Morning broke over the slums like a reluctant promise. Shafts of pale sunlight cut through the holes in the old factory's roof, painting dust motes in gold. The chill of night still lingered in the air, and the silence was broken only by the occasional cough or shifting of tired bodies. Outside, families of the veterans—wives, children, the elderly—huddled together, uncertain of what the future held.
Inside the central hall, a rough circle had formed. Crates scavenged from the factory's storage had been dragged in to serve as makeshift seats. Luo Yuchen sat at the center, still wearing the guise of Lan Yuheng, but his presence carried an undeniable weight. Around him gathered the core of what was once the people's army—Duan Renfeng with his crutch, the four commanders Hai Ying, Bai Ying, Jian Mei, Tei Shen, and his two companions Zhuang Niao and Xing.
The mood was sober. The fiery chants of "Scarletwing" from the previous night had settled into a grim awareness of reality.
Commander Bai Ying, sharp-eyed and composed, unfolded a sheet of worn paper she had spent the night scratching notes on. Her voice cut through the silence, precise and firm:
"Before we lose ourselves in dreams of battles and glory, we must face the numbers. I counted every man and woman still capable of serving. What we have is this: one hundred and seven combat staff—most veterans, some half-fit for duty. Twenty-three medical staff, though our supplies are non-existent. Thirty-five mechanical engineers, most with outdated training. Twenty-five mecha pilots, though not a single functioning mecha to pilot. Ten logistical staff."
Her eyes flicked upward, meeting Luo Yuchen's gaze before scanning the circle. "That is the entirety of Scarletwing's active manpower. Excluding family members—children, elderly, and the infirm. And I must emphasize: among the combat staff, at least twenty are permanently disabled, and another fifteen are suffering from long-term disease that requires expensive treatment. They cannot fight until we address those needs."
The room grew heavy with her words. The veterans seated nearby lowered their heads, some clenching fists, others avoiding her eyes. Pride and shame mixed in the air like bitter smoke.
Zhuang Niao shifted uncomfortably, whispering under his breath to Luo Yuchen, "So few… and in such condition… how are we supposed to build anything from this?"
Before Yuchen could respond, Commander Tei Shen leaned forward, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "That is not the only problem." He placed both hands on his knees, his broad frame leaning into the circle. "We don't even have food and housing facilities to shelter our people. Last night alone, ten families slept on the bare floor of this factory. Our rations are scraps begged from the slums. Weapons? Medical supplies? Mechas? Battleships?" He barked a bitter laugh. "Those are dreams, nothing more."
Silence fell again.
Even the distant noises of children outside seemed to fade. The cold reality of Scarletwing's situation pressed down on every heart—what had sounded like rebirth last night was now revealed as a struggle for survival.
Zhuang Niao leaned closer to Yuchen, whispering with genuine concern this time: "Should we… ask the family for help? You still have the Luo name. Even if you don't want to depend on them, your grandfather—"
Yuchen's reply was immediate, sharp but low enough not to carry to the others. "No. That's not necessary. We will not drag the family into this. Not now." His eyes flickered, filled with the memory of Luo Jinhai's stern face. "If Scarletwing cannot stand on its own, it will never stand at all."
Zhuang Niao closed his mouth, though unease lingered in his eyes.
Yuchen straightened, letting his gaze sweep across the circle. His voice was calm, yet it carried a quiet conviction that seemed to draw everyone out of despair.
"Commander Bai Ying is right. Commander Tei Shen is right. At this moment, Scarletwing has no food, no housing, no weapons, no medical supplies. That is the truth. But truth does not frighten me."
He let the silence hang for a moment, then continued.
"What we should worry about first is medical supplies and food. Without those, we cannot even keep our families alive, let alone train or fight. I will use the credits we earned from the market mission to provide for them."
He turned to the four commanders, his eyes sharp. "As for weapons… I have a way. With the help of KORA and Voidrunner, we will not rely on Federation scraps. We will produce them ourselves."
A murmur rippled through the group. Engineers leaned forward, eyes alight with cautious hope. Even Bai Ying, so rigid and pragmatic, allowed the faintest glimmer of interest to touch her face.
"Produce our own weapons?" Tei Shen asked, skeptical but intrigued. "With what resources?"
Yuchen did not flinch. "That is for me to secure. But I give you my word—Scarletwing will not fight with broken blades and rusted rifles. We will build weapons of our own design. We will pilot mechas not rented from guilds, but forged in our own workshops."
For a moment, the room was silent, caught between disbelief and the raw force of his conviction.
Duan Renfeng broke the stillness, his voice rough but steady. "If anyone can make that happen… it is the blood of Luo Tianyi. You have my trust."
One by one, heads began to nod.
Hai Ying's deep voice rumbled, "I have lived too long to chase dreams. But if this is your path, Yuchen, then I will walk it with you."
Jian Mei's soft voice followed. "As will I. Hope may be fragile, but it is better than despair."
Bai Ying did not immediately agree. She studied Yuchen for a long moment, her sharp gaze cutting through him as if to test the steel of his resolve. Finally, she exhaled. "Very well. But you should know this: Scarletwing's people are not children. They will follow you, yes, but they will also starve with you, bleed with you, and die with you if your promises fail. Do not give us illusions, Luo Yuchen. Give us survival."
"I will," Yuchen said, unflinching.
The discussion dragged on for hours. They mapped out the state of the slum families—who needed urgent medical treatment, who was fit for training, who could contribute to engineering or logistics. They argued over where to establish temporary housing, whether to renovate the factory or move elsewhere, and how to distribute the little food they had left.
For every problem raised, ten more emerged. The veterans were passionate but weary; their spirits had been broken too many times. Yet Yuchen's presence anchored them, kept the circle from dissolving into hopelessness.
By midday, a rough plan had formed:
- Medical Priority: Gather an accurate list of the sick and disabled. Yuchen would use his credits to secure immediate supplies.
- Food and Shelter: Zhuang Niao and Xing would oversee ration distribution while engineers repaired the factory's roof to provide basic housing.
- Weapons and Training: Yuchen would begin secret work with KORA and Voidrunner to lay the groundwork for weapon production. Veterans still fit to fight would resume training drills to keep their bodies from decaying further.
- Unity: Families would remain together within the factory grounds. For Scarletwing to survive, it needed not just soldiers, but a community.
When the meeting finally ended, exhaustion hung over them, yet there was also something else—an ember of purpose.
Outside the factory, children were playing in the dirt, their laughter carrying thinly through the air. Women were boiling thin porridge in battered pots. Old men leaned on canes, watching with cautious eyes.
Scarletwing was not yet a guild. It was not yet an army. It was barely a family clinging to the ruins of yesterday.
But for the first time in eight years, they had a leader.
And that leader had sworn to give them more than survival.
He had sworn to give them wings.
The old factory meeting dragged into the late morning, the sharp echo of footsteps and scraping of crates still lingering in the hollow space. One by one, the veterans dispersed, some limping, some leaning on the shoulders of their comrades, all moving with renewed, if fragile, purpose. Outside, children clung to their mothers, watching with wide eyes as the commanders barked orders for families to stay within the factory grounds.
The embers of Scarletwing had been lit. Now came the harder task—keeping them alive.
Luo Yuchen rose from his seat in the circle, brushing dust from his hands. His gaze turned toward Commander Bai Ying, who was already folding up her scribbled sheets of numbers. Her expression remained as severe as before, as though she were holding back another storm of harsh truths.
"Commander Bai," Yuchen said, his voice steady. "I need you to prepare another list. Not just the combat-ready. I want the names of everyone disabled or suffering from long-term disease. Them and their families. If we're to rebuild, we must know exactly who needs care first."
For a moment, Bai Ying simply looked at him, her hawk-like eyes narrowing. She had been a soldier long enough to know the cost of feeding the wounded and the sick. Yet she also saw something in Yuchen's eyes—a conviction she could not swat away with practicality.
"As you command," she said finally, bowing her head slightly. "I will have the list by tonight."
Zhuang Niao, who had been silent for a while, leaned closer to Yuchen, whispering, "You're putting the weakest at the front of our attention. That's… unusual for a guild, Sir. Most would cut the burden loose."
Yuchen's lips curled into the faintest smile. "Scarletwing will not be most guilds. If we do not protect our own, we are no better than those who abandoned us."
Bai Ying overheard the words, and for the first time since their reunion, her expression softened, just a fraction.
Yuchen turned then to Commander Tei Shen. The broad-shouldered man stood with his arms crossed, waiting like a stone pillar for orders.
"Commander Tei," Yuchen said, activating his wrist terminal. "Food is our immediate lifeline. I am transferring one hundred thousand Federation credits to you."
A soft chime confirmed the transfer. Tei Shen's wristband lit up, flashing the new balance. The commander's eyes widened, his usual stoic face breaking into disbelief.
"One hundred thousand?" His voice boomed across the factory floor. Several nearby veterans stopped in their tracks, staring. "Do you realize what this means? That amount is enough to feed every last man, woman, and child here for a whole year. Comfortably. Not just scraps and thin porridge—meat, grains, vegetables!"
The murmur spread quickly through those who overheard. A few gasps, a few tears, and one elderly woman even pressed her hands together in prayer.
Tei Shen blinked at the display on his wrist, then looked back at Yuchen, his throat tight. "I… I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything," Yuchen replied with quiet firmness. "Just make sure no one here goes hungry again. Buy wisely, buy in bulk, and keep records of every ration distributed. Scarletwing must never be accused of waste."
Tei Shen straightened, pounding a fist over his chest. "On my honor, Luo Yuchen, I will not fail you. These people will eat. They will have strength again."
Yuchen then turned to Hai Ying, the oldest of the four commanders, his beard streaked with white but his frame still as solid as carved stone. Hai Ying had been silent through much of the meeting, observing with the patience of a seasoned veteran.
"Commander Hai," Yuchen said. "Until I return, the guild is in your hands. Keep training rotations alive, assign engineers to repairing this factory, and maintain discipline. Scarletwing must not become a mob. When I return, I want to see a guild, not a camp of survivors."
Hai Ying bowed his head deeply, his gravelly voice resonant with respect. "Your father once entrusted me with his flank in battle. I did not fail him then. I will not fail his son now. This factory will hold until your return."
Yuchen nodded, gratitude in his eyes.
Zhuang Niao and Xing moved to his side, and together the three began walking toward the exit of the factory. Behind them, whispers rose among the veterans—some filled with awe, some with cautious doubt, all charged with the realization that change had begun.
The streets of the slum were alive with their usual chaos: ragged merchants shouting over stalls of spoiled fruit, scavengers picking through scrap metal, and the constant, heavy smell of smoke and rust. Yet as Yuchen, Niao, and Xing passed, heads turned.
The rumor had already spread like wildfire: Luo Yuchen, son of Luo Tianyi, had returned.
Children whispered his name, women peered from doorways, and old men squinted as though trying to see his father's ghost in his walk.
Xing, in his husky form, padded beside them, tail swaying lazily but ears twitching at every sound. He growled low when a group of shady men lingered too long at the corner, but Yuchen raised a hand to calm him.
"We shouldn't attract attention here," Yuchen murmured.
"Too late for that," Niao replied dryly, gesturing at the cluster of onlookers gathering at a distance. "Your very face attracts attention now, young master. You've lit a fire in this slum."
"Then let it burn," Yuchen said softly. "They need warmth more than fear."
By the time they reached the outskirts of the slum, the noise had faded into silence. Ahead lay the dense line of trees that bordered Shanghai's southern forest—untamed, dangerous, and perfect for hiding.
They followed a narrow, overgrown path, their boots crunching over roots and fallen leaves. The deeper they went, the quieter the world became, until even the city's distant hum vanished. Only the chirping of birds and the occasional rustle of unseen beasts remained.
Finally, Yuchen stopped before a patch of mossy ground at the base of a ridge. To any normal eye, it was just a clearing. But Yuchen's fingers danced over his wristband, sending a coded pulse.
With a low hum, the air shimmered.
The camouflage field peeled away like water sliding off glass, revealing the sleek, black form of the Voidrunner—its hull gleaming faintly, its sharp angles cutting through the forest like a predator at rest.
Niao exhaled, admiration in his tone. "Every time I see it… it feels like looking at the future."
Xing barked once, his tail wagging with excitement.
Yuchen placed his palm against the ship's cold surface. The hull thrummed in recognition, lights flickering softly along its edges.
"We've given Scarletwing hope," he murmured. "Now it's time to give them teeth."
Inside, the Voidrunner came alive as KORA's voice filled the cabin.
"Welcome back, Sir. Welcome back, Zhuang Niao. Welcome back, Xing. I have been monitoring external signals—Federation chatter is unusually active following the market battle. Caution is advised."
"We expected as much," Yuchen replied, moving toward the armory. The racks of bloodied armor and weapons had been neatly repaired overnight by KORA's automated drones. Their sheen was restored, but the faint scent of battle still clung to them.
"KORA," Yuchen said firmly, "prepare a full diagnostic of the weapons systems. We will need to begin large-scale replication soon. Scarletwing requires an arsenal."
"Command acknowledged," KORA replied. "However, resource reserves are insufficient for mass production. Recommend acquisition of raw alloys, energy cores, and bio-synthetic compounds."
Yuchen glanced at Niao. "Looks like we'll be visiting the markets again soon."
Niao smirked. "Hopefully without another ambush this time."
Xing gave a short, doubtful growl.
Yuchen placed a hand on the husky's head. "Don't worry. Next time, we'll be ready."
He turned back to the console, his reflection flickering in the glowing screens. "Scarletwing has been born from ashes. Now we build its wings."