First Battlefield Commander! - Chapter 138

Chapter 138: Like

Lian Sheng raised her hand to check the weapons on her half-arm.

The crowd held their breath, awaiting the result. Yan Shuo also stared intently.

Whether the opponent could engage in long-range attacks would be the most crucial factor determining his ultimate success or failure.

The two maintained their distance, neither making any rash moves.

The Pojun mech wasn't equipped with excessive thermal weapons—most were mounted on the arms and the area connecting the shoulders to the back.

Then the system responded: the energy weapons were already damaged. The cannon barrel on the back had also suffered partial component damage due to shockwave vibrations and was deemed unable to fire normally.

Lian Sheng silently dismantled them and threw them directly to the ground.

"Ah—!"

Seeing this action and understanding its meaning, sighs of disappointment echoed simultaneously throughout the Alliance.

The Liba mech was just one final strike away from victory, while the Pojun seemed to lack even the opportunity to deliver that last blow.

This battle had been fought too desperately. Having come this far, all that remained was a futile struggle at the end of the road.

The situation was perilous, but the combat wouldn't see much more intensity. The final outcome was already predictable—neither side would emerge with dignity intact.

Students who had come to observe the battle quietly watched this scene, waiting only for the final results to determine the roster for the finals.

The nearby tavern was set ablaze. The brilliant sunset and crimson flames reflected off each other.

Yan Shuo discarded his cannon barrel and drew another sword from his back—the same Western-style sword he had used before.

Yan Shuo held the sword horizontally before his chest and said, "You've already lost. You don't even have any effective weapons left."

Lian Sheng raised her remaining half-arm and replied, "The match is nearly over, but it's too early to say I've lost."

The spectators were baffled, flooding the comment section with speculation.

"What does she mean? Does she want another round?"

"I believe in miracles—Lian Sheng is a miracle!"

"Miracles are just how fans see it. In reality, how many miracles can there be?"

"I'm more curious about how many fans Lian Sheng has. If they held hands, could they circle the Earth?"

"I don't know about fans, but haters definitely could."

Though the Liba's cockpit was exposed, the Pojun wasn't faring much better.

Lian Sheng had used her longsword to block most of the attacks, but the weapon's material wasn't ideal for defense. At such close range, there was no way to completely evade.

The Pojun's outer shell was originally made of lightweight alloy material, and after repeated shockwaves, it had become extremely fragile—unable to withstand a fatal blow.

At least the Liba still had all four limbs intact and could still wield weapons.

Yan Shuo charged at Lian Sheng with his new weapon.

This sword was only sharpened at the tip, limiting its attacks to thrusts. Its defining trait was speed, sometimes paired with a shortsword for defense.

With unparalleled attack speed, a Western-style sword could pierce through almost any defense.

Its techniques, of course, differed significantly from those of a longsword.

The Pojun now resembled a flat metal plate—its reduced size made the entire mech more agile.

Having lost two metal arms, a broadsword, and most of its thermal weapons, its weight had drastically decreased. The thrusters' effectiveness multiplied, and Lian Sheng suddenly felt as if she were walking with the wind—with a bit more flair, she might actually take off.

The heavy mech's sword strikes were fast, but they couldn't keep up with the Pojun's movement speed.

The arms were originally crucial for swordplay, but without them, Yan Shuo's movements became constrained.

The structured sequences of sword techniques were forcibly dismantled, forcing him to redirect his attacks toward the torso and lower body. Rearranging a suitable set of techniques in such a short time wasn't easy.

What made it worse was that Lian Sheng's movements were extremely agile.

No matter which direction Yan Shuo thrust his sword, Lian Sheng could dodge with even greater speed.

She twisted her body, sliding across the ground in an erratic curve before darting down another street along the stone-paved path.

Yan Shuo activated his full-speed thrusters. But as a heavy mech, he still couldn't catch up to the half-destroyed Pojun. Worse, his control over speed paled in comparison to Lian Sheng's. When making sharp turns, his mech was flung by inertia toward the corners before he could adjust his momentum, nearly crashing. After a moment of panic, he had no choice but to reluctantly reduce speed and follow at a slower pace.

The heavy mech carried numerous thermal weapons, but their lethal range was limited, and it only had two cannon barrels and fuel reserves. After all, as a close-combat mech, it wasn't designed for frequent self-destruction via explosives.

Yan Shuo no longer had spare cannon barrels, so he drew the guns mounted on his arms and began firing at the Pojun.

Streaks of light chased after the Pojun, leaving shallow craters where they struck the ground.

Yan Shuo pursued her in circles around the map, causing the hanging lanterns to fall.

The flames ignited the paper, which then set the nearby tablecloths ablaze. A sudden gust fanned the flames, and soon the entire map was burning.

Lian Sheng seemed to be controlling her speed, ensuring Yan Shuo could only catch glimpses of her movements, luring him into attacking. Whenever danger arose, she would swiftly dart into a safe spot at the street corners.

The window for attack was fleeting, and Yan Shuo had no choice but to take the bait Lian Sheng had laid out.

The firelight and shadows greatly affected Yan Shuo's vision. In this perilous, drawn-out chase, he failed to land a single hit on the Pojun.

The Pojun's speed was simply too fast. After fighting for so long, the Liba's energy reserves had dropped to dangerously low levels.

Unable to guarantee a hit and unwilling to risk running out of energy, Yan Shuo finally stopped firing. He discarded his weapons to reduce weight.

Then he stood still, watching helplessly as Lian Sheng vanished from sight, and began reconsidering his strategy.

Lian Sheng's mech wandered freely through the streets as if the entire map were her skating rink.

This wasn't a mech—it was basically a fish with legs!

When the Liba ceased its attacks, she didn't go far and stopped as well. She stared silently at Yan Shuo, seemingly calculating the distance between them.

Then, something shocking happened. The fish with legs charged straight at her former hunter.

Yan Shuo saw this and swiftly drew his sword, lunging forward with two steps to thrust at her.

But the Pojun defied his expectations. With thrusters at full power, it dodged the sword's tip and slammed its body hard into the Liba's torso.

Yan Shuo's eyelids twitched as he silently counted.

This was already who-knows-how-many times Lian Sheng had evaded his rapid sword strikes—something that should have been impossible before. Forget his sword speed—just the mech's basic propulsion enhancements should have made this unthinkable.

No matter how advanced the mech's performance, the operator was still human. And humans had physical limits. The time it took to receive, process, and react to information was a lengthy process. At this point, he couldn't say for sure whether this was Lian Sheng's intuition or something beyond human capability.

But Yan Shuo didn't have time to dwell on it—Lian Sheng's battered mech had already crashed into him.

He didn't understand. Even if the Liba's front had been bombarded, the sheer mass difference between them should have made it impossible for her to knock him down with a single charge.

But he soon found out why.

Just before impact, the Pojun began decelerating, so the collision wasn't as forceful as expected. The Liba only staggered back a couple of steps. The Pojun stabilized itself against his body, then immediately raised a leg and kicked the sword out of the Liba's grip.

Yan Shuo quickly retreated.

Lian Sheng didn't pause. As one foot landed, the other followed. She leaped into the air, thrusters at full power, and delivered a spinning kick to the Liba's chest.

The Pojun lacked raw strength and had no weapons to assist, so it relied on speed to amplify force. The prolonged use of thrusters at high output caused the expelled air to grow scorching hot.

Yan Shuo could clearly see the heat distortion at her heels—for a moment, he faintly sensed the gap between them.

—She could anticipate his attacks, but he was at her mercy.

Yan Shuo stopped retreating. He lowered his head and raised his arms to firmly shield his cockpit.

The leg armor was thicker than the upper body's, as it needed to bear sufficient weight while maintaining fluid movement.

Using the thrusters' force combined with her own momentum, Lian Sheng finally sent the heavy mech crashing to the ground.

Yan Shuo rolled with the impact, bracing himself with both hands to rise, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a red figure closing in at terrifying speed.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around his chest again—only to be kicked once more, sending his mech sliding forward.

Unable to free his hands, he couldn't get up. As he tried using his shoulder and abdominal thrusters to adjust, Lian Sheng attacked yet again.

How was she so fast?

This was a mech's field of view—excessive spatial rotation would induce dizziness. And with her constantly changing directions, her spatial awareness should have been disoriented.

Maintaining propulsion in various stances, the mech's bulky frame always carried a sense of imbalance.

Yet she seemed to know everything. Her movements held no hesitation, leaving him no room to catch his breath.

This was something impossible without extensive training—how long had she even been piloting mechs?

Just like his swordsmanship. He had trained for eighteen years, while she had taken less than an hour.

...It was unfair.

So unbearably unfair.

Yan Shuo only caught glimpses of Lian Sheng's movements, so he didn't realize how terrifying the scene looked from a third-person perspective.

Lian Sheng's top sprint speed, according to data monitoring, had exceeded 300 kilometers per hour.

This was short-distance sprinting, and she kept changing directions, accelerating almost instantaneously. The sheer pressure of obstacles rushing toward her was terrifying enough—not everyone could overcome that.

By the end, it almost felt like she was getting faster.

The spectators gasped in awe, excitement surging as they were profoundly shaken by the spectacle before them. Who would have thought they'd witness such an incredible scene at the very end?

Those who had found it dull and prepared to leave now watched her with newfound respect.

She did this on purpose, didn't she? This infuriating person.

The dull thuds of impact seemed to reverberate in their chests.

They wanted to cheer for Lian Sheng, but given the circumstances, they didn't dare get their hopes up too much.

"What is she doing? Does she really think she can break through a heavy mech's defenses with just her legs?"

"Lian Sheng represents miracles!"

"This one's really not happening. Otherwise, heavy mech pilots might as well go smash Sanyao's servers."

"They said the same thing earlier—ha!"

Everyone believed Lian Sheng had been holding back earlier because the difference was too stark.

Yan Shuo thought so too.

He maintained his stance, bloodshot eyes glaring as he demanded, "You were going easy on me earlier? Trying to make a fool out of me?"

Lian Sheng paused. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She hadn't held back. She treated every battle seriously—why would she hide her strength?

Every opponent deserved respect. Holding back would be an insult. Besides, complacency and underestimation were fatal mistakes in combat.

Those who dreamed of eternal victory were often overambitious. The future was unpredictable—no one could foresee everything. She only wanted to earn this victory before her with sincerity.

Her earlier relentless attacks were to probe Yan Shuo's skills. She knew too little about him and needed to gauge his techniques. Otherwise, dragging things out could still leave her vulnerable to his longsword.

Every injury she sustained had meaning—there was no such thing as "holding back."

But after being dismantled, she realized something: her mobility had improved.

With less upper-body weight, her center of gravity lowered naturally, stabilizing the mech and making it easier to control.

Daily training with Bright Bulb, plus the extra high-speed drills assigned by Super Bright Bulb—she had adapted to velocity.

Speed could be mastered.

Earlier, while circling the arena, she had gradually increased her pace, acclimating her brain to the shifting scenery.

In other words—she had entered the zone.

Lian Sheng attacked again. This time, instead of aiming for the chest, she kicked the Liba's head.

After two heavy blows, the head's sensory systems finally failed.

Destroying a mech's head wasn't fatal—it wasn't a real head, just a housing for sensors.

But losing the head's perspective was crippling.

With limited visual range in height and breadth, mechs had multiple sensors across their bodies, processed before relaying data to the pilot.

Without the head unit, Yan Shuo's field of view and elevation abruptly changed.

Lian Sheng pressed the assault, targeting the head.

Joints were a mech's weakest points. If Lian Sheng could breach the armor anywhere, it would be the head.

Yan Shuo seemed to have given up, no longer resisting.

Lian Sheng stopped and stood before him. "Hey?"

Yan Shuo didn't respond.

"Hey? If you're conceding, just quit. I'm tired too." Lian Sheng cracked her neck. "Oh, and thanks for the lesson. You're... hm, the best swordsman I've met in the Alliance."

Yan Shuo said, "Swordsman...? I hate swords."

This was the second... or maybe third time Lian Sheng had heard him say that. But she didn't get it.

"Someone who hates swordsmanship couldn't reach this level," Lian Sheng said. "Swordsmanship doesn't lie. You can ask it."

A swordsman developed a unique bond with their blade—as if it embodied their life's journey.

The slightest resistance would breed hesitation, creating bottlenecks. Reaching this level was impossible otherwise.

Mastering a sword required more than just time and skill.

Year after year, day after day, doing something you hated every waking moment—knowing you'd keep doing it for decades—would drive anyone mad.

Yan Shuo wasn't mad, so deep down, he didn't truly hate the sword.

Yan Shuo froze. A similar voice echoed in his ears.

"Swordsmanship doesn't lie. How much effort you put in, how hard you worked—it all shows in your technique. Nothing is more honest. If you want to know how far you've come, if you want to know what you've sacrificed, just ask it."

He didn't understand. He didn't understand why his father was so devoted to swordsmanship.

He used to love it too—his father's swordsmanship was mesmerizing. But when he learned what that charm demanded, he hesitated.

"You're amazing! So young yet so skilled—you're a genius!"

"Western swordsmanship is so cool! It sounds impressive! How long until I'm as good as you?"

"Lucky you don't have to go to school. Classes are exhausting. I wish I could stay home and train too. Why doesn't my dad make me?"

No.

Only his sword knew how much effort it had taken to reach this point.

Only his sword knew how much he had improved today.

He wasn't a genius. It wasn't easy.

He could no longer live without Western swordsmanship. It was his pride, his self-respect. He didn't need to tell others how skilled he was or how hard he had worked—his sword spoke for him.

Did he hate it?

Lian Sheng noticed he had frozen again and called out, "Hey, buddy?"

She raised her foot, aiming at his mech's damaged head. "No response? I'm kicking."

Yan Shuo quit directly.

The system announced the match's conclusion.

Lian Sheng had defeated a heavy mech using only her legs.

The moment the results came out, the comment section exploded with cheers for her.

This was the most uniquely styled victor they had ever seen.

In the Command Department classroom, Meng Jiangwu slammed his fists on the desk and stood up. "Hell yeah! Where's the applause?"

Silence.

Zheng Lei covered his face and tugged at Meng Jiangwu's sleeve.

Only then did Meng Jiangwu remember where he was. He didn't dare look up, quietly sitting back down and hiding behind his desk with his optical computer.

"This student," the professor at the podium adjusted his glasses, "I tolerated you playing with your optical computer in class. I understand youthful enthusiasm. But demanding our participation in your cheering is a bit much, don't you think?"

Meng Jiangwu nodded repeatedly. "You're right, I was wrong. Please continue."

Zheng Lei turned to him. "Thanks."

Meng Jiangwu snorted. "For what?"

Zheng Lei exhaled. "If you hadn't yelled, I might have."

"..." Heart thoroughly bruised, Meng Jiangwu spat, "Screw off!"

Yan Shuo and Ji Ban—two of the hottest finalist candidates—had both been eliminated in a single day.

Today's matches were truly lamentable. And this was only the preliminaries—the later stages and finals promised god-tier battles.

Analyzing individually, this year's students were freakishly skilled.

No one felt too sorry for Yan Shuo—they'd surely see him again in the finals.

The finals roster followed a "5+1" format: teams could invite one additional member. If more than five from a school qualified, they could also invite other qualified peers.

The National Defense University wouldn't let this high-profile recruit slip away. He was a team commander, after all.

But Lian Sheng's strength demanded reevaluation.

Previously dismissed as a mech novice with just some close-combat skills, it was now clear her mastery of mech operation was professional-grade.

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