Chapter Sixty-One: Striving to Train

"When war comes, no one can escape it, Daoran," Chen Ming said after a moment.

Li Daoran nodded. "Then I'll head back."

"Alright. Is there any issue with the exoskeleton armor, Daoran? Don't worry. We're still far too weak. We have no maps, we don't know the exact strength of the Philian Empire’s forces, or how the war will be fought. There isn't much we can do right now. For now, we wait—strengthening ourselves is what's most important. One day, we'll change the world of Daoran. If this war could be postponed another year, I swear things wouldn't be as they are now," Chen Ming comforted Li Daoran, offering an explanation. It wasn't that they didn't want to help him—they simply had no way.

"I understand. It's just that the exoskeleton armor takes some getting used to. I’ll keep practicing," Li Daoran replied.

David spoke up, "It’s not just about getting used to it. I’ve done some analysis and overturned our previous assumptions. The exoskeleton armor is, more than anything, a form of protection. We were too tense about it. In reality, I suspect the mechas won’t be much different in function from those in the games.

It's just that the difficulty of piloting has increased, to the point where you need the protection of the exoskeleton armor to operate one at all. Remember how you felt in the fighter jet? Piloting a mecha will be even more intense—more jolts, more weightlessness, more visual disorientation—while still needing to control everything. It's nothing like playing a game.

As I've told you before, their design prowess is immense. The superiority of their energy systems and the strength of their materials push mechanical limits to the extreme. But by comparison, the human body is too fragile.

From the exoskeleton armor, you can see they once tried to create mechas controlled directly by the human body, but the difficulty was simply too great. It’s clear they never overcame that hurdle. The 'nested' mecha design is both a waste and a sign of inadequate materials, as well as a testament to human frailty.

So, the exoskeleton armor is the most suitable mecha for direct physical control by humans. But in a confrontation with a real mecha, there are two major issues: size and load capacity. Either one is enough to make a true mecha the king of land warfare.

That’s why piloted mechas became the first choice. They’re simpler to design, set lower requirements for the human body, and can use external equipment like exoskeletons to lower the physical threshold. Compared to the one-in-a-billion odds of body-control or psychic-control mechas, key-controlled mechas are vastly superior.

Even so, exoskeleton armor is indispensable. As I mentioned just now, there are shocks that the mecha can withstand but a human body cannot. This full-body exoskeleton armor is a protective layer—it’s what could save your life in mecha combat. Even if most of your mecha is destroyed, you can still escape the cockpit and run. It’s crucial."

Mecha pilots being more valuable than the mechas themselves is no joke. Even if you lower the standards, it's like our astronaut selection process—one in ten thousand doesn’t even capture how brutal it is. The requirements for a mecha pilot are much higher than for an astronaut. So, the most important question circles back to the beginning: can your physical fitness meet the standard?"

David displayed his computer, animations and data illuminating his explanation, giving Li Daoran a deeper understanding of the relationship between exoskeleton armor and mechas.

That lesson before leaving made it clear—they wanted him to focus on his studies. He was not yet qualified to change the course of a war.

Closing his eyes, Li Daoran steeled himself to obtain a mecha within the next two months. But clearly, this would not be easy. The selection and training of each mecha pilot took at least a year. To gain recognition in such a short time would require unimaginable effort.

Back in Daoran World, Xiong Shan was still glaring at Wastrel. Li Daoran smiled faintly, sitting down on his bed.

Li Daoran’s sudden change startled both Xiong Shan and Wastrel. They didn’t understand how Li Daoran could change so much in an instant, almost as if he were a different person.

"What’s wrong with you?" Xiong Shan asked.

"Nothing. You two, go on," Li Daoran replied calmly. Having spent over two hours on Azure Star, he’d long forgotten what had just happened. Now, looking at the two men with such a stark contrast in build, he found the scene oddly amusing.

Wastrel scratched his unruly hair and leaned in, asking, "Hey kid, you alright? Did you get stupid or something?"

Li Daoran folded his arms, rolled his eyes, and leaned back to avoid Wastrel’s breath. "You’re the one who’s stupid. Why don’t you brush your teeth?"

"Why do you care if I brush my teeth, kid? Are you provoking me? Don’t be fooled by how skinny I am—come on, let’s spar. I’ll show you what it means to be a senior," Wastrel snapped, embarrassed. For a rookie like Li Daoran to speak to him like that was intolerable—not that he acted like a senior, but it wasn’t a reason for Li Daoran to disrespect him.

The mention of sparring made Li Daoran instinctively look toward Xiong Shan, who happened to meet his gaze. Their eyes met and quickly parted; Xiong Shan gave a slight nod and a faint smile.

Li Daoran nodded in response. "Alright."

Wastrel was momentarily stunned. Before he could react, Li Daoran had already made his move. Wastrel was much smaller than Li Daoran, and with a deft twist, Li Daoran grabbed his arm and, using a clever technique, dislocated it so it hung limply. Without giving him a chance to speak, Li Daoran seized his other arm, circled behind him, and pressed his knee into the back of Wastrel’s leg, forcing him to one knee and pinning him to the ground.

The entire process was smooth as flowing water, subduing Wastrel in less than thirty seconds.

"Ouch, ouch! It hurts! Go easy, kid—why are you hitting people?" Wastrel cried out from the floor, not even thinking to resist. Just like with Xiong Shan before, he couldn’t believe someone would fight like this. Wasn’t fighting supposed to be exchanging punches, seeing who was stronger and tougher? This guy wasn’t playing by the rules—using legendary ancient martial arts and all. Can’t win, can’t win. Those who train their bodies lose to those who train in martial arts, and martial artists lose to cultivators. That’s the hierarchy.

Li Daoran released him. Wastrel glanced at his limp arm; Li Daoran reached out, and with a crack, popped it back in place. This skill amazed both Wastrel and Xiong Shan.

Wastrel rotated his newly repaired arm and said, "Not bad, kid. You’ve got some skills. Where’d you learn that? Teach me a thing or two." There was not a hint of anger at defeat. In the military, things were simple—those with ability earned respect. If you got beaten up by a senior, well, that was that; there was no point complaining. And if you lost to a junior, there was no resentment—after all, they were comrades-in-arms. There were no grudges that couldn’t be let go.