High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

The conference room reeked of a strange mixture of sweat and stomach acid.

Zhao Tianlan gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

His face was deathly pale, but his eyes burned with indignant fire.

He admitted it. He had thrown up.

But he wasn’t convinced.

He firmly believed this simulation system defied all common sense.

Human reaction time has its limits. The delay of a few tenths of a second between seeing a signal and taking action is a law of physics—it can’t be surpassed.

But at the Ghost’s speed of over Mach 3, those few tenths of a second are the difference between life and death.

You’d watch helplessly as you intended to go left, but the jet crashed into the mountain on the right.

"You think this is something no human can do?"

Han Feng tapped the table. TAP. TAP. TAP.

Each tap felt like a hammer against Zhao Tianlan’s heart.

"Captain Zhao, let me ask you, why did we remove the control stick?"

Zhao Tianlan’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

Han Feng stood up and walked over to the holographic projection.

With a wave of his hand, the dizzying streams of data vanished, leaving only a simple model of a brain connected to a fighter jet.

"Because hands... are too slow."

Han Feng’s tone was calm, as if stating a simple fact.

"Your so-called dogfights rely on muscles to pull the stick and instinct to push the rudder pedals. But in front of the Ghost, everything you take pride in is just a burden."

"You say the brain can’t process it?"

Han Feng picked up the cup of now-cold goji berry tea from the table and took a sip.

"That’s because you’re approaching it the wrong way."

He put down the cup and turned, heading for the simulation training room next door.

"Zhou Ming, set the difficulty to maximum. Activate ’Practical Purgatory’ mode."

Zhou Ming flinched, nearly dropping the notebook in his hand.

"Consultant! That program is for testing the jet’s structural limits! The enemies inside... they’re a swarm of Tier Four Demon Beasts!"

"Just do it."

Han Feng didn’t slow his pace in the slightest.

"Since you all think it’s a problem with the machine..."

"...I’ll let you see for yourselves whether it’s the machine that’s lacking, or the man."

Li Tiecheng gave the still-dazed Zhao Tianlan a deep look, his voice low.

"What are you standing around for? Everyone, get over there and watch!"

The whole group rushed into the next room in a noisy crowd.

Zhao Tianlan wiped the corner of his mouth and followed, gritting his teeth.

He refused to believe it.

Han Feng was a genius, the designer, but he was ultimately just a student at the Meridian Passage Realm. His flight hours probably didn’t even amount to a fraction of his own!

The simulation pod’s canopy slowly closed.

The main screen lit up, and everyone held their breath.

It showed a night sky as black as ink, ravaged by thunderstorms and howling gales.

Environment settings: Strong electromagnetic interference, extreme low visibility, severe weather conditions.

"BEEP—"

The countdown ended.

The black fighter jet on the screen sat motionless on the runway.

Just as everyone thought the system had malfunctioned, it moved.

No taxiing.

No warm-up.

Like a steel nail hammered vertically into the sky by an unseen giant force, it shot upward from a standstill!

"Fuck!"

Someone in the crowd swore loudly.

In the bottom-right corner of the screen, the telemetry data instantly went all red!

Instantaneous G-force: 32G!

And that was just the take-off.

Immediately after, a dense cluster of red dots lit up the radar screen.

Simulated Hostiles: Swarm of Tier Four Demon Beasts, "Thunder Light Falcons."

Quantity: Thirty!

These Demon Beasts were famous for their speed and lightning interference, the ultimate nightmare for any pilot.

According to the tactical manual, the correct move was to immediately increase distance and engage in a beyond-visual-range strike.

Han Feng didn’t.

He piloted the Ghost straight into the swarm.

Zhao Tianlan’s eyes widened in an instant.

’This is suicide!’

The next second, his jaw dropped and wouldn’t close.

On the screen, the black fighter was no longer a creation of steel. It had come alive, transforming into a phantom that weaved through the gaps between lightning bolts and sharp claws.

Side rolls, barrel rolls, hovering, strafing.

Every maneuver defied humanity’s understanding of aerodynamics.

The most terrifying part was that there were no "transitions" between these maneuvers.

One moment it was in an extreme dive, the next it had shifted a hundred meters sideways without any warning, perfectly dodging a fatal blast of lightning breath.

No delay.

Zero delay.

The fighter had become a part of Han Feng’s body. The moment a thought formed, the jet was already there.

"How... how is that possible?"

Wang Rui stared at the screen, his voice trembling.

"Neural synchronization rate... ninety-nine percent? Just now... I was only at four percent!"

What made everyone despair even more was the pilot’s status monitor in the bottom-right corner.

Heart Rate: 75.

Blood Pressure: 120/80.

Brainwave readings: As stable as if he were taking an afternoon nap.

He was taking a walk.

He was strolling leisurely through a siege of thirty Tier Four Demon Beasts.

「One minute later.」

All the red dots on the screen had been extinguished.

Han Feng piloted the jet through an incredibly arrogant low-altitude pass.

Its wings nearly sliced the surface of the sea, kicking up a monstrous wave.

Then, with an impeccable high-angle climb, the fighter vanished above the clouds.

Simulation complete.

The pod door opened.

Han Feng stepped out, straightening his slightly wrinkled collar. His complexion was rosy, his breathing steady.

In contrast, the group of so-called "aces" outside were ashen-faced, as if their souls had been ripped from their bodies.

This wasn’t a skill gap.

It was a chasm.

Han Feng walked up to Zhao Tianlan.

The once-unrivaled "top gun" was now staring intently at the tips of his own shoes, as if a peerless Cultivation Technique were inscribed there.

"Understand now?" Han Feng asked.

Zhao Tianlan’s lips quivered. His throat was dry as he forced out two words.

"Instructor... Han."

He had changed his form of address.

In the military, strength is everything.

The skill Han Feng had just displayed was more than enough to make him call him "Grandmaster."

"Sir... how did you do it? That flood of information... doesn’t it hurt your head?"

"It’s simple."

Han Feng tapped his temple.

"You feel pain because you’re resisting it."

"Resisting?" the crowd asked, confused.

"You’re used to thinking with your hands, judging with your eyes, and executing with your muscles."

Han Feng tapped his head again.

"In the Ghost’s logic, all of that is junk data."

"The Neural Resonance System turns the fighter jet into your body. Do you calculate how to take a step with your left foot? Do you think about which muscles need to contract to blink your eyes?"

"No."

"Because it’s instinct."

Han Feng’s voice was soft, yet it sent a shiver down everyone’s spines.

"The reason you threw up is that your brains were futilely trying to ’pilot’ it, instead of ’becoming’ it."

"This cognitive dissonance causes a conflict in your neural signals. That wasn’t vertigo; it was your brain rejecting itself."

Zhao Tianlan was lost in thought.

’He seemed to understand the principle.’

’But how do I do it?’

’Treat a pile of cold steel like my own flesh and blood?’

’That’s harder than tearing apart a Tier Three Demon Beast with my bare hands.’

"I know what you’re thinking."

Han Feng pulled a USB drive from his pocket and tossed it to Li Tiecheng.

"A ’Meditation Program’ I wrote."

"Meditation?"

Li Tiecheng fumbled to catch it, a look of bewilderment on his face.

This was a military base, not a Daoist temple.

"You can think of it as targeted brain-domain development training."

Han Feng explained, "The program will guide your Spiritual Power to proactively adapt to the fighter’s Rune frequencies."

He scanned the crowd and issued his first command.

"Starting today, all hands-on flight operations are suspended."

"Every single one of you will lie down in the simulation pods every day."

"Don’t move. Don’t fly."

"Just use the helmet and ’feel’ its existence."

"When you feel that this jet has a breath, a heartbeat, then you can come find me."

The pilots exchanged glances.

’Lying down and sleeping counts as training?’

’This instructor’s methods are completely wild.’

"Don’t get happy too soon."

Han Feng saw the joy spreading across their faces and gave a slight smirk.

"This Meditation method is ten times more painful than the simulation just now."

"That tormented your bodies. This will tear apart your minds."

Han Feng’s gaze sharpened, sweeping over every face.

"Let me be blunt."

"The X-02 costs two hundred million."

"Every single one was paid for with the blood and flesh of East Sea City."

"I have no need for mediocrity wasting resources."

He held up one finger.

"One week."

"After one week, anyone whose neural connection rate isn’t at fifty percent can pack their bags and get lost. Go back to your old units and fly those sluggish Xiaolong·Modified jets."

"Am I understood?"

"Understood!"

The twenty-four men roared in unison, their voices filled with the resolve of those pushed to the brink.

That god-like display had completely shattered their pride, but it had also ignited a frantic desire within them.

"Alright, dismissed."

Han Feng waved his hand as if shooing away flies.

"Oh, and clean out the trash can yourselves. The smell is overpowering."

After the pilots left, only Han Feng, Li Tiecheng, and Zhou Ming remained in the room.

Li Tiecheng clutched the small USB drive, his expression complex.

"This thing... will it really work?"

He didn’t understand the technology, but he knew how hard it was to change a person’s instincts.

"Whether it works or not will depend on their own aptitude."

Han Feng sat back down in his chair, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose.

The demonstration had looked effortless, but in reality, it had consumed an immense amount of mental energy.

After all, he had been in a simulator, forcing a simulation of the Sword Immortal’s state of Human-Machine Unity.

"Still, this batch of prospects isn’t bad."

Han Feng gave his assessment. "That Zhao Tianlan, his Divine Soul Strength is already over 200. As long as he can wrap his head around this, he’ll be the first one to fly."

"That’s good." Li Tiecheng breathed a sigh of relief.

If all twenty-four of these treasures ended up being useless, he, the deputy Commander of the Garrison Army, would have nowhere to hide his face in shame.

"By the way, General."

Han Feng seemed to remember something.

"You’ll need to prepare some good stuff."

Li Tiecheng was taken aback. "What stuff?"

"The ’nutritious meals’ for them, of course."

Han Feng’s tone was matter-of-fact.

"With this intensity of mental training, without High Tier Spirit Medicine to sustain them, their brains will burn out first."

"I sent the list to Zhou Ming. Five hundred vials of Tier Three Nourishing Spirit Liquid, and fifteen kilograms of Thunder Sound Bamboo Shoots."

The corner of Li Tiecheng’s eye twitched violently.

’Five hundred vials of Tier Three Nourishing Spirit Liquid?’

’That’s a strategic-level resource!’

’An entire ace squadron’s annual allotment is less than fifty vials!’

’And Thunder Sound Bamboo Shoots... that stuff is sold by the gram. You couldn’t even get half a kilogram for one hundred thousand Contribution Points!’

"What? Can’t bear to part with it?"

Han Feng glanced at him sideways. "You want the horse to run, but you’re not willing to give it fodder?"

"You’ve seen the X-02’s performance. Without pilots worthy of it, it’s just a two-hundred-million-dollar pile of scrap metal."

Li Tiecheng gritted his teeth.

He remembered the terrifying scene from before, a scene of power capable of sweeping the entire battlefield.

’Worth it!’

’It’s worth it even if he had to sell himself, the general!’

"Done!"

Li Tiecheng squeezed out a single word through clenched teeth.

"I’ll approve it immediately! It will all be delivered by tomorrow morning!"

"Excellent."

Han Feng snapped his fingers.

"Then I’ll be heading back. These days are more exhausting than fighting a war."

He stood up, stretched, and sauntered off with Zhou Ming.