The sudden emergence of the novel starbug didn't just disrupt the cadets' rhythm; it threw the instructors' plans into disarray. In Greenstar's joint council chamber, representatives from the four military academies convened, their voices a tangle of urgency and discord as they debated whether to relocate the selection.
The Nanmi representative, a stern figure with a face carved from granite, leaned forward, his tone clipped. "The selection's been running long enough. Why change venues? Settle it with the current point rankings."
Tianquan's delegate, lounging with an air of nonchalance, sipped from a porcelain teacup, steam curling like a lazy dragon. "Eliminations are still too low. We agreed on seven days—this is barely day one-and-a-half. Ending now with these scores will spark cadet protests."
Nanmi's representative scoffed, his eyes glinting with disdain. "Outskilled, outscored, out of luck—eliminated. What's to protest?"
"Not so simple," Dongluo's delegate countered, shaking his head, his embroidered robe rustling. "Greenstar was a poor choice. A new starbug strain? That's no small matter. I hear Xizhou lost two 2S-grade cadets to it—top talents, caught off-guard. Only elite fighters could handle this beast. Those Xizhou cadets weren't weak; they were unlucky. Hardly fair."
All eyes turned to Xizhou's representative, a man with frost-gray eyes that seemed to pierce the room's dim light. Faint scars traced his jaw, lending his calm a predatory edge. "Xizhou accepts the outcome," he said, voice flat. "Eliminated is eliminated. We won't beg for reentry."
Nanmi's delegate snorted, his sneer barely veiled. Xizhou's pride is their folly. What good is honor to disqualified cadets?
Dongluo's representative, ever the diplomat, softened the tension. "Let's not be hasty. Those cadets didn't deserve this…" Yet he trailed off—luck was part of strength, and bending rules to reinstate them felt wrong.
Tianquan's delegate steered the conversation. "Any word from the Institute? Our cadets are practically sprouting fur in quarantine."
The starbug was Tianquan's discovery, neutralized by their cadets—a stark contrast to Xizhou's team, nearly drained dry by the creature's mental grasp. Privately, the representatives marveled at Xizhou's fortune. Had Baisha's squad not intervened, weaker cadets would've been fodder, or worse, no one would've come, leaving Xizhou's team to perish on Greenstar's unforgiving soil. Xizhou owed Tianquan gratitude, and the others silently acknowledged the averted tragedy that preserved the academies' reputations.
"It's not looking good," Dongluo's delegate said, frowning. "Our team's starbug expert spoke with the Institute. This case is… complicated."
As if on cue, the mentors' light-computers pinged with an Institute notification. The starbug, after genetic reconstruction and testing, had a provisional name: Devourer Starbug.
"Devourer?" Nanmi's representative muttered, brow twitching.
The attached report detailed its conscious behavior: it "devoured, replicated, and incubated" based on consumed DNA, crafting controlled proxies. A fish swallowed by the starbug reemerged identical but enthralled—a process dubbed "conversion." Worse, its fusion-driven nature meant it could amass, spreading until it dominated every organism on a planet, earning its ominous moniker. The Devourer's horror lay in usurping an entire world's vitality.
"Sounds terrifying," Dongluo's delegate said, unease creasing his face. "The Institute suggests… obliterating Greenstar and sterilizing everyone leaving?"
"Starbugs don't consume humans, especially not Imperials!" Nanmi's delegate snapped. "It only drains mental energy. Sterilization's overkill."
"Its mimicry is too potent," Tianquan's delegate sighed. "A bug, a leaf—anything could be its vessel. The selection must stop. We'll resume later."
"Then what was these two days for?" Nanmi's delegate growled.
"Let's not waste their efforts," Tianquan's delegate said, his gaze sweeping the room. "I propose selecting the main team from the top fifty in each grade's point rankings. Agreed?"
The solo ranking phase loomed, and this would narrow the pool. The abbreviated "survival" test, barely thirty-six hours, reflected raw combat prowess—tinged with luck, but skill dominated.
"No objections," Dongluo's delegate said, ever agreeable.
"None," Nanmi's delegate grunted.
Xizhou's representative hesitated, then nodded. "None."
The discussion shifted to future venues, voices rising like a storm over uncharted stars.
In the dormitory's top-floor quarantine suite, Baisha reclined on a sleek, cushioned bench, the room's sterile elegance a stark contrast to Greenstar's wilds. The suite, though compact, was well-appointed: a holo-screen cycled serene starscapes, a food synthesizer hummed in the corner, and soft lighting mimicked Youdu's twilight. Still, confinement chafed.
Day one in isolation brought video calls from Emperor Cecil, Uriel, and Han Jue. They saw her thriving—fed, rested, unbothered—and said little more. Uriel, predictably, pushed to extract her, his angelic fervor barely contained. Mindful of his destructive potential, Baisha gently declined.
Sino and Cen fielded family calls, their light-computers buzzing with concern. Yu Yan's device, however, stayed silent, its screen dark. To ease the awkwardness, Baisha rallied them for games. Her and Sino's cutting-edge light-computers projected holographic arenas, and they chose a castle siege theme, wielding virtual light-swords against alien hordes, laughing as they chased high scores.
Before a boss battle, Baisha's screen flashed a comm request. She paused the game, retreating to a quiet nook. "Teacher Jiang Gui?" she said, surprised. "What's up?"
Jiang Gui's image flickered, framed by a dimly lit hotel suite, its opulent decor muted by shadows. "I heard about Greenstar," he said, voice weary. "You okay? I've been swamped with academic conferences—knew you were fine, so I didn't call sooner."
Baisha noted the dark circles under his eyes. "Academic conferences? No major mechsmith summits lately."
"Not mechsmiths—starbug scholars," Jiang Gui said, massaging his temples, his pallor stark in the low light. "We're exploring starbug utility, evolution, and applications."
Mechsmiths relied on starbug-derived materials, and tracking their mutations kept designs relevant. Starbugs weren't just foes; they were the raw ore of innovation.
Baisha grinned. "Funny timing—we just found a new one."
"Devourer Starbug," Jiang Gui said, his gaze sharpening. "They're calling it that."
"You're well-informed," Baisha said, impressed.
"It broke at tonight's conference," he replied. "Some think 'Devourer' is hyperbolic, but I agree with it. Its conversion is bad enough, but the fusion? That's the nightmare. We spent hours debating how to suppress it—made some headway, but Greenstar's likely doomed."
Baisha blinked. They're really planning to nuke the planet?
"You'll leave soon," Jiang Gui continued. "Researchers will sample the Devourer before Greenstar's gone."
Baisha's mind flashed to the slime mold incident—swift eradication, cautious lab transfers. Now, slime mold materials, with their evolving properties, were revolutionizing mechcraft. What potential did the Devourer hold?
"It's remarkable," Jiang Gui said, a spark in his tired eyes. "It devours genes, incubates flawless copies with peak cellular vitality. Micro-tests show, with enough nutrients, its incubation efficiency hits one hundred fifty percent."
Baisha's mind raced. Feed it one hundred organisms, and it could yield one hundred fifty, all optimized. For mech materials, this could mean artificial yield boosts—a game-changer.
"My lab's getting two Devourer samples," Jiang Gui said, smiling faintly. "We're in for a busy season."
Baisha stifled a laugh. So this workaholic's call was just to gush about his new project?