150: Chapter 150 The Next Person

"Hm?"

The man's footsteps faltered. He turned his head, a flicker of vigilance flashing in his eyes.

Qin Ce looked at him and asked the question that had been bottling up inside him: "Others take a fifty percent cut, yet they are still willing to go with them. I don't take a cut, and even offer double pay, but they won't stay. Why?"

The man was silent for a moment.

He lowered his head, looking at the spot where he had just tucked into his pocket, where two thousand military merit points were stored.

He bit his lip, as if making some kind of decision.

"You're from Fengling City, right?" he finally spoke, his voice kept very low, "And you're a scion of a noble family? You weren't demoted for a crime, nor were you sent here for offending someone?"

Qin Ce was taken aback for a moment, then nodded: "Why do you say that?"

The man glanced at him, as if confirming something, and then continued: "It's already spread throughout the troops. A jeep directly under the military department specially sent someone to take office, and as the smallest squadron leader at that. Someone like you, one look and you can tell you aren't an ordinary person."

He paused, organizing his words: "Those of us here fear people like you the most."

"Fear?"

"We fear that you don't understand anything, yet still give blind orders." The man's voice dropped even lower, "This isn't Fengling City; this is the North. Outside lies the Rift, and the fierce beasts. Whether we can return alive after going out depends entirely on whether the captain has the ability and experience. We've seen rich kids like you... You come, stay for a few days to gild your resume, and then pat your butt and leave. What's left behind is a pile of corpses."

Qin Ce's throat tightened, and he didn't speak.

"So, we'd rather take a pay cut and switch squads," the man continued, "At least with a pay cut, we can stay alive. Following you, we might even lose our lives."

He glanced at Qin Ce's expression and added: "Especially since you're even willing to pay out of your own pocket in military merits. Around here, who pays out their own military merits to recruit people? Doing this isn't being generous; it just confirms that you don't know anything at all. Everyone is even more afraid to follow you."

Qin Ce was silent for a long time.

The man also felt he had said too much, almost getting himself tangled up in it too.

He took a step back, nodded to Qin Ce, and his speaking speed increased significantly: "Captain, I'll be going now. I still have a wife and children at home to settle."

After saying this, he turned and left, his footsteps so fast it was like he was fleeing.

Qin Ce did not stop him.

He stood in place, watching that person's back disappear at the barracks entrance, a complex, indescribable feeling welling up in his heart.

He wasn't angry. Nor was he aggrieved. It was something deeper, something pressing on his chest.

He finally understood that the ecosystem here was different from all other armies in the Federation.

Life here was too harsh; everyone had their own little schemes in their hearts, their own set of survival logic.

Big fish eat small fish, small fish eat shrimp—not because they are greedy, but because if they don't eat, they will die.

Those people weren't blind.

They saw things more clearly than anyone.

A raw kid who came from the city, arrived in a military jeep, wore a brand-new uniform, and didn't even understand what a "pay cut" was—by what right could he ask them to entrust their lives to him?

Qin Ce turned around and glanced at the last person remaining in the barracks.

That semi-disabled soldier was still leaning against the corner of the wall, one leg in a splint, wrapped in bandages, his pant leg hanging empty.

His face was mostly covered by messy beard and hair, making his expression unclear, but looking closely now, one could tell he wasn't old, likely in his early thirties. His Pet Beast was gone, and he was physically injured.

A soldier like this, other squads wouldn't want.

That was why he stayed.

Not because of loyalty, but because he had nowhere else to go.

Qin Ce walked over and sat down on the bunk next to him. The bed board was hard, emitting a harsh creak. He sat there, his mind in a mess, thinking about tomorrow's recruitment.

In his situation, the high probability was that he could only recruit from the refugees.

But most of the refugees were newcomers; only after entering the military camp would they start activating their Soul Talisman and contracting a Pet Beast. By then, they would likely be inferior even to his freshman classmates, with absolutely no combat capability.

A lone captain, leading a group of recruits who didn't even have Pet Beasts, going to the North to carry out missions?

Qin Ce gave a bitter smile.

He subconsciously reached into his pocket and felt the flatbread his mother had stuffed into his hand this morning.

The flatbread was wrapped in oil paper and still carried body heat.

He opened the oil paper, broke off half, and handed it to the semi-disabled soldier beside him.

"Eat."

There was no movement from the side for a long time. Qin Ce's hand remained raised there, feeling a bit awkward.

He simply shoved the bread into the man's hand, his tone hardening slightly: "Hurry, take it."

The man then took it.

Qin Ce heard faint chewing sounds from the side, very slow, very careful, as if savoring something incredible.

He himself also took a bite; the bread had already gone cold, but the scent of wheat was still there.

He remembered the way his mother made the flatbread in the kitchen, remembered her wiping her hands on her apron over and over, and then the action of stuffing the oil paper package into his pocket.

"Having eaten your bread, I'll give you a piece of advice." A hoarse voice suddenly came from the side, muffled, as if transmitted from inside a quilt.

Qin Ce turned his head to look over.

The man had finished the bread and was using his fingers to pick up the crumbs that had fallen onto his lapel, stuffing them into his mouth.

The action was very natural, as if done countless times.

"The entire squadron has only me left. That person just now won't be coming back." He raised his head and looked at Qin Ce. Those eyes were turbid and bloodshot, but unexpectedly clear, "Tomorrow, you likely won't be able to recruit anyone either. You should think of a way to transfer out. As long as you haven't been filed into the military records here, transferring out isn't difficult."

Qin Ce was taken aback.

Transfer out?

He had just arrived, his soldiers had all run away, and now the only remaining seedling under his command was telling him—you should leave.

Before he could say anything, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

He pondered the man's words from just now—"The entire squadron has only me left. That person just now won't be coming back."

Qin Ce stared at the man's face, hesitated for a moment, and asked: "So, the person who just advanced his military merits... was he scamming me for military merits?"

The man did not answer.

He lowered his head, pulled the quilt up to cover his splinted leg, and then said one more sentence: "Transfer out."

Qin Ce laughed in anger.

Just arrived at the Wuji Army, and his soldiers had all run away.

Not only was he scammed out of a sum of military merits, but the only seedling under his command looked down on him and told him to turn around and go back.

He took a deep breath, that stubborn, unyielding spirit rising up.

"Hey, I just don't believe in evil." He turned his head, looking at the man, "Let me tell you..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

The man had already wrapped the quilt around himself, turned over, and faced away from Qin Ce, breathing evenly, as if saying "Don't bother me while I sleep."

Qin Ce's words were stuck in his throat, unable to go up or down.

He looked at that figure wrapped up like a silkworm chrysalis, a breath held in his chest that he couldn't exhale or swallow.

"Hey."

No one paid him any mind.

"Hey, this foul temper of mine."

Still no one paid him any mind.

Qin Ce sat on the hard bunk, looking at the empty barracks, looking at the semi-disabled soldier opposite who was wrapped in a quilt and already emitting faint snoring sounds, looking at the grey sky outside the window.

The North wind poured in through the cracks in the door, carrying the scent of the shantytown, a mix of smoke and rot.

This choice to hide his identity really was the right one.

Otherwise, where else could he see a scene like this?

And telling him to transfer out, he, the Grand Commander of the Wuji Army!

Transfer out?

Transfer to where?