CHAPTER 72: EX 72. BIRDS OF A FEATHER

The reason Leon was taking his time wasn’t out of disrespect, laziness, or even the indulgence of his sweet tooth, though the chocolate ice cream he’d just devoured had definitely hit the spot.

"That was delicious,"

he murmured, tossing the empty container aside.

But even as he licked the last traces of chocolate from his lips, his gaze remained sharp and focused, locked on the glowing screen before him. A list of available attack bases spread across the screen, each with only twelve open slots.

That was the catch.

Only twelve cadets per base and there was a reason for that. This selection was only for the East Sector. Soon, top cadets from the North, South, and West Sectors would enter the pool, and once the slots were filled, no amount of influence or ranking could change the outcome.

Leon knew that.

Everyone did.

But while most of the cadets were panicking, rushing to claim a spot, Leon took his time. Not out of arrogance, he just knew he thought better when he was calm and satisfied. That ice cream? It was part of the process.

With his mind now clear, Leon’s eyes swept across the base names again, narrowing down his options to three:

Base 69

Base 07

Base 01

Each had its advantages.

Each held unique reputations.

And despite Vanguard Rebecca’s personal invitation to join her base—Base 01, no less, Leon wasn’t the type to accept an offer without thinking it through.

"First of all,"

he muttered, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees,

"I need a place that can protect me from what ever the demons have planned."

He hadn’t forgotten.

Not for a second.

That wasn’t a random incident.

That S-rank demon had come for a purpose.

It had come for him.

"There’s no way they would send something that powerful unless it’s for something vital..."

he thought, eyes darkening.

Security, then, was non-negotiable.

He needed a base with a tight defense perimeter and powerful commanders, preferably one with powerful Azure colonels or at least competent Crimson Commanders assigned nearby.

But growth was just as important.

Leon wasn’t going to rot away in some cushy defense base where the most excitement came from chasing off weak demon scouts.

"A defense base won’t challenge me enough to help me grow,"

he thought, brushing a hand through his white hair.

"And if I’m going to get strong enough to protect everyone I care about... I can’t afford to stagnate."

He wasn’t worried about Elizabeth either.

He knew her.

"If I pick a base, she’s going to follow. That’s just how she is."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at the thought.

After a few more moments of silent deliberation, he finally leaned back, a low breath escaping his chest.

"Alright... I’ve decided."

His finger hovered over the glowing screen. Then,

he tapped.

****

The moment Leon Kael finally selected his base, a wave of relief swept through the rooms of the cadets, the feeling was like finally getting to loose your virginity after saving it till marriage. Across the rooms of every top 500 cadet in the East Sector, screens blinked with updates as the notification changed:

[Rank 1 Cadet: Leon Kael – Chosen Base: 01 – Crimson Fang Stronghold]

And with that, the deadlock broke.

"Finally!"

Adrian Peer muttered, barely wasting a second before selecting his own base.

In a flash, the slot next to his name updated, the available positions in the base he had selected dropping by one.

Elizabeth, even though she wasn’t physically at the arena, received the same prompt. Her access, granted due to her special status, allowed her to remotely make a choice. She didn’t hesitate either.

[Elizabeth Queen – Base 01]

Eden followed, muttering curses under his breath, but selecting his base as well.

One by one, the names of the remaining top twelve lit up the selection list and in what seemed like a quiet, mutual understanding, or perhaps fate itself, the top 12 all chose their base in under 1 minute.

It was unprecedented.

Inside the Federation system, base slots were displayed next to cadet names, and each selection shrank the availability. Most cadets stared at their screens like gamblers at a roulette table, praying the base they’d studied, dreamt about and trained for, wouldn’t be filled before their turn.

"Please don’t take Base 11... please don’t take Base 11..."

one cadet whispered.

"Shit! There’s only one slot left!"

another cried, heart racing with anxiety.

The screen flickered, names shuffled, and bases filled. Chaos. Relief. Despair. All swirling in the hearts of the cadets.

Meanwhile, in her dimly lit office, Vanguard Rebecca Sky sat behind her desk, a mug of steaming herbal tea untouched beside her.

She stared at the terminal in front of her.

And then, she laughed.

It wasn’t a polite chuckle or a formal laugh, it was raw, amused, and a little bit smug.

"Hah! It’s times like this you realize... they’re still children,"

she said, folding her arms with a grin.

The woman known as a living legend... the storm of the battlefield... was currently grinning like a child on their birthday.

"That competitiveness... I miss it,"

she added, almost wistfully.

She tilted the screen upward and reread the lines that made her day:

[Rank 1 Cadet: Leon Kael – Chosen Base: 01 – Crimson Fang Stronghold]

[Top 12 Cadets Assigned to Base 01 – 12/12 Slots Filled]

She leaned back in her chair, smug and victorious.

"So I got all the geniuses, huh? In one go?"

She shook her head in disbelief, muttering,

"I have to thank him for this..."

Her eyes flicked back to that first name again, Leon Kael. A soft smile tugged at her lips.

But that smile didn’t last.

Bzzzzt.

Her terminal lit up again, this time with a call.

Rebecca’s face twisted into an instant scowl.

"No..."

she muttered under her breath.

The name blinking on the incoming screen made her groan with annoyance.

[Incoming Call: Raven Stone]

"Why the fuck is this bitch calling me?"

she hissed, leaning forward and glaring at the notification as if it had personally offended her.

The joy of victory vanished, replaced with the rising heat of irritation.

Whatever was coming... it wasn’t going to be pleasant.