Chapter 314: The Monochrome Team
What others considered impressive fine control over extraordinary energy seemed merely average in Xu Zhi’s eyes.
After all, when it came to precise manipulation of extraordinary energy, none of them appeared capable of constructing a Talent Circuit within their own bodies.
“Besides that team, there’s another one worth noting—a very rare monochrome team.”
As soon as Xi Min finished speaking, several students who had seemed indifferent suddenly looked up at her as if something interesting had caught their attention.
A monochrome team referred to a lineup composed entirely of a single attribute.
It wasn’t that monochrome teams had never appeared before, but their results were usually poor. They were too easy to counter. Moreover, gathering at least five members of the same attribute—each strong enough to compete in the League—was no easy feat.
In previous years, the only faction that had ever achieved real success with a monochrome team was the Celestial Heart Association.
They were the only force capable of fielding a full team of formidable [Heart] attribute members. And given the innate characteristics of the [Heart] attribute—granting far superior endurance compared to ordinary extraordinary individuals—having five [Heart] users standing on the arena was enough to give anyone a headache.
Aside from them, other academies that had tried to forcibly assemble monochrome teams had learned their lesson. As a result, few attempted it anymore.
“This team comes from Luzhou. All five main members are of the [Forge] attribute.”
“As for the two substitutes, their attributes are currently unknown.”
After speaking, Xi Min played battle footage of the Luzhou monochrome team.
The focus was on team fights.
When five [Forge] users stepped onto the field together, what they displayed was an even purer form of “violent aesthetics” than the [Blade] attribute.
The [Blade] attribute carried both cunning and brutality; their battles were often more refined and technical. [Forge], however, was different. Beyond their achievements in crafting, their combat philosophy was far more direct—a near-religious worship of strength. Destruction and devastation were their sole creed in battle.
Thus, when five [Forge] users launched a simultaneous offensive, even in a mere preliminary round, the screen radiated overwhelming pressure—like five mountains embodying raw power crushing down upon their opponents.
The outcome held no surprises.
Their opponents barely held out before being completely overwhelmed.
“With that level, they’re in the preliminaries?”
After watching the footage, Shu Yushan frowned in confusion. A team like that should at least be a seeded group-stage contender.
Xi Min shook her head. “Luzhou is the City of Machinery. The headquarters of Gods’ Heavy Industries is based there. Luzhou has its own seeded spot for the finals—but it’s not this team.”
“We suspect this team likely has the shadow of Gods’ Heavy Industries behind it.”
Someone frowned. “What are those lunatics planning?”
“Who knows?” someone else replied.
“Haven’t they avoided sending teams to the League in previous years?”
Among the major forces, only Gods’ Heavy Industries devoted nearly all its attention to some grand, mysterious objective. Their personnel circulation was even lower than Light Academy’s. To outsiders, their members appeared somewhat eccentric—rarely seen in public, cloaked in mystery, and seemingly dangerous.
Whenever something strange occurred, people instinctively wondered whether Gods’ Heavy Industries was involved. The organization always seemed to be conducting bizarre experiments, producing odd—or outright illegal—creations. The public knew little about them, other than that they were always up to something strange.
Now they had suddenly entered the League.
Surely they hadn’t just decided to compete on a whim?
Surely not.
“In any case, this team is far beyond preliminary level. They’re strong contenders even for group-stage qualification. Whatever Gods’ Heavy Industries is planning, their participation is legitimate under League rules.”
On the first day of preliminaries, countless matches had taken place, but in Xi Min’s eyes, only these two teams were worth noting.
“The rest aren’t worth watching. That’s enough for today. Go back and rest.”
The skill levels in the preliminaries varied wildly. With the rules relaxed this year, only a handful of true hidden gems had surfaced—the majority were filler.
Over the next few days, the seven main team members fell into a routine: training during the day, reviewing match footage at night.
Meanwhile, Xu Zhi noticed her social media followers steadily increasing. Apparently, analysis videos from various bloggers had been released, many mentioning her—the mysterious first-year—drawing curious onlookers.
Unfortunately for them, Xu Zhi’s account was spotless. She had never posted a single public message. The account allowed follows but blocked friend requests and private messages from strangers.
“Cold and arrogant big-city elite!”
Tongzhou had recently taken to teasing her with that nickname. Xu Zhi usually responded with a smiling face, though she quietly kept score in her heart.
Qi Yanxin had likely been watching matches as well. Xu Zhi noticed that when she returned home in recent days, Qi Yanxin’s extraordinary energy fluctuations kept changing—probably because the teachers assigned to explain the matches to ordinary family members rotated frequently.
One day, Xu Zhi mentioned that she would soon be leaving Lian City to head to Free City for the League.
Qi Yanxin immediately grew visibly uneasy.
Even though Xu Zhi wouldn’t leave for some time, simply knowing the news seemed to plunge her into anxiety. She knew it wasn’t healthy, but she struggled to control it.
She even vaguely sensed that once Xu Zhi actually left, the anxiety might worsen. In her mind, she repeatedly tried to reassure herself—Xu Zhi was only going to compete and would return afterward.
The effect was minimal.
What she feared wasn’t Xu Zhi abandoning her forever.
It was the separation itself.
Xu Zhi could see her anxiety. After a moment’s thought, she concluded it might be separation anxiety stemming from psychological overdependence.
Despite her inner turmoil, Qi Yanxin didn’t voice any complaints. She was probably restraining herself with reason.
After thinking for a moment, Xu Zhi said, “You can message me. If I see it, I’ll reply.”
Qi Yanxin rarely messaged her. Xu Zhi disliked receiving meaningless chatter; even if Qi Yanxin sent something, Xu Zhi might not respond if she wasn’t in the mood.
Hearing this now, Qi Yanxin looked pleasantly surprised. “Really?”
Then guilt flickered across her face. “Won’t that be too much trouble?”
“Not really,” Xu Zhi replied casually. “If I’m busy, I just won’t check.”
And replying didn’t require much effort. Even sending a single emoji counted as a response.
As long as it didn’t inconvenience her, she was willing to indulge this “life-saving benefactor” just a little.
