Tomorrow, one of them would be a Centurion. The rest would be yesterday's news.
That was the cold math facing the fifteen Decurions of the Tiger Whale Camp. They were all fresh off the life-altering rush of awakening their Martial Veins, transforming from cannon fodder into genuine warriors. Every single one of them was hungry, ambitious, and itching to prove they were top dog.
But the game had changed overnight. The news spread through the barracks like wildfire: Qiao Dong hadn't just awakened his veins, he'd already lit up a second node. He was a Rank 2 Battle Soldier.
In their world, that wasn't just a step up; it was a leap across a chasm. The math was simple and brutal: one Rank 2 soldier could take on three Rank 1s without breaking a sweat. The race for Centurion was over before it had even begun. Qiao Dong wasn't just in the lead; he was in a different league entirely.
Even before his power-up, Qiao Dong was considered the toughest guy in the camp. Now, he was a legend in the making, and everyone knew it. The camp's social structure realigned itself around him in a matter of hours. It wasn't just his own squad kissing the ring; soldiers from every team, including most of the other Decurions, were suddenly his best friends. They laughed at his jokes, fetched his drinks, and hung on his every word. They were all hedging their bets, trying to get in good with the man who would almost certainly be their boss tomorrow.
A few even made a public show of it, announcing they were pulling out of the competition. "We're no match for you, Boss Qiao!" they'd declare, hoping for a pat on the head.
Qiao Dong soaked it all in, a man drunk on newfound power. His past was a bitter memory—an insignificant grunt pushed around by his superiors until he finally snapped, killed his Decurion, and deserted. He'd expected execution when he was caught. Instead, in a bizarre twist of fate, he'd been given a command. Now, he was on the verge of ruling the entire camp.
The meek, resentful man was gone, replaced by a swaggering tyrant. He scanned the crowded mess hall, a smug grin plastered on his face.
"Heh, you all think Rank 2 is a big deal?" his voice boomed. "If things go my way tonight, I'll be hitting Rank 3. The absolute peak."
A collective gasp went through the room.
"Rank 3? That's… that's almost Battle General level!"
"After only a few days? He's a prodigy!"
"Boss Qiao, I'm with you! I'll follow you to hell and back!"
"Me too!"
The pledges of loyalty came thick and fast. Soon, only a handful of Decurions hadn't bent the knee.
Qiao Dong's number two, a suck-up named Liu Jinquan, puffed out his chest and surveyed the room like he owned it. "Honestly, we should just cancel the competition tomorrow and give the spot to Boss Qiao," he announced with a greasy smile. "No offense to anyone," he sneered, his eyes landing on the holdouts, "but when you stand next to a giant like Boss Qiao, everyone else here is just... garbage."
The cronies around them howled with laughter.
But for men like Xiao Ke and the fiery Duan Canglong, the words were a slap in the face. It wasn't just trash talk; it was a public shaming.
Xiao Ke, ever the stoic, kept his composure.
Duan Canglong, however, did not.
A loud crack silenced the room as his fist met the tabletop. "What the hell is this?" he roared, his voice cutting through the laughter. "Can't a man eat his breakfast without some damn dog barking? It's ruining my meal."
The mess hall went dead quiet. Every eye—Qiao Dong's, Liu Jinquan's, the entire camp's—snapped toward Duan Canglong's table.
Qiao Dong's expression soured. He gave Liu Jinquan a subtle nod. That was all the permission his lapdog needed. Liu Jinquan and a few of his thugs got up and swaggered toward their table.
"You got a problem, Duan?" Liu Jinquan snarled, getting right in his face. "Who were you calling a dog?"
Duan Canglong looked up, a cold smirk on his face. He tossed his chopsticks down. "Whoever called me garbage, I'll call a dog. Simple as that. You got a problem with it?"
"You're asking for it!" Liu Jinquan roared. He grabbed the edge of their heavy marble table, muscles bulging as he tried to flip it.
But just as the table started to tilt, Xiao Ke—who hadn't even looked up from his breakfast—casually placed his left hand on the tabletop.
Thud.
With seemingly no effort at all, he pressed the massive table back to the floor. The impact was so solid that one of Duan Canglong's chopsticks bounced off and clattered to the ground.
Liu Jinquan stared, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and fear. He had used his entire body, both arms straining, and Xiao Ke had stopped him cold with one hand. What kind of power was that?
"What do you think you're doing, Xiao?" Liu Jinquan blustered, trying to recover his swagger.
Xiao Ke calmly picked up his chopsticks, finished the last of his noodles, and then elegantly wiped his mouth with a napkin. Only then did he meet Liu Jinquan's gaze, his eyes calm but sharp as ice.
"You're asking me what I'm doing?" he said, his voice level. "I was eating breakfast. You came over and tried to flip my table. Let's be clear about the hierarchy here. We may both be Decurions, but I'm the Captain of Squad One. You're the Vice-Captain of Squad Two. Technically, I outrank you."
Cold sweat prickled on Liu Jinquan's forehead. Fights between soldiers were one thing—the brass even encouraged a bit of grit. But insubordination was a capital offense in wartime.
Seeing the fear in the man's eyes, a ghost of a smile touched Xiao Ke's lips. "Of course, we're all comrades here. I won't make a big deal out of it." His eyes flicked down to the floor. "But your little outburst knocked my friend's chopstick on the ground. I think you should bend over and pick it up for him."
A wave of understanding—and a little bit of fear—rippled through the crowd. This was more than just an insult. Xiao Ke had just outmaneuvered him, using protocol and sheer nerve to force him into a position of submission. For Liu Jinquan to bend down now would be a total surrender.
Everyone instinctively looked to Qiao Dong. This was his man being humiliated. You don't get to kick someone's dog without the owner having something to say about it.
Sure enough, Qiao Dong's face had hardened into a mask of cold fury. He pushed his chair back with a loud scrape. He and his entire crew stood up.
And then, they started walking over.