Monsanto’s Past

Late at night, after sending the “Little Trio”—exhausted and drowsy from a night of celebration—back to their homes, Meng Shan and Ran Jiu’yi finally had a moment of peace.

For a whole week, Meng Shan had been consumed by plans and traps for Ken the Werewolf, never once getting proper rest. Now that the matter was resolved, he didn’t rush to sleep. Instead, he invited Ran Jiu’yi out onto the balcony.

“So, what’s the deal? Calling me out here in the middle of the night… what are your intentions? Has that burning desire finally become uncontrollable? Are you finally going to make a move on me?”

The summer night was still sweltering—so hot that even though Ran Jiu’yi wore only a midriff-baring shirt and a short skirt, the heat felt unbearable. Her curvaceous, full figure was perfectly accentuated by the simple, somewhat revealing clothes.

Meng Shan handed her a bottle. “Just took it out of the fridge. Drink some; it’ll cool you down.”

“Thanks.” Ran Jiu’yi didn’t stand on ceremony. She took the bottle and downed half of it in several large gulps.

“Do you remember Wyatt, whom you mentioned before?”

“?” Ran Jiu’yi tilted her head, unsure where he was going with this.

“His full name was Wyatt Hall. He was a young man with immense potential and strength.”

“Why bring this up now? Trying to turn the page on your past?”

Meng Shan looked at her earnestly. “No. I’m telling you the truth. I know you’ve probably seen his file, but I can tell you that everything written there is a lie. So, do you want to hear his real story?”

Considering how angry that name had made Meng Shan previously, Ran Jiu’yi’s interest was piqued. “Go ahead then. I’m listening.”

“It’s a bit of a long story…”

Four years ago, after war broke out between the New Common Federation and the Republic of Fudana, the conflict quickly entered a stalemate due to their similar initial military strengths. Both sides began a relentless tug-of-war over outposts in a narrow, contested zone.

Since the Republic of Fudana was at a disadvantage in overall national strength and faced heavy anti-war sentiment at home, they began hiring large numbers of superhumans to seek a breakthrough in local sectors.

This move drew unanimous condemnation from other nations, as it openly violated the peace treaty signed between humans and superhumans a decade prior. To sanction this behavior, various countries began providing aid to the New Common Federation in multiple forms.

…

“Right, and then the Institute provided technical support to help you guys build specialized superhuman hunting squads,” Ran Jiu’yi interrupted. “I already know this part. Can we fast-forward to the point?”

Meng Shan replied, “This is the preamble. Have some patience; we’re getting to the heart of it now.”

…

Due to funding constraints and the Institute’s deliberate control over the quantity of equipment provided, the New Common Federation could only form five superhuman hunting squads at the time. Each squad consisted of meticulously selected elite soldiers; every member had encountered superhumans on the battlefield multiple times. Their mindset, strength, and luck were beyond reproach.

At the time, Meng Shan—having survived a battle with a superhuman through a mix of luck and skill, and bolstered by the recommendation of certain connections—successfully became a member of one of these units: the “Warrior Squad.”

…

Ran Jiu’yi chimed in again. “So there were five squads at the start? I’ve only heard of two: yours and another called the ‘Archer Squad.'”

“Because the other three were wiped out in the very first operation,” Meng Shan answered. “We didn’t realize back then that even with gear, hunting a superhuman supported by an army is extremely difficult.”

“With intelligence and fire support, a superhuman can hide their weaknesses effectively. Imagine what Jiang Yunshu would be like—someone who lacks sustained firepower—if she had a combat team equipped with heavy weapons backing her up. She’d be an absolute nightmare.”

“And back then, our squads didn’t even have reliable air or ground support. Those high-ranking officials with heads full of lard thought that as long as we had powerful individual gear, we could hunt superhumans. But in reality, that gear only gave us the power to face a superhuman head-on—not the power to wipe out a superhuman and the army protecting them.”

Ran Jiu’yi asked, “So how did your team—or rather, you—survive?”

Meng Shan’s answer was simple and brutal: “By using a lot of people’s lives to gauge the superhuman’s abilities, specifically targeting those weaknesses, and a necessary dose of good luck.”

“We were lucky then. There happened to be a line-filling unit nearby. Using a bit of ‘linguistic art’ and violating a few military regulations, we brought them under our command.”

“I remember our captain joked that most of us wouldn’t see tomorrow’s sun. We laughed and called him a jinx. Who knew he was telling the truth?”

“The actual battle was cruel. Beyond cruel. Put it this way: when it was over and we did the head count, including that support unit, only five people were left. Two were destined for wheelchairs for life, and one was bedridden forever.”

Meng Shan sighed. “Many times, I feel I’m not as ‘legendary’ as people say. I’m just lucky. I’m just the guy someone else died for.”

Ran Jiu’yi stood beside him, momentarily speechless. Meng Shan shook his head and continued, “After that battle, I ‘luckily’ became the Captain of the Warrior Squad, and my career as a superhuman hunter truly began.”

…

The reason Meng Shan became Captain was simple: after that horrific battle, he was the only member willing to keep fighting. Upon taking command, he soon received some very pleasant news. He was granted the authority to commandeer any unit below company level and, conditions permitting, nearly unlimited authority to call in air strikes.

The reason he obtained such power was the intervention of the Institute.

After the disastrous failure of the first operations, the New Common Federation blamed everything on the Institute, claiming the weapons provided were of poor quality and couldn’t compete with superhumans. The Federation didn’t expect the Institute’s response to be so simple: If you don’t like them, fine; we’ll take them back. But if you want to keep using them, you will follow our protocols.

During this process, the Institute also sent several powerful superhumans to engage in some ‘friendly’ communication with the top brass of the New Common Federation. Thus, with the Institute’s backing, Meng Shan finally got the ground and air support he needed.

With enough power at his disposal, Meng Shan began to truly show his worth. By using allied troops and long-range strikes to identify a superhuman’s abilities, followed by artillery and bombing to sever the connection between the superhuman and their army, he would finally use the high mobility of exoskeleton suits for a surgical strike or long-range sniping.

In just a year and a half, Meng Shan led the Warrior Squad to hunt down over 30 superhumans. Their total casualties during that period? Only three people.

Such an outstanding record made Meng Shan and his Warrior Squad the superstar team of the Federation. At that time, having “Warrior Squad service” on your record meant a guaranteed, smooth path for your future career.

Due to the combination of a low casualty rate and high prestige, many nobles and high-ranking officials began collaborating with Meng Shan. They sent their children or most trusted subordinates for brief stints in the Warrior Squad to “gild their resumes” and pave the way for their future political or military climb.

…

Hearing this, Ran Jiu’yi asked in surprise, “No way… you agreed to that? No matter how good the gear or support is, fighting superhumans is still a death trap for ordinary people.”

“The others in the squad said the same thing. But I had won too many times; I was floating. I became arrogant and autocratic, thinking I was invincible. Looking back, it’s laughable.”

After mocking his past self, Meng Shan continued:

“There were three main reasons. First, those elites gave us a lot. Not just higher command authority and more fire support, but money—so much money that none of my squad members had any complaints anymore.”

“Our food and daily entertainment improved drastically. We ate whatever we wanted and played whatever we wanted. There was a time when we went to the rear for ‘rest and recuperation’ where we ate luxury banquets until we were sick of them. Training by day, playing PS7 together at night. Can you believe it?”

“Second, those ‘gilding’ types stayed for a very short time. Usually a month, then they were gone. They never stayed for long campaigns. Both they and we knew why they were there. Except for a few brainless ones, the rest followed orders perfectly.”

“We didn’t expect them to execute complex maneuvers; as long as they sat quietly in a safe rear area waiting for us to finish the mission so we could add their names to the report, it was fine.”

Ran Jiu’yi asked, “And what about the ones who didn’t listen? The ones who insisted on going to the front lines?”

Meng Shan smiled. “They got what they wanted. Much like what you did to the girls—I’d send them to the front for a bit to let them feel how fragile life is. If that didn’t work, I’d talk to the people who sent them and forge a combat record to end their ‘tour’ early.”

“And I missed the most important point before you interrupted: those noble children were invaluable connections. Making friends with those guys made things a lot easier, both then and for the future.”

Thinking of Meng Shan’s rare exoskeleton suit, Ran Jiu’yi nodded. “I can see that. It explains the gear you managed to get your hands on.”

She then asked, “Based on what you’re saying, you should be a high-flying figure in this country’s military. How did you end up in this backwater as a dispatcher with only three ‘weakling’ magical girls under you?”

Meng Shan was silent for a moment. “…Because I ruined everything. I got most of my squad killed. And I killed Wyatt.”