High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

The final alley fight simulation.

Han Feng’s performance plunged the entire firing range into a dead silence.

He weaved through the complex steel jungle, his figure a fleeting blur.

None of his shots were aimed directly at the enemies.

Instead, he shot at walls, the floor, and even a pipe on the ceiling.

The bullets carved bizarre, ricocheting trajectories through the air.

It was as if they were being guided by an invisible hand.

They always found their way into an enemy’s blind spot, striking them precisely between the eyes.

Gun Fighting Technique?

No, this was more like the Flying Swords of myth and legend.

His final score was locked in.

Hit Rate: 100%.

Lethal Hit Rate: 98%.

The firing range was utterly silent.

Fan Jian stared at the report, silent for a full thirty seconds.

"Third test, cold weapons."

He turned stiffly and walked toward the weapon rack, as if wanting to turn the page on this absurd result as quickly as possible.

In this test, Han Feng’s performance finally returned to the realm of "mortals."

Relying on his terrifying physical stats and reaction speed, he could swing an Alloy Battle Saber so fast that not even a drop of water could get through.

But in the eyes of a true Martial Arts expert like Liu Cheng, it was all raw power without technique, full of openings.

This allowed the tense nerves of Liu Cheng, Su Yue, and the others to finally relax a bit.

Thank goodness.

There was finally something this monster wasn’t good at.

"Han Feng, come with me."

After all the tests were over, Fan Jian called Han Feng aside.

He led him to a separate maintenance room.

This was an additional test prepared just for him.

Fan Jian pointed to a Hunting Falcon fighter jet in the corner of the hangar with its engine cover removed, his voice icy.

"Team Three’s backup fighter. During yesterday’s training, it showed abnormal oil pressure, and its power dropped by 15%."

"Team Three’s technicians worked on it all night, taking it apart and putting it back together, but they couldn’t find the problem."

"Han Feng, Zhao Yu strongly recommended you as a C Level Technician. Show us what you’ve got."

The other four newcomers had no mechanical background, so they just watched from a distance.

Han Feng nodded and walked over to the fighter jet.

He didn’t grab a diagnostic computer, nor did he look at the maintenance log.

To the confusion of the onlookers, he simply reached out his right hand and gently placed it on the cold fuselage skin.

Then, he closed his eyes.

[Flying Sword: Falcon First Generation (Modified)]

[Level: Lower Grade Magical Artifact.]

[Status: Spiritual Link establishing...]

In an instant, the cold metal vanished.

In his Perception, the fighter jet transformed into a complex body flowing with the light of Energy.

The Spiritual Energy Conduits and hydraulic lines became clearly visible blood vessels.

Every clear passage, every blockage, every imperceptible bit of damage—nothing could hide from him.

Just ten seconds later.

Han Feng opened his eyes, his dark pupils crystal clear.

He turned his head to a ground crew member who was watching the show.

"A size 14 wrench and a spare return valve gasket."

The crewman paused for a moment, then subconsciously found the items in the tool cart and handed them over.

Han Feng took the tools without a word, ducked down, and squeezed into the complex engine compartment.

「Five minutes later.」

Under the watchful eyes of the top students and instructors, he emerged again.

He wiped the grease from his hands with a cloth.

"Done."

"Done?"

Fan Jian’s brow furrowed. He glanced down at the timer on his wrist.

"Less than ten minutes? Han Feng, are you sure you’re not joking?"

"The return valve gasket in the left combustion chamber had aged. It deformed under high temperature and pressure, causing a trace amount of fuel to leak into the Spiritual Energy Circuits. That resulted in a false high-pressure reading and power decay."

Han Feng stated calmly, as if reciting from a textbook.

"I’ve already replaced the gasket and made a slight adjustment to the angle of the fuel injector. The power should be restored."

Before Fan Jian could speak, a tall man in a deep blue training uniform had already waved a pilot over.

"Get in and test it."

The man wore a golden Sharp Sword insignia on his chest. It was none other than the president of the Sharp Sword Society, Zhang Hao.

The roar of the engine sounded once more.

A few minutes later, the test pilot jumped out of the cockpit, a look of disbelief on his face, as if he’d seen a ghost.

He gave Zhang Hao a thumbs-up from afar.

"It’s miraculous! Chief! The power output is fully restored!"

You could have heard a pin drop in the hangar.

If his performance in the flight assessment was breathtakingly brilliant...

...then this maintenance display was an out-and-out miracle!

A problem that Team Three’s professional technician team couldn’t find all night, he solved just by touching it?

And he even did a performance optimization on the side?

"What... what kind of trick is this?"

Liu Cheng felt his worldview shattering. He instinctively turned to Su Yue beside him.

"Is this Talent, too?"

Su Yue adjusted her glasses, her eyes behind the lenses filled with a confusion that science couldn’t explain.

"I don’t know... Even an A Level-certified Spiritual Energy Engineer would have to connect their equipment and run a full set of diagnostic programs first."

"Touching it with his hand?"

"It’s metaphysics."

President Zhang Hao clapped his hands, breaking the frozen atmosphere.

His face wore an unconcealed smile of appreciation.

He strode over to Han Feng, his sharp eyes looking as if they had discovered a priceless treasure.

"You’re Han Feng, right? Come join our Team One."

A few other team captains who had rushed over upon hearing the news were about to open their mouths to snatch him up, but Zhang Hao shut them all down with a single sentence.

"Our team happens to be short on someone who can both fight and fix things."

"Besides, this kid doesn’t have his own plane. Other than my Team One, which of you can afford to support him?"

Everyone was instantly silenced.

It was true. No matter how monstrous Han Feng’s talent was, it couldn’t change one fatal flaw—he was poor.

He came from a D Level Student background, with no connections and no family wealth. He didn’t even have the most dilapidated private Flying Device to his name.

In a place like the Sharp Sword Society, where elites were a dime a dozen, he was practically an alien.

Get the society to specially approve a front-line fighter, worth hundreds of thousands to millions of Contribution Points, for a rookie?

No one dared to even suggest it.

"Han Feng, you don’t have any objections, do you?"

Zhang Hao looked at Han Feng, his gaze filled with an assertive pressure.

Han Feng shook his head. "No objections."

’Joining the strongest team and getting a free plane to fly? Only an idiot would have an objection.’

"Excellent."

Zhang Hao was very satisfied with his decisiveness and pointed toward the back of the hangar.

A dusty, incredibly clumsy-looking fighter was parked there.

"That’s our society’s logistics and support craft, codenamed ’Gray Donkey’."

Han Feng followed his finger with his gaze.

It was a light transport fighter, a terrifying Magical Modification based on the Falcon First Generation.

Its originally streamlined fuselage looked like it had been swollen all around, covered in thick composite armor plates.

Beneath its belly hung a massive, football-shaped maintenance pod that nearly scraped the ground.

Among a fleet of fighters designed to be as sharp as blades in pursuit of speed and maneuverability, this thing looked like a sumo wrestler in a bomb disposal suit who had wandered into a ballet company.

Zhang Hao clapped Han Feng on the shoulder. His tone was teasing, but his eyes were carefully observing Han Feng’s reaction.

"Don’t mind its looks. This thing may be slow, but it has a thick hide and is extremely durable. That’s why we call it the ’Gray Donkey’."

"From now on, it’s your exclusive ride."

"Your mission, besides participating in combat as a backup pilot, is to be responsible for all of Team One’s emergency repairs and support on the battlefield."

"Simply put," Zhang Hao grinned, "you’re our ’Mechanic with a Blade’."

"A Mechanic with a Blade?"

Han Feng repeated the title, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

’Isn’t that just a battlefield healer who moonlights as a mobile repair station?’

"That’s right."

Fan Jian added coldly from the side, a rare look of amusement on his face, as if he was enjoying the show.

"When there are no missions, you’ll also be responsible for the routine maintenance and upkeep of all of Team One’s fighters."

"Of course, you won’t be doing it for free. The society will issue you a stipend and Contribution Points according to the highest standard for a C Level Engineer."

Hearing the words "stipend" and "Contribution Points," the trace of disdain in Han Feng’s eyes instantly vanished.

He stepped forward, reached out, and gently stroked the rough, blast-proof coating on the Gray Donkey’s fuselage.

The sensation from his fingertips was cold and solid.

’How is this ugly?’

’This is clearly a sense of unparalleled sturdiness and safety!’

’Slow?’

’The Armor is thick!’

’Clumsy-looking?’

’The Space is huge!’

For a Mechanic who was terrified of dying and desperately short on cash, this was practically his custom-made dream machine!

"No problem."

Han Feng’s reply was decisive, even tinged with a hint of joy.

"I like this plane a lot."

"It looks like it can take a beating."

Zhang Hao was stunned for a moment, then burst into deafening laughter.

He clapped Han Feng so hard on the back that he almost knocked the wind out of him.

"HAHAHA! Good! You’re pragmatic! I like that!"

"Welcome to Sharp Sword Team One!"