Chapter Ten: The Second Negotiation

The setting sun bathed the grounds of Sterlan Secondary School, and night was about to fall. Yet even the encroaching darkness seemed unable to conceal the bloodstains that marked the school.

Bang! Bang, bang!

The crisp, melodious report of a pistol echoed as Chen Qi fired, then massaged his arm, sore from the repeated shots. He gazed with satisfaction at the desk in front of him, where the bullets had hit dead center.

After two hours of tireless practice, he could finally hit his target exactly where he aimed! Well, as long as he was within five meters.

“Speaking of which, the grip on this pistol is fantastic!” Chen Qi remarked to the soldier beside him, who had been teaching him so diligently that he was nearly hoarse, almost wishing he could fire the shots for him.

At this, the soldier grinned with camaraderie, thumping his chest and exclaiming with pride, “Of course! This is one of the most prized handguns of the Northern Alliance—great feel, smooth recoil, and an incredibly satisfying sound. I love this pistol!”

Images of a certain sage filled Chen Qi’s mind.

The soldier checked the time and urged Chen Qi, “Alright, that’s enough. I’ve taught you everything I can for now—what you haven’t learned, you won’t master in a hurry. Time for dinner! This meal is important!”

Seeing Chen Qi’s reluctance to part with the pistol and his nonchalance toward the advice, the soldier scolded him, “Rookie! Trust me, we might be launching a surprise assault on those KB militants around midnight—one swift strike to rescue the hostages.”

The moment he heard this, Chen Qi sprang to his feet with a snap, hurriedly catching up with the already departing soldier.

In a classroom, a group of fully armed special forces soldiers sat together. Wearing identical gear and uniforms, Chen Qi blended in among them, looking very much like a husky that had slipped into a pack of wolves.

And now, this “husky” was happily devouring his meal.

“This military ration isn’t bad at all—the canned beef is really tasty!” Chen Qi struck up a conversation with the soldiers around him, trying his hardest to think of topics that might interest them—he was buttering them up for all he was worth, since his life was in their hands.

“Of course! We’re the elite of the Northern Alliance military—fighting alongside us is the luckiest thing that’ll ever happen to you!” one soldier replied with a proud smile, scooping up more beef. “And naturally, an elite unit deserves elite food!”

The proud soldier chewed enthusiastically, nearly spattering Chen Qi with the juices from the meat.

“Hey, slow down, big guy!” Chen Qi quickly handed over a napkin, his expression full of respect. “If the fighting starts, watch over me, okay? I’m a bit nervous.”

His awkward candor sent the soldiers into hearty laughter, the air filling with a jovial mood.

Between fits of laughter, the burly, bearded soldier beside Chen Qi said, his voice rich and magnetic, “You’re looking to the wrong person for protection, kid. Wolf there only knows how to kill—if you want him to keep you safe, you’ll be waiting till your next life!”

“Come on, perform something for us. If fighting breaks out, I’ll have your back.”

The bearded soldier shook his thick beard, his voice rumbling as he spoke to Chen Qi.

“Ummmm…” Chen Qi hesitated—he was a total homebody, useless at this sort of thing.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. He turned to the soldiers and declared, “I know what I’ll perform—my special skill: the One-Bite Swallow!”

Without waiting for a response, he tipped the remaining half-can of beef straight into his mouth.

Once again, laughter and cheer filled the classroom.

While Chen Qi was feasting and joking in the classroom, General Zakayev sat in the command center, completely devoid of appetite. He pushed away his untouched, exquisitely arranged meal and urged his adjutant, “Is he here yet, that former mayor? The sooner he gets here, the sooner we can negotiate with those KB militants, and the better the children’s chances of being saved.”

“Kershev says he’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” the adjutant reported, handing over a towel. The general wiped sweat from his brow and issued a series of orders, “Alright, notify the journalists—we’ll hold a press conference in fifteen minutes. And make sure that young man from earlier joins us, in uniform!”

The current mayor of Sterlan, who had been eating quietly nearby, hesitated but said nothing.

20:23. Former Mayor Kershev arrives at Sterlan Secondary School.
20:25. Press conference in the first-floor teachers’ office.

Chen Qi was still listening to the soldiers’ boasting when the adjutant called him out of the classroom.

“Follow me!” the adjutant commanded briskly, heading straight for the teachers’ office.

Chen Qi, puzzled, followed along—until he saw the swarm of reporters converging like bloodthirsty sharks. He suddenly remembered the general’s instruction for him to attend the press conference.

At the door, the adjutant paused, patted Chen Qi’s shoulder, and encouraged him, “Do your best. I’m sure a smart young man like you will do just fine.”

With that, he ushered Chen Qi inside.

The moment they entered, camera flashes forced Chen Qi to squeeze his eyes shut. Before he could recover, the adjutant led him over to stand by the general.

“This is our lucky young man!” the general announced, his energy undiminished despite the long day. “He could have stayed safe and comfortable in the hospital, but instead, he chose to don a uniform and help rescue his classmates! That was his only request of me and of the Northern Alliance government!”

Cheers broke out from the anxious parents and reporters gathered nearby.

“I think I’m going to be tomorrow’s headline!” Chen Qi thought, following the general’s cue and fixing the cameras with what he hoped was a resolute, youthful gaze.

At least, he thought it looked resolute.

“This is why the Northern Alliance dominates this continent! We never compromise, never surrender!” the general declared as the atmosphere reached a crescendo.

A chorus of “Never surrender! Never compromise!” echoed through the halls, the words reverberating long after.

The general’s tone shifted. “Of course, for the sake of our children and the future of the Northern Alliance, we are willing to make certain concessions. We have invited former Mayor Kershev of Sterlan, who will lead the negotiations with the KB militants!”

Beside him, Kershev stepped forward, waving to the crowd. He was a slightly overweight middle-aged man, skilled and unflappable as he took the microphone.

“In the past, I always felt the Northern Alliance’s policies toward the Sten region were too violent, too bloody. Even now, I still believe that,” he intoned. “But this time, kidnapping students is going too far. As a member of the Northern Alliance, I will do everything in my power to persuade them to release the hostages!”

The general shot him a sidelong glance. “Go on, then. I’ll be waiting for good news. If necessary, you can offer some small concessions.”

Kershev, barely pausing, headed straight for the auditorium, raising his hands and calling, “I am former Mayor Kershev. I represent the Northern Alliance to negotiate with you—don’t shoot!”

“Hands up, and come in slowly,” came the gruff reply of a KB militant from within.

Hundreds of hostages crouched on the auditorium floor, pressed together like ants. After an afternoon in the stifling heat, a foul stench of sweat, blood, and even urine filled the air. Even some of the KB militants had wrinkled their noses and edged away from the mass.

The students, deprived of water all afternoon and living in constant terror—seeing anyone who protested even slightly killed before their eyes—were weak and exhausted.

The leader of the KB militants, Uzneyev, paid no attention to their suffering. He greeted Kershev with unconcealed delight—he sensed the Northern Alliance was finally willing to negotiate.

“I demand to see the condition of the hostages first,” Kershev stated as soon as he entered.

After a brief consideration, Uzneyev agreed.

The first-floor lobby and the ** platform were packed with weakened students. Kershev frowned at the sight as he made his way upstairs.

There were three rooms on the second floor. One was used to imprison the teachers and parents separately—the KB militants feared these adults might lead a rebellion. The central room, lavishly decorated, served as their own lounge. Inside, nearly ten militants snored away, ready to take over the night watch later.

As for the last room, it was thick with the stench of blood—this was where the KB militants executed hostages.