Chapter 81: Northwest Military Academy

“So this is the Northwest Military Academy?” Fang Qingyun stared at the buildings before him, bewildered.

Had he arrived at a refugee camp? Was it because he’d just made some money that he was being summoned to donate? The structures were rough and crude, as if they’d been cobbled together by hand. Though the grounds were vast—a whole row of buildings stretching endlessly—if Commander Li were to attempt somersaults across them, he’d die of exhaustion. Most importantly, this place was near the battlefield, devoid of residential areas, filled only with war fortresses. It was essentially the frontlines. The land here was worthless—no one wanted it, not even if you paid them.

Fang Qingyun eyed this so-called Iron-Blooded Military Academy as nothing more than a temporary shelter. If one were camping in the wild with someone obsessive about order, even the latrines they'd build might surpass these.

Yet…

His gaze lingered on the four bold characters above the gate: Northwest Military Academy.

“Who wrote these characters?” Four dark red letters, like dried blood, powerful and brimming with murderous intent. The longer he looked, the harder it was to breathe.

“The principal wrote them himself, imbued with his martial spirit,” came a calm voice at Fang Qingyun’s ear. “Don’t look too long—it won’t do you any good.”

The trio turned. A middle-aged man with glasses and a solemn expression stood beside them, staring at the characters.

“Who are you…?” Commander Li was startled. He was a general, and a strong one at that, yet this man had approached unnoticed. Was this place crawling with experts?

Fang Qingyun scrutinized the man. “Who are you…?”

“Fang Qingyun. Zhao Junhong.” The man glanced at them and said, “I’ve come to receive you and arrange your life here at the Northwest Military Academy.” He handed them two school badges. “Report at the registration office inside and wait for your assignment. I’ll find you.”

“Oh!” Both nodded, glancing at Commander Li. He nodded back. Whoever this was, reporting in was a must. They were at the academy’s gate—what danger could there be? Surely no one would disrespect the Snake King.

“Are you Li Xinhui?” the man with glasses suddenly asked.

Commander Li smiled. “Yes. Any advice?”

“Interested in joining the faculty?” the man asked seriously.

Commander Li was taken aback, then shook his head with a smile. “No need.”

The man adjusted his glasses. “I have your file. I can assure you nothing like that will happen here. Your skills are wasted teaching in the rear.”

Commander Li smiled faintly, saying to Fang Qingyun and Zhao Junhong, “Go on in, then.”

“Alright!” They exchanged a curious glance. Was Commander Li a man with a hidden past? They couldn’t tell.

The two entered the Northwest Military Academy, immediately met by someone verifying their identity and guiding them to the registration office. On the way, Zhao Junhong muttered, “Damn, this school is something else.”

Fang Qingyun nodded. In mere moments, dozens of students had passed by, all with grim faces and a palpable scent of blood clinging to them. The atmosphere was oppressive; the ground beneath their feet radiated heat, as if they were treading on a monstrous beast. The school felt ready to erupt at any moment—even the spiritual energy was denser here.

This was the true style of a human military academy!

Fang Qingyun’s eyes sparkled.

At the registration office, they handed over their information. A middle-aged man with thick brows and large eyes glanced at them, his brows twitching with interest. “Personally summoned back by the principal?”

Neither spoke. The man didn’t mind, sizing them up. “I hope you don’t disappoint the principal. Those who do have no right to survive.”

A cold voice sounded. The man with glasses appeared at the registration office.

“Well, the chief secretary’s here,” the middle-aged man said with a grin.

The man with glasses nodded. “I’ll personally take charge of these two.”

“That much importance?” the middle-aged man was surprised.

“Supposedly, they’re both quite talented,” the man replied, pointing at Fang Qingyun. “Preliminary estimate: spiritual power over 80. Should be very fast at cultivating spiritual energy.” Then at Zhao Junhong: “Suspected berserker physique—the body’s worth attention.”

“Oh!” The middle-aged man looked at them with renewed seriousness.

Zhao Junhong and Fang Qingyun felt odd. The man with glasses had reminded them of their own strengths—Fang Qingyun was a top scholar due to his spiritual power, Zhao Junhong had a berserker-like physique that drew attention. Yet their cultivation had taken an unexpected turn: Zhao Junhong’s spiritual energy was high, while Fang Qingyun was more adept at physical strength. Commander Li and Principal Sun either forgot or never mentioned it—they had gone astray.

“What’s wrong?” the man with glasses asked, noticing their expressions.

“Nothing,” they replied.

He didn’t mind. “You may call me Professor Zhu Yao. I’ll guide you for two weeks, then you’ll start your assignments.”

“Professor Zhu Yao, isn’t two weeks a bit short?” Fang Qingyun asked hesitantly.

“Short?” Zhu Yao and the middle-aged man laughed.

“Martial arts universities and military academies admit only real warriors. Northwest University is stricter, recruiting only the elite among warriors. For people like you, two weeks to adapt—is that short?” Zhu Yao continued, “Besides, don’t be too anxious. We’ll assign you tasks, but we won’t send you to your deaths. Don’t imagine Northwest Military Academy’s assignments to be so terrifying.”

“Alright,” they said helplessly. Did they have a choice? From the moment the Snake King set eyes on them, their options vanished.

…

In the wilderness, a group of half-demons pushed several carts, laughing loudly. The carts were piled with meat—large beasts, small animals, and even a human corpse. All food for the half-demons.

Two hundred meters away, a pair of eyes watched them intently.

Fang Qingyun curled up beneath a dead tree, covered in grass, watching the half-demons, lips moving.

“Zhao Junhong, do you see?”

“I see. Let’s move!” Zhao Junhong’s voice came to Fang Qingyun.

Fang Qingyun channeled spiritual energy into his sniper rifle. Soon, a spiritual bullet formed in the chamber.

Bang!

A bullet shot out, instantly piercing a half-demon’s head.

Boom!

A figure appeared in the distance, ablaze with spiritual energy. Like a god of war, he strode toward the half-demons, emanating a terrifying aura—unmatched.

“Enemy attack!”

“Human?”

The half-demons screeched, grabbed weapons from the carts, and charged the approaching figure.

Bang!

Another gunshot rang out. Another half-demon’s head exploded.

“Careful, there’s a sniper!” The half-demons grew tense, staring toward the source of the shots.

The charging figure reached them.

“Slash!” Zhao Junhong roared, wielding a blood-stained saber and cleaving down hard.

“Roar!” The half-demon facing him raised his iron rod.

Crack!

With a crisp sound, the iron rod was cut in two. The half-demon’s eyes widened; his expression turned strange, and his body slowly split down the middle.

Howl!

The remaining half-demons, enraged by the scent of their kin’s blood, grew more frenzied, rushing Zhao Junhong even harder.

Bang!

Another bullet struck. Yet another half-demon’s skull was blown off.

Boom!

Zhao Junhong’s saber struck a half-demon, ignoring whether he blocked or not. Instantly, another soul was claimed by the blood-soaked blade.

In the blink of an eye, only three half-demons remained. They glanced at their fallen comrades, howled, and attacked Zhao Junhong together.

Against three attackers, Zhao Junhong finally chose to retreat, springing back like a coil. As he withdrew, he grinned at the half-demons. “Farewell.”

Bang! Bang!

Two shots fired in succession; two half-demons fell.

Fang Qingyun rose and walked toward the carts. Only one half-demon remained—not a match for Zhao Junhong.

Half-demons were at most second-tier warriors; even third-tier ones couldn’t trouble Zhao Junhong.

By the time Fang Qingyun arrived, Zhao Junhong had already decapitated the last half-demon.

Looking at the carts full of meat, Zhao Junhong said, “As usual, bury the human corpse on the spot. The beast meat we’ll take back for a feast.”

“Alright!” Fang Qingyun agreed. Together, they quickly dug a pit, buried the human corpse, filled it, and hauled the meat back to Northwest Military Academy.

When they reached the gate, the stern-faced, bespectacled middle-aged man was waiting.

“Professor Zhu Yao, mission accomplished.”

Zhu Yao pushed his glasses and said, “Fang Qingyun, every time you call me that, I feel insulted.”

Fang Qingyun blinked. “What’s wrong with my address? We’re familiar now, aren’t you just trying to dock my points?”

“Yeah, Professor Pork Waist, I think you’re up to something,” Zhao Junhong winked.

Zhu Yao glanced at them and walked to the carts, frowning at the meat.

“What’s wrong?” Fang Qingyun asked curiously.

“Our enemies—the monsters, especially the demons—have been too active lately,” Zhu Yao muttered. “Wasn’t the largest demon tribe in this area already cleared?”

In this world, monsters aren’t a single race—they’re divided into demon clans and devil clans, who are mortal enemies. Humanity survives precariously between them, growing stronger over time.

Of the twelve continents in the Blue Moon World, humans occupy three, demon clans four (stronger than humans), devil clans two (the strongest, with the richest resources). The remaining three are still contested, with all three races deploying troops and turning the unclaimed continents into meat grinders.

Fang Qingyun and his companions were at the edge of Ming Continent. To the west lay Storm Continent, belonging to the demons. The two sides had built massive fortresses at the main passage, confronting each other. Occasionally, small groups of demons infiltrated human territory to pillage and sabotage.

Fang Qingyun and Zhao Junhong had recently accepted many missions to hunt such small demon squads.

“Let them be active. The more they move, the more we kill. Large-scale invasions—they can’t manage. Small groups, kill as many as come,” Zhao Junhong said boisterously. “Professor Pork Waist, we took out eight half-demons and hauled back all this—give us extra points!”

On their third day at Northwest Military Academy, Zhu Yao had kicked them out to start field missions.

“A bona fide third-tier warrior with a special physique, and a freak whose body can contend with high-tier warriors—you two wanted a two-week adaptation period? Get lost!” Zhu Yao was annoyed. At first, he thought they were newbies, so he was determined to guide them seriously, fulfilling the Snake King’s expectations. They played the part well.

But these two were as strong as high-tier warriors. If not for concern over their ability to adapt, he’d have sent them straight to the battlefield. Even so, Zhu Yao decided to give them at most half a year before sending them to the front, especially Fang Qingyun, who was skilled at sniping—the most needed role on the battlefield!

So Zhu Yao began instructing them earnestly and applied for resources to strengthen them. He accompanied them for the first assignments. After two tasks, he let them handle deliveries or hunt demons and devils affected by demonic energy.

Their progress didn’t disappoint him. In a short time, they impressed.

Like this time, they’d taken on a C-level mission.

“Rest assured, you’ll get what you deserve,” Zhu Yao said, swiping his card against theirs.

Fang Qingyun and Zhao Junhong checked their points: 556. They were very satisfied.

Points—the hallmark of all martial arts universities. These institutions provided many things unavailable elsewhere, all purchasable with points. How to earn points? Complete missions. You could also buy them, but at a rate of one million per point, even the wealthy would balk.

“Next, I won’t be watching you,” Zhu Yao said seriously. “There’s some trouble with the Snake King; I need to handle it. You’re free—take on missions, listen to high-tier warriors’ lectures.”

“My advice: improve your spiritual energy—that’s fundamental. Fang Qingyun, your spiritual level is too low. Don’t focus solely on physical strength. Your sniping talent needs high spiritual energy. Physical power isn’t the right path.”

“Zhao Junhong, you should exchange for combat skills, boost your melee ability, and study your physique—it could become a deadly weapon.”

“We may soon be comrades on the battlefield.”

Zhu Yao looked at them deeply, fastened a colonel’s insignia to his uniform, and turned to leave.

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