MPWATMBC Chapter 73

Students of the Imperial Academy of Arts take immense pride in having their graduation works included in the White Tower. Over the academy’s 300-year history, only a little over fifty students have received this honor, despite thousands graduating each year. This illustrates just how rare and prestigious it is to have one’s work displayed alongside masterpieces from renowned artists.

The White Tower stands 50 meters tall with 27 floors. True to the spirit of art, its interior design is anything but ordinary. It is both ingeniously unique and breathtakingly magnificent, exuding a mysterious allure. In short, it’s simply magical. The spiral staircase, uneven walls, floors of varying heights, windows of assorted sizes, and lighting that shifts between bright and dim—all these elements combine to create a sense of stepping into a fantastical world.

Of course, Ryan’s artistic aptitude has never been his strong suit—his talent being both underdeveloped from birth and insufficiently cultivated afterward. As a result, while he tried to appreciate the White Tower’s intricate interior, he couldn’t shake off a bizarre sense of déjà vu that reminded him of the Qin Feng Anderson Museum’s unsettling vibe. To be honest, “awkward” might be a more fitting term. After all, whoever designed this place must have had some serious issues.

Why? Because the building’s central axis features a full-body sculpture of Qin Feng—sliced into 27 pieces by the floors!

It’s like walking into a giant dismemberment scene!

The designer clearly never considered what a gut-wrenching feeling it might be for the person being depicted to see this.

Ryan had already drafted a mental complaint as he stood there. If he made it out of the White Tower alive, he’d anonymously report this to the National Art Institute! According to the Empire’s Portrait Rights Act, the likeness of a deceased great figure belongs to their descendants. Ryan knew that the White Tower’s existence must have been authorized by President Anderson’s lineage, but he couldn’t help wanting to crack open the heads of those descendants to see what kind of nonsense they were thinking!

Standing behind a tall cabinet, Ryan let his wounds bleed freely. The soft drip, drip of his blood was all too audible in the dead silence of the 13th floor. Using himself as bait, Ryan remained quiet and alert, though he still had the mental capacity to entertain such trivial thoughts. Truly, a man seasoned by great events—his psychological resilience was nothing short of remarkable.

The 13th floor was filled with various pieces of furniture. In the expansive 300-square-meter space, the large wooden furniture resembled twisted elephants, while the smaller metal cabinets looked like crouching mice. The spindly, noodle-thin bookshelves could barely hold a few books per section, and the flat, wide wardrobes seemed to serve no purpose other than decoration. With Ryan’s limited artistic appreciation skills, he couldn’t separate aesthetics from practicality or likeness.

His ears twitched slightly as he caught the sound of footsteps, and he shifted his position to observe three men emerging cautiously from the stairwell.

Drip… drip… drip.

Drop by drop, the blood pooled into a small puddle on the floor. Though faint, the metallic tang of blood—sharp and unmistakable—permeated the air. Both the sound and the smell were more than enough to draw attention.

Ryan raised his hand, the sleeve of his shirt already soaked in blood. Fortunately, the fabric was black, making the stain less noticeable at first glance. Upon closer inspection, however, the sleeve had a gaping tear, revealing a jagged wound underneath—about 20 centimeters long, the result of a sharp piece of metal from the small starship. The flesh was torn and flipped outward in a grisly fashion. He had already checked it earlier; while the injury looked severe, it hadn’t damaged any tendons or bones, meaning his hand’s normal functionality wouldn’t be affected once healed.

Unfortunately, the med kit had been obliterated along with the rear half of the starship during the explosion, and the White Tower’s medical bay was guarded. With no way to treat himself, Ryan abandoned the idea of bandaging the wound and instead decided to use his blood as bait.

Thirty minutes earlier, Ryan had used his exceptional piloting skills to push the small starship’s remaining cockpit controls to their absolute limit. With precise micro-adjustments, he darted and wove his way through the skies. By the time he reached the outskirts of Windmill Town, three enemy ships collided with each other, and an earth-shattering explosion erupted into a towering inferno. Ryan’s ship, thanks to his textbook maneuvers, managed to stay barely level amidst the chaos.

But all those elegant maneuvers were only possible as long as the ship had power to run!

Ryan found himself in the classic predicament of having no tools to work with—“even the best cook needs ingredients.” He debated between ejecting from the starship at a high altitude versus waiting until he was closer to the ground. Reality, however, quickly made the decision for him. Another enemy attack left him with no choice, though it conveniently provided him with a parachute.

Skipping the finer details, the result was clear: his attackers were reduced to charred corpses, while Ryan, acting decisively to avoid further strikes, made a run for the nearby town and sought refuge in its iconic White Tower.

The enemy gave relentless chase, brazenly pursuing him without a care for being spotted. It was almost as if they wanted public attention. Ryan’s quick assessment suggested at least sixteen of them had entered the White Tower in staggered intervals, determined to hunt him down.

Meanwhile, the crowd gathered outside the tower had no idea of the bloody game of cat and mouse playing out within the walls. Thankfully, today happened to be the tower’s off day. Apart from three or four staff members, there were no tourists inside. Otherwise, given the attackers’ blatant disregard for collateral damage, the day would surely have ended in a massacre.

On the 13th floor, three men arrived, led by one with wheat-colored skin and sharp, angular features. He moved with eerie silence, his footsteps making no sound, and his breathing barely audible—a sign of a skilled operative. Instead of a gun, he carried a black-coated curved dagger. The weapon’s spine featured a blood groove, designed to tear through flesh and leave gaping, grotesque wounds with a simple twist.

With a wave of his hand, he instructed his two subordinates to fan out, staying alert for any sound or movement. Then, moving with practiced precision, the man approached the wardrobe where Ryan was hiding. Stepping forward, he reached out and grabbed the cabinet door…

The man knew he was up against an opponent of extraordinary skill. He didn’t need to look at any files—everyone in the Empire was aware of General Auston Dalton’s legendary reflexes, combat prowess, situational awareness, and unparalleled coordination. Dalton was infamous for being a nightmare in any confrontation. Before launching this mission, the team had exhaustively studied every scrap of information available on him, becoming perhaps the most knowledgeable strangers about the general.

Yet, after facing him in person, the man realized the intel had undersold Dalton’s abilities. He wasn’t just formidable—he was a living fortress. Agile, swift, and unnervingly precise, Dalton’s tracking, counter-tracking, and stealth skills were impeccable, making him seem like a seamless, indestructible steel plate, offering no cracks or weaknesses to exploit.

They had surrounded Dalton in his hiding spot, but an inexplicable unease gnawed at the man’s mind. In battle, fear and hesitation could be overcome, but unease—that creeping uncertainty—was the real enemy. It clouded judgment, bred hesitation, and led to ruin. Gritting his teeth, the man tightened his grip on the dagger, shaking off his stray thoughts. He made his move without hesitation.

Missed.

The cabinet held nothing but a few faint traces of blood, evidence that someone had indeed been hiding there.

Panic swelled in the man’s chest. Something was terribly wrong, and the fear now gripping him was almost primal. It wasn’t just the fear of fighting a skilled opponent—it felt as if he were facing death itself, incarnate.

He knew, with chilling certainty, that the person had been behind the cabinet just moments ago. When he grabbed the door, the target was there. When he took his step to attack, the target was still there.

But in the split second it took to make his move, the target had vanished.

Jacob abruptly twisted his head to look to his sides, only to be horrified by the realization that the two men who had been following him closely were gone. Completely vanished. Jacob knew their abilities well—they were experienced, dependable operatives who could at least hold their ground for a few minutes in the face of an enemy. There was no way they could have disappeared so silently and swiftly.

Suddenly, a bold and chilling thought struck him—they had been chasing the wrong person all along. The one they had relentlessly pursued wasn’t Dalton. It was someone—or something—far more mysterious and terrifying.

“What’s your surname, Gustav?”

The voice came as if from every direction at once, yet also felt like it was focusing on him alone. Jacob gripped his dagger tightly and turned toward the source of the voice. It seemed to come from the very center of the structure—the towering statue of Qin Feng Anderson, the one dissected into 27 segments by the building’s floors. The voice spoke again, emanating from the statue’s legs.

“Or is it Bromfield?”

Jacob remained silent, adjusting his grip on the dagger. His body pressed close to the furniture scattered around the room, moving soundlessly toward the base of the Anderson statue.

“You have the Gustav family’s distinctive blue eyes,” the voice continued, this time carrying a hint of amusement. “And the Bromfield family’s unmistakable features. You’re the product of their union.”

The voice chuckled lightly, its tone laced with both mockery and menace.

“Your surname doesn’t matter,” the voice declared, now unmistakably coming from Ryan. “Because whatever I decide to call you—that’s what you’ll be.”

Jacob’s heart pounded wildly as he closed the five-meter distance to the statue in a sudden sprint. Explosive power was his specialty—he prided himself on being unmatched in this regard since the beginning of his career.

But once again, he lunged at nothing. The area around the statue revealed only a few drops of blood, no sign of anyone. Not a single shadow.

A wave of paralyzing fear crashed over him, as if he were enveloped by the shadow of death itself. It felt as though the only path left was toward inevitable demise.

No.

Jacob clenched his teeth, forcing himself to resist the mounting despair. He had to save himself.

Without pausing, he made a decision. He was certain the target was still on the 13th floor. Since they hadn’t escaped, then reinforcements were the only answer.

“Dalton spotted—13th floor,” he barked into his communicator.

“Copy that, we’re right below. Moving up now,” came the response.

Jacob exhaled sharply, bracing himself. Reinforcements would arrive soon, and with their combined strength, this deadly game might finally turn in his favor.

The reinforcements scattered on the upper and lower floors would soon be rushing to his aid. Jacob positioned himself strategically, a place where he could both attack and retreat. His eyes scanned the surroundings warily, anticipating an enemy ambush at any moment.

Then, suddenly, Jacob realized the situation had shifted. The enemy had turned the tables single-handedly. What kind of monstrous being is this?

“Emperor Anderson once said, ‘Two fists can’t defeat four hands. On the battlefield, one needs allies.’” Jacob said aloud, his words meant to intimidate the enemy, but also a reminder to himself, a way of bolstering his own resolve as he prepared to face the unknown. “Right now, you’re alone, but I have a whole team at my back.”

“Is that so?”

The voice came from behind him.

Ryan’s voice was calm, but chilling. His preferred method of control was to seize his opponent’s throat with the same ease as grabbing the belly of a squealing chicken—effective and terrifying. The chicken could scream shrilly, while his grasp could silence a soul-deep, horrific cry.

“How does it feel to be in command of your team?” Ryan mused aloud, his tone almost conversational. “Let me guess, you’re the leader? Or perhaps the official representative? You’re good with your hands; you’ve been in the military, haven’t you? I’d say you work with the capital’s garrison now. I’m not wrong, am I? From what I know, half of the garrison is made up of Gustav’s people.”

The grip on Jacob’s throat was unyielding. It was as though the hand of fate itself had seized his life. His mouth opened in an attempt to scream, but the sound was strangled, a silent, desperate plea for escape, like a mute, screeching chicken. Ahh…

Jacob attempted to take advantage of a perceived lapse in vigilance, grabbing for his dagger to strike. But before he could even act, Ryan deftly disarmed him with a swift and precise move. With a sharp twist, Jacob’s shoulder joint was dislocated, rendering his arm useless. The sensation of his bones being forcibly misaligned came with startling swiftness. By the time the pain registered, the dagger had already clattered to the ground with a crisp metallic clang.

Da, da, da.

Chaotic footsteps echoed from the stairwell as the reinforcements Jacob had summoned finally arrived. They stormed onto the scene, their eyes falling on the unfamiliar Ryan and the sight of Jacob, his throat caught firmly in Ryan’s grasp.

One of the newcomers frowned and demanded, “Where’s Auston Dalton?”

Jacob, his voice hoarse and defeated, rasped out, “We’ve been chasing the wrong person.”

The speaker’s frown deepened, his face dark with displeasure. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon, steadying his aim at both Ryan and Jacob. The unmistakable staccato burst of gunfire erupted—tut-tut-tut.

“Take them both out and retreat immediately.” 

“Got it, boss.”

Ryan dodged out of the line of fire, his thoughts a swirl of frustration. Damn it, he thought bitterly. There was nothing worse than plans spiraling out of control due to a miscalculation. The sheer annoyance of it all was plastered on his face.

Jacob, on the other hand, had taken a hit—not fatal, but enough to leave him bleeding. Despite his injury, he couldn’t help but smirk at Ryan’s visible irritation. “Hahaha, you got it wrong. I’m not the leader. I’m not important.”

Ryan cast him a cold glance, his tone frigid. “The bloodline’s what matters.”

Ryan couldn’t help but recall Emperor Qin Feng Anderson’s famous words: ‘Two fists can’t beat four hands.’ He gave a mental nod to his past self for appreciating their wisdom, as he was now feeling the full weight of that sentiment.

Fighting against a dozen heavily armed adversaries was a nightmare, a chaotic whirlwind of danger. The once-pristine 13th floor was utterly destroyed in the crossfire—antique displays reduced to debris, their remains scattered across the floor. Even one of the tall windows was shattered, the wind pouring in unabated.

The air carried the earthy freshness of grass and soil, mingled with faint floral notes. It was the season when windmills spun lazily under the soft rains of Windmill Town, and the breeze brought with it delicate pink cherry blossoms from the surrounding trees.

In the midst of the hail of bullets and carnage, the drifting petals seemed almost surreal—a stark juxtaposition of violence and beauty, like a poetic epitaph for the chaos unfolding in the tower.

Ryan discarded Jacob’s curved dagger with disdain. A flashy weapon, but utterly impractical—after piercing the ribcage of three enemies, its edge was ruined, rendering it useless. He rolled swiftly across the floor, dodging a barrage of bullets, but the encirclement was tightening with every second. Out of options, he sprinted toward the shattered window and, without hesitation, leapt out into the open air.

“No!”

The cry came from Auston Dalton, who had just arrived on the scene. His heart nearly stopped as he witnessed Ryan’s reckless jump.

Hanging precariously by one hand on the window ledge, Ryan’s grip was unyielding. He caught the alarm in Auston’s voice, and his heart skipped a beat—not from fear, but from the sharp pang of recognition. The pounding footsteps of the assailants, which had been closing in on the window, suddenly changed direction. They had finally spotted their actual target—Auston.

Outside the White Tower, chaos reigned. The gunfire had already caused waves of panic among the gathered crowd below. Screams of terror rang out, mingled with the shattering of glass from the window above, which had injured several people as shards rained down. The scene was pandemonium. Police and military personnel worked desperately to evacuate the masses, but the sheer density of the crowd led to sporadic trampling incidents despite their best efforts.

From the shattered window, Ryan’s dangling form caught the attention of the onlookers. He seemed to cling desperately, and for a moment, it appeared as though he might fall to his death. Gasps rippled through the crowd as his arm muscles tensed, veins bulging with effort. With a surge of raw strength, Ryan hoisted himself back inside the tower, flipping over the ledge with practiced precision.

The crowd, frozen in collective anticipation, erupted in astonished murmurs. But Ryan had no time to acknowledge them—he had just reclaimed his footing, and the chaos inside the tower awaited.

The suspended Ryan didn’t fall. He grabbed the nearest attacker and threw him out of the window in one fluid motion. Ryan swiftly raised his hand and caught the weapon that Auston threw at him. Seeing that Ryan was unharmed, Auston, who had been briefly panicked, regained his calm. His gaze turned cold as he stared at the enemy. When Ryan arrived to fight alongside him, Auston’s heart, which had been suspended in mid-air, finally settled.

The two of them, with exceptional teamwork, could devise the best cooperation strategy without uttering a word. Their individual combat skills were among the top in the entire Empire. “Strong alone, stronger together.” By working as a team, they complemented each other, maximizing their strength. The reason the mob sent by the “Bird of Paradise” had been able to hold out for so long was solely due to their overwhelming firepower. Under the intense firepower, Ryan and Auston, armed with only simple weapons, were able to defeat the enemy, relying on their initial fire suppression to buy enough time. Given some more, wiping out all the enemies would be no challenge.

“We can’t kill them. We’re retreating,” someone from the enemy side shouted.

“For freedom, we can’t leave.”

“To die with grandeur, to offer my blood as a tribute to the lost freedom!”

“To slit our veins in public view, to let our blinding red blood awaken the numb hearts of all!”

As soon as these words fell, one of them stopped shooting, sprinted toward the window, and leaped out. The glider pack on his back deployed instantly. Not everyone wanted to die—for now, at least six of them preferred to live rather than slit their veins for “Bird of Paradise”

Auston and Ryan exchanged a glance and moved toward the window. Just as they were about to jump, Ryan said, “Wait.” He decisively turned back, grabbed a knife someone had dropped on the ground, and walked over to the fleeing Jacob. Without hesitation, he stabbed Jacob in the thigh—not hitting any major arteries, ensuring it wasn’t fatal, but enough to limit his mobility and prevent his escape. Returning to Auston’s side, Ryan explained, “Born of a marriage alliance. If he’s left free to maneuver behind the scenes, it’ll be impossible to truly destroy them.”

As long as Ryan was alive and well, the cold and distant Auston regained his humanity. He nodded, a flash of icy determination and lethal intent gleaming in his dark eyes. “Dare to hurt you? I’ll make them pay back a hundredfold, a thousandfold.”

Ryan pulled Auston close, planting a kiss on his face. “Good thing I used this small starship.” If Auston had used the larger one and they had encountered an assassination attempt mid-flight… Ryan couldn’t even bring himself to imagine it. “Hold on to me, we’re leaving.”

Auston wrapped his arms around Ryan’s waist, suddenly understanding what it meant to regain something lost. He gently closed his eyes, placing complete trust in Ryan, letting him guide him as they fell through the open window. Just as they were falling, Auston heard Ryan shout, “Yuan Chu.”

Yuan Chu was undoubtedly the best comrade. Under Ryan’s modifications, his combat strength had steadily improved, and his defense capabilities were no less impressive. His system was growth-based, with world-class reaction speeds, and aside from human emotions, he could learn anything. On the battlefield, he was the best partner—someone he could entrust his back to without hesitation. In life, he was also the best family, a confidant with whom he could share all secrets.

At the sound of his master’s command, Yuan Chu seemed to return to the blood-soaked battlefield from over seven hundred years ago, where he had fought the Zerg enemies. With a single command from his master, he could wipe out entire swaths of them… Created for war, Yuan Chu harbored a deep-seated craving for battle, and if he were human, his body would likely tremble slightly with excitement.

His yellow eyes flickered as he lunged forward, grabbing his master and the general’s clothes, activating the flight system, and bringing them to the ground. The sound of the machine stuttering reached Ryan and Auston’s ears. Yuan Chu’s voice, emotionless as always, said, “The body is failing, the drive is insufficient. You two, brace yourselves.”

It wasn’t that Yuan Chu’s system had malfunctioned; the hardware just couldn’t handle it. If Yuan Chu wasn’t holding onto Ryan and Auston, he would probably have thrown his hands up in frustration, expressing the unnecessary buildup of redundant information in his program.

Ryan: “…”

Is it my fault? “It’s my fault!” Ryan swore, once they were back, he’d definitely, absolutely, and surely build Yuan Chu… no, several sturdy bodies—large, small, and extra-small—enough for all occasions.

Auston couldn’t help but chuckle. He adjusted their direction mid-air, shifting his back to face the ground. But Ryan wouldn’t let him leave all the safety to himself. He reached out and shielded Auston’s head, regardless of Auston’s objections, positioning himself in the more dangerous direction. They could hear the crowd’s screams and the sound of camera shutters going off. Everything was being exposed now, and they no longer cared. Ryan even thought helplessly, if he’d known, he wouldn’t have rushed to jump out the window; he should have just taken the stairs.

Just as the words left his mouth, a streak of black shot up, grabbing Auston’s shoulder and slowing their descent.

“General, Code Zero reporting for duty.” Now, Code Zero is also in a new form. Having emerged from the doll-like companion robot body, he now possessed a small mecha body, with performance on par with Yuan Chu.

With Code Zero helping to bear the weight, Ryan and Auston landed smoothly, taking no more than ten seconds. The instant they hit the ground, they darted off. They didn’t let those who had intended to slit their own wrists for a blood sacrifice or those attempting to harm civilians or escape from the police get away. Those they could spare were left alive, while those who couldn’t be saved were dealt with in the most “friendly” manner possible, minimizing the bloodshed witnessed by the public.

Working in tandem with Yuan Chu and Code Zero supporting them, the police and nearby garrison were caught off guard, and the chaos was quickly subdued. Meanwhile, Ryan and Auston’s heroic figures were captured by the journalists on the scene and broadcasted to every corner of the Empire. Not only was their battle scene shown, but their affectionate interactions also became an indispensable part of the broadcast.

In the parade camp, the people waiting for assembly stood on the playground. Harriet, bored, was scrolling through her social media platform when suddenly, her attention was caught by a GIF. In the GIF, Ryan and Auston’s bodies twisted and separated, each lifting a leg to kick an enemy away. The swift, decisive moves, the perfect coordination, and the two equally outstanding figures on screen instantly grabbed the attention of many, including Harriet. From the moment Harriet noticed the GIF to checking the comments, only three seconds passed. The post had already been shared over 100,000 times, and the zero comments quickly became over 10,000, with the numbers still climbing. Every time she refreshed the page, the count changed.

Harriet nudged the people around her to show them. Fan Lanting’s reaction was the most direct: “I knew it, Ryan would never just show up for training like a normal person.”

The top three comments under the GIF were:

—”General Dalton is so handsome!!! I want to marry him!”

—”Who is the person with the general? So impressive, ten seconds, I need this person’s contact info.”

—”Did you all notice the loving looks exchanged between the general and this person?”

As everyone on the Star Network wondered who the person was fighting alongside the youngest general of the Empire, more pictures and a few short videos appeared on the scene. While the images didn’t reveal much, the short videos made it crystal clear. The connection between the general and that person was undeniable. The way they cared for each other during their fall—one can easily guess their relationship, even if just by using their toes.

#GeneralDaltonHasALover#

#EmpireGeneralSecretlyMarried#

#GeneralAlreadyAdaptedSuccessfully, MarriedWithChildren#

These hashtags quickly surged to the top of trending topics.

The traffic on social media platforms soared, and the Star Network urgently adjusted its bandwidth, opening additional channels to handle the flood of visitors. The network’s servers, already stretched beyond capacity, repeatedly triggered warning lights. The equipment monitoring personnel had to work overtime, fighting an unspoken battle to keep up with the unexpected surge.

In many corners of the Empire, a group of people began to take action.

Where will public opinion go? How will this nearly nationwide event end?

When interviewed, Auston didn’t dwell on the implications. He was more concerned about checking on how well Ryan’s injuries were being treated. As usual, when facing the media, he kept his answers brief and to the point.

“General, may I ask what brought you here? Is there a shocking secret behind this attack?”

“The purpose is to find someone,” Auston said with a slight smile, addressing the camera. “There is a secret. We won’t let anyone who attempts to overthrow the foundation of the Empire go unpunished.”

“General, are you looking for the person who fought alongside you just now? What is your relationship with them?”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m already married, and that person is my lover.”

The room fell into stunned silence. No one had expected such a shocking revelation!

No one expected that after Auston dropped such a bombshell, he would add even more weight to it. “One of the attackers is an officer from the Capital Garrison, named Jacob Bromfield. He is the nephew of Prime Minister Gustav.”