Chapter 17: First Echo Night again descended into the borders of dreams.
Nie Shi knew he had returned to the forest.
This eerie, silent woodland had appeared in his dreams more than once. At first it was just shadows and outlines, but gradually, trees emerged, fog rolled in, and distant echoes—like fragments of battle—began to resonate.
This time, he heard wind .
And in the wind, the sound of a spear.
It wasn't like any battle sound from his memory. It felt more like a long-suppressed emotion, tearing its way into the air at last.
He walked toward the sound. The fog flowed past his feet like water—cold but unreal. His body felt weightless, but each step was crisp and deliberate.
Slowly, the forest gave way to a ruined landscape.
The ground was cracked. Stone tiles lay in chaos. A shattered stone monument jutted from the dirt. And at the center of the ruins—
A figure stood, holding a spear.
She was slender, yet radiated power. Both hands gripped her weapon. The spear dripped with blood. A torn cloak fluttered from one shoulder, wild but unwavering.
She stood alone in the heart of the battlefield, like a flag refusing to fall even as the world leaned in to crush her.
Nie Shi took a step closer.
And in that moment, the figure fell .
Not forward, but backward—like her strength had been drained. The spear slipped from her fingers and stabbed into the ground. Black mist erupted from it, devouring the space around her.
Right before she hit the earth, her eyes turned toward him.
He couldn't see her face. The dream still blurred it. But he knew, with chilling clarity: She saw him. Please remember— A fragmented voice echoed in his ears. Distant. Broken. Yet somehow piercing through the dream.
He reached out to grasp the spear. His fingers just brushed its cold surface— Snap. He jolted awake, chest heaving.
Morning light leaked through the curtain slits, painting pale lines across his bed. His hand was still raised, reaching for something that wasn't there.
Void leaned quietly against the wall.
Still.
But he knew. It had remembered something. The classroom, as always, was tense.
Zhong Lan stood at the front, sweeping her gaze across Class E3.
"Today, we'll be conducting a basic control test. Thirty seconds per person. Show us your Control Sync Ratio."
There was a ripple of surprise.
It wasn't a test of strength. It was precision—how well one could control their Armament's movements, reactions, and flow.
"Luo Jia. You first."
The new transfer student rose calmly and walked to the podium. Sunlight filtered across her uniform as she raised her hand, palm up.
"Manifest."
Her voice was soft, almost a breath. But light instantly flowed from her wrist—silver, fluid, winding up her arm like a living stream.
Within seconds, it condensed into a slender curved blade , gleaming like moonlight.
She closed her eyes and, with just two fingers, pinched the hilt and flicked her wrist.
The blade traced a clean arc—flawless, efficient. No wasted energy, no delay.
A system chime rang out: "Control Sync Ratio: 98.4%." The class froze.
"…That's S-rank, isn't it?"
Zhong Lan gave no visible reaction, but she tapped the board behind her, bringing up a rank chart: F-Class (0–30%): Unstable. Frequent loss of control
E-Class (31–50%): Barely usable. Laggy responses
D-Class (51–65%): Basic control. Low accuracy
C-Class (66–80%): Moderate consistency
B-Class (81–90%): High adaptability in combat
A-Class (91–97%): Precise, tactical-level control S-Class (98–100%): Thought and Armament move as one "The Control Sync Ratio measures not your power," Zhong Lan said, voice even, "but how precisely your Armament responds to you—how refined your coordination is."
"S-Class means it moves with your intent. No command needed. Your body and the weapon are one."
"She's one of the few."
Luo Jia retracted her Armament, returned to her seat without expression.
But the moment she sat down, a lazy voice drifted from the back row. "Hey, new girl."
Lu Jingxing leaned forward, chin in hand, wearing a half-smirk.
"You didn't transfer in just to show off, did you?"
Luo Jia turned her head, expression calm. "Do I look like I need to?"
He stood, stepping toward her desk slowly. His tone dropped. "You don't look like a showoff."
"You look like trouble."
"And you?" she asked softly. "Are you the one stirring the storm… or the flag about to get blown away?"
He blinked, surprised, then chuckled.
"Nice. You've got bite."
"Then don't blink," she replied without pause.
"Because blink once—"
"You might miss the whole thing." By the window, Meng Yao tapped his fingers quietly on the sill.
He had been watching the entire exchange, silent.
Only when he heard that final sentence, his lips curved slightly.
"So it's you."
Luo Jia seemed to sense it. She turned her head and met his gaze.
"…Mm."
That was all.
No surprise. No alarm.
Just acknowledgement .
They knew each other's identities.
But they wouldn't interfere— yet . After school, Nie Shi sat alone in the piano room.
The paper Lin Kui had given him lay open on the piano lid. Her scrawled handwriting still vivid: If I could forget, then you wouldn't have to hurt. He placed his fingers on the keys.
No sheet music. Just memory. Just feeling.
A melody flowed—unpolished, searching.
Behind him, Void manifested soundlessly.
No summoning. No signal.
Just presence.
He didn't turn.
"…You're trying to remember her melody, aren't you?"
The spear didn't speak.
But a pulse moved through the air. A new pattern etched itself into its shaft—lines like twisted roots, quietly blooming at the base of the weapon.
It wasn't an attack.
It wasn't a command.
It was— A willingness to be remembered. End of Chapter 17