Chapter 39: The Commander Is Truly a Monster

Hearing Tifa’s words, Mitchell Fran’s expression grew even darker. He felt it was a slap in the face, an insult to his dignity. He cast a deep look at Tifa and Han Feng, snorted coldly, then turned and left.

Sun Fei glanced at Mitchell Fran’s retreating figure. She had seen everything that just transpired. With the spaceship now switched to autopilot and her duties temporarily suspended, Sun Fei walked gracefully toward Han Feng.

Arriving at Han Feng’s side, Sun Fei tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and faced Tifa, saying, “Tifa, you really put him in his place. He’s arrogant, conceited, and lascivious, with a petty heart. He’s caused plenty of trouble for the Grizzly Hunters. If it weren’t for his considerable talent and potential, he’d have been kicked out long ago. The Grizzly Hunters have been going through a rough patch lately, losing many capable members, so he got the chance to lead.”

She paused, then added, “You should be careful. He holds grudges. Since you humiliated him, Tifa, he might try to cause trouble for you. I have things to attend to, so I’ll leave you to yourselves.”

“Thank you, Sister. We’ll be careful,” Tifa replied gratefully.

Sun Fei nodded and departed.

“Come on, let’s go eat,” Han Feng said, paying no mind to Mitchell Fran. Perhaps Fran was a top contender in his own team, a seed player, but to Han Feng, a D-class ability was hardly worth mentioning—not arrogance, but a simple matter of overwhelming attributes.

With Han Feng’s current stats, dealing with D-class abilities was effortless. His talents were comprehensive, with no obvious weaknesses, save for somewhat lacking proficiency with firearms. Yet even that was passable, given the 30% boost from his intermediate firearms training.

He had no desire to stir up trouble, but neither did he fear it. If Mitchell Fran dared to make things difficult, he would show him why flowers bloom so red.

As soon as they entered the dining hall, Han Feng and Tifa became the center of attention.

Han Feng had removed the half-mask from his face, revealing a handsome visage. His striking phoenix eyes shone beneath his tousled black hair. He wore a black trench coat over a tall, athletic frame—handsome, masculine, and mysterious, drawing many women’s admiring glances.

Tifa, with her angelic face and devilish figure, attracted every man’s gaze in the hall. Mitchell Fran, seated in a corner, stared at her with burning eyes.

Finding an empty table, Han Feng ordered a serving of every signature dish and two cocktails, each suited to their tastes.

Before the food arrived, a bold, long-legged blonde in a provocative outfit approached. Swaying her hips, she walked up to Han Feng, called out, “Hey, handsome,” slipped a note into his coat pocket, winked playfully, pressed her fingers to her lips, and blew him a kiss before sashaying away.

Han Feng was momentarily stunned. Was he being approached as soon as he entered the dining hall?

Were girls nowadays so open, proactive, and daring?

Would there be more?

Ahem, were there any other good dishes?

He sensed that the blonde was just an ordinary person, with no danger or hostility, so he let her come close. Curious, he took out the note.

Tifa’s gossiping spirit ignited. “What does it say?” she asked with keen interest.

Han Feng placed the note on the table.

“C-318.”

It was a room number, and the blonde’s intention was clear.

Seeing the room number, Tifa gave him a peculiar look, as if to say, “So this is who you really are!”

Fortunately, Han Feng’s skin was as thick and unyielding as a fortress wall. He nonchalantly tossed the note into the trash, but his photographic memory trait ensured the room number was etched in his mind.

Don’t misunderstand; he had no intention of acting on it. It was just his talent’s fault.

Luckily, the food arrived quickly, and the allure of good cuisine whetted their appetites. From the moment Han Feng entered, he had noticed Mitchell Fran and his group in the corner, expecting them to stir up trouble. Yet, until they left the dining hall, nothing happened—somewhat unexpected.

It seemed Mitchell Fran, though arrogant, was not foolish.

The two groups were meant to cooperate; surely, they wouldn’t break ties over pride. But petty tricks or minor troubles from Fran were certainly possible. Han Feng didn’t mind; he’d handle whatever came his way, and it might even add some amusement to the otherwise dull voyage.

Leaving the dining hall, Han Feng and his companions didn’t return directly to their quarters, but instead headed to the gravity training room.

Cultivation is like rowing upstream; not advancing means falling behind. Strength is forged through discipline and combat. Laziness and indulgence sap one’s resolve. Even though Han Feng’s card system was a shortcut to rapid progress, he never forgot the importance of diligent, grounded training.

Different training regimens enhanced his four basic cultivation abilities, as well as his personal attributes. Though it wasn’t as immediate as leveling up and gaining attribute points, after each session he felt himself growing stronger bit by bit—a most satisfying sensation.

Thus, Han Feng had always persisted in training. His predecessor had devoted himself day after day, and even without awakening spiritual energy, had mastered intermediate swordsmanship, firearms, and martial arts—the limit for ordinary people.

Han Feng deeply admired his predecessor’s perseverance. It was thanks to that relentless effort that he now had a solid physical foundation after crossing over.

The gravity training room allowed adjustment of the internal gravity to control training intensity, strengthening the body and improving constitution.

On Taurus-class ships, the gravity training rooms were of high specification, divided into several zones, each allowing users to tailor the gravity as needed.

At this moment, the room was empty save for Han Feng and Tifa. Tifa was warming up in Zone 2, using double standard gravity. After stretching, she practiced a set of martial arts, and as she broke a sweat, she increased the gravity.

Ordinary D-class martial artists trained under four to five times gravity. The stronger ones could endure six times, but only for limited periods; more than an hour would harm the body. Mitchell Fran, for example, could last half an hour at six times gravity.

Increasing gravity isn’t simply about adding weight. If it were just weight, muscles and bones could withstand much more. Gravity requires the entire body—organs, blood vessels, every cell—to bear the force. Fragile organs aren’t as tough as muscle and bone.

Tifa, shouldering a heavy barbell, was doing deep squats. At four and a half times gravity, she was noticeably strained. After a hundred repetitions, she was drenched in fragrant sweat, panting for breath. She wiped her forehead with a towel, then looked toward the adjacent Zone 1, her beautiful eyes sparkling.

“The captain truly is a monster!”