A Guide to Raising Snake Spirits - Chapter 12

Shiraishi Hare stood in the corridor. The terminal on his wrist, which had just dimmed after sending a message, lit up once more.

Liu Cang: What’s up, brother?

In the past few days, the grey-haired Sentinel had completely mastered the terminal’s input methods; his typing was fluid, without a hint of hesitation.

Shiraishi Hare: Are your information technology skills actually good?

Liu Cang: You bet they are.

Even through the text, one could practically feel the blonde Sentinel’s tail wagging with pride. Shiraishi Hare calmly dropped the line he had prepared.

Shiraishi Hare: I want to ask you for a favour.

Shiraishi Hare had no memory, but he was far from a fool.

He still couldn’t remember why he had been hiding in that cave or the reason for his injuries. He remembered the smell of copper filling his nose, the darkness of the cavern, and the biting cold that had tried to steal what little warmth remained in his body. A mangled beast always has a premonition of its own end, and he had been waiting alone for death to arrive.

In truth, he hadn’t been particularly afraid. At the time, his thoughts had been a chaotic tangle of reality and delusion, everything feeling like a dream caught in a circular loop.

Do you fear death in a dream?

Only the crisscrossing scars on his body and the hauntingly familiar headaches served as reminders that it wasn’t a dream. He had a past; it was just that his past currently went by the name “Unknown.” Based on the reactions of Guanyue Xi and the others, Shiraishi guessed his background was far from simple. It likely wasn’t a pleasant history, but he wasn’t interested in nostalgia.

The only use for a terrible past was to make him cherish his current life even more.

He had approached Liu Cang to dig up information as a form of insurance. If Liu Cang found nothing, it wouldn’t matter. But if the boy actually had talent, then whatever scraps he found could be cross-referenced with the information provided by the Tower.

Although Teacher Qiushui had promised to look into his origins, he didn’t fully trust the Tower. He was an amnesiac Sentinel with no background; was he really that lucky? Was there such a thing as a free lunch? “Free” was often the most expensive price of all, yet Shiraishi had still agreed to her proposal.

Precisely because he had nothing, it didn’t matter if the Tower wanted his abilities or if they wanted to use him to trace his origins. At the very least, the current arrangement was beneficial to him.

Shiraishi Hare wasn’t interested in his past, but he wanted to grasp the present, and then… knock down every other Sentinel standing beside his Guide.

Inside his mental realm, the Anaconda sensed its master’s state of mind. It coiled around the massive, sky-shading tree, its brownish-green body sliding through the dense foliage, lurking in wait.

Shiraishi closed his terminal and looked up to find the Special Class monitor waving at him.

Unlike most people, who tended to lean against things or shift their weight from one leg to another, Shiraishi stood perfectly straight. His core was naturally tight, and his limbs were held in a state of constant readiness. It was a habit carved into his body by years of vigilance.

The monitor waved in a friendly manner. “Hey! I was going to ask you to grab lunch earlier, but you vanished the second the bell rang.”

“I had something urgent to attend to,” Shiraishi said. “Thanks again for sharing those forum links with me.”

To the monitor, the new student seemed a bit stoic but was otherwise easy to talk to—likely just introverted. He clapped Shiraishi on the shoulder with casual warmth. “No worries! We’re all late-awakening Sentinels here; we’ve got to stick together.”

“Besides, our homeroom teacher specifically told me to look out for you. If you have any trouble, just let me know.”

“I don’t have the materials for the next class yet. Do you have them, Monitor?”

“Let me see…”

Teacher Qiushui had set up Shiraishi’s identity as a late-awakening Sentinel from a remote region. There were plenty of people like that on the Special Star, so it didn’t make him stand out.

While policies for special species were becoming more comprehensive, they hadn’t fully reached the most isolated areas yet, and there were still a few Sentinels and Guides who weren’t born on the Special Star at all.

The teacher for the next class was a familiar face. Dressed in functional training gear with her long hair pinned up neatly, the kindly Teacher Qiushui was also the homeroom teacher for the Special Class.

In a stark contrast to her gentle appearance, the subject she taught was Basic Combat.

The monitor leaned in to whisper a warning to Shiraishi. “Even though I don’t think you’re the type to slack off, I have to tell you: stay sharp in Combat class. Teacher Qiushui…” He winced as if his teeth ached. “She can make it really painful.”

The Sentinels of the Special Class arrived at the training hall. The lesson followed a set pattern: Qiushui would demonstrate a move, then the students would pair off for one-on-one training, throwing each other around. Since they were of varying ranks and ages, they were paired with opponents of similar build and level.

Shiraishi was paired with the monitor a sturdy man of 1.8 metres, slightly shorter than Shiraishi, with a buzz cut and a broad, honest smile. His physical grade was B-rank.

Qiushui stood with a pointer held behind her back, offering a gentle smile. “Class, since we have a new student today, I’ll go over the safety precautions for basic combat one more time. Even if you’ve heard it, listen closely.”

Her lecturing style was much the same as her bedside manner in the hospital.

“All sparring is to be controlled. Avoid injuries at all costs. Remember, the people in front of you are your classmates; your lethal strikes are reserved for your enemies.”

“We will learn the most vulnerable parts of the human body. When you hold a weapon, remember: you are the master of that weapon.”

The Sentinel’s grey hair was matted with sweat against the side of his face. Droplets rolled down his lashes and into his eyes. Feeling the sting, Shiraishi blinked irritably. He didn’t want to lift the hem of his shirt to wipe his face like the others, so he used his sleeve instead.

Beside him, the monitor was sprawled on the floor, panting and looking completely spent. He looked up at Shiraishi. “Brother, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? You don’t fight like a rookie.”

“I haven’t trained much.”

Shiraishi was actually quite unfamiliar with his own combat techniques; they were purely instinctive. Recalling his cover story as a remote-area Sentinel, he gave a cautious answer.

His moves weren’t exactly “textbook,” but they were ruthless and precise. When Teacher Qiushui had called for the training to begin, he had looked at the monitor and realized he didn’t see a person. In his eyes, the sturdy Sentinel was covered in target labels.

The vulnerable jaw a heavy strike could cause a blackout. The lethal throat tearing the trachea would cause death; for a Sentinel’s strength, snapping the neck was also an option. The shin bone, covered by minimal muscle a sharp blow there could induce enough pain to paralyze an opponent.

This knowledge felt as if it had always been inside him. While his mind had forgotten his past, his body remembered. The moment he entered a combat state, Shiraishi felt like a gladiator thrown into an arena. His heart rate spiked, his eyes locked onto his opponent, and a heavy sense of life-and-death stakes pressed against his chest. As his adrenaline surged, his brain began to whisper.

“Knock them down. Knock him down. Knock it down. Knock…”

But Shiraishi retained his reason. He spent at least fifty percent of his energy simply holding himself back, reminding himself not to use lethal force. Otherwise, the monitor wouldn’t just be lying on the floor catching his breath.

The grey-haired Sentinel reached out a hand to help the monitor up, asking politely, “Are you alright?”

“Haha, I’m fine!” The honest monitor was completely unaware of the dark impulses that had been lurking beneath Shiraishi’s skin. He grabbed the offered hand and hauled himself up, patting the dust off his uniform. “Scrapes like these heal on their own for us Sentinels. That’s the best part of being one of us.”

A Sentinel from the next group chimed in. “I heard that back in the day, Sentinels and Guides had Combat class together. But you know the physical gap—Sentinels were too afraid to use force because one touch would send a Guide to the infirmary. And if a Guide hit a Sentinel with everything they had, it just felt like an itch.”

“Is the infirmary at the Tower free?” Shiraishi asked.

“Yeah, basic medical care is covered by the Tower. The high-end stuff, you have to pay for yourself.”

The monitor was about to add more when Teacher Qiushui spoke up.

“Take a break, everyone. Then we’ll do another round.”

While the Sentinels were working themselves to exhaustion on the training ground, Teacher Guanyue—who had decided to slack off since he had no afternoon classes received a message.

Mother: Sweetie, your father and I are heading back to the Special Star to attend your graduation ceremony!

Guanyue Xi: “…”

In reality, his graduation ceremony had long since passed, and even he hadn’t attended. It had coincided with Shiraishi’s rut, so he hadn’t even left the house before starting his teaching job.

The Guide let out a long sigh.

His parents were ordinary people. He wasn’t entirely sure what they did for a living; he only knew they were always busy when he was growing up. Since his awakening, he had lived in the Tower dorms year-round and rarely saw them. Since their retirement a few years ago, they had been travelling the galaxy, and he saw them even less.

The black-haired Guide thought for a moment and sent a message to Shiraishi.

Guanyue Xi: My parents are coming back next week. Would you like to meet them?

Guanyue Xi had his own reasons for asking.

He wondered if the amnesiac Sentinel had any family. The Tower hadn’t found any record of Shiraishi in the missing persons reports from the last few decades; it was as if he’d simply materialized on that desolate planet. Even if he did have family, they likely weren’t on the Special Star. Guanyue Xi wanted Shiraishi to experience a bit of normal life; the man was a bit pitiable.

Shiraishi was likely still in class, so there was no immediate reply.

Unbothered, Guanyue Xi opened Vagary, the interstellar strategy game currently sitting at the top of the charts. The rankings were filled with simulators, real-time sandboxes, and defensive strategy games, many of which were used by the Tower for student training.

Vagary used massive datasets from real interstellar records to build its scenarios, featuring AI opponents ranging from “Beginner” to “Hell” difficulty. Of course, the real-player PvP mode was the most popular.

Guanyue Xi started a random match and immersed himself in the game world.

His rank in Vagary was already at “Mothership” level. Advancing further required a higher win rate and more matches. His fingers flew across the holographic control panel, moving so fast they left blurs. His eyes were focused, every action precise and lightning-fast.

Vagary was far deeper than a simple flight simulator. It required the player to pilot their own starship while simultaneously surveying the battlefield, issuing orders to smaller vessels and drones, and adjusting deployments based on AI feedback. Players could customize their fleet’s composition, which tested their strategic resource management.

Guanyue Xi arched an eyebrow. His opponent had set a trap, trying to lure his main fleet to the edge of the map.

The Guide’s hands paused for a fraction of a second. Then, he let out a confident, predatory smile, his eyes sparkling. He decided to play along. He diverted a massive portion of his fleet resources to small unmanned drones, abandoned his transport ships, and performed a multi-pronged flanking maneuver. In one final, decisive strike, he annihilated the opponent’s carrier.

A giant “YOU WIN!” flashed across his screen against a backdrop of deep space and the floating wreckage of shattered starships.

The system notified him that his experience bar had nudged upward.

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