After the new mission was announced, cadets began forming teams—most led by Command Institute students. Choosing teammates tested both leadership and teamwork. After a year together, most cadets had already settled into steady groups. Command Institute cadets usually took the lead, but it wasn't mandatory. So, Tristan immediately assigned himself to Thora's team. Thora's team was basically set. "Boss, team check complete. Thirty people total. Most are familiar faces. Based on the mission requirements, I added two specialists," Tristan reported, pulling up the list on his mini-computer. Thora scanned the list. Most of the names belonged to cadets from her intake. They had followed her since their first mission. After a year of hard training, they were no longer the cowards who once hid behind her in Apocalypse's simulation. Whatever they once were, they were now real cadets, with discipline and responsibility. "Good. Tell everyone to get ready. We move in three days. Pack light and follow the plan," Thora ordered. "Got it!" Tristan nodded and turned to pass it on. Shirley sat on the desk edge, short legs swinging, and asked with a puzzled look, "Thora, how are we supposed to find the counterfeit ring?" Shirley and Luke stayed by Thora's side. Ryan, meanwhile, chose to lead his own team. He was willing to follow Thora, but he didn't want to miss the chance to sharpen his command skills. Thora was fine with that. She rubbed the counterfeit bill between her fingers and replied calmly, "You'll know once we get there."Shirley pouted briefly, then lit up with excitement. "That's great! We get to go out again and eat good food everywhere!" At the academy, what she loved most were the global missions every three months. She'd been holding back her excitement. ... Morandell Empire, Oathbound Cathedral. A tall figure pushed open the heavy doors, shaking loose a thin layer of dust from the lintel. It was an old church that few people visited anymore. A newer one stood downtown. Only the nostalgic or the obsessed came here now. The visitor wore black combat gear. His build was lean and strong. His blue hair had grown longer, loose strands falling in sharp, unruly lines. He walked quickly to the cross, placed both hands over his chest, and bowed in reverence. Footsteps echoed behind him, followed by an old yet gentle voice. "Child, you've returned." The man looked up with a small smile and greeted politely, "Hello, Father Wyatt." Father Wyatt wore a black robe, his hood hiding most of his face, leaving only a vague outline visible. He placed a hand over his chest and nodded kindly. "It's been a long time, Lance." Lance nodded, his gaze falling back to the cross. His voice carried quiet sadness. "I always come back here. When I was a child, aside from the slums, this was the place I came to most. "I didn't believe in God back then. If He existed, why did He let me suffer so much? He didn't hear my cries, my helplessness, and my pleas for help. He didn't see my hunger, pain, and fear. He just watched as I struggled to survive like a stray dog, always one step from being eaten in the dark." His tone was calm, but the sorrow cut deep. "Lance..." Father Wyatt frowned, clearly disapproving of Lance's disrespect toward God."And yet, because of Him, I survived," Lance continued, confusion flickering in his blue eyes. "Only here did believers pretend to care. Even when they chased me away elsewhere, they'd drop some food or coins here to keep me alive. Father Wyatt, I used to wonder why they were so hypocritical." Father Wyatt studied Lance. For a moment, Lance overlapped with the memory of that ragged, emaciated boy from years ago. That boy used to hide behind the church doors like a stray cat in the night, danger and fear coiled in his eyes, his body covered in wounds. Yet, he always secretly saved his begged-for food for other children in the slums. Later, that boy became an assassin, trading his life for survival. His eyes changed, losing humility and gaining cold pride. "You're different this time. Something happened?" Father Wyatt stepped to the cross and bowed again. Lance looked lost. "I saw the light. It was blinding. Even after half a year, it hasn't faded."Surprise flashed across Father Wyatt's face. It was the first time he'd seen such softness in Lance. "And then?" he asked gently. Lance stared at the cross and murmured, "I could have endured the darkness ... if only I had never seen the light..." Father Wyatt chuckled. "Many things should only be touched lightly. You want to get close to the light, but it burns. All you can do is watch from afar—unless you put it out." Lance frowned, about to speak, but Father Wyatt changed the topic. "Do you know the ocean? The deep sea never sees the sun. Yet some fish glow, some learn to see in the dark. To them, darkness is daylight. Lance, you were always a light born in the dark." Lance lowered his eyes and fell silent for a moment. "Is that so?" Father Wyatt didn't answer. After standing there for a long time, Lance finally said goodbye to Father Wyatt and left the church 20 minutes later.The moment he stepped outside, his aura changed. Confusion vanished, replaced by cold sharpness. "Boss." Julio straightened from the wall. Alissa and Sharkie stepped forward as well. "Where to?" Sharkie asked eagerly. Lance stretched lazily, eyes dull on the surface but ruthless beneath. "Where else? We've got a debt to settle." Sharkie and Alissa lit up instantly. The "debt" meant the Mirage Corsairs. While Lance was at Blue Star Military Academy, Mirage Corsairs had clashed hard with Greywolf. Their leader was Frost, one of the Twelve Generals. Julio had been badly injured. Several Greywolf members died. That blood debt was burned into their hearts. Now that their leader was back, it was time to settle the score for good.