High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

Escaping the mire of the Outer City was everyone’s dream here.

Han Feng said thanks and sat down under the ticket seller’s fawning gaze.

He hadn’t even settled in when a high-pitched, deliberately enthusiastic voice exploded next to his ear.

"Well, well! Isn’t this Han from our old courtyard?"

Han Feng turned his head.

A wrinkled face was practically pressed against his, the smile so wide it distorted the man’s features.

It was Uncle Wang, an old neighbor from his days living in the Outer City.

Next to Uncle Wang sat his grandson, Wang Hao.

The young man, who always looked down his nose at people, was now staring daggers at Han Feng, his eyes a mixture of jealousy and confusion.

More accurately, he was staring at the brand-new blue insignia on Han Feng’s chest, the one that signified his status as a C Level Technician.

"Uncle Wang, what a coincidence."

Han Feng nodded faintly.

"More than a coincidence! This is destiny!"

Uncle Wang slapped his thigh, the sound making the cabin buzz.

He gripped his grandson’s arm, squeezing so hard that Wang Hao’s face began to contort.

"Hao’er! Did you see, you little brat! This is the Senior Han from the Martial Arts University I’m always talking about!"

"He’s a C Level Technician now!"

Uncle Wang’s voice suddenly rose, full of a showy pride, as if Han Feng’s achievement was his own accomplishment.

In an instant, every eye in the cabin focused on them, their gazes even more intense and complicated than before.

"Just lucky."

Han Feng’s reply was calm and unruffled.

"Nonsense!"

Uncle Wang sputtered, his face flushing red with excitement.

"Xiaohan, you’re too modest! This is clearly a matter of skill!"

As if handling a priceless treasure, he gingerly yet forcefully grabbed Han Feng’s hand, leaving no room for refusal.

"Ah, Xiaohan, you’re a man of status now, but you can’t forget about us old neighbors!"

"Quick, give this worthless brother of yours some guidance. How can he get into a Martial Arts University?"

"He’s been agonizing over the bottleneck to the Second Layer of the Body Tempering Realm for the past few days!"

’Here we go again.’

Han Feng felt not a single ripple of emotion; he even felt a little like laughing.

’Just a few days ago, Uncle Wang was calling me that "poor kid stuck in D Level for three years." In the blink of an eye, I’ve become "the dragon among men," Senior Han.’

’This world is so pragmatic it’s almost charming.’

Wang Hao’s face turned the color of pig’s liver. Being publicly shamed by his grandfather felt like a profound insult.

He stiffened his neck and reluctantly squeezed a few words through his teeth.

"Se... Senior Brother Han."

The sound was as faint as the whine of a mosquito.

Just then, an announcement came over the vehicle’s intercom.

"Arriving at Airplane Graveyard station. Passengers disembarking, please prepare to exit."

Han Feng immediately stood up, smoothly withdrawing his hand.

"Uncle Wang, this is my stop. I have to go."

"Of course, of course! You go on, Xiaohan! Business comes first!"

Uncle Wang’s enthusiasm didn’t diminish in the slightest as he waved his arm vigorously.

Wang Hao also stood up and forced out, "Goodbye, Senior Brother Han."

Han Feng nodded, turned, and pushed his way off the bus without a single shred of reluctance to leave.

The doors closed, and the hoverbus slowly pulled away.

The feigned respect on Wang Hao’s face vanished instantly, replaced by thick disdain and jealousy.

"Grandpa! Why were you so subservient to him?"

He complained in a hushed voice.

"So what if he got promoted to C Level? He just fixes planes. He’s not some combat hero flying a fighter jet into the sky. What’s so great about that!"

"What the hell do you know!"

Uncle Wang backhanded his grandson across the back of the head, his eyes bulging like bronze bells.

"Anyone who can reach C Level in university is a dragon among men! Not even one in ten D Level students can manage that!"

"For mud-crawlers like us from the Outer City, just being able to speak with someone like him is a heavenly blessing!"

He watched the bus disappear into the distance, his gaze growing faraway as he muttered to himself.

"A single piece of advice from someone like that could save you ten years of wasted effort!"

"I know, I know..."

Wang Hao rubbed the back of his head impatiently, his gaze drifting out the window, but an unnamed fire smoldered in his heart.

’A plane mechanic...’

’In the future, I’ll get into the Flight Academy and become a true ace pilot, flying a Xiaolong fighter jet!’

’I’ll show everyone who the real chosen one is!’

...

Han Feng stepped off the bus. The familiar air of the Outer City washed over him, thick with dust and industrial exhaust.

He walked along the cratered dirt road toward the steel graveyard.

The old barbed-wire fence, the giant gantry crane, and the iconic sign made from half a plane wing.

The Airplane Graveyard was the same as always.

Han Feng pushed open the creaking iron gate and walked in.

In the yard, Uncle Sun was sitting on a deck chair, wearing reading glasses and leisurely looking over a yellowed newspaper.

On the small table next to him sat a pot of steaming tea.

Hearing footsteps, he didn’t even lift his head, his voice lazy.

"You’re here? Head straight to Hangar 3. The key’s hanging on the door. I’ve filled up the tank for you."

"Thanks, Uncle Sun."

Han Feng acknowledged him and was about to head over when Uncle Sun suddenly put down his newspaper.

He adjusted his reading glasses, squinting his perpetually cloudy eyes to carefully size up Han Feng.

When his gaze finally landed on the new blue insignia on Han Feng’s chest.

Uncle Sun shot upright, the leisurely expression vanishing from his face as the newspaper slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

"A C Level... Technician?"

Uncle Sun’s voice held a tremor he himself didn’t even notice.

"Kid, you... you got promoted?!"

His cloudy eyes reflected the insignia glittering with a faint blue light, as if he were looking at some unbelievable monster.

"Just a lucky break."

Han Feng’s reply was calm and unruffled, as if he were talking about some trivial matter.

This nonchalant attitude surprised Uncle Sun even more.

He had seen too many young people full of dreams at this Airplane Graveyard, and he had also seen too many dejected souls whose sharp edges had been worn smooth by reality.

This was the first time he’d ever seen someone like Han Feng—someone who had leaped from the bottom-rung D Level to a C Level Technician in such a short time, yet showed not a hint of arrogance or triumph on his face.

Uncle Sun sank back into his chair and took a big gulp from the teapot, as if trying to calm the turmoil in his heart with the scalding tea.

He waved a hand, his tone returning to its usual laziness.

"Key’s on the door. Tank’s full. Go on."

"Thanks, Uncle Sun."

Han Feng turned and walked toward Hangar 3. Uncle Sun’s voice drifted slowly from behind him.

"You’ve struck it rich, kid. Next time you come around, if you dare cry poor to this old man again, see how I’ll deal with you."

Han Feng smiled but didn’t look back.

Inside Hangar 3, the familiar Initial Training-3 was parked quietly.

The scratches on its fuselage had been repaired and repainted, making it look brand new.

He opened the cockpit and neatly stacked thirty vials of emerald-green Middle Tier Recovery Potion, each one radiating an aura of life, into the storage compartment.

That expanse of emerald was all paid for with Contribution Points—a luxury so extravagant it was staggering.

These Potions were worth a total of nine thousand Contribution Points, enough to make an ordinary C Level Technician green with envy for half a year.

And he was preparing to "drink" all of them within a single day.

[Host connection to ’(Pseudo) Magical Artifact’ Flying Sword: Initial Training-3 has been detected.]