Chapter Twenty-Five: Powerlessness, Inspiration, Stories

The mountain cannon barrel, forged from high-grade alloy steel, was bent in an instant by the monstrous serpent-demon. The machine gun was swept aside by a flick of its tail, smashed into a twisted heap in the blink of an eye. As for human flesh, before such colossal demons, it was little more than paper—without armor to shield them, a single snap of the demon’s maw, a single wrench, and with a wet, sickening sound, a length of spine would be torn out.

A machine gunner, witnessing his comrade’s brutal death, seized his own weapon and, in a frenzy, unleashed a wild barrage at the demon. Bullets tore through its scales in droves, but the wounds closed swiftly, and the spent rounds were squeezed out by regenerating flesh, clattering to the ground as the monster surged forward. The gunner, struck head-on, was pulverized like a man hit by a runaway train—blood poured from every orifice, his body flattened like scorched bread.

Limbs and blood pooled among the wild grasses, the remains of countless soldiers. With the firepower behind them broken, the infantry at the front fell into chaos. Some tried to turn and fight back, but most, driven mad with terror, fled in all directions. Many collapsed after only a short distance, breathless, discarding their weapons and armor in the desperate hope of running faster.

But it was useless.

The monstrous serpents, much like vipers, parted their humanoid jaws to reveal long, blackened tongues, as if capable of scenting every living thing. No one could hide from them. Before such demons, all escape was futile.

The film was silent.

And that very silence struck the new recruits with a sense of hysteria and utter helplessness. True helplessness! Especially for the soldiers of the Yingzhou Army, who fought with every ounce of life, not even their final screams could be heard.

“This is the terror of the demon ghosts…”

Lin Zhaoshu had watched this archival footage countless times, but seeing those soldiers reaped like wheat by the monsters always compelled him to lower his voice, “Though they lack higher intelligence and act only on bestial instinct, these things are unaware, unfeeling, and fearless. They hardly resemble any living creature. That’s why, at present, scientists around the world tend to classify demon ghosts as coreless, incorporeal energy clusters—what we might call ‘ghosts’ in legend.”

“The flesh is merely their outer shell. Conventional weapons may shatter their bodies, but cannot harm the energy within; that energy is indestructible, and so the demons regenerate endlessly unless their reserves are fully depleted. Such depletion is rare, for the blood and remains of the battlefield provide endless sustenance—this is the root of their near-immortality.”

“Only weapons infused with Red Marrow can strike directly at the energy, severing its flow and preventing the physical form from healing. If a Red Marrow weapon strikes the core—the demon’s heart—it falls into a ‘near-death’ state, becoming a demon soul that humans can absorb.”

This explanation was truly fascinating.

Du Huaishan listened, utterly absorbed.

Though Blue Star and Earth were fundamentally different, their civilizations were similar. The two world wars had been the fastest periods of human technological advancement. War drives progress. So it was with this war between humans and demon ghosts.

Then Lin Zhaoshu reached into his pocket and produced a small transparent glass vial. Under the projector’s light, the recruits saw a mass of crimson, viscous material inside, shot through with irregular solids.

“This is Red Marrow, the greatest discovery mankind has made in the nearly two centuries since the rise of the Chiyu Empire,” Lin Zhaoshu said, slowly rotating the vial. The lamplight shone through the substance, casting an eerie red glow across his face. “It is a new composite element, extracted and processed much like crude oil. Its uses are extensive—it can be combined with metals to greatly enhance hardness and toughness, though at the cost of malleability.”

“It can also be refined into a gas, similar to natural gas, but with several times the energy density. Using this, scientists of the Anglo Empire developed the maneuvering grappling cable—a device powered by high-pressure Red Marrow gas, propelling a turbine and enabling steel cables to launch and retract.”

“This greatly increases the mobility of close-combat soldiers. Over generations of refinement, many versions have emerged. The one our Yingzhou Army uses today is the single-arm grappling cable, the most compact model.”

As he finished speaking, the film continued to roll.

In the soldiers’ darkest moment, a cavalry squad appeared suddenly at the flank of the battlefield. Several steel cables shot out, embedding in the serpent’s body. Gas hissed from the vents of their arm-guards, and the soldiers—clad in burnished armor, their forms transformed by the power of demons—charged in with blades drawn, their movements as swift as lightning, as graceful as startled swans.

Blades flashed, armor gleamed.

In the space of a breath, five soldiers, working in perfect unison, tore the monstrous serpent open. Black blood spurted wildly, and its blazing red heart tumbled to the ground like a ball.

The recruits could not help but exclaim aloud—not only in release from the suffocating fear and helplessness, but in excitement at the thought that one day, they too might become such valiant warriors.

“No wonder the grappling cables are so rare—only those transformed by demon power can wield them…”

Du Huaishan, from what he had seen and learned, realized that every user of the maneuvering grapples possessed the power of demon ghosts.

It made sense.

He understood the grapples’ basic mechanism. The cables retracted at tremendous speed, generating forces no human arm could withstand. Even with a body-wide harness, as in “Attack on Titan,” one could not survive the acceleration and the impact upon landing.

Only soldiers who had undergone demonification could endure such forces. In other words, only superhumans could use them—ordinary people could not.

“Actually… if they just made a turbine jet pack, like Iron Man, wouldn’t that be better?”

Of course, Du Huaishan knew that, given the current stage of Blue Star’s technological development, jet engines had yet to be invented—planes were still biplanes with propellers.

Just as the viewers believed the battle was won, the film continued.

The demonified warriors gathered around the demon’s heart, arguing over it. Two of them reverted to human form. At that moment, a shadow lunged from the side—a massive, horned beast slammed into the five soldiers.

In an instant, a scene of utter shock unfolded.

Two of the demonified soldiers, without hesitation, grabbed their comrades and tried to dodge with their grappling cables. But dragging another slowed them down. The beast’s horn struck their shining armor, even warping the Red Marrow-infused metal plates. The backs of the demon soldiers bent at impossible angles.

With a crash, they fell to the ground, unconscious, yet still clutching their comrades tightly.

The soldier in their arms, coughing blood from the impact, called out desperately to his demonified friends.

The remaining demon soldier shouted for the two to escape first, then charged alone at the demon bull, seeking to buy time for his comrades’ retreat.

One of the wounded, coughing blood, seemed to attempt summoning a guardian spirit for a second transformation—but failed. Even conjuring the faintest spectral image was exhausting. His comrade tried to pull him away, insisting they should escape.

Yet the wounded soldier refused. He would not abandon his comrade, and tried again to demonify—but failed once more.

“Go!”

From the lone demon soldier’s lips, the recruits read that word. Distracted, his left foot was bitten off by the demon in a single snap.

Why had it come to this? What were the two wounded soldiers doing? Why did they relinquish their demon forms? Why didn’t they flee? Why?

The film ended there.

The dim tungsten bulb flickered on.

But the recruits remained lost in the final, desperate battle.

At this moment, Lai Yanlong stood from his seat and strode up to the podium, the echo of his boots ringing through the hall. He turned to the faded image on the screen, then faced the 1,500 recruits below, his expression grave:

“Yingzhou Army War Academy, 116th class, 11th squad—squad leader Niu Yichang, squad members Xie Wu and Xu Lixin—fought to protect their comrades, dying in battle with the demon ghosts at the Pingliao River garrison in the year 570 of the Chiyu era. Their sacrifice is our honor!”

The recruits were stunned.

“Yes, among the two soldiers they protected, one was me,” he continued. “116th class, 10th squad—squad member: Lai Yanlong.”