Deputy Commander? A Single Slash Affair!

Wang Tie rolled over, propping his head on his arm as he mulled it over for a moment.

"You really planning to go tonight?"

"If I wait until tomorrow, he'll know those seven aren't coming back."

Lin Feng leaned against the bed board, pinching the paper covered in names between his fingers, flipping it over and reading it twice.

Wang Tie sat up, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I'll level with you. Zhao Tianxiong, that guy—don't let his Deputy Commander title fool you. In reality..." He paused, holding up five fingers. "Martial Artist, Fifth Stage."

Lin Feng froze.

"Fifth Stage?"

"Yeah, just Fifth Stage." Wang Tie lowered his voice. "He used to be the Logistics Section Chief at the Provincial Martial Arts Association. His family has connections, so they spent money to send him up north to the Northern Territory for a gilded resume. That Deputy Commander seat has nothing to do with fighting—it's all about managing grain, supplies, and logistics."

"The Northern Territory's desperate for people, and the higher-ups know he can't fight, but someone's got to handle logistics, so they turn a blind eye."

Lin Feng folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket.

"Where's his office?"

"East side of the base camp, the innermost room on the second floor of the Logistics Department. Usually after nine at night, he's in there alone. Two guards at the door, both Martial Artist First Stage." Wang Tie finished, then added, "But that office door's reinforced with alloy—you can't pry it open from outside."

"No need to pry."

Lin Feng swung off the bed, strapping the blade to his waist.

"I'll knock."

Wang Tie's mouth twitched. "You're gonna knock, you bastard?"

"Gotta let him open the door himself."

Lin Feng pulled open the barracks door and glanced back.

"Wait for me."

Wang Tie sighed, pulled a flask of wine from under the bed, unscrewed the cap, and took a gulp.

"Fine, I'll keep the wine warm."

Ten at night.

The east side of the base camp was dead quiet, with only the footsteps of the patrol passing by every few minutes.

Lin Feng timed the patrol intervals, slipping along the wall to the bottom of the Logistics building during the gap between two shifts.

The window on the innermost room of the second floor was lit.

Two guards leaned against the wall by the door—one smoking, the other staring at his phone.

Lin Feng didn't take the main entrance.

He circled to the back of the building, kicked off the wall, and scaled up to the second-floor windowsill in a few moves.

The window was left ajar, and the sound of paper rustling came from inside.

Lin Feng peeked in.

Zhao Tianxiong sat behind his desk, a stack of documents in front of him, a cigarette between his fingers, writing something in a notebook.

A pot of tea sat on the desk, steam still rising from it.

A military coat hung nearby, its pocket bulging—likely holding keys.

Lin Feng pushed the window open and climbed in.

The landing wasn't loud, but Zhao Tianxiong still heard it.

He jerked his head up, saw Lin Feng standing by the window, and nearly dropped his cigarette onto the desk.

"You!"

"Adjutant Zhao, good evening."

Lin Feng stood there, hand resting on his blade's hilt, his tone as casual as a greeting.

Zhao Tianxiong's face twitched a couple of times. He quickly glanced toward the door—the two guards were still outside, separated by the alloy door.

He forced himself to sit up straight, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray.

"Lin Feng, you made it out of the Rift?"

"I did."

"What about Liu Gang and Zhou Yuan?"

"Dead."

Zhao Tianxiong tapped his fingers twice on the desk, his expression shifting through several rounds.

"Too many Exotic Beasts, couldn't hold out?"

"It wasn't the Exotic Beasts that killed him."

Lin Feng stepped forward.

Zhao Tianxiong's back pressed against the chair, his hand quietly moving toward the drawer.

"I killed him."

Those three words fell, and the temperature in the office seemed to drop a few degrees.

Zhao Tianxiong's hand froze.

He stared at Lin Feng.

"Do you know what you're saying? Killing an Official Guard of the Northern Territory is a capital offense."

"Then what crime is it to send people to assassinate new recruits inside the Rift?"

Zhao Tianxiong didn't respond.

Lin Feng kept walking forward, each step unhurried.

"The seven Martial Artists who blocked me at the Rift entrance are dead too."

Zhao Tianxiong's face went completely rigid.

Seven?

All dead?

The seven Martial Artists he'd paid a fortune to hire—all taken down?

"Impossible." Zhao Tianxiong's voice tightened. "You're just a Martial Disciple. How could you—"

"Short-sighted fool. This Humble One is a Martial Artist Rank 2!" Lin Feng cut him off.

Zhao Tianxiong's pupils sharply contracted.

Martial Artist?

This kid, when he reported to the Northern Territory a few days ago, his file clearly stated Martial Disciple Rank 5.

At most, how many days had passed? From Martial Disciple Rank 5 to Martial Artist Rank 2?

Unless...

Zhao Tianxiong's mind raced, and a thought suddenly exploded.

"Body Tempering Pill."

He stared hard at Lin Feng, his voice cracking.

"That batch of Body Tempering Pills—you took them?"

Lin Feng didn't deny it.

Zhao Tianxiong shot to his feet, the chair sliding a meter back and slamming into the wall.

"Good, good!"

He laughed, an ugly laugh.

"So that's why those two pursuers died so cleanly, and all the Exotic Beasts within three kilometers of the Wilderness were cleared out—it was you!"

"A new recruit, just arrived at the Northern Territory, dares to intercept my goods, and uses all the Body Tempering Pills without a word."

"You've got some nerve!"

As he spoke, Zhao Tianxiong pulled a short blade from the drawer.

The blade was pitch-black, clearly not low-grade.

But the hand gripping it trembled violently.

Lin Feng looked at the blade, expressionless.

"Adjutant Zhao, I advise you to put that knife down."

"Put it down, my ass!" Zhao Tianxiong roared, lunging forward.

His speed was fast by military standards.

But in front of Lin Feng, it was no different from slow motion.

Lin Feng didn't even bother drawing his blade.

He sidestepped the strike, grabbed Zhao Tianxiong's hand with his left, and twisted it outward.

Crack.

The sound of a broken wrist bone was crisp.

Zhao Tianxiong screamed, the short blade flying from his hand, embedding itself in the wall, vibrating with a hum for several seconds.

Lin Feng gave a shove, and Zhao Tianxiong slammed into the desk. The teapot, documents, and ashtray on top clattered to the floor in a mess.

Zhao Tianxiong clutched his broken hand, collapsing to sit on the ground, all color drained from his face.

"You dare touch me? I'm the Deputy Commander! Laying a hand on me is treason!"

"Treason?"

Lin Feng crouched down, meeting his eyes levelly.

"Embezzling military supplies, skimming the compensation for new recruits, privately intercepting the Body Tempering Pills allocated by the Provincial Martial Arts Association. If these things get out, who do you think is the traitor?"

Zhao Tianxiong's lips trembled; he couldn't speak.

"Zhou Yuan confessed everything before he died." Lin Feng reached out and yanked the keychain hanging around Zhao Tianxiong's neck.

"Third drawer, secret compartment, right?"

Zhao Tianxiong's face completely fell.

Lin Feng stood up, walked behind the desk, and pulled open the third drawer.

There was a false bottom in the drawer. With a twist of the key in the hidden lock beside it, the panel sprang open, revealing what was inside.

A palm-sized black leather notebook, plus a stack of bank transfer receipts.

Lin Feng flipped open the notebook. It was densely packed with dates, quantities, amounts, and buyers.

Body Tempering Pills, Energy Recovery Pills, ammunition, high-grade healing medicine... the variety was absurd.

Behind each entry was a code name, corresponding to different buyers in the provincial capital.

The earliest record dated back three years.

"Three years." Lin Feng closed the notebook, weighing the stack of transfer slips in his hand.

"How much did you sell off in three years?"

Zhao Tianxiong lay sprawled on the ground, trembling all over, refusing to utter a single word.

Lin Feng didn't ask a second time.

He drew his long blade, the tip pressing against Zhao Tianxiong's throat.

"Let me ask you something."

"Tell me—those new soldiers who died on the front lines, they were supposed to get healing pills and ammunition. But because you sold off the supplies, they went up on the city walls empty-handed."

"How many died?"

Zhao Tianxiong curled into a ball on the floor, letting out muffled sobs from his mouth.

"Fine, don't talk."

Lin Feng withdrew the blade tip and stood up.

"It's all written in this notebook anyway."

He tucked the notebook and receipts into his chest, turned, and walked to the window.

Zhao Tianxiong suddenly scrambled up from the ground, lunging toward the door.

"Hel—"

Before the word "help" could fully leave his mouth.

A flash of blade light.

Zhao Tianxiong's body froze in place, a thin line appearing on his neck.

The line slowly turned red, beads of blood rolling down one by one.

His mouth hung open, only the sound of bursting bubbles coming from his throat.

Then, he pitched forward, crashing onto the floor, and didn't move again.

[Target Eliminated: Zhao Tianxiong]

[Steel of the Blade: 84/500]

Lin Feng sheathed his blade and vaulted out through the window.

From entering to exiting, it took no more than three minutes.

The two guards outside were still in their spots—one had just finished a cigarette and was fumbling for a lighter, the other had his phone screen glowing on his face, not even looking up.

Back at the barracks.

Wang Tie was indeed still awake, leaning against the headboard, his wine jug already half empty.

Seeing Lin Feng push the door open, he first glanced at the scabbard—clean, no blood.

"Done?"

Lin Feng tossed the black leather notebook and receipts onto Wang Tie's bed.

Wang Tie picked them up, flipped through a couple of pages, and the darker his face grew with each turn.

"This bastard embezzled over eight million worth of supplies in three years? Last winter's batch of healing pills—over fifty frontline men never got their share. Nineteen froze to death or died in battle. Turns out he sold them?"

He slapped the ledger onto the bed board, his voice barely a whisper, but the veins on his hands bulged.

"And Zhao Tianxiong?"

"Dead."

Wang Tie was silent for a few seconds.

"So what are you going to do with this stuff?"

"First thing tomorrow, I'm handing it over to Chen Lie."

"Instructor Chen?" Wang Tie frowned. "Does he have enough pull?"

"He's a Northern Territory veteran. He left an arm here. He won't be in cahoots with Zhao Tianxiong. Besides..."

Lin Feng lay back on the bed, placing his blade beside his pillow.

"He's backed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Seventh Defense Line. There's no way the Commander-in-Chief hasn't caught wind of Zhao Tianxiong's supply trafficking. He just lacks proof."

"Now the proof's here."

Wang Tie nodded, folded the ledger and receipts neatly, and handed them back to Lin Feng.

"Alright, kid. You work clean."

He took a swig of his liquor, hesitated, then spoke again.

"But have you thought about this? Zhao Tianxiong has connections in the provincial capital. With him dead, they won't let it slide."

Lin Feng closed his eyes.

"By the time the provincial capital sends someone, I won't be the same person I am now."

Wang Tie opened his mouth, but said nothing more.

On the next cot, Li Ming turned over, muttered something in his sleep, and drifted off again.

The Base Camp was quiet, as if nothing had happened.

The next morning.

Lin Feng carried his mess tin to the Canteen, half an hour earlier than usual.

Chen Lie was there, as expected.

The one-armed instructor sat alone in a corner, two steamed buns and a bowl of porridge in front of him, eating slowly.

Lin Feng walked over and sat down across from him.

Chen Lie looked up, his chewing pausing.

"This early?"

Lin Feng pulled the black leather ledger and the stack of receipts from his chest, set them on the table, and slid them over.

"What's this?"

"Zhao Tianxiong's account book and transfer records for three years of military supply trafficking."

Chen Lie's hand froze mid-air. The bun dropped into his porridge bowl, splashing a few drops.

He looked down at the black leather ledger on the table but didn't touch it immediately.

"And Zhao Tianxiong?"

"Dead in his office."

Chen Lie's brows twitched twice.

He slowly set down his chopsticks, picked up the ledger, and opened it.

By the third page, his hand stopped.

By the seventh page, his breathing grew heavy.

By the fifteenth page, he closed the ledger.

"That batch of medicine last November." Chen Lie's voice was low, but his tone seethed with anger.

"I lost six men under my command. The youngest was only seventeen. Wounded, no medicine. He lingered for two days and died right in front of me."

"I asked Zhao Tianxiong for it. He said the higher-ups never allocated it."

Chen Lie gripped the ledger in his hand, holding it tight.

"Never allocated? Damn it. Three hundred healing pills, all sold for two million four hundred thousand."

Lin Feng said nothing.

Chen Lie took a deep breath, tucked the ledger into his chest, and stood up.

"I'll handle this. You go back and wait for news. Don't go anywhere today."

He took two steps, then stopped and turned back to look at Lin Feng.

"Zhao Tianxiong's men—can you hold them off?"

"Could."

Chen Lie nodded and strode out of the Canteen.

Lin Feng picked up his mess tin and began eating breakfast.

Halfway through his meal, a commotion stirred at the Canteen entrance.

Someone ran in shouting, "Something's happened at the Logistics Department! Adjutant Zhao is dead in his office! A gash on his neck, blood already dried!"

The Canteen instantly erupted into chaos.

Lin Feng kept his head down, picked up a piece of pickled vegetable, and stuffed it into his mouth.

The disturbance at the entrance grew louder.

Several people from the Logistics Department burst in, led by a burly man with a bushy beard. He swept his gaze across the Canteen and locked onto Lin Feng.

"Lin Feng!"

The bearded man walked over and flipped the mess tin in front of Lin Feng, sending it clattering to the floor.

"Does Adjutant Zhao's death have anything to do with you?"