The Lockup

His murky, aged eyes revealed the ruthlessness of one who had spent years navigating the martial world.

"For an ordinary martial artist, the blood and qi should have settled by the age of thirty. It's considered decent enough if one can maintain their realm without slipping."

Chen An looked at Lu Zhen, clicking his tongue in wonder.

"But you, little brother, are different. Just now in the courtyard, when you unleashed your blood and qi, that scorching, furnace-like momentum was even more overbearing than those twenty-year-old hotheaded youths!"

"Such a vigorous foundation cannot be brushed off with a simple 'coincidence'."

The old captain raised his wine cup, his face full of smiles.

"It is a great fortune for our Third Station to gain such a strong reinforcement as you, little brother. Come, let this old man toast you once more!"

After three rounds of drinks.

Chen An set down his wine cup and wiped his mouth.

"The wine has been enjoyed, but business comes first."

He waved his hand, beckoning a bailiff from outside the door.

"Old Li, take Brother Lu and Young Master Gu to the logistics department to register their waist tokens and rosters."

"Yes!" The bailiff responded respectfully.

Lu Zhen and Gu Yanzhi stood up, cupped their hands in farewell, and followed the bailiff out of the private room.

The Garrison Bureau had its own dedicated bathhouse.

It was filled with rising steam and the splashing of water.

Having washed away the dust of his journey, Lu Zhen stood bare-chested before a mottled half-length bronze mirror.

The mirror surface was slightly yellowed, reflecting a body that looked as if it had been forged from iron.

During this period, he had practiced tirelessly day and night, consuming massive amounts of precious medicinal herbs and mutated fish meat.

Coupled with the constant scouring of his blood and qi since stepping into the Bright Force, his body, which had once been somewhat balanced and scholarly, was now bulging with muscle.

His muscles were stacked like rocks, and his skin was as tight as old oxhide, faintly shimmering with an iron-blue luster in the water vapor.

With every breath, a dull, rolling thunder echoed within his chest and abdomen.

His aura was fierce, like a dormant tiger.

Lu Zhen picked up the clothes from the rack nearby.

This was the exclusive uniform of a squad leader.

It was a deep black, dark-patterned brocade martial suit with red-trimmed cuffs.

He put on the clothes and tightened the wide leather belt.

On his chest, the character "Garrison" embroidered with interwoven gold and silver threads reflected faintly in the dim light.

Combined with his now burly physique and steady gaze, he possessed an imposing air of natural authority as he stood before the mirror.

Not far away, Gu Yanzhi walked over, having also changed into his uniform.

He wore the standard grey-based, black-trimmed uniform. Since they had arrived together, he had been directly assigned under Lu Zhen's command while they were handling the paperwork earlier.

"Let's go, time to collect our weapons," Lu Zhen said, picking up the red copper waist token from the table.

"Right."

The two walked one after the other, heading toward the backyard along the corridor.

Third Station, Class A-6 Barracks.

Most of the men had the buttons of their grey uniforms undone, their expressions listless.

Beside the wooden table in the center of the room, a lean young man in his early twenties was using a rag to scrub a mountain-cleaving blade with all his might.

The blade had been ground so thin it shimmered with a cold light.

"Monkey, stop scrubbing."

On the communal bed, a middle-aged man with a face full of pockmarks exhaled a ring of pipe smoke and said slowly.

"What's the use of scrubbing the blade until it's bright? Once you leave the city and run into those thick-skinned mutated beasts, it'll just be something that gets snapped in one swipe."

"Uncle Old Pockmark, if the blade is sharper, there's always a better chance of survival when trouble hits." The young man called Monkey didn't look up, his eyes flashing with restless intensity.

"I don't want to spend my whole life at the bottom of this bureau. If I can seize an opportunity to claim a major merit and trade it for a profound cultivation technique..."

"Pfft."

Another pot-bellied man nearby let out a cold sneer.

"First merit? With that scrawny frame of yours, would you even be enough to fill the gaps between the teeth of those beasts outside the city?"

The pot-bellied man sat up and patted the rolls of fat at his waist.

"In this world, staying low-key is better than anything else. Listen to your elders: when patrolling outside the city, just trail behind and keep a low profile. You get paid for the work you do, and nothing more."

"Exactly. A warm bed and a family to go home to—you have to be alive to spend your money," Uncle Old Pockmark chimed in from the side.

As they were chatting idly.

Bang.

The wooden door of the guardroom was shoved open.

A breathless runner poked his head inside.

"Stop sleeping! Wake up! A new supervisor is coming, and he'll be here any second!"

The room fell silent instantly.

The men exchanged glances and straightened their postures.

Uncle Old Pockmark tapped his pipe against the table and asked with a frown.

"A new supervisor? From which branch? What kind of person is he?"

"I don't know where this big shot came from," the runner wiped his sweat. "Anyway, he's a Bright Force Martial Master. Just a moment ago in the front courtyard, he lifted that five-thousand-jin stone lock with one hand. He looks unfamiliar, and quite young."

Young?

Hearing those two words.

The expressions of the middle-aged men in the room changed in unison.

They had long since lost the hot-blooded passion they possessed when they first joined the Garrison Bureau; in this grueling world, their spirits had been worn smooth.

Nowadays, they only thought about how to safely collect their pay and head home.

Now, a young and vigorous supervisor had been dropped in on them.

Young people had too much energy; he would surely look for opportunities to earn merit and would definitely stir up trouble.

And in a place like the Garrison Bureau, trouble meant danger.

It meant using the lives of low-level grunts like them as cannon fodder.

"We're in trouble now..." The pot-bellied man lost his earlier composure, his face turning grim as he muttered to himself.

Uncle Old Pockmark gripped his pipe and let out a silent sigh.

A superior officer could crush his subordinates with rank alone; no matter how unwilling they were, there was nothing they could do.

Guided by the runner, Lu Zhen and Gu Yanzhi first went to the Internal Affairs Pavilion of the logistics department.

The light inside the pavilion was dim.

The air was thick with the pungent scent of rust and gun oil.

"The rules for joining the bureau: collect your gear first," the one-eyed old man in charge of registration rapped on the table.

He pointed to a row of weapon racks on the left.

Those were the blades for ordinary gray-clad members. They were all forged from hundred-refined iron, including sabers, spears, swords, and halberds of every variety.

Such weapons were sharp enough to deal with ordinary people and handy enough for hacking at low-level mutated beasts outside the city.

Gu Yanzhi stepped forward and picked through the weapon rack.

He chose a horizontal saber.

The spine was thick, the blade straight, and it had a decent weight—perfect for heavy hacking and slashing in the chaos of battle.

"Supervisor, please follow me."

The one-eyed old man's attitude toward Lu Zhen was noticeably more respectful as he led him to another iron rack in the depths of the pavilion.

The number of weapons here was small, but they looked far more refined.

A supervisor's weapon was different.

Ordinary hundred-refined iron could not withstand the violent blood energy and externalized Qi of a Bright Force Martial Master; if they channeled their force into it, the blade would snap and shatter with a single tremor.

The weapons issued to supervisors were forged with a special additive: Black Gold Sinking Sand.

The material was extremely unique and possessed excellent toughness, capable of withstanding the shock of tens of thousands of jin of force without breaking.

Lu Zhen's gaze swept across the iron rack.

He stopped in front of a long, sheathed saber.

He reached out, gripped the hilt, and slowly drew it.

There was no blinding cold glint; the blade was narrow, slightly curved, and possessed a dull, oppressive charcoal-gray hue.

It was incredibly heavy.

This single blade alone likely weighed fifty or sixty jin.

But in Lu Zhen's hands, it was a perfect match for his current terrifying strength.

"I'll take this one." Lu Zhen sheathed the blade.

After the weapon was chosen, the one-eyed old man bent down again, fished two thin booklets out of a locked cabinet, and pushed them toward Lu Zhen.

Officers who had attained a rank were entitled to choose additional cultivation techniques. This was the confidence the Garrison Bureau had in recruiting experts.

"The rules of the bureau: officers who have just entered the Bright Force stage can claim one internal cultivation method and one combat technique."

Lu Zhen lowered his head and flipped through them.

The internal cultivation method was named Three Yang Breathing Technique.

It was an introductory method specifically for martial artists who had stepped into the Bright Force stage, used to guide qi and blood deep into the internal organs.

Progress was extremely slow, but it had the advantage of being steady and balanced, making it difficult to go astray during practice.

The other booklet was a combat technique designed for use with a long saber.

It was named Army-Breaking Eight Slashes.

Lu Zhen tucked the booklets close to his body and picked up the long saber.

"Let's go."

The two left the Internal Affairs Pavilion, followed the long corridor inward, and soon arrived at the Class A-6 Barracks.

He pushed open the wooden door.

Creak.

The light in the room was poor, and the air was thick with the sour stench of low-quality dry tobacco and foot sweat.

Several middle-aged men who had been lounging on the large communal bed or wiping their blades at the table looked up upon hearing the commotion.

When they saw the black brocade with red trim on Lu Zhen's body, and the gold and silver interwoven "Garrison" character on his chest, they all stood up straight in unison, their expressions stiff.

Lu Zhen swept his gaze across the room.

Including Gu Yanzhi, who had just joined the team, there were ten people in the Class A-6 Barracks.

They weren't exactly old, weak, sick, or disabled, but aside from the young man called Monkey, whose eyes were sharp and lively, the rest of the veteran soldiers exuded the weary air of jaded old hands.

Lu Zhen walked to the table in the center of the room.

He slammed the long saber, still in its scabbard, heavily onto the tabletop with a thud.

The dull sound made the men's eyelids twitch.

"I am Lu Zhen, your new officer."

"I don't care who you followed before or how you slacked off. Under my command, there is only one rule."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across each of their faces.

"Once we leave the city, if something happens, follow orders. If anyone dares to pay lip service while acting differently or drags us down, don't blame my blade for being heartless."

"As long as you keep to yourselves and behave."

"The pay you are owed and the opportunities you seize, I guarantee you won't lose a single cent. I will bring you back alive just as you left."

The old hands in the room exchanged glances.

The big-bellied man was the first to react, squeezing out a fawning smile and cupping his fists.

"Don't worry, Officer! We brothers know the rules best. From now on, wherever you point, we strike!"

Uncle Old Pockmark and Monkey, standing nearby, quickly chimed in with hurried agreement.

"We will absolutely listen to the officer."

"If you tell us to go east, we won't dare go west."

Their verbal responses were crisp and loud.

Yet, in their hearts, they were entirely dismissive.

The big-bellied man lowered his eyelids and curled his lip in secret.

Talk is cheap. These young, hot-blooded Bright Force experts, relying on their strength, are all single-mindedly focused on earning top merit to climb the ranks.

When we actually get outside the city and encounter high-tier fierce beasts, won't they just use us bottom-feeders as cannon fodder to save their own skins?

Uncle Old Pockmark gripped his tobacco pipe; his face remained respectful, but he only sighed inwardly.

Just scraping by. In this world, you live one day at a time.

Once we're out in the wilderness and hit a death-defying mission, everyone will just grease their heels and run to save their own lives. Who cares about your rules?

Lu Zhen observed their expressions, not expecting a few empty words to make these slippery veterans stake their lives on his command.

He glanced out the window.

The sky had already darkened.

"There are no missions today, so disperse. Tomorrow morning, roll call in the courtyard."