As Gu Qing’s words fell, the hall had barely begun to recover when Frey Ontaris abruptly stood, his face pale, eyes dark with a cutting glare.
“Since you insist on promoting a rule-breaker,” he declared, “I, as Vice President of the Male Protection Association, formally invoke Imperial Parliament Directive 973, demanding the immediate suspension of Gu Qing’s post, pending investigation by the Special Review Committee into the legality of his appointment and the authenticity of his spiritual power!”
Shock rippled through the room.
“Directive 973… that’s a national-security-level emergency suspension clause!”
Frey raised his terminal: “Under this rule, any individual of unclear identity, procedural dispute, or potential threat to military morale may have their rank and command authority frozen.”
“Gu Qing has no noble record, no formal training background, and has privately entered female soldiers’ spiritual seas without monitoring, authorization, or backup. If this is not a mental crime, then what is?”
The air turned like plunging into an icy chasm.
Yir roared: “Who gave you the right to interfere with military appointments?”
Phily restrained him, whispering: “This isn’t a hearing—it’s a purge. They want to strike the entire chain of military personnel under Gu Qing’s name.”
Gu Qing remained calm, expression unshaken.
Milton rose from his seat, face grim, knuckles white as he stepped beside Gu Qing, voice low but resolute:
“That’s enough. Gu Qing is my directly appointed spiritual coordinator. His duties and safety assessments were approved by me. If you question the legality of his appointment, first remove my rank.”
He had never openly confronted the Male Protection Association before, even when criticized for dereliction of duty. But now, he refused to let Gu Qing face this political hunt alone.
Silence fell over the hall again.
This was—a direct, face-to-face military-political showdown.
Gu Qing’s voice was calm: “You speak of Directive 973?”
Frey snorted coldly: “You don’t need to explain—”
“I’ll complete it for you.”
Gu Qing’s tone was measured, deliberate:
“Article 973 requires three conditions to be activated. First: absence of spiritual power records. I had completed the records in advance, file number A71-32.”
Soft murmurs of astonishment spread through the room.
“Second: a victimized soldier must provide proof of spiritual injury. Is there such a thing?”
From among the military seats, an insect spoke quietly: “…No. He saved me.”
“Third: if the coordinator is endorsed by a high-ranking military official, the directive is invalid. I was appointed by General Milton with complete documentation. Shall I present the signed copies?”
Frey was momentarily speechless, face turning iron-gray.
The Heavenly Dao Little Dumpling spun excitedly in the air:
“So cool! So cool! Master Sword just countered perfectly—do sword cultivators also study law, or did you secretly memorize it?!”
Gu Qing ignored the little voice, focusing on the insect before him, voice icy:
“If you insist on invoking this directive, then read the second half aloud. Let’s see if it can publicly interfere with the military system.”
The room shifted; observers at the table whispered among themselves.
“…Indeed, the latter clauses of 973 include a military exception…”
“If General Milton’s endorsement is genuine, this case is not restricted…”
“This time, the Male Protection Association may have overstepped.”
Frey’s expression darkened, and after a long pause, he let out a cold laugh: “…The military is indeed eloquent.”
Gu Qing’s tone remained calm: “I merely read the rules thoroughly.”
Milton’s hands were hidden within his uniform sleeves, knuckles pale, sleeves quivering slightly—he was stunned by Gu Qing’s skillful navigation of the Male Protection Association’s pressure.
The air froze, all eyes fixed on the D-class male, expressions ranging from astonishment to wariness and complexity.
Milton suddenly realized that Gu Qing was not acting for himself alone; he had absorbed an invisible weight for the entire military.
That calm silhouette was sharp as a sword, cutting through the gloom of the room.
Frey opened his mouth, but even the observers who had once backed him avoided his gaze.
Whispers rippled among the seats:
“…This complaint is far-fetched.”
“Protecting male insects does not justify suppressing the military; doing so only embarrasses us.”
The murmurs shifted from doubt to questioning, leaving Frey’s figure isolated in the hall.
The Male Protection Association representative cleared his throat, voice cold:
“This case… perhaps requires further internal review.”
The words, spoken openly, effectively shifted all responsibility back.
Milton knew that in the political system, this was more deadly than conviction—losing trust and support meant Frey’s power base was shaken.
The hearing, once intended to condemn, had become a stage for Gu Qing and Milton’s joint reversal.
As the meeting adjourned, the military’s atmosphere felt far lighter than on arrival.
The female soldiers rose quietly, occasionally glancing toward Gu Qing’s serene figure, their eyes layered with complex emotions—respect, guilt, relief, and the first buds of trust.
They had never regarded any male with such focus—even some offered a subtle military salute before leaving.
It was respect between comrades, not submission, but acknowledgment.
Gu Qing remained in place, slightly turning his gaze toward the silver-white sky.
“Why did you go to such lengths?” Milton’s low voice reached him.
Gu Qing’s reply was calm: “Because you need to remain to lead, and I need not be constrained.”
Milton was silent for a moment. “I could have handled it.”
“I know,” Gu Qing nodded. “But—if you acted, they would never blame the directive; they would blame you. I am less important, so I can shield you.”
Milton’s chest tightened.
He wanted to speak, yet only clenched his fists, then slowly released them. His throat moved, and he finally whispered,
“If there’s a scene like this again… let me go first.”
The words were soft, almost inaudible, yet carried a restrained intensity, an unspoken promise.
Gu Qing met his gaze and nodded slightly.
In the quiet that followed, Yir and Phily hurried over.
Yir, unusually solemn, hesitated, then whispered: “…Thank you for stepping forward, and for preserving the military’s dignity.”
Phily stared at Gu Qing for a long moment, expression complex: “I thought you were just an outstanding spiritual coordinator. Now I see I underestimated you.”
“I am part of the military too,” Gu Qing said, calm but sincere.
The two deputies exchanged a glance, finally speaking in unison: “We will remember.”
They fell silent and saluted, then turned to leave.
Weli approached slowly, eyes bright with exaggeration:
“…Your performance just now… was seriously… amazing. Thank you for saving me back then, and for holding the line today…”
He spoke quietly, face flushed. Memories flickered in his mind, and he shook his head, muttering softly: “Anyway, you are truly strong, thank you, Gu Qing.”
Elsewhere, Ace Mel prepared to depart.
Gu Qing walked over as he passed, low voice: “Thank you for testifying.”
Ace paused, purple eyes flicking up, a casual smile: “I just couldn’t stand Frey’s attitude.”
He turned and rejoined his accompanying personnel, quickly disappearing around the corner.
Gu Qing watched him go, then turned; Milton still stood behind him, eyes fixed.
That gaze condensed all the unspoken words into trust and resolute understanding.
Gu Qing stepped forward lightly: “Shall we go?”
Milton was silent for a moment, finally murmuring: “Mm.”
The sound was soft, yet like an unspoken vow, sinking deep into the heart. Beneath the silver-white sky, they walked side by side, their tacit understanding needing no words.