The five examiners sat in a quandary. The second stage of the exam, focused on mech component modeling, was rendered moot—Baisha had already crafted a model with astonishing finesse during the first stage. The central examiner, his aged eyes sharp as ever, fixed her with a probing stare. "Let me ask again: you truly have no mentor, no formal training in mech design?"
Baisha arched an eyebrow, her tone laced with playful defiance. "None. My talent can only be called prodigious."
The examiners exchanged incredulous glances. Such brazen confidence was rare, even in an empire teeming with genius. "Have you ever designed a complete mech?" a female examiner interjected. "If you have a blueprint, may we see it?"
Baisha hesitated, then decided there was little harm in revealing her work, destined for association rating anyway. She projected her initial draft onto the optic screen, clarifying that it fused the designs of three master designers. The examiners fell silent, their expressions unreadable as they studied the blueprint. After a tense pause, the central examiner spoke. "Very well, the exam concludes here. Please step outside while we deliberate your results."
Baisha nodded, exiting the chamber and courteously closing the door. She glanced up to find the gray-clad association guide, Ying Ximing, still waiting alongside Uriel in the corridor. At her approach, both looked up, Ying's face alight with concern. "You're out so soon? How did it go?"
"They're discussing," Baisha said, shaking her head.
Ying's brow furrowed. A junior certification was trivial for any military academy mech design graduate, yet Baisha's swift exit suggested she'd aced the exam—or faltered spectacularly. Given Taishi Rong's endorsement, the latter seemed unlikely. "If you have other matters, you don't need to stay," Baisha offered. "It's just waiting now."
Ying smiled earnestly. "No trouble at all. I'm assigned to assist you today, and I've no research tasks."
A thought struck Baisha. "Does the Imperial Mech Designers' Association have members active in the Boundless City?"
Ying's eyes widened, and he glanced around before lowering his voice. "How did you know?"
"The exam question—I saw the exact same blueprint at the Boundless City's Mech Designers' Alliance Conference," Baisha said, shrugging. "A bit of an oversight, but I didn't point it out."
She had no interest in exposing their lapse. Ying chuckled. "So you're a regular there. Passing the conference's test means you've got junior-level skills at least. But keep the Boundless City quiet—our association discourages involvement. Too many members could reveal shifts in imperial mech design trends. Those active there are mostly freelance designers, running studios or taking odd jobs, unaffiliated with official bodies."
He rubbed his nose ruefully. "Official researchers like us are swamped with projects. No time for gallivanting in the Boundless City. If our mentors caught us, we'd be in for a scolding. So, if you visit, don't mention it to your instructors."
Baisha nodded. "Got it."
Ying checked the system—no results yet—and continued chatting. "Have you chosen a military academy, Your Highness? Tianquan's closest to Tianxu Star, but Xizhou and Dongluo have risen in mech design teaching. They've produced graduates who earned senior designer titles right out of school." He patted his chest, grinning. "I recommend Xizhou. It's remote, but spacious, with straightforward mentors and friendly peers."
Baisha shook her head. "I'm leaning toward Tianquan, but I haven't decided."
Her triple-track ambition—combat, strategy, and mech design—made her choice complex. Before Ying could press further, the exam chamber's door swung open. Baisha peered inside, curious. "Are they calling me back for results?"
Ying frowned. Results were typically posted online, not announced in person. Baisha stretched and stepped inside. The holographic examiners regarded her gravely. "Baisha Ronin," the central examiner intoned, "after unanimous discussion, we find your skills far exceed junior mech designer standards. Per regulations, we grant you mid-level mech designer certification."
An unexpected triumph. The examiners signed her certificate, transmitting it to her optic computer. "You could aim for senior certification," one added regretfully, "but regulations require three independently designed mechs rated by the association. You haven't met that threshold."
"Keep striving," another urged.
With a wave, a golden scroll projected at the chamber's center, names shimmering in tiers. In the mid-level section, a new entry appeared: Baisha Ronin, marked with a green sprout and zero points, ranking last among mid-level designers. Baisha's eyes narrowed, drifting to the top name: Jiang Gui, Master Designer.
Emerging from the chamber, she was met with congratulations. "Mid-level certification—impressive!" Ying beamed. "I hear you're registering a codename? I'll take you to the registry."
He hadn't anticipated a mid-level leap, explaining the examiners' delay. At the registry, Baisha received two certificates: one with her name and photo, the other bearing "Ouhuang" and a blacked-out avatar. "Points for your real name and codename are tracked separately," Ying advised. "Rated designs under 'Ouhuang' accrue points only to that identity."
"Thanks," Baisha said, departing with Uriel. In the hovercar, she mused, "Forgot to ask his Boundless City alias."
"Ying Ximing, mid-level designer," Uriel noted. "He mentioned it while we chatted, and his badge confirmed it."
Baisha had meant his conference pseudonym, curious if their paths had crossed. The hovercar glided to the spaceport as Tianxu Star's sun sank, painting the clouds in crimson hues. Baisha touched the window, her thoughts drifting to Yaning and Jingyi in the Federation's capital. Did they see such sunsets?
Days later, Taishi Rong sent the finalized blueprint. Her elegant style refined Baisha's energy optimization, perfected by the master who'd inspired it. The mech, a near-assault type, boasted unmatched endurance due to its near-limitless energy efficiency. "Review it, Your Highness," Taishi said via hologram, tucking a stylus behind her ear, her bare face radiant as she lounged in an ergonomic chair. "I gave it my all. If we don't hit 'Legendary,' I'll storm the association and yank their wigs."
Baisha startled. "Imperials go bald?"
"Of course," Taishi said. "Mech design eats hair."
Baisha laughed, studying the blueprint with awe. Online forums claimed each designer rank—junior, mid, senior, master—marked a chasm in skill. She felt the gap keenly. "It's perfect," she said sincerely. "Let's finalize it."
"Name it," Taishi urged. "It's yours. The lance, reworked by Clive's contacts at the Engineering Institute, is called 'Lone Radiance.'"
Baisha christened the mech Thunderflow. Production began, with the institute mobilizing materials for a half-month process of crafting, polishing, and testing. Skilled technicians, not masters like Taishi, handled the labor. During this time, Baisha balanced studies with intense marksmanship training under Uriel. His angelic prowess, absorbing gunplay knowledge instantly, made him a formidable coach—and opponent.
"I'm done!" Baisha groaned after days of being schooled by varied gunplay styles, collapsing in defeat. "You're cheating, Uriel. No mercy at all."
Sweat traced her cheeks as she lay panting on the training floor. Her 3S mental strength had unlocked a new realm of power, yet Uriel's dominance humbled her. He twirled his spear, smiling. "You've improved greatly, Your Highness."
"Really?" she said skeptically.
"Take your last move," he said, spinning the spear. "A week ago, you'd have missed it. You lasted twenty seconds against me—a record."
Baisha wasn't sure if this was praise or shade. Sighing, she sprang up, seizing her spear. "Again. I'll hit thirty seconds."
"Don't undervalue your progress," Uriel said, his emerald eyes serene. "All spear techniques prioritize speed. Victory hinges on a moment, before the loser can react—wisdom from countless masters."
"Don't lose heart," he added. "You might surpass me soon."
Baisha snorted, unconvinced. "I found something intriguing in the imperial spear master archives," Uriel said, projecting a video. It showed a young Cecil Ronin in a military academy exam, a silver-haired youth wielding a black spear in a mech, devastating foes in a desert arena. The footage, from a bystander's perspective, struggled to track his blinding speed. Cecil snapped a whip, ignited his spear's tip in crimson flame, and pierced a mech's core, disabling it. The combat, bloodless yet brutal, held a fierce beauty.
The cameraman cursed "madman," drawing Cecil's gaze. The mech turned, and the cameraman fled, the footage shaking until a scream cut through, ending with Cecil's mech pinning the fallen foe, spear poised. Baisha gaped. From this angle, her uncle was a demon, orchestrating a slaughter. Not an exam—a horror tale.
"Cecil Ronin is a spear master," Uriel said. "He might be a better teacher."
Baisha considered it. Her uncle's moves were undeniably stylish, and Uriel's thrashings had already shattered her pride. Could Cecil be worse? She stormed his study, finding him scowling over documents. Slowing, she flashed a placating smile. "Uncle—"
"The mech's in progress, studies continue, no negotiation. Tianquan's agreed to your triple track. Need funds? Use my account. Need staff? See Wei Li," Cecil rattled off, his tone coaxing. "I'm busy. Talk at dinner."
Baisha coughed. "I want you to teach me spear techniques. The long spear."
Cecil paused, intrigued. "Why me? Isn't Uriel sparring with you?"
"That 'angel' has me questioning my existence," Baisha said, gripping the desk. "Aren't you worried I'll lose all confidence?"
Cecil chuckled. "And fighting me won't?"
Her eager gaze held his. He sighed, lips tightening, then glanced at his optic computer. "Fine. Training field, eight o'clock."
"Deal!" Baisha retreated, mission accomplished.
At dinner, Cecil, in casual attire, joined her. Their shared meals were rare, with his duties keeping him absent for days. Noticing her plate of sparse vegetables, he raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Eating light," Baisha said, spearing a green stalk. "Don't want to vomit when you thrash me. My stomach's suffered enough."
Cecil smirked, recognizing her battle-won caution. At eight, warmed up and armed with spears, they faced off. Cecil's teaching was methodical, a stark contrast to Uriel's relentless drills. Perhaps swayed by her dinner-table theatrics, he focused on demonstration, breaking down moves with precision, ensuring she grasped each nuance. In thirty minutes, she emerged unscathed—a miracle compared to her bloodied bouts with Uriel, soothed only by healing pods.
Elated, Baisha requested a spar. They squared off, Cecil lunging with dragon-like grace. Baisha ducked, parrying from behind. His spear targeted her weaknesses, each thrust relentless. Her 3S mental force surged, deflecting his weapon. She spun, leaping, her spear a meteor aimed at his head—only for Cecil to draw a laser pistol from his sleeve, forcing her to halt.
"What's that?" she protested, lowering her spear.
"A lesson," Cecil said coolly. "Don't fixate on one weapon. In real combat, every tool matters. No battlefield restricts you to spears."
True—academy drills allowed all weapons in large exercises. "Don't lose yourself in your craft or let your guard down," he added. "That's my best advice."
He paused. "You did well today. You're ready."
Baisha blinked as he continued. "In a few days, when your mech arrives, you'll start at the academy."