Zhao Zhenwu’s words, delivered from a moral and professional high ground against the backdrop of the extreme crisis, hit Lu Fan like a bucket of ice water mixed with gravel.
The scrutiny and doubt in Lu Fan’s eyes receded quickly like a falling tide, replaced by deeper worry, irritation, and a heavy sense of being crushed by reality.
Zhao Zhenwu was right.
Dwelling on whether the Division Commander had defected seemed… truly inappropriate given the immediate survival crisis and the desperate situation in Beihai.
An internal investigation would take time, and time was the one thing they lacked most.
Lu Fan opened his mouth as if to argue, but ultimately, the words remained stuck in his throat.
‘Something isn’t right,’ he instinctively felt.
Zhao Zhenwu’s logic seemed airtight and his direction clear, but there was a sensation that it was… too smooth, as if he were far too eager to solidify the claim of the Division Commander’s betrayal.
However, in the face of the cruel reality and the grand duty presented to him, his vague intuitions and suspicions seemed pale and powerless.
Silence fell over the tent once more, save for the hissing of the gas lamp reflecting the different expressions on the two men’s faces.
After a long while, Lu Fan slowly released his grip on the edge of the table and took half a step back.
He lowered his head, avoiding Zhao Zhenwu’s oppressive gaze.
His voice was low, carrying a hint of defeat and a nearly imperceptible trace of resentment.
“I understand, Deputy Chief of Staff.”
He looked up, his eyes returning to the cold hardness of a soldier, though the underlying worry remained.
“Regarding the breakout plan, I will gather my officers to draft it immediately and submit it as soon as possible.”
Zhao Zhenwu let out a nearly invisible sigh of relief.
His face remained expressionless as he nodded.
“Very well. Time is pressing. The faster, the better.”
“We need to concentrate all the forces we can, find the weakest link, and tear a hole through them.”
Lu Fan paused, looking at Zhao Zhenwu.
He eventually added a final sentence, his tone formal and stern, “However, regarding your full assumption of command over the remnants of the 103rd Division on the grounds of the commander’s potential defection — before receiving official orders from the Military Headquarters or confirming the Division Commander is missing or dead — I will provide a detailed written report to the Military Headquarters as soon as it is possible.”
“This is my duty, and it is a procedural requirement.”
He stared intently at Zhao Zhenwu, trying to catch a flicker of guilt or panic.
However, Zhao Zhenwu’s reaction was calm to the point of indifference.
He even nodded, responding in a flat tone, “Of course. That is your right and your duty. I completely understand.”
“You may write the report, but please note that the primary mission at hand is to break out and reinforce Beihai. No amount of paperwork may interfere with actual military operations.”
The answer was so candid it was almost flawless.
It was as if he truly had just been appointed in a crisis and had a clear conscience.
Lu Fan gave him a long look but said nothing more.
He simply raised his hand in a standard military salute.
“Yes, sir! I will go and prepare now.”
“Go ahead,” Zhao Zhenwu returned the salute, his tone remaining steady.
Lu Fan did not linger, turning and striding out of the tent.
The curtain fell behind him, sealing the inside off from the outside.
Inside the tent, Zhao Zhenwu was alone again with only the hissing gas lamp.
The 1 second after Lu Fan’s footsteps faded into the distance…
The mask Zhao Zhenwu had maintained for so long, that blend of heavy responsibility and professional indifference, vanished like the tide.
His gaze instantly became sinister and sharp.
His brows furrowed tightly, and the corners of his mouth pulled down into a stiff, straight line.
He quickly raised his wrist to check his military watch, his expression darkening further.
Without a moment of hesitation, Zhao Zhenwu grabbed the canvas-wrapped military radio from the corner of the table and skillfully tuned it to a specific, encrypted channel.
“Come to my location.”
His voice was very low and his speech was rapid, completely different from the steady tone he had used with Lu Fan.
A few seconds later, an equally low and respectful male voice came through the radio: “Received. Arriving shortly.”
In less than 2 minutes, the tent flap was gently lifted, and an officer wearing a similarly mud-stained uniform with the rank of lieutenant colonel slipped inside.
He was younger than Zhao Zhenwu, about 35 or 36 years old, with an ordinary face and eyes that held a trace of coldness.
He was Zhao Zhenwu’s confidant, an intelligence staff officer from the operations department: Zhou Huai.
As soon as Zhou Huai entered, he sensed the wrong atmosphere in the tent, especially the blatant gloom on Zhao Zhenwu’s face.
He walked quickly to the table and asked in a low voice, “Deputy Chief of Staff, what happened?”
Zhao Zhenwu didn’t beat around the bush.
He lowered his voice and said coldly, “Lu Fan was just here.”
Upon hearing this, Zhou Huai’s brows shot up, a flash of alertness in his eyes.
“Lu Sanshan’s brother? Lu Fan, the commander of the heavy armored regiment?”
“Yes.”
Zhao Zhenwu nodded.
His expression grew even uglier, appearing somewhat hideous under the dim yellow light.
“He suspects Su Xiji didn’t defect. He came here to question me.”
Zhou Huai’s gaze sharpened.
“What did he say? What did he find?”
“For now, it should just be suspicion. He has no solid evidence…”
Zhao Zhenwu said in a deep voice.
“I suppressed him using the urgency of the war and the righteousness of the people of Beihai. I sent him off to draft a breakout plan, but…”
He paused, a cold light flickering in his eyes.
“He explicitly stated that he would submit a written report to the Military Headquarters regarding my takeover of command.”
“What?!” Zhou Huai’s face also darkened instantly.
His voice dropped even lower, filled with urgency.
“This… Deputy Chief of Staff, our command is not yet fully stable. Most of those people below are only following orders temporarily because of the situation. We don’t know what they’re really thinking.”
“If… if the Military Headquarters actually replies, or if instructions contradicting our current orders arrive through other channels, or if they directly question the legitimacy of your command… those grunts will likely waver immediately! When that happens…”
He didn’t finish, but the meaning was clear — the situation could spiral out of control.
“Therefore,” Zhao Zhenwu’s voice dropped even further, becoming almost a whisper that carried a sinister chill within the enclosed tent, “we must never give Lu Fan the chance to establish any effective contact with the Military Headquarters.”
“At least, not until our plan is complete.”
Zhou Huai understood his meaning immediately.
His gaze turned fierce.
“You mean…”
Zhao Zhenwu leaned in slightly toward Zhou Huai.
His voice was so low it was nearly inaudible, but to Zhou Huai, it sounded like a thunderclap: “I mean… find a few absolutely reliable people with clean hands. Tonight, right here in this wetland camp, create a little chaos.”
“For example, the illusion of a small-scale infiltration attack by Time Variants, or… a riot of deserters would work.”
His eyes were like a venomous snake’s, locked onto Zhou Huai.
“And then, in the confusion…”
Zhao Zhenwu raised his right hand and made an extremely clear, cold gesture across his throat — a throat-slitting motion.
A sinister, knowing smile appeared on Zhou Huai’s face, showing no fear.
He nodded, his tone carrying a morbid excitement typical of someone executing a dirty task.
“I understand, Deputy Chief of Staff.”
“Clean and efficient. It will look like he was attacked by Time Variants or died from accidental injury or a stray bullet in the chaos.”
He paused and added, “That guy Lu Fan relies on being Lu Sanshan’s brother. He’s usually a bit arrogant in the regiment, and there are people who don’t like his lack of discipline… it’s perfectly reasonable for an accident to happen.”
Looking at Zhou Huai’s expression, Zhao Zhenwu knew he had grasped the intent and had the ability to carry it out.
He slowly straightened his back, the gloom on his face receding slightly, though his eyes remained icy.
“I’ll leave it to you… make sure it’s done cleanly. Don’t leave any evidence. The camp is in chaos and people are panicking; now is the perfect time.”
“Yes, sir!”
Zhou Huai stood straight and responded in a low voice, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes.
“Don’t worry. I guarantee he will… disappear reasonably. It won’t affect our plan at all.”
Zhao Zhenwu waved his hand.
“Go. Act with caution.”
Without another word, Zhou Huai checked the situation outside the tent again and then slipped out as silently as he had arrived.
Zhao Zhenwu was once again alone in the tent.
He walked over to the gas lamp, reached out, and slowly dimmed the light.
The tent became even darker, hiding most of his figure in the shadows.
Only his eyes reflected a faint light in the darkness, cold, calculating, and bottomless.
He turned and looked at the battlefield map again, staring at the blue island surrounded by red arrows — the G32 Wetland.
“Interesting, interesting…”
He muttered to himself, a cold curl appearing at the corner of his mouth, vastly different from the heavy sense of responsibility he had shown to Lu Fan.
“History cannot be changed, but the Dead Realm is full of infinite possibilities.”
“Lin Mo, Gu Qiancheng, and… Chu You!”
“Where are you all now?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, losing a bit of human vitality and gaining the indifference of a beast.