Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Forest Strategy and Midnight Capture
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That explosion seemed like a signal activating something, instantly shifting the atmosphere in the arena.
Gavin looked up to find that everyone had drawn their weapons at some point. The next second, a deafening roar erupted from behind him as a student from the Interstellar Military Academy brazenly fired a cannon, blasting his nearest opponent flying!
The shockwave threw everyone into chaos. Gavin made an instant decision, spinning around and bolting deep into the jungle!
This was where true skill shone: contestants from top military academies moved with blinding speed, scattering in all directions as one, while the landing pad behind them descended into a hellfire of cannon blasts. At least a quarter of the mechs were caught in the crossfire. Those merely pelted with shrapnel got off lightly—many never even spotted their foes before their energy cores were obliterated, knocking them out right then and there.
The public channel blared nonstop: this mech destroyed, that contestant eliminated. Up in the VIP box, the academy principals' faces made for quite the spectacle.
"Sixty-six," Caroline said, gazing at the big screen with a smile.
"This year, more than half the students made it through the first two minutes after the match began. Splendid work, everyone."
The seed academies' reps smiled back with easy poise, while the others wore a rainbow of grimaces, each biting their tongues.
"Your student's off to a fine start, Principal Caroline," Dana remarked offhandedly.
"That Dean, son of Major General Lagre? Word is their family had a custom C-grade mech built just for his training at eighteen. Looks like it paid off handsomely—impressive youth you've got there."
"The real standout's your school's entry this year," Caroline shot back warmly.
"A Beta girl, if I'm not mistaken? She made quite the impression at the banquet—a rare beauty, too! For a Beta girl to shine like that, who knows what other gems your academy's hiding."
The two principals burst into laughter, then turned away.
Dana ground his teeth inside: That Lagre kid's just riding his family's coattails! Without their elite training setup, how's he any match for our Interstellar Military Academy stars?! Even if he pulls a win, it ain't your school's doing—family tutored him!
Caroline smirked to herself: A mighty Interstellar Military Academy, cherry-picking thousands, and all you've got is a Beta girl? Your Alphas must be a total lost cause. If she claws to the finals, fair enough—but if she flames out in the first couple rounds, good luck saving face!
The box thrummed with veiled tension, but the arena was a whole other world.
After the opening barrage, sixty-six mechs broke through, surging into the primitive jungle spanning over 100,000 square kilometers from every angle.
The match boiled down to two keys: crossing the forest first to hit the goal, and racking up the most points en route.
Don't let the C-grade mechs fool you—their flight and nav systems were locked out, so trekking meant boots on the ground. The 40,000-kilometer-wide forest promised days of slogging, with zero rations or water; total self-reliance.
For scarce supplies and fat scores, the path brimmed with brutal clashes—and even top dogs who crushed all rivals might not escape, thanks to the deep woods' exotic beasts claiming plenty of victims yearly.
Blade flashes and peril at every turn—that was this leg's raw truth.
Raging Blaze slashed through tangled vines with its blade, striding over jagged rocks.
Gavin spaced out in the technician cabin while unbound Dean piloted from the cockpit. The virgin forest was murder to traverse. After his twentieth grueling climb over a corpse-strewn mound, Dean finally snapped at the stifling quiet:
"I say... why this route?"
Pure filler talk—the "path" underfoot barely qualified; they were just shadowing Raging Blaze's initial jungle plunge.
"Because fewest weaklings."
Gavin answered right away, catching Dean off guard.
"What?!"
"Fewest weaklings."
Dean: "..."
Cockpit silence.
"Beating weaklings scores points, right?"
Dean tried again five minutes later.
Gavin: "Others think that too."
"...So?!"
"So let them score first."
Dean: "..."
More silence.
"I figured the goal was max points mid-run, stockpile enough to blast out of the jungle, then—"
Dean burst out a third time, five minutes on.
"Then get mobbed by academy teams right before breakout, since you're the juiciest target."
"No way!"
"Why not?"
Dean blanked in the pilot seat. Gavin said coolly:
"The tree that stands tallest in the forest invites the wind's wrath. Let others bag points first, then off them... Just wait. Three days, and alliances will come knocking."
Dean half-grasped it, still doubtful:
"Teaming with total strangers out here—how're you sure?"
Gavin chuckled.
"Can't be sure, but alliances are warfare 101..."
He paused, casual:
"I trust our rivals' smarts."
Same instant, forest's far side: two mechs ended a deathmatch with a winner.
The victor, scarred and bearing 620 system points, staggered turning—straight into a white-hot glare.
"Ding!" Public channel pinged:
"Mech Arcblossom ambushes foe successfully: +400 points, plus foe's 620; Mech Beastscale felled, pilot out."
The poor winner sprawled, sighing "Ah!" ages later, slamming the ground. Arcblossom's pilot, spoils heavy and smug, wheeled to slink off—then froze like lightning-struck.
200 meters off, black mech atop a hill, gazing silent.
"Lasgard..."
Ambusher backpedaled, voice quaking:
"Interstellar Military Academy Lasgard...!"
Black mech vaulted the hill, thudding down heavy.
Ambusher cannon up, frozen stiff, cockpit sweatbath.
Lasgard of Interstellar Military Academy: Beta girl or not, her prodigy rep echoed wide—mental threshold to pilot A-grades freehand, this year's champ seed. He'd be lunch!
Plus his fresh 1,000 points: prime snack size. Free meat? Pass?
Hands shook; mech locked rigid—seconds dragged, air thick. Dilemma peak, black mech pivoted.
"...Huh?"
Ambusher gawked as it strolled off like no one there.
"He bolted, Lasgard."
Black mech's tech slouched, feet console-up, lollipop-muffled:
"No takedown? 1,000 points—field high's just 2,500—"
"Not time."
"Careful, lose and Dana cries!"
Earpiece hush, then soft:
"—Lose?"
"Days one-three, top scorer's the loser."
Lasgard reclined, stroking the mecha's tame neural band:
"Day four, watch: sub-2,000 holders? Real pros..."
"If we hold sub-2,000 days one-three,"
Gavin sat fireside, flipping roast wild rabbit intent:
"Day four, we're winners."
He tossed spices on; oily meat hissed "sizzle—" fragrant. Dean's eyes locked.
Day one's afternoon: nonstop hike. Gavin's path nailed—no foes. Dusk: out of mech, camp setup, water, supper. Dean claimed hunt duty.
Standard Alpha move: flaunt male prowess, stock Omega with grub and guard, up mating odds. Beasts nest-build, food-haul, hunt-flex in heat—DNA deepcode.
Dean charged ambitious; Gavin chill-farewelled, fired up water.
Hour later: Dean wheezed back, tsundere face, pride-eyes—he hauled a few-hundred-pound mega-antelope!
Huge curved horns, meat-mound epic!
"Yours!"
Dean dumped at Gavin's feet, beaming:
"Dig in!"
"..."
Gavin gaped, shaky:
"Th-thanks?"
Alpha rule: no Omega gruntwork. Dean panted riverward, butchering.
Gavin eyed the grind. Ten minutes... half-hour... hour... sun west, birds nest, crows "caw-caw" over roasting Dean.
"..."
Gavin rose, wood-bound, pocketing two stones.
Ten minutes: left—two fat rabbits; right—herbs bunch; pocket—berries. Supper set.
Knife-quick: rabbits gutted, blood drained, guts soil-buried, leaf-wrapped, fire-roast. Prime fatty one herb-dusted, scent river-hit. Dean sniffed, whipped—eyes popped.
"Food's up,"
Gavin even:
"Quit messing."
Dean: "..."
Dean clocked: Alpha fed/cared by Omega!
Why live! Ram death!
Numb bite: melt-juicy. Defeat nuked glass heart:
"How... how?!"
"Talent."
Gavin shrugged, halved second rabbit over.
Dean worldview nuked: half-year back, Omegas = fragile wards, glass-cased, street-banned. Now? Fireside, Omega-kill feast, sneakily yum.
Dean wrecked.
"No biggie, basic roast."
Gavin fire-poked casual:
"Military later, planet field-drills—you'll see all know basics... Generals BBQ pros, self-snack."
Dean rabbit-munched, glum after bit:
"Gavin."
"Yeah?"
"Family military?"
Gavin blinked.
"Why say?"
"Omega like you, academy-sent? Top brass families only—mech-savvy beyond me. No kid-money/gear flood, no way."
Bitter laugh, headshake:
"Brass dodge Omega Assoc, suppressants + academy... Fair. But marker? Military too?"
Gavin quiet.
Dean up-gazed, loss-deep:
"Power Alpha?"
"..."
"No shade, just... wanna know. I'll power up. If you ever..."
"Dean,"
Gavin awkward-cut:
"Like girls only."
Thunder Dean, 30-sec freeze, recall:
"Wait! 'Girls'—Alpha? Beta? Or..."
"Omega, duh,"
Gavin earnest:
"Don't like bottoming."
Boom-crash; Dean soul-shatter near.
Omega hates bottom, tops Omega...
What?! Hell what! Blasphemy! Last year watch-buy! No—with this Omega, bought world's!
Dean shellshocked, innocent-face stare, sorrow-surge:
"Marker Alpha then?"
"Oh, bite mishap."
Gavin neck-touch chill:
"Fades soon. Meh."
Dismissive wave, zero cares.
Alpha-bait ideal, but Dean no joy. Vs "sweet Omega marked Alpha," "sweet Omega tops sweets" = abyss-door yawn, dark infinite.
Why...
Dean despair-total, world doomed.
Sleep night: Dean flip-flop long, bachelor-life haze, late doze.
Gavin standard chill: tech cabin dragged, fire-snug, out fast.
Uneasy shuteye tho. Predawn jolt—Gavin snapped awake, outer steps; murmurs faint, hatch "clang!"
Intruders!
Pupils pinprick; metal-tool pry hatch next!
Icy gust in; pre-rise, throat-blade:
"No move! Up!"
Moonlit: cluster jungle-camo, masks tight. Blade-guy brutal, hair-yank up, "click" cuffs.
"Just them,"
Rear whisper.
Gavin Dean-glance try—blade grind:
"No move! Hear?!"
Throat-fire, halt. Rustle steps rear; query:
"Done?"
"Aye, that squad too."
"Copy, original rally."
Leader-by stride, no-look, impatient wave:
"Grab these two—go!"