The stir at the camp’s main gate began with a subtle tremor in the ground.
Five hawkstriders planted their taloned feet heavily upon the damp moss of the northern foothills, their strides moving in strict unison.
That oppressive marching cadence heralded the arrival of a top-tier escort detail.
Li Fan had just slotted the iron discs back onto the storage rack when he paused, ears perked.
Hawksbill strode out of the storage area, his stern face unreadable save for his pace quickening by half a beat.
Reaching the main gate, he recognized the visitors and immediately stepped aside from the main thoroughfare, barking over his shoulder, “Tanner, gather all the training records.
Prepare them for inspection.” Tanner acknowledged the order and hurried toward the archives with Karan, an instinctive tension lingering in their hurried steps.
Li Fan did not crowd forward, merely standing quietly at the edge of the circular training ground.
The lead black hawkstrider came to a steady halt.
The rider dismounted in one crisp, fluid motion.
Deep blue armor contoured her tall, lithe figure, her long silver hair lifting slightly in the cold wind.
Those ice-blue eyes were even deeper and colder than Alleria’s.
Her boots stepped onto the moss.
On the left shoulder guard of her armor was a distinct, deep scar from the past that had yet to be replaced.
Sylvanas Windrunner.
Hawksbill stepped forward and offered a textbook military salute.
She inclined her head slightly, her voice cool and authoritative.
“A routine inspection.
Pull all training records and recent mission assignment briefings.” “Understood.” Her gaze swept the camp in a precise tactical scan: two seconds on the main gate’s defenses, a second and a half on the storage area, two seconds on the firing line.
When her eyes crossed the circular grounds and fell upon the gray-clad figure, their gazes locked across the distance.
A subtle, nearly imperceptible ripple of softness flickered across Sylvanas’s otherwise businesslike, frigid eyes, as if recalling that quiet three o’clock in the morning.
Yet the emotion vanished in an instant.
Without showing a trace of it, she averted her eyes and strode directly inside.
Her boots clicked crisply against the bluestone pavers.
Li Fan naturally fell into the blind spot behind Hawksbill’s flank, neither intruding nor deliberately staying out of sight.
The doors to the archives stood wide open.
Hawksbill retrieved the parchment scrolls one by one to present them.
Sylvanas flipped through them at rapid speed; the moment each page turned, its core data was already absorbed by her mind.
She posed only two questions.
The first struck straight at the lethal intensity of the disc training: “Who set this overloaded intensity?” “I did,” Hawksbill answered stiffly.
“What is the basis for that assessment?” “The basis is that if he can catch three, he can catch four.
If he catches four, he can catch five.” Hearing this blunt, brutish logic, Sylvanas did not object.
She simply turned the page.
Standing behind them, Li Fan’s eyes flickered slightly.
Coming from anyone else, such unreasonable logic would be nothing more than a brush-off.
But coming from this brutish bear of an instructor, it was fierce, unyielding protectiveness.
When she threw out her second question, the archives fell into dead silence.
“Why was there no mention of this month’s defensive blind spot in the mission briefing?
What is the reason?” The question struck like a warhammer against everyone’s weak spot.
Li Fan had noticed the blind spot obscured by ancient tree roots in the southwest corner during his very first week.
Yet this vice general, setting foot here for the first time, had stepped directly onto the landmine purely from reading paper reports.
She did not ask Li Fan; she merely fixed her cold gaze on Hawksbill.
Bracing himself, the instructor laid out the blind spot’s location, its cause, and their current makeshift measures.
Sylvanas listened in silence without reprimanding him on the spot.
She turned, her ice-blue eyes boring straight into Li Fan.
“How long have you been here?” It was not a question, but a confirmation.
“Two months, General,” Li Fan replied evenly.
She looked deeply at him.
Her gaze held less of a commander’s pressure and more of an unspoken challenge: *I have built the stage; let us see if you can take it.* “Did you notice that defensive blind spot long ago?” “I discovered it in my first week.” “Why did you not report it upward?” Li Fan glanced at the grim-faced Hawksbill out of the corner of his eye and replied without a ripple in his voice, “I mentioned it verbally once.
Instructor Hawksbill said he noted it.” He omitted the instructor’s exact words: *That isn’t your damn business as a trainee.* Sylvanas did not press the matter further, merely casting a chilly glance at Hawksbill.
“And now?” She looked back at Li Fan, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of indulgence and expectation in her tone.
“What is your solution?” Li Fan did not hesitate.
In three minutes, he fluently outlined the precise location of the blind spot, its intricate causes, and his deduced remediation plan.
Every conclusion was supported by rigorous combat data.
Sylvanas listened quietly to the end.
She offered no praise or critique.
Instead, she turned directly to Hawksbill with an absolute order: “Within three days, submit the formal document for the defense repair proposal to my desk.” “Understood.” Li Fan smiled faintly in his heart.
In the most decisive manner, she had transformed his tactical deduction into an official proposal.
It was an overt display of protection, and an unassailable bundle of military merit handed directly to him.
Saying nothing more, she turned and strode outside.
Her boots struck the bluestone, sharp and resolute.
Yet right as she was about to cross the threshold of the main gate, she stopped without warning.
Without looking back, her cool voice echoed in the open gateway, tinged with a subtle, personal warmth: “Do you still keep that habit of extra practice at the range in the middle of the night?” Li Fan paused for a moment.
She had asked casually in front of the instructor, but she was by no means inquiring about training progress.
She was asking whether the tacit understanding from that three o’clock morning two months ago still remained.
Looking at her straight back, Li Fan’s guarded tone softened with familiar ease.
“I still do.
Why, General?
Coming to inspect my post again tonight?” At those words, Hawksbill’s brow twitched violently.
Sylvanas still did not look back.
Yet Li Fan sharply caught the minuscule tremor that ran through her taut shoulder armor.
“Keep practicing.” She strode out into the sunlight.
Massive talons trampled through the mud as the escort unit quickly vanished into the deep shadows of the northern canopy, riding away into the distance.
Only after confirming she was gone did Hawksbill turn his heavy frame around, glaring fixedly at Li Fan.
“You said earlier, ‘mentioned it verbally once’?” “Yes.” “Weren’t my exact words, ‘Understood, that’s not your damn business’?” “More or less.” Hawksbill fell silent for a long time, his voice somewhat raspy.
“Back then, you hadn’t even been at camp for two weeks.
If it were now, I would never have said that.” Li Fan looked at him and said nothing.
The instructor offered no further excuses.
He turned and walked away, tossing over his shoulder, “That defense repair proposal—keep what you just outlined word for word.
Have it on my desk tomorrow morning.” Li Fan watched the instructor’s departing back, then turned toward the circular grounds.
Her visit today was by no means a routine check of the ledgers.
Using her supreme authority as vice general, she had quietly cleared a path for him, dragging his suppressed talents into plain view.
Her parting remark had torn away the rigid pretense of rank.
The observation period had ended, but in this cold forest, something warm seemed to have taken root.