Chapter 13: Thorn Lamp’s Commander

An He finally met Thorn Lamp’s commander.

Just as she had imagined, it was a tall, imposing woman. Ide waited for her in the office, her golden hair neatly coiled at the back of her head, with two short strands framing her face and brushing the scar on her cheekbone—the one said to have been gouged by bone.

Ide carried herself with steady poise whether standing or sitting, her powerful aura radiating an intangible sense of security. The moment An He saw her, she understood why Thorn Lamp had grown into what it was today. Ide was the undisputed leader, despite her youth.

“Have a seat.” Ide gestured for An He to sit, then stood by the wall to gear up. She already had a Longbow strapped to her back, along with a heavy firearm. Her weathered leather jacket only amplified her feral edge.

“Commander, you called me here—does that mean you’ve approved my application?” An He took the initiative to ask. Lately, she had grown accustomed to speaking up first, a habit forged in her confrontations with Gu Xianqing and Lola. She realized it gave her a sliver of control.

Ide turned back, gazing at her steadily. “Yes, I plan to send you out to scout the situation.”

She fastened her bracers, then leaned against the edge of the desk with her arms crossed, looking down at An He. “You should know I don’t fully trust you yet. I’m letting you charge into the fray because your abilities fill a gap in our manpower.”

An He felt a flicker of surprise. Ide was brutally direct—not the type of superior who treated you like cannon fodder while dangling empty promises of glory and value. Her opinion of Thorn Lamp improved another notch.

An He tilted her head. “So you’re saying you haven’t approved me joining Thorn Lamp officially. I’m just an outsider. Even if I die on a mission, you wouldn’t shed a tear, right?”

Now it was Ide’s turn to look mildly surprised. “You’re sharp. Yes, your guess is spot on.” She straightened up. “Even so, you’re still volunteering to head out?”

Her scrutinizing gaze fell unmasked on An He.

“Yes.” An He answered swiftly. This was the fastest way to earn trust, and it seemed Lola had pulled strings for her. Ide might still distrust her, but she was giving An He a chance to reconsider.

Of course, An He had already made up her mind.

“But Commander, there’s one thing I can’t hide: my Nestsoul is still unstable. I’m not sure how to use it properly.”

“Professor Su already filled me in.” Ide waved it off. “I don’t have time to let you practice. The Bone Eaters have been unusually active these past couple days—three Tier Four Bone Eaters have breached our alert line. So tomorrow, you’re coming with me to take them out. If you make it back alive, the day after, you’ll go with Heidi to investigate the raided supply trucks.”

Ide had assigned her two missions in one go.

“Me, with you?” An He blinked in mild shock.

She knew the intent behind the arrangement: supervision, and a test of An He’s commitment to defending the Ninth Fortress. Crises revealed true natures most clearly.

If An He proved incompetent or acted suspiciously, Ide would abandon her—or kill her—without hesitation. Ide was more than capable.

But An He felt a surge of excitement. This meant she could witness Ide wielding her Nestsoul.

“Yes, just you and me. I need to test you.” Ide confirmed her suspicions, the stern commander arching a brow. “Scared?”

“No.”

Ide chuckled. “Lola was right—your temperament is solid.” She eyed the hospital gown An He still wore. “But you can’t head out like that. Come on, let’s get you some proper gear.”

An He followed Ide by vehicle from the fortress center, pulling up at the Iron Wall. Only when Ide led her onto the High Wall did she realize it wasn’t just for defense—warehouses, sentry posts, Thorn Lamp quarters, even a prison were built into its core.

The fifteen-meter-thick Iron Wall housed countless rooms, maximizing utility without compromising strength.

Ide took An He into the warehouse and let her pick out fitting clothes.

Thorn Lamp’s gear used tougher fabrics than civilian wear—mostly leather and denim, with reinforced shoulders and wrists, plus metal loops and pockets for weapons.

An He selected black cargo pants, a black tank top, and a dark gray hooded cloak.

Considering the Wasteland’s black dust, she added a gray dust scarf looped around her neck.

Black combat boots hugged her ankles perfectly.

On top, Ide insisted she add a multi-tool belt, shoulder straps over the tank, and an extra metal bracer on her wrist to conceal small weapons.

Once changed, An He caught her reflection in the shiny aluminum door and paused in surprise. She had fully blended into the rugged local style. The black-and-gray outfit encased her; with the thin scarf masking half her face, only her slightly upturned eyes peered out—wild and fierce.

Much like her Raven.

Ide had watched her the whole time. Once An He was dressed, she asked, “Feel too heavy?”

“It’s fine.” An He tested her limbs. The rough fabric hugged without restricting movement, and with the cool temperatures, the outer layer was perfect.

“Good.” Ide stepped closer and tapped An He’s metal bracer. “Remember, this hides thin steel wire—for emergencies. That rivet on your belt? Press it, and a small knife pops out. Here, and here—iron needles.”

An He’s eyes widened. Until now, she’d thought these were ordinary clothes and belts. How sheltered she’d been. Glancing at Ide’s outfit now, every seam seemed to conceal secrets. She took an involuntary step back.

“These weren’t always so tricked out. Heidi came up with the designs,” Ide said, clapping An He on the shoulder.

Heidi. An He recalled Heidi’s face and booming laugh, feeling a rush of respect.

“Alright, now pick some weapons. What are you good with?” Ide led her to the adjacent armory.

The weapons here were low-tech by An He’s standards: guns and ammo she recognized, crossbows and Longbows for range. Ammo and arrows were fused with gasoline fuel; chemical weapons rounded out the stock.

Ide’s question stumped her.

“Gun?” Ide hefted a heavy rifle.

“No.” An He shook her head.

“Bow?”

“Uh… no.” A model citizen like her had never handled such things.

“You can’t survive the Wasteland without gun skills.” Ide frowned thoughtfully, then led her deeper.

“Lola told me about your Innate Talent. You’ve got unnatural speed. I’ve seen time- and speed-based talents before, but yours combines both. She said when you lost control, her time slowed like it was trapped in gel—only you and your Nestsoul moved freely in her sight… So, named your talent yet?”

An He blinked. “I name it myself?”

“If the Nestsoul user doesn’t know, I do it.” Ide glanced at her. “So you really have no clue what your ability does.”

“Yes.” An He realized Ide was probing her constantly.

“Then how about Shatterblade Time? You can shatter enemies’ blades anytime. A time all your own.”

“Sure.” An He didn’t mind.

Ide moved on, pulling a machete from the wall. “No guns? Use this for now. You can at least swing it wildly, right?”

An He took the forged steel blade—arm’s length, single-edged with a blood groove. It was hefty, reassuringly solid. She swung it twice; its weight carried momentum, swift and steady.

Ide eyed her novice swings approvingly. “We rarely use blades. Melee against Bone Eaters is a losing game—we stick to gas bombs and shotguns. But An He, your talent suits close quarters, and your Nestsoul handles range.”

She fixed An He with a look. “Figure out usage on your own. But heads up: blades won’t kill Bone Eaters unless you precisely excise the mycelium core.”

“The mycelium core? Where?” An He asked.

Ide shook her head. “No fixed spot—varies per Bone Eater. Mycelium itself is invisible; you only see the threads. Ask Asta for details. Have her teach you tonight. Tomorrow, it’s on you.”

An He’s interest piqued. “Asta?”

“Yeah. Pass the test and join Thorn Lamp, she’ll be your mentor.” Ide said. “She’s my proudest warrior. Can’t do field ops anymore… but training successors? No problem.”

That evening, when Lola picked An He up for the hospital, she learned what Ide meant by “can’t do field ops.”

Asta lay in bed, quietly playing her harmonica. Her legs had been amputated, replaced by two hulks of cold, black steel—Mechanical Legs.

Lola glanced between them and slipped out to wait in the hall. She had no interest in “old friends” reunions.

Asta spotted An He but kept playing. Her red hair hung loose down her back, wavy from braids or nature, curling at the crown and ends—making her seem more vibrant than before.

The melody flowed soulfully from the harmonica, filling the room, leagues smoother than Heidi’s off-key humming.

“How about it? Sound good?” The piece ended; Asta set down the harmonica, face serene.

“Beautiful.” An He sat bedside, forcing her eyes away from Asta’s legs, lest she hit a raw nerve.

“Heidi told me you’re under suspicion.” Asta met her gaze frankly. “You’ve suspected me too—should be used to it by now?”

“Ha… ha.” An He gave a dry laugh. “Thanks for paving the way, then?”

Asta ignored the quip. “Commander gave me the heads-up. She leans toward trusting you. Don’t let us down.”

An He opened her mouth, then just murmured, “Mm.”

She watched Asta stow the harmonica. Silence settled; An He racked her brain for comfort, but Asta brought up her legs first. “Staring at these? Heidi fitted the Mechanical Legs.”

An He startled slightly, then examined them properly. Crude and ugly, but functional—precise joints bent right. “We have tech for Mechanical Legs?”

“Nothing like Golden Age prosthetics—those are First Fortress exclusives,” Asta said. “But they support walking and standing. Like crutches.”

She showed An He the spare parts: steel braces linked the legs to her left arm and waist harness. With enough strength, arms and core powered the motion.

No neural links—just pure mechanics.

Somehow, they added to Asta’s wildness. No trace of grief on her face; she’d embraced them as part of herself. To An He, it felt like Asta was discussing something mundane.

An He hesitated.

Asta disassembled the parts and lay back, sensing her unease. “Relax—we battlefield vets master emotions. Not fragile. Check this: Heidi carved a lion on the right leg.”

An He leaned in. Sure enough—a crude lion sketch, round eyes, big head, tongue lolling. Amateurish, oddly cute, totally clashing with Asta’s ferocity.

Asta traced the etching. “Heidi says now I can play harmonica in the fortress every day.”

“She really loves her hell jokes.”

An He laughed, and Asta’s eyes crinkled in response.

“Alright, hand over your weapon. I’ll teach you some basic slashes, swings, chops, and stabs.” Asta usually wielded a long sniper rifle, but she was proficient with all weapons. She reminded An He, “Since you’re using cold weapons, remember to target the joints of the Bone Eaters. Then go for the mycelium core. These fungi have some intelligence—they’ll use their mycelium threads to confuse you. In reality, the mycelium core is buried deep inside, in hard-to-reach spots. A knife alone won’t cut it; you need something that brings fire.”

“Mm.” An He lifted her jacket, revealing the tool pouch at her waist stocked with dozens of Button Bombs. Each bomb contained white phosphorus, encased in a kerosene layer and a water-resistant shell. Once that outer layer broke, friction or impact would ignite the white phosphorus, generating temperatures of thousands of degrees.

“The commander gave you these, huh? Looks like tomorrow’s going to be a brutal fight. The gas they produce is toxic—never use them on people, and make sure you don’t get caught in the fumes,” Asta cautioned.

“Got it.” An He agreed.

Finally, Asta added, “Controlling a Nestsoul takes long-term study and training, An He. Remember to trust your brain. Once you join Thorn Lamp, I’ll teach you the control methods.”

An He lowered her jacket and tugged at the gray cloth around her neck, flashing her white teeth. “So, does that mean I’ll have to call you teacher from now on?”

A broad smile finally cracked Asta’s stern face. “Talk to me about that once you’ve earned the right.”