Two months into the semester, Tianquan Military Academy plunged into midterm exam week. For Combat Division A-Class, the first test was Tactical Command, a course dubbed by students as "the most mystical subject in history." Beyond analyzing historical military cases to teach strategy and assault tactics, the rest hinged on personal intuition and exhaustive simulation drills.
These drills unfolded in first-person perspective within the academy's state-of-the-art holographic simulation chambers. Equipped with the Empire's most advanced tech, the chambers could replicate millions of terrains, troop types, and evolving battlefield scenarios. Commanding in these simulations felt as real as actual warfare—students assumed unfamiliar names and army designations, as if thrust into another world.
Their Tactical Command professor had a famous maxim: "To become a general, you must first envision yourself as one." The simulation chambers made that vision tangible, letting every student taste the weight of command.
Yet, leading wasn't as simple as moving chess pieces. Students faced vivid, lifelike soldiers—each with names and identities—who marched to battle on their orders, yearning for victory. Armies could sweep triumphantly or crumble in retreat; soldiers might return as heroes or perish in defeat—all resting on the students' choices. They scaled the ruthless peak of glory, but bore the crushing burden of responsibility.
The simulations' high randomness and immersion meant failure revealed varied outcomes. Poor commanders saw their armies react unpredictably: some troops, iron-willed, fought to mutual destruction; others, volatile, might mutiny, forcing students to relinquish command. Surrendering command ended the simulation, but most avoided such disgrace, opting to "end simulation" when defeat loomed inevitable.
Combat Division had two unwritten rules: First, never set simulation realism to 100%. Standard settings ranged from 70% to 80%. Second, treat every drill with utmost seriousness.
A cautionary tale underscored these rules. Years ago, a hapless cadet cranked realism to 100% and treated the simulation as a game. Assigned a highly intelligent NPC adjutant, the cadet's reckless, cavalier commands disappointed the adjutant, who turned double agent, leaking secrets to the enemy. Oblivious to the betrayal, the cadet persisted in half-hearted leadership, awaiting defeat and a scripted death. Under the dual curse of espionage and incompetence, their forces collapsed.
The adjutant's treachery surfaced mid-campaign, as he defected with loyal troops. The cadet, merely surprised, issued no kill order. As the simulation neared its end, with the enemy poised to overrun the command post, the adjutant abruptly switched sides again, orchestrating an inside-out assault with the cadet. Against all odds, they routed the enemy, buying their troops a reprieve.
Galvanized, the cadet threw himself into the fight, rallying with the adjutant to reclaim the tide. They and their officers baited the enemy repeatedly, using ambushes to whittle down superior forces. Their tactics weren't fruitless, but the enemy's advantage and the cadet's early blunders proved insurmountable.
On the final day, their defensive stronghold faltered, the fortress on the brink of falling. Steel walls couldn't halt the enemy's advance. Shells and lasers streaked like meteors, the ground quaking with explosions. Lives—friend and foe—vanished in an instant, their worth reduced to nothing. The night blazed ceaselessly, war's fury turning darkness to day.
The cadet refused to "end simulation." The grueling campaign had taught him a lesson: every command demanded full commitment from the outset, lest regret haunt the end. He urged his adjutant to defect again, to save himself.
Instead, the adjutant, awaiting death calmly, shot himself in the temple. Blood and brain matter splattered the cadet, who froze, realizing his error.
The adjutant had been wracked with guilt. He'd seen the cadet's transformation, which deepened his shame for leaking secrets that doomed their troops. Overwhelmed, he deemed his survival dishonorable.
The cadet, who'd treated NPCs as mere code, shattered under the weight of that moment. The "immersive simulation" amplified his mistakes, hammering his psyche. He ended the session, returning to reality seemingly unscathed but deeply shaken. Thereafter, his commands grew timid, earning praise for caution but criticism for lacking decisiveness.
The story didn't end there. One day, browsing the academy's archives, he stumbled on war footage from three centuries prior. A clip showed Imperial soldiers disembarking a warship, led by a smiling staff officer whose face mirrored the adjutant's—an electric shock to the cadet.
Digging through records, he confirmed the adjutant's identity: a captain who died in a fleet landing battle over 300 years ago. At 100% realism, the simulation drew soldiers' faces and combat data (excluding personalities) from the Empire's fallen warriors—the bedrock of its glory, lingering as specters in its annals.
Unable to bear desecrating their honor, the cadet withdrew from Tianquan, deeming himself unworthy of command.
The academy, after deliberation, locked 100% realism, accessible only with special authorization. Students were advised to use 70-80% settings.
Baisha preferred 85%—a balance that avoided over-immersion while embracing the chaos of real war, where luck often tipped the scales. She navigated the unpredictability, securing victory and acing her midterm.
Her supervising professor gave her an A. "Her Highness has a knack for surprise assaults," an assisting examiner noted.
"Striking swiftly, exploiting weaknesses—a royal hallmark," the professor said, reviewing the roster. "But her strategic vision needs refinement. Others shone too, like Sino Uss—steady, with sharp judgment across the board."
"What about the 3S-rank?" the examiner asked.
"Cen Yuehuai?" The professor groaned. "Don't ask. She had her troops disguise as janitor droids to infiltrate the enemy—and it worked."
The examiner stifled a laugh.
Successful commands earned at least a B. Gritting his teeth, the professor gave Cen a B+, with the note: "Well-commanded, but never do that again."
The following days brought more exams. Baisha, dual-majoring, was the busiest, juggling Combat and Mechsmithing assessments with no flexibility to skip classes. She raced between venues: ten minutes after commanding in the simulation chamber for Land Combat Command, she sat for Mech Energy Studies in the Mechsmithing Institute.
Midterms, though only 10% of final grades, demanded diligence. Jiang Gui, considerate of her schedule, paused lab assistance for the week.
The final exam was Mech Combat, thoughtfully scheduled on the last day. With most courses tested, students could fight unburdened, some venting academic stress in the arena. For fairness, they used standardized academy mechs—damage didn't sting as much.
3S-rank students like Baisha, Cen, and Sino, far outclassing peers, faced professors. Cen went first.
"Mercy, Professor!" Cen pleaded playfully.
Her opponent was Tisiya, her mentor for over a month. Each knew the other's strengths and habits. Tisiya smirked, pointing. "Enough chatter. Fight."
Cen wielded a gun and crossbow, her affinity for the latter baffling Tisiya. It stemmed from Rainbow Rain, a transformable crossbow Baisha crafted for her in Unbound City, later refined twice. Cen grew adept, favoring crossbows even against Tisiya.
Tisiya's mech raised a hand, hurling a meteor hammer at Cen. Cen dodged with acrobatic flair—sidestepping, ducking, flipping—as if eyes lined her back, evading the twin hammers. She nocked an arrow, aiming for the hammer's tether.
Tisiya stood firm, her hammer whipping around her waist and neck, snapping Cen's arrow midair with deceptively light force. Cen, a ranged specialist, needed to breach Tisiya's defense at close quarters to stand a chance.
Gritting her teeth, Cen calmed her mind, firing three arrows guided by electromagnetic control along divergent paths. Tisiya's eyes flashed, calculating their trajectories, but this was Cen's ploy—she surged forward, her speed blurring, firing two shots at the hammer's chain.
Tisiya sidestepped leisurely, adjusting the tether's angle without altering the hammer's path. Cen's mech joints clicked, leg thrusters flaring white. She leaped silently, a metal dagger springing from her foot, slashing at Tisiya's shoulder.
Tisiya smiled, seizing the tether's midpoint. The silver hammers converged, then parted—one swatted down arrows and bullets, the other arced, smashing Cen's back, grounding her.
Two seconds had passed since Cen's charge.
"So fast!"
"Cen's speed is unreal! These are standard mechs—no speed advantage!"
"Maybe her mental energy's unique…"
Spectators whispered.
Cen, sprawled, flipped over like a turtle, conceding. "I surrender, Professor."
"Pathetic," Tisiya sighed, her red lips pursing, brows knitting. "How do I grade this?"
"You've been drilling me after class," Cen said boldly. "A low score would shame you."
Tisiya laughed, kicking her lightly. "Get up. Land one hit, and I'll give you an A."
Cen sprang up, rearming her crossbow with renewed vigor.
Baisha and Sino, watching from the sidelines, nodded in unison.
"Her technique's improved," Baisha said. "That burst wasn't just mental energy."
"She's shaping up," Sino agreed, pleased.
"She needs a better weapon," Baisha mused, rubbing her chin. "Rainbow Rain has melee functions, and she's comfortable with it. Maybe we should produce it."
"It's appeared in Unbound City," Sino cautioned. "We're low-profile there, but using Rainbow Rain risks exposing our IDs."
"What if I list its blueprints on Unbound City's trade hub?" Baisha suggested, grinning. "You arrange a buyer. It's aboveboard then—no one can complain. A bit of self-deception, sure, but my ID leaking isn't a big deal."
She no longer chased Unbound City's Mechsmithing League glory. The Empire's Mechsmithing Association was a fresh frontier, ripe for exploration.
They agreed to try bringing Rainbow Rain to reality, though virtual-to-physical conversion was fraught, especially with material constraints.
Five minutes later, Cen was floored again but grazed Tisiya's mech with a bullet, leaving a faint mark.
"You pass," Tisiya said, nodding. "A for now, but I expect more by finals."
Panting, Cen climbed from her cockpit, flashing an "OK" gesture.
Before the next exam, Tisiya addressed the crowd from the arena. "The joint exercise announcement is out. Our four Imperial academies will hold a selection to pick candidates for the Federation exercise."
"We'll screen based on regular performance, sending our best to the four-academy contest."
Students exchanged glances. From internal screening to inter-academy competition, securing a spot was a gauntlet. The academies' fervor seemed disproportionate.
Most students knew of the exercise but paid it little mind. The Federation, stagnant for years, seemed weak; the exercise felt like a ceremonial nod to peace—glorious but dull. They couldn't exactly thrash the Federation in earnest, could they? The four-academy contest might outshine the main event.
What was the point? A subsidized vacation? Tianquan's elite cadets had no taste for pageantry.
Tisiya read their skepticism. "Don't sulk—chin up. This exercise is a priority for all four academies. You think it's trivial, but the others are gunning to outdo us." Her brow arched. "For fairness, first- to third-years will be drawn. As freshmen, you can't shame Tianquan, or they'll say we're faltering—yes, you're not my last class, but don't let outsiders look down on us."
A student, indignant, nearly pointed to Baisha, Sino, and Yu Yan, but stopped. Their excellence was undeniable; Tisiya's gripe was with the rest dragging down the stars' average.
Good thing he didn't speak—self-inflicted humiliation.
"I know grand speeches don't fire you up," Tisiya said, blowing on her nails, her gaze sharp. "Here's the deal: exercise participants get a custom mech, free, and keep it post-event. Main team members get mechs designed by at least five special-grades—including Master Jiang Gui, the Empire's top mechsmith."
A collective gasp erupted.
No wonder the other academies were rabid—this was a free mech for joining, with main team slots promising Jiang Gui's billion-credit touch, a prize even nobles couldn't easily afford.
"Professor," a student blurted, "with such rewards, is the Empire planning to go all-out against the Federation?"
"Absolutely," Tisiya said, chuckling. "Don't underestimate Federation mechs. Word is, their AI systems have new breakthroughs. Slacken, and you'll lose to a bot."