The fitness test was a breeze for Seraphilia, who had undergone half a year of grueling self-training.
She deliberately controlled her performance, keeping her abilities within a subtle limit: better than ordinary peers but not exceptionally so, appearing as a talented and hardworking prospect, noticeable but not enough to be immediately singled out as a oddity.
During the physical examination, Seraphilia even voluntarily lifted her collar, pointing to a faint scar below her collarbone, and calmly said to the military doctor, 'A childhood scar from being burned by fire.' This scar was, of course, a fake she created using her Cloud Mist ability, aimed at adding a touch of 'real' hardship to her past, making her background more credible.
As expected, the military doctor only gave it a cursory glance before impatiently waving his hand—in this chaotic world, who doesn't have a few scars on their body?
In the end, the middle-aged officer scribbled Seraphilia's name on the registration form and handed her a crude tin identity tag and a report notice, printed with coarse ink.
'Tomorrow morning at six, gather at the base training ground. If you're late or unqualified, get lost.' He waved his hand, as if shooing away a fly, but his gaze lingered for a moment on Seraphilia's overly delicate face before he muttered softly, almost inaudibly, yet clearly reaching Seraphilia's ears: 'Being so eye-catching, who knows if it's a blessing or a curse...'
Seraphilia took the items, bowed slightly, turned around, and left without looking back.
She knew that from today onwards, 'conspicuous' would become a constant challenge she had to carefully manage.
Keeping a low profile was key to survival, but her strikingly beautiful appearance meant she could never completely blend in. She had to find that subtle balance between being a 'hardworking new recruit' and a'somewhat special loner' to ensure her safety.
--
The life of a Marine recruit was as harsh as Seraphilia had anticipated, filled with deafening shouts, endless sweat, mind-numbingly repetitive tasks, and iron-strict discipline.
Before dawn, the piercing bugle would slice through the darkness, pulling everyone from their hard wooden beds.
They washed with bone-chilling well water, ate coarse but filling breakfasts, and then endured endless running, drills, push-ups, and basic sword training with heavy wooden sticks.
Seraphilia immersed herself completely, like a sponge, eagerly absorbing everything.
Her movements were precise, her endurance outstanding, and her learning ability excellent, but she never showed off and barely interacted with her fellow recruits.
Her composure beyond her years and the occasional detached look, as if separated from the surrounding noise by an invisible glass barrier, quickly earned her the label of 'aloof beauty freak.' Some tried to provoke or chat with her, but under her ice-blue, emotionless gaze, their frivolous words and actions would freeze and retreat awkwardly.
The instructors noticed her—after all, her quality was genuinely good, and she was 'low-maintenance,' never causing trouble, though her silence sometimes gave them a slight, inexplicable chill.
During the day, she was a precise training machine, silently observing the instructors' styles, the base layout, and the patrol routes and patterns.
She remembered which corner of the wall was a visual blind spot, noted that the night patrol shift change was roughly at eleven fifteen, and that the bed-check officer's perfunctory footsteps usually sounded half an hour after lights out, lingering in the hallway for only thirty seconds.
On the first night, the lights-out signal sounded, and the barracks soon filled with snores and groans of exhaustion.
Seraphilia lay on the hard wooden bed, her breathing steady and deep, as if already asleep.
Not until the bed-check officer's flashlight beam swept past the door crack and the footsteps faded away did she wait patiently for about twenty more minutes before silently opening her eyes in the deep darkness.
In the darkness, her body began to blur, merging with the shadows like ink, as thin, gauze-like white mist spread from her body. Soon, she silently transformed into a slowly flowing mist, almost indistinguishable from the dim light in the room.
Elementalization.
In this form, she had almost no weight or physical substance.
The mist clung to the cold floor, slowly seeping out from under the door crack, blending into the deeper darkness of the hallway, then floating along the wall towards the remembered visual blind spot outside.
The process was slow and cautious, avoiding all possible light sources and sounds. Just as she was about to drift past a corner, a patrol team's boot steps suddenly sounded thirty seconds earlier than expected and stopped nearby, seemingly discussing something.
The mist instantly froze, sticking tightly to the shadow of the wall corner, appearing as just a patch of night moisture.
She could hear her own heartbeat—even in her elementalized state, the tension was still present.
Finally, the patrol moved again, and the sound faded away.
She breathed a sigh of relief and continued her journey. Drifting out of the wall, she blended into the real thin fog of Black Iron Town's night sky, and the oppressive feeling suddenly lifted. Her speed increased sharply, turning into a wisp of cloud almost imperceptible to the naked eye, racing over the low, chaotic rooftops of the slums towards the familiar little house.
In just a few minutes, the mist reached the window of the little house, reforming into a human shape in the shadow of the windowsill.
Seraphilia gently pushed open the slightly ajar window and flipped inside, her movements as agile as a night cat.
Inside the house, the stove maintained a faint ember, providing the only warmth.
Robin was not asleep, leaning against the bedhead, reading a book by the dim light of a small oil lamp.
Hearing the sound, she immediately looked up, her bright cobalt blue eyes gazing directly at Seraphilia.
Seraphilia took off her coat, which carried the cold and the scent of the military camp, and walked to the bedside.
Robin naturally moved inward, making enough space. Seraphilia lay down, still carrying the cool night breeze and a hint of the military camp's sweat and dust, which mixed with the familiar scent of old books and stove warmth in the little house, creating a strange sense of peace.
'Everything go smoothly?' Robin closed the book and asked softly.
'Mm.' Seraphilia closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as if to absorb this peace, washing away the day's fatigue and tension. 'It's very tiring, but I can handle it.' She briefly described the situation in the new recruit camp, the instructors' strictness, the terrible food, and the isolation from others.
Robin listened quietly, not commenting. During Seraphilia's pause, she reached out, as she had done many nights before, and gently tugged at Seraphilia's pajama hem. This time, the action was more natural, with less hesitation, as if it had become instinctive.
Seraphilia did not move, allowing her to tug. The physical exhaustion surged like a tide, but her spirit gradually relaxed in the familiar touch and the peace of the little house. The hard coldness of the military camp and the subtle tug at her hem formed the two extremes of her world, sharply divided yet closely connected.
'Go to sleep.' Robin said, reaching out to blow out the oil lamp.
In the darkness, neither of them spoke again. Seraphilia soon fell into a deep sleep, her breathing becoming long and steady.
Robin, in the darkness, listened to her steady breathing, her fingers unconsciously rubbing that piece of fabric.
She could clearly feel Seraphilia's tense body instantly relax upon her return.
This realization slightly softened a hard, frozen corner of her heart.
Before dawn, Seraphilia woke up on time, summoned by her internal clock.
She had to return to her bed in the military camp before the morning bugle sounded, without anyone noticing.
She silently got up and dressed.
Robin also woke up, silently watching her in the dim light.
'Will you come back tonight?' Robin asked, her voice hoarse from just waking up but filled with expectation.
'I will.' Seraphilia fastened the last button and turned around, leaning down.
Before Robin could react, Seraphilia quickly and lightly touched her forehead with her own.
The cool skin contact lasted only a moment, but it seemed like a silent pact.
'I'll come back every night if possible.'
With that, she did not linger, transforming once again into a thin mist, slipping out of the window crack in the faint dawn light, as if she had never returned.
Robin lay in the still-warm bed, her fingers subconsciously touching the spot on her forehead that had just been touched, where a faint, cool, and determined sensation lingered.
She gazed at the empty window for a long time before closing her eyes again, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
That day, the training of the 73rd Marine Base new recruits in Black Iron Town proceeded as usual.
No one knew that the silent, strikingly beautiful silver-haired third-class private had turned into a cloud and returned home the night before, only to silently return before dawn.
Her military boots stepped on the training ground dust, moving steadily towards the goal of 'grasping the knife firmly'; yet her soul was always tied by an invisible thread to the black-haired girl in the shabby house who tugged at her hem.
Cloud returns under the moon, boots tread on dust. Seraphilia's double life thus began.
Loyalty and betrayal, protection and concealment, the dance of light and shadow, silently and magnificently played out within and beyond the walls of the Marine base.