Chapter 198
To protect the cubs, previously recorded videos and photos by Yun Zixu and others were set to private mode by Xiao Zhi, the base’s AI— accessible only to the recorder and completely blocked from being shared or transferred.
This is why only a select few knew about the cubs’ initial battle achievements.
Now that they were at Base 26, however, things were different.
Numerous soldiers witnessed the cubs’ battles firsthand. Many, with nothing better to do, started recording videos and taking pictures during the downtime between battles. This time, Xiao Zhi, as the AI for Base 24, decided not to interfere.
Though Xiao Zhi had secretly taken over the computing power of other base AIs after Su Ci granted it permissions, it had learned to hide its sentience, especially after receiving multiple instructions to act “discreetly.”
When Su Ci confirmed that Xiao Zhi could ignore this situation, the AI simply disappeared into the background.
As a result, the cubs’ battles against monsters were broadcast far and wide across Base 26 within a single day and began spreading to other bases at an astonishing speed.
Across the 36 bases on the planet—excluding Bases 24 and 25—over 30 others were still grappling with the blood mist and monster incursions.
Many of these bases were isolated from one another, lacking access to the garlic spray, and their plight was unimaginably dire.
Soldiers stationed at these bases often hailed from the same prestigious interstellar military academies, fostering a strong sense of camaraderie and frequent communication across alumni groups.
However, due to the frequent battles, activity in these groups had dwindled, and conversations were often bleak.
Today was different.
The soldiers of Base 26, having spent an entire day practically idle, had plenty of time to capture and share the remarkable events.
Initially, the command center would alert soldiers to prepare for battle, deploying them to specific areas. However, as the day progressed, they realized their efforts to mobilize and evacuate people were often unnecessary.
Why?
Because before the evacuees even reached the “safe zones,” the battles would already be over.
After a few such instances, it became apparent that the cubs—despite being an average age of nine—were more than capable of handling the incursions themselves.
“Protected by powerhouses” was an understatement. Though their “powerhouses” were three cubs from the infamous Nursery Base, their impact was undeniable.
These weren’t “little terrors.” They were little heroes.
By the day’s end, there wasn’t a single soldier at Base 26 who would tolerate anyone badmouthing the cubs.
If the cubs’ heroic battle against the slime monster had earned them initial recognition, then their swift and decisive victories across five separate battles that day cemented their legendary status.
Soldiers eager to share their newfound admiration turned to their planetary alumni group.
*
Base 17
Similar to Base 26, Base 17 had also endured several monster incursions that day. Although the monsters were smaller in scale and less dangerous, the already exhausted soldiers struggled to keep up.
Zhu Chenggong dragged himself back to his quarters, skipping his usual hygiene routine, and collapsed onto his bed.
Hunger woke him in the middle of the night. Half-asleep, he reached for something to eat. As a senior officer with his own room, Zhu Chenggong rarely returned to his quarters since the blood mist invasion, choosing instead to rest in the command center.
Today’s grueling battle had pushed his body and mind to their limits. The AI had flagged him as dangerously overworked, forcing him to return to his quarters to recuperate.
After downing two packets of nutrient drinks, Zhu Chenggong opened his communicator to check for any updates during his nap.
To his relief, the situation was calm—the monsters had finally given them a reprieve.
Relaxing slightly, Zhu Chenggong’s gaze landed on a muted chat group notification. To his astonishment, the alumni group for planetary soldiers had 999+ unread messages.
“Am I seeing this right?” Zhu Chenggong thought. This group, quiet for months, had suddenly become lively?
Curiosity piqued, he clicked into the chat.
And then, he saw—
[???]
[????????]
[This video can’t be real, right? It feels so fake. That slime monster is at least 40 meters tall, and it was just taken out like that?]
[????????????]
The chat was flooded with question marks, with only one or two scattered comments providing context. These cryptic remarks left Zhu Chenggong completely baffled.
Zhu Chenggong: [What’s going on here?]
After sending his message, he clicked the chat jump feature and scrolled back to the earliest messages. It didn’t take long before he found the videos everyone was talking about.
There were several videos. Stifling a yawn, Zhu Chenggong clicked on the first one. Within seconds, his sleepiness vanished completely.
The footage was shot from a first-person perspective, clearly taken from a combat recorder.
Onscreen was a massive monster, towering close to ten meters tall, as deduced from nearby objects for scale. Its grotesque appearance included two fused heads and four long arms, a creature type Zhu Chenggong had never encountered before.
His brows furrowed deeply as he fixated on the monster, mentally calculating how he would respond if faced with such a creature.
The fact that this soldier shared the video suggested that they had successfully defeated it.
In the past, it wasn’t unusual for soldiers from other bases to upload battle footage to the group. Sharing these combat experiences helped others prepare for similar situations.
This practice was encouraged by the leadership, fostering solidarity among the bases.
Zhu Chenggong briefly recalled the name of the soldier who uploaded these videos. If his memory served, they were from Base 26.
Returning to the chat, he counted the number of videos shared by the soldier—six in total, each clearly depicting a different battle.
So, Base 26 had experienced multiple waves of monster attacks today, just like his own base?
He imagined how grueling their battles must have been. Yet, despite their exhaustion, they had taken the time to share this vital intel. “Truly worthy of being alumni from the Federation’s First Military Academy,” Zhu Chenggong thought, mentally saluting the soldier’s selflessness.
With newfound respect, he returned to the first video.
He was eager to see how Base 26 had tackled that two-headed, four-armed monstrosity. What unique characteristics did it possess?
Noticing that the video was less than six minutes long, Zhu Chenggong didn’t think much of it. Surely, the uploaded content focused on the highlights.
The video resumed playing.
The soldier wearing the combat recorder approached the monster, capturing increasingly detailed footage as they neared. Just as Zhu Chenggong’s tension mounted, the soldier suddenly halted.
An order to stand by crackled over the comms.
Not only this soldier—everyone in the surrounding area stopped moving. They formed a perimeter roughly 100 meters from the monster and waited silently.
Zhu Chenggong couldn’t help but furrow his brows, analyzing the reasoning behind the commander’s stand-by order. Yet, he couldn’t fathom its purpose.
About a minute passed. The monster displayed overwhelming destructive intent, shaking a building violently. Still, the waiting soldiers received no new instructions.
As Zhu Chenggong’s frown deepened, a light, cheerful flute melody suddenly emerged.
Who’s playing music on such a serious battlefield? he thought.
What happened next, however, left Zhu Chenggong wide-eyed in astonishment.
He watched as the monster, in the midst of toppling the building, suddenly paused, breaking into a foolish grin. Flames spontaneously ignited on its body, and before long, the creature dissolved into a wisp of smoke amidst roaring fire.
The video concluded with the surrounding soldiers erupting into cheers.
What the hell?
A grueling battle he anticipated… ended just like that? The video wasn’t just a highlight reel—the fight was really that short?
Suppressing his shock, Zhu Chenggong exited the first video and watched the rest, one by one.
Each video indeed featured a different encounter. He didn’t fast-forward any of them, but when he finished the sixth video, he realized—barely an hour had passed.
Zhu Chenggong: [?????]
Like many others who had watched the footage, he could only type a long string of question marks.
Meanwhile, during the hour it took him to watch the videos, the group chat had erupted into rounds of heated discussions. Although the group contained thousands of alumni from over 30 bases, it had never been this active before.
[I need every piece of information on that fire-breathing kid, within one minute!]
[I watched all the videos—what’s with that flute? It seems like every time it plays, the monsters just stop attacking.]
[Is this some secret weapon developed by Base 26?]
[As far as I know, the nursery is based in Base 24, isn’t it?]
[Can someone explain what’s going on? While we’re risking life and limb against monsters, what are the soldiers at Base 26 doing? Eating snacks and spectating?]
Reading the last comment, Zhu Chenggong couldn’t help but nod in agreement.
This wasn’t battle experience sharing at all!
In all six videos, apart from some initial effort during the fight against the slime monster, the Base 26 soldiers had practically been spectators the whole time!
At first, they put on a semblance of action, but by the later battles, they weren’t even pretending anymore—they were outright idle! How was that fair?
The besieged Base 26 soldier who posted the videos finally couldn’t take it anymore and chimed in:
[We didn’t want to slack off, okay? But there was literally nothing for us to do!]
And with that, he became the target of yet another wave of ridicule.
Meanwhile, senior officers like Zhu Chenggong, who managed to remain level-headed, had already begun considering a different possibility:
If the nursery’s kids are this strong, could we… invite them to help our base too?
