High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

"What mess?" Han Feng asked, momentarily stunned.

"What do you think?"

Chen Beixuan pointed toward the Celestial Craft Group headquarters. "Those pilots from the Ghost Squadron have been desperately waiting for you to get back.

If you don’t get them those Blood Refining Helmets soon, those guys are probably going to eat Zhao Tianlan alive."

Han Feng slapped his forehead.

’I was so busy bombing fish and killing people at Dragon’s Fang Port that I completely forgot about this.’

Those pilots were still using standard helmets, which couldn’t unleash the true potential of the X-02 Fighter.

"Alright, I’ll head over now." Han Feng didn’t waste any time. "Besides, I need to get myself back in the right state of mind anyway."

...

As he pushed open the door to Lab Three, the familiar scent of machine oil and ozone hit him.

Zhao Yu, who was tuning a servo motor, looked up and saw Han Feng. He immediately dropped his wrench in excitement and ran over.

Lin Xue, who was buried in a pile of blueprints, looked up at the sound of the commotion. A rare smile graced her pretty, usually stern face:

"Well, look who it is. Our great hero has returned. I hear you suppressed an entire island by yourself at Dragon’s Fang Port? The forums are going crazy over it."

"It’s just talk," Han Feng said with a wave of his hand, his gaze sweeping across the workbench. "Where’s Wei Chen?"

"He’s in the back carving Runes. The man’s obsessed."

Lin Xue pointed to the inner room. "If you hadn’t come back soon, he was probably going to test that Blood Refining Array with his own blood."

Han Feng smiled. The team wasn’t large, but he felt very comfortable in this kind of earnest, focused atmosphere.

"What’s our current production capacity?" Han Feng asked.

The mention of work immediately put Lin Xue in business mode. She picked up her tablet and swiped a few times:

"Thanks to the two production lines General Li transferred over from the military factories, and the extra resources allocated by the council, we’ve made rapid progress this week.

Right now, five X-02s have completed final assembly and testing. They’re ready for delivery anytime."

"Plus the two from before, that makes seven."

Han Feng did some quick math. "That’s not enough for a full standard squadron, but we can scrape together a combat squad. What about the helmets?"

"They’re all here."

Zhao Yu pointed to more than twenty metal cases stacked neatly in a corner.

"They were all made to your specs, using the highest-grade conductive materials. And just like before, we’ve left the Rune interfaces open, just waiting for you to perform the final ’awakening’."

This so-called "awakening" was, of course, Han Feng’s unique Blood Sacrificial Refining.

"Good."

Han Feng walked over and lifted two cases with one hand. "Help me prep the Particle Furnace. I’m starting now."

"In such a hurry? You just got back. Don’t you need to rest?" Lin Xue asked, surprised.

"Time waits for no one."

Han Feng walked toward the Particle Furnace lab without looking back.

...

Before long, it was the next day in the Particle Furnace workshop.

A stream of crimson, high-temperature particles slowly rotated within the confines of a specialized Force Field, like a tamed Fire Dragon.

Han Feng stood before the furnace, his expression intent.

He fed brand-new tactical helmets into the furnace one by one, his Divine Sense pouring over them like quicksilver.

This time, he wasn’t relying solely on his own blood essence as he had before.

After analyzing the Blood Refining Essence Secret Technique from the Evil Cultist’s corpse, he had gained a deeper understanding of the fusion between Qi Blood and Energy.

"Rise!"

Han Feng grunted, his fingers tracing patterns in the air.

A few drops of blood essence imbued with his Will flew into the furnace, instantly atomizing into a blood-red mist. Instead of evaporating in the intense heat, the mist fused perfectly with the metal molecules on the helmets’ surfaces.

At the same time, he mobilized the strand of crimson-gold Soul-Burning Sword Aura within him, siphoning off a minuscule wisp of its power and infusing it into each helmet’s Core Array.

With this wisp of Sword Aura as a catalyst, the helmets were no longer simple interfaces. Instead, they now possessed a Trait akin to that of a "doppelgänger."

Once a Pilot put one on, they could not only establish a neural link but could even borrow the power of that wisp of Sword Aura to significantly boost their mental resistance for a short period.

This was a little extra bonus from Han Feng for his future subordinates.

...

Meanwhile, Han Feng was in seclusion, Sacrificially Refining the helmets.

East Sea Martial Arts University, Air Combat Simulation Training Center.

On a massive holographic screen, footage of a live flight was playing.

In the footage, a pitch-black X-02 Fighter was weaving through the clouds.

It first pulled its nose up without warning, performing a standard Cobra Maneuver.

Then, at the very moment it should have stalled, the fuselage slid sideways with an uncanny grace, evading a simulated missile lock.

It then fired back, precisely hitting a target drone hundreds of meters away.

The entire sequence of maneuvers was fluid and seamless, as if the fighter jet itself were a living creature.

"Beautiful!"

"That reaction speed is insane! The neural sync rate must be at least 80 percent, right?"

A group of elite pilots in Flight Suits were gathered around the screen, their eyes wide with undisguised envy.

As the top ace pilots in East Sea City, they had seen it all.

But what they had witnessed over the last few days was a true eye-opener.

Their captain, Zhao Tianlan, watched the screen with a complex expression, a mixture of envy and, more profoundly, regret.

Beside him, another pilot—one who had also been summoned by Han Feng alongside Zhao Tianlan, and had also chosen to wait and see—wore the same look of deep regret.

"Captain, do you think... if we’d agreed back then, would we be the ones up there flying right now?"

Zhao Tianlan fell silent for a moment before giving a bitter smile.

"What’s the use of talking about that now?

Who would have thought that Instructor Han would get an urgent mission the very next day and head straight for Dragon’s Fang Port."

"I wonder how the situation over there is. I hear it’s dangerous—that even Tier Four monsters have shown up."

"It’s worse than that!"

Another well-informed pilot leaned in and lowered his voice. "My cousin’s in the Dragon’s Fang Port garrison. I was chatting with him yesterday and heard something else!

Just yesterday, at Dragon’s Fang Port, our instructor killed a Half-step Grandmaster from the Blood Feeding Sect in front of ten thousand people!"

"What?!"

"Seriously? That’s a Half-step Grandmaster! Someone with one foot in Tier Four!"

"It’s the absolute truth! And I heard it was in close quarters!

The other guy used an Evil Cult Secret Technique to boost his power to Pseudo Tier Four, and our instructor still beat him to a pulp!"

"HISS—"

A wave of sharp, indrawn breaths swept through the training room.

A badass who could pilot a fighter jet through heaven and hell, then land and go toe-to-toe with a Grandmaster.

This completely shattered their definitions of "Pilot" and "Martial Artist."

"The man... is a complete monster!"

Zhao Tianlan muttered to himself, the last vestiges of his indignation melting away into pure awe and admiration.

"I wonder when Instructor Han will get back and fix up our helmets, too. I can’t wait!"

"Yeah, if I have to watch Wang Rui show off like this much longer, my resolve is going to crumble!"

The crowd chattered excitedly, their words filled with a desperate longing for the Blood Refining Helmets and for Han Feng’s return.

Zhao Tianlan took a deep breath, cutting through the chatter, his tone tinged with an undeniable respect:

"Forget his Cultivation level. Anyone who can produce a fighter like this and train a Pilot like Wang Rui is simply better than us.

So cut the crap. When Instructor Han gets back, I’m getting a spot, even if I have to get on my knees and beg for it."

Hearing this, the others all nodded in agreement.

In the military, strength earns respect.

The power and technology Han Feng had demonstrated had completely won over this squadron of unruly aces.

Just then, the faint sound of footsteps came from behind them.

The sound was soft, but on an observation deck filled with high-level Martial Artists, it was as clear as a drumbeat.

Zhao Tianlan turned instinctively, his pupils instantly dilating.

Bathed in the twilight glow of the setting sun, a young figure in a black training uniform was approaching at a steady pace.

His pace wasn’t fast, but each step seemed to land in time with everyone’s heartbeat, carrying an indescribable pressure.

He carried two silvery-white metal cases, and his face wore the same calm, unreadable expression as always.

The entire observation deck fell silent. Even Wang Rui, circling in the sky above, seemed to sense something and began piloting his fighter back to base.

Zhao Tianlan was the first to react.

He spun around, snapped his heels together, and straightened his back, throwing a crisp, standard military salute with all his strength.

"Instructor Han!"

His shout jolted the other twenty-odd pilots as if from a dream. They spun around in unison, snapped to attention, and saluted.

"Instructor Han!"

The sound was deafening, echoing across the vast airfield.

Han Feng stopped in his tracks. He looked at the pilots, at the fire burning in their eyes, and the corners of his lips curved into a slight smile.

"It looks like you’re all ready."

He set the cases he was carrying on the ground with a dull thud.

"Then don’t just stand there. Gear up. It’s time to get to work."