# 92
Chapter 92 – Money Power
Outside the canteen, a shrill whistle sounded again!
Whoosh—!
Before Lin Qiye could react, the seven members of Mask Squad in front of him had already jumped to their feet and sprinted out.
After two steps, Whirlpool suddenly came to his senses.
“Wait, we’re not rookies… why are we running?”
“…Reflex.” Wang Mian scratched his head, glanced around the hall, and noticed every freshman staring. He coughed twice in embarrassment.
“Well… let’s keep eating, keep eating…”
Mask Squad sat back down and pretended nothing had happened, continuing their meal.
The recruits withdrew their gazes, instinctively checked the clock on the wall—only ten minutes since the meal started, still ten minutes left—
Why the whistle again?!
Still, they put down their steamed buns and jogged toward the training ground; no one wanted extra laps for being late.
Choking on white flour, Baili Pangpang slapped his chest frantically, waved at Lin Qiye, and dashed outside.
“I’m off; you guys keep eating,” Lin Qiye said, turning.
“Go ahead.” Wang Mian smiled. “Next time we meet, it’ll be outside the training camp.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, another Sea Realm mystery up north; we head out after lunch.”
“Good luck and victory.”
Lin Qiye waved and sprinted from the canteen.
When the hall finally emptied, silence fell.
“Sigh, without jealous rookie stares, the food tastes bland.” Whirlpool set down his chopsticks and sighed.
“…Such bad taste.” Tianping rolled his eyes.
“Since we’re full, let’s move.” Seeing no one else eating, Wang Mian picked up his black case and stood.
“Right, don’t keep them waiting.” Moon Ghost wiped his mouth.
The rest rose, fastened their cloaks, lifted their cases, and strode toward the exit.
Gentle sunlight streamed through spotless windows onto the deserted canteen as the seven walked side by side. A breeze slipped through the doorway, lifting the hems of gray cloaks.
On the immaculate tiled floor, their reflections marched with them.
They slung the cases onto their backs, lowered their heads, and donned their masks…
then stepped out.
The canteen fell utterly silent.
In the narrow kitchen, stooped Old Sun stood by a small window, silently watching them leave…
His eyes reddened, yet his gaze was resolute.
A moment later,
he brought his heels together, straightened his chest,
and toward their departing figures,
saluted—sharp and standard!
…
Training ground.
“Creatures from myths, legends, and folklore are the Night Watch’s primary enemies!”
“Their abilities are bizarre, their traits varied, but without doubt they far surpass mere mortals!”
“To fight such beings, what do we rely on?”
On the drill platform, an unfamiliar instructor scanned the rookies.
Shen Qingzhu lazily raised a hand. “Report! Powerful Forbidden Ruins!”
The instructor sneered. “Forbidden Ruins… indeed humanity’s mainstay, yet not everything—unless yours is so strong you kill mysteries with a snap…
Can you?”
Shen Qingzhu raised a brow. “I can.”
“Your Forbidden Ruins?”
“Sequence 068, Qi Min.”
Instructor: …
Pretending he’d heard nothing, the instructor straightened. “Other answers?”
A little fatty in the crowd shot up a hand.
“Report! Money!”
Instructor: ???
“Money? You think you can coin a mystery to death?” The instructor laughed in disbelief, then turned solemnly to the freshmen:
“Besides Forbidden Ruins, we need strong bodies and combat skills!
Skills divide into cold and hot weapons. Hot arms work on low-level mysteries, but high-level fights belong to cold steel!
Today, I’ll teach you close-quarters cold-weapon combat!”
Nearby, Instructor Hong stood with two others, watching from afar.
“Instructor Hong, what’s this new Instructor Han’s background?”
“A melee ace transferred from headquarters; flew in this morning. First time with rookies, but I’m optimistic.”
“First day, first batch? Nothing will go wrong?”
“Impossible—his melee rank is top-tier in the country. Let’s sneak off for cards.”
“Sounds good!”
The three slipped away unnoticed.
On the platform, Instructor Han waxed enthusiastic.
“Aside from special cases, Night Watch uses standard gear—the Straight Blade!” He drew one, flashing steel.
“Straight Blades have many merits; today we focus on technique!
First rule: reaction speed! Speed determines…”
He demonstrated several draws and sheaths; rookies listened avidly.
Lin Qiye, however, fought yawns—not from poor teaching, but because Chen Muye had drilled it all into him, with pain as reminder.
Private tutoring showed its perks.
“Now, a demonstration.” Han tossed his blade aside, grabbed two wooden swords.
“The fatty who said money beats mysteries—up here!” He spotted Baili Pangpang and beckoned.
Baili Pangpang scratched his head, clambered up, and took a wooden sword.
“Remember what I taught?”
After a pause: “Nope…”
“…Then use your money power!” Han laughed. “Show me how cash wins!
I’ll attack; you defend my way. If you forgot—improvise!”
“Uh… okay.”
Instructor Han lunged, eyes narrowing; Baili Pangpang stood stiff, riddled with openings.
Han struck like lightning!
Just before impact, a blinding golden shield burst out, encasing Baili Pangpang.
Smack—!
A soft snap—
Instructor Han’s wooden sword…
broke in three.
Instructor Han: (?????)
Baili Pangpang: |???)