Annie left the room silently, and Feng Yi was alone once more, left to his quietude. The old bro, after all, was half a salted fish, and he felt that if he kept thinking this way, he'd really turn into one. What were the unfathomable fog and truth? What was he even worrying about?

This inexplicable train of thought seemed to have taken root in his heart, deeply entrenched and impossible to dispel, futile to even pull at…

Of course, the reason Feng Yi thought this way was not because the enemy was too strong, too terrifying, or too daunting. After all, god-like opponents are nothing to be feared—the world is not perfect. Because they are close to perfection, what they reflect could well be their greatest flaw.

Certainly, he was not a weakling, but Feng Yi suddenly realized an important detail about the significance of a troop's existence and its direction…

As he watched the clock ticking steadily, changing every second, Feng Yi thought a lot. If he could become a clock, that wouldn't be so bad; then he wouldn't live so tiredly, he wouldn't have to consider these matters concerning the direction of the war every day. He could have peace and quiet, take the time to enjoy flowers and the moon, drink a little wine, or sleep in. But now, he couldn't, and looking at the food on the table, he didn't even feel like eating.

It was not that he had no appetite; rather, he had no mood to think about anything other than the Twin Stars issue. Compared to eating, Feng Yi preferred to force himself to come up with an answer first, and then eat. Rather than say eating, it would be better to become the food itself—savory and devoured by someone else. If he could choose, he hoped it would be by a beautiful woman…

Forget it, thinking about the dismal thought of being discarded after, Feng Yi immediately shook his head to clear these baseless thoughts. Humans are such animals—endowing such thoughts with coherence simply because the brain is severely overheated, and the subconscious believes it must distract itself to avert this crisis, or else it would lead to a headache.

But even if it meant a head cracked and bleeding, he had to figure out what he was missing, what he cared about—victory? Important, yes, but obviously not what he valued most.

Perhaps this wasn't the mindset a competent commander should have, but then, Feng Yi never acknowledged himself as an exceptional commander. On the contrary, he was a warrior, an undeniable warrior, a true warrior who had emerged from the 103rd Colonial Planet. Even on the front lines, he would without hesitation choose to charge into battle, spreading warmth, using all his might to fight shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, rather than sitting in the Command Room watching soldiers sacrifice while issuing a list of cold casualties.

This wasn't about kinship, romantic love, or any such crap. It was his own judgment in the face of war because Feng Yi believed that on the battlefield, he could take down more enemies; he was more efficient. Perhaps an extra second spent on the battlefield by him could reduce one casualty in the military. This seemingly insignificant change, as time passed, could lead to irreversible massive changes under the effect of a macro impact.

Yes, he differed from other commanders. Others would stop at nothing to complete their missions, even at the cost of soldiers lives, including his own.

That sense of honor was something Feng Yi could understand but never truly comprehend or accept. Other than absolutely necessary sacrifices, why shouldn't one live well? And why should one create more value for the rise and fall of a nation by means of sacrifice and use the marks on tombstones to commemorate their previous glorious deeds? When people die, what good are those accomplishments?

This was also where Feng Yi differed from other commanders; he always placed life first. For a moment, Feng Yi seemed to understand that elusive paper that he couldn't quite poke through.

Yes, the reason he had not pinpointed the cause was not because he truly couldn't find it, but because he had been looking in the wrong direction. He had mistakenly imposed the thoughts of other commanders upon himself, only to realize that each person's tactical style differed. You have your strategy; I have mine. To achieve a victory, you may choose to sacrifice countless soldiers, while for victory, Feng Yi might choose a surprise maneuver, risking his own life. That's how he differed from those high and mighty commanders; he always placed life as his highest priority.

To put it bluntly, if Feng Yi had to trade his own life for the lives of dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of federal soldiers, he might complain, feel dejected, utter some nonsense, but he would definitely choose to make the trade without hesitation. People empathize; the Flame Warriors could do the same.

Feng Yi felt his thoughts suddenly clear, and he understood why he was overwhelmed with emotions, because what he cared about was no longer just himself, but the entire military. In terms of calculation, he might compete with other commanders, but he was not just an individual. Kexiao dared to stake soldiers' lives, but he wouldn't do that. This was his strength and his weakness, as well as an important issue that troubled his subconscious.

What exactly was the Flame Legion, and what position did it occupy in the Federation? Feng Yi believed he needed to ponder this question.

In the Federation, super soldiers are cherished as if they were one's own mother's child.

Saudi appeared on his blacklist as an old rival of the Federation—both enemy and friend.

The Space Fleet was akin to a second uncle to one's own mother's child.

The Flame Legion, dogs.

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