High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

In the dim warehouse, only the eerie green light from a palm-sized terminal screen illuminated Han Feng’s grave face.

"The Prometheus Project..."

Han Feng’s fingers gently swiped across the screen. This top-secret file, like the ramblings of a dying man, unveiled a sliver of the world’s cruel truth.

The file didn’t open with convoluted data, but with a monologue bordering on despair:

"The moment the Sky Mist descended, everyone cheered for the revival of Spiritual Qi, praising it as a gift of evolution.

Only we saw that it was no gift. It was feed, scattered to fatten the pigs for slaughter."

"This so-called transcendence is nothing more than a ’flavor enhancement’ bestowed upon lower-dimensional beings by higher-dimensional predators."

Han Feng’s mouth twitched.

’These people from Star Sea Technology... their words are so blunt they make my stomach churn.’

But he had to admit, as harsh as the words were, they hit the nail on the head.

According to the memo, Star Sea Technology had analyzed the frequency of the Sky Mist ten years ago and discovered a horrifying fact:

The Sky Mist was, in essence, a pheromone.

It was like some kind of universal, interstellar broadcast announcing an "all-you-can-eat buffet."

It terraformed the environment and strengthened its lifeforms, essentially transforming Blue Star into a "dining hall" suitable for the arrival of high-dimensional beings.

And the core idea of the so-called "Prometheus Project" could be summed up in a single word: Steal.

Since they couldn’t stop the predators from arriving, they would have to find a way to steal the predators’ power.

If humanity could master power on the same level, they could transform from "food" into a "tough nut to crack"—someone even the predators wouldn’t want to provoke lightly.

"No wonder..."

Han Feng muttered to himself.

Back on G-09 Island, the Sun Family and Star Sea Technology had been desperate to capture that Weaver’s energy body avatar, even going so far as to gamble the entirety of East Sea City.

From their perspective, they were fighting for the survival of all humankind, betting on a chance to "steal the fire."

Even if it meant sacrificing a city, as long as it secured the opportunity to shatter the dimensional barrier, it was worth it in their eyes.

"Lunatics."

That was Han Feng’s assessment, but his tone held little contempt, replaced instead by a hint of complexity.

He didn’t deny the spirit of sacrifice within such a grand narrative.

After all, in the face of racial extinction, morality could sometimes be a luxury.

But understanding was one thing; if anyone tried to sacrifice him—Han Feng—as part of that "price," he would twist their head off and kick it like a ball first.

’Playing savior is your business. I just want to live. And I want to live better than anyone else.’

Han Feng continued to scroll down.

The next section made his relatively calm heart skip a beat.

The file mentioned that the "ten-year deadline" the council was desperately preparing for—the imminent arrival of Tier Six City-Destruction Level creatures—was actually...

...just the "grunts" of the predator faction.

Or perhaps vultures, responsible for cleaning up the battlefield.

The truly terrifying ones were the "Weaver" race, positioned at the top of the food chain.

’Tier Six are just the vanguard?’

Han Feng felt a dull ache in his jaw.

Just to face Tier Six creatures, humanity needed to gather all of its Tier Four and Tier Five powerhouses, armed with tactical nukes and Divine Weapons, just to have a slim chance of holding them off.

If those things were just cannon fodder, then what was the fucking point of fighting this war?

The file provided a piece of supporting evidence, which, surprisingly, was related to that disgusting Evil Cult—the Children of the Mist.

In the eyes of this memo’s author, the Children of the Mist had chosen another path: surrender.

They were so-called "converts."

Their lair was deep within the Mist Sea Region, right next to the massive spatial rift known as the "Sky Mark."

That was where the concentration of Sky Mist was highest, and also the place closest to Hell.

Logically, the radiation and Spiritual Contamination in that environment should be enough to turn any carbon-based lifeform into a pile of sludge within an hour.

But not only were the Children of the Mist thriving, they could even borrow the Weavers’ power.

In that region of the sea, as long as their High Priest initiated the Summoning Ceremony, they would be granted a buff of near-invincible power.

This was also why the joint fleets of the various Fortress Cities, despite possessing devastating firepower, had never been able to eradicate this cancer.

As long as those zealots didn’t leave the vicinity of the Sky Mark, they were invincible.

What was more ironic was that the upper echelons of the major Alliances had actually tacitly allowed their existence.

Because, to some extent, the presence of the Children of the Mist had actually stabilized the Sky Mark’s rate of expansion.

They were like a swarm of parasites: disgusting, but they helped plug the wound, preventing the host from bleeding to death.

It was a dirty but pragmatic political compromise.

’Heh, are they nurturing a threat to make themselves indispensable, or are they just drinking poison to quench their thirst?’

Han Feng sneered.

Star Sea Technology’s assessment of this surrenderist faction was even more caustic:

"They think they’re the sheepdogs, but in their master’s eyes, they’re just fruit, ripe for the picking."

"Once the Weaver’s true form descends, the first to be devoured won’t be the fiercely resisting humans, but this group of followers who are already mostly Assimilated.

After all, you can eat them right after peeling off their skin. So much more convenient."

Furthermore, the file mentioned a concept—the "Thought Steel Seal."

The reason the members of the Children of the Mist were so utterly devoted to the Weaver was that a kind of fundamental logic had been implanted into their minds.

This logic caused them to automatically block out any statement detrimental to the Weaver, as if they were deaf.

But this "Seal" had one benefit: extreme exclusivity.

Like antivirus software, it could block all other Spiritual Contamination besides that of the Weaver.

This also served as indirect proof of the Weaver’s high status, confirming it was far superior to the incoming Tier Six grunts.

Han Feng’s finger stopped on the final paragraph of the file.

It was an assessment of the soon-to-open "Dragon Abyss Mist Sea."

The font was deliberately bolded, making it look alarming.

"Warning: The energy fluctuations in the Dragon Abyss Region are highly unusual, showing signs of intervention by a High-dimensional Power."

"We have detected signs of Children of the Mist activity on the periphery. This is not a simple resource bonanza; it is a trap."

"The opening of Dragon Abyss will be an accelerator. It will hasten this world’s slide into the abyss by at least thirty years."

"If the Prometheus Project fails, we recommend immediate activation of the ’Ark’ escape protocol..."

There was nothing after that.

Perhaps the person who wrote the report was already dead, or perhaps this encrypted terminal wasn’t authorized to record the rest.

Han Feng shut off the screen and casually tossed the terminal into his Void Stone.

The warehouse fell silent, with only the distant sound of waves crashing against the breakwater.

But Han Feng felt an oppressive weight from all around him.

’I originally thought that with the system, as long as I followed the steps and ground out my Skill Proficiency, ten years would be enough time to become a Sword Immortal and send a chill across the world with a single slash of my blade.’

’Now it seems I was far too optimistic.’

This world wasn’t giving him any time to farm up.

It was like playing a real-time strategy game where you were still holed up in your base, building workers to mine resources, while your opponent had already parked their aircraft carriers on your doorstep.

"Get stronger..."

Han Feng clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking audibly.

’I have to get stronger, faster.’

’Since this is a world where everyone’s screwed, I’ll just have to be the most unpredictable variable in the equation.’

Without hesitation, he took out the terminal, packaged the file, wiped all traces of its origin, and sent it to an encrypted number.

Recipient: Li Tiecheng.

Information concerning the survival of the world was useless rotting in his hands.

When the sky falls, the tall guys hold it up. And with a frame like his, Li Dapao was perfect for drawing the thunder.

Besides, this could be considered repayment for the pile of "junk" he’d received.

Less than three minutes later, his personal terminal vibrated.

The reply was simple, just a single line:

[Information received. This matter is classified as SSS Level top secret. Keep it to yourself and don’t speak of it. The higher-ups are aware of the situation.]

Han Feng stared at the screen and raised an eyebrow.

’Aware of the situation?’

It seemed the big shots at the top of the pyramid weren’t just sitting around doing nothing.

They might have known the truth all along, merely maintaining a delicate balance while searching for a glimmer of hope amidst the despair.

’Alright, since everyone knows, I won’t meddle any further.’

Han Feng stretched and strode out of the warehouse.

The sky outside had darkened. The sea breeze, carrying a salty, fishy tang, blew against his face, refreshing him.

Knowing the truth didn’t make him feel afraid.

On the contrary, it filled him with the impulse to go all out, based on the logic that if everyone was screwed anyway, he might as well let loose.

But before that, he still needed to focus all his efforts on increasing his strength.

He didn’t want to face an unbeatable enemy only to regret not having worked harder beforehand.

For the next few days, his life fell into a simple, three-point routine.

The villa, Hangar No. 7, and the sky at ten thousand meters.

Opening new Dao Veins, taking the X-01 fighter jet for a "stroll" in the sky for Nurturing, and then heading to the hangar to instruct the eager Pilots and technicians.

His days were fulfilling and orderly.