Phantom Mercenaries, who are driven by profit, they typically wouldn't single out a girl for such a deliberate killing.

The more Ziye thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. She crouched down beside the body and said, "The Twin used a gun. How could she be the killer?"

The girl backed away from the corpse fearfully and shouted, "If the Twin hadn't abandoned her, she wouldn't be dead."

Ziye looked at the Twin, who merely shrugged, offering no defense whatsoever. Ziye lowered her gaze to the body, suddenly thinking of something, and reached out to prod the wound.

Damn it!

That was her first reaction upon touching the corpse.

Having spent so much time around that pervert, even if she didn't understand skin implantation or cellular modification synthesis, she at least knew the difference between a real person and a mannequin. The "corpse" before her was made of high-grade medical, non-toxic soft silicone rubber!

She pinched the surface skin—it was 0.32mm thick, crafted using cellular epidermal generation technology. Looking closely, she could even make out the tendons and veins on the "corpse’s" hands and feet, even faint, almost invisible body hair. At first glance, it was perfectly convincing.

The surface of the "corpse" was coated in fresh blood, which, after congealing, emitted a particularly pungent odor, keeping people away and thus concealing the trickery.

This was definitely part of the military training curriculum.

Ziye felt an urge to tear the "corpse" apart on the spot. Needless to say, the bodies in the metal house must have been lifelike replicas too. They had been fooled!

Without anyone needing to explain, she could probably piece together the entire sequence of events. The Twin had always detested weakness; kicking out someone who was dragging the team down would be typical for her.

What was truly terrifying were the instructors, capable of producing an identical (simulated) corpse in such a short time and placing it before them to incite internal conflict.

This tactic was arguably more psychologically devastating than the corpses in the metal room. Witnessing a peer fall dead right in front of you—no matter how strong the mind—would surely be unbearable torture.

How many people failed this phase, she wondered? It would be impossible to tally.

Ziye wiped her hand on the corpse's clothing and stood up. The Twin was watching her. They exchanged a look, and Ziye confirmed from the Twin’s gaze that she had long realized the body was fake.

Ziye asked with her eyes: Why didn't you tell them? If she had spoken up, this melodramatic scene could have been avoided.

The Twin turned her face away. "I don't bother speaking to the foolish."

The others, unaware of Ziye’s silent interrogation, assumed she was deliberately antagonizing the Twin and quickly tried to smooth things over. The Twin retracted her gun, crossed her arms, and sneered silently.

The boy who hadn't spoken before seized on them as a lifeline. "Where are you going? Can we come with you?"

Bo* replied, "We're returning to the camp."

The boy's face stiffened. "The camp was bombed. We can't go back."

Bo* soothed him, "It's all over now. It will be fine when we get back."

The girl who had been weeping heartbrokenly saw that everyone was ignoring the corpse and shrieked, "What about her?"

Ziye’s expression was blank. "Leave her here."

The girl, thinking the Twin was cold-blooded, was stunned to hear Ziye utter words just as cruel. She looked at Bo* pleadingly. "Please, she’s my friend."

Ziye turned her face away. "The body is fake. Let's go back."

The girl instantly went silent, as if struck by a sudden paralysis; her crying ceased abruptly.

The journey back was exceptionally quiet.

Stas, traveling toward the Kolai system aboard a shuttle, was constantly receiving military communiqués.

"After that embarrassing blunder, the conflicts haven't stopped," Major Fain complained over the secure line.

Stas lounged in the shuttle, his legs crossed, and chuckled seeing the Major’s grim face on the screen. "You can't handle a little conflict? Complaining to me with that constipated expression?"

The entire premise of this special operation had actually been engineered by the smiling tiger, Stas. He had simply said, "Military training is so damn boring. Let's spice things up a bit."

Now it was plenty spicy—so spicy the students were rebelling—and yet he was dusting off his hands and leaving. It was enough to make one furious. But the smiling tiger had too much influence; the Major had no authority to say anything, so he could only sigh: "Emotionally unstable girls are more terrifying than a battleship exploding."

Stas laughed heartily. "Hard work, brother. I trust you're excellent at clean-up. Goodbye."

The Major cut the communication, put on his headset, and pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache blooming.

"Report, Major, trouble at position 312, requesting support." An instructor's voice came over the comms, worsening the Major’s headache. "Report the situation."

The instructor's voice also carried fatigue. "Major, the girls are staging a revolt."

The Major frowned. "You can't even manage one girl, what good are you?"

The instructor remained silent but did not sever the communication line.

A high-pitched female voice cut in: "...We are not soldiers, not Special Forces. We are just university students here for training. I don't care if you’ve been infiltrated by Phantom Mercenaries or hijacked by pirates. As instructors, you must guarantee our personal safety, isn't that right?"

This was followed by a loud, crisp chorus of agreement: "Yes!"

The Major didn't need to listen through the comms to hear that "Yes" that likely startled every small bird in the forest into flight. Managing one girl might not be difficult, but when one girl galvanizes the emotions of everyone else, it is far from easy to resolve. He decided he needed to have a serious talk with the school administration upon his return; in the future, they needed to assign more articulate people to the training exercise to avoid being rendered speechless by the female students.

The camp was mostly cleaned up, and the scattered students had mostly returned. They gathered in the central open area, staring hostilely at the meager dozen or so instructors.

The students were led by Lingyin, who was passionately denouncing the instructors for their various failures to act. The Major began to suspect Lingyin definitely wasn't from curriculum track A; she was more articulate than a lawyer specializing in domestic disputes.

From the perspective of military training, she argued that the main goal was fostering willpower and team spirit, not forcing students to fight each other in desperate situations. When the overall skill level of the students hadn't reached military standards, applying military demands would only be counterproductive.

Furthermore, the training should not involve bloodshed.

Otherwise, the chief person in charge of the training must face sanctions from the Interstellar Court.

...

Her speech ignited the righteous indignation of all the students. The boys all stood up and surrounded the instructors. Compared to the students, the number of instructors was clearly insufficient.

Seeing that bloodshed was imminent, the Major could only order the instructors to retreat.

Lingyin glared at them, her eyes nearly spitting fire!

Her current condition was quite poor: half the pant leg of her uniform was torn, and her fair calves were crisscrossed with scratches from bushes. One of her twin tails was singed, and her face was smeared with ash and dirt.

Beside her lay a gruesome, blood-soaked corpse.

Lingyin pointed at the body, her impassioned voice tinged with a sob: "You scum wearing military uniforms, you must pay the price for her death!"

The Major stood on the periphery, pinching the bridge of his nose once more.

Should he call the students foolish, or very foolish? Couldn't they see such an obvious fake corpse? He sighed, activated his headset, and commanded, "Attention all personnel! Have any missing students return to camp immediately. Instructors present at the camp, fall back five meters."

The corpses were randomly generated to resemble the students.

As soon as the living returned to the camp, they would immediately realize the bodies were fake. Otherwise, trying to reason with the emotionally volatile girls would guarantee a group beating. (To be continued)