High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

"Y-You’ll take them all?"

Zhou Ping was stunned for a moment.

"Han Feng, you..."

Wang Meng was also dumbfounded.

He stammered.

"You’ve really gone crazy, kid!"

"Even if they’re cheap, that’s still eleven thousand seven hundred and fifty Contribution Points!"

"You’re throwing away more than half of what you earned today!"

"Are you planning on drinking this stuff like water?"

"Spendthrift..."

Gu Yun muttered under his breath.

Everyone shot him strange looks.

Han Feng simply explained calmly.

"My Talent is awakening, so I need a massive energy supplement."

The reason was simple, yet irrefutable.

In the Martial Arts World, geniuses always exhibited all sorts of unusual behaviors.

Some were born with Divine Power and could eat an entire ox in one sitting.

Others had immense Spiritual Power and could stay energetic for days without sleep.

So it seemed plausible that Han Feng’s flight Talent required a vast amount of resources to support it.

"So that’s how it is..."

"No wonder he’s so strong. His Talent is awakening."

Everyone had a sudden realization.

The way they looked at Han Feng changed from seeing a madman to seeing a monster undergoing a metamorphosis.

BEEP!

The sound of a successful payment was exceptionally clear in the quiet cafeteria.

He watched the string of numbers in his account shrink in an instant.

In its place was a heavy, silver metal briefcase that Zhou Ping handed over.

Han Feng didn’t feel the slightest bit of regret; instead, he felt a sense of security.

"Thanks, Director Zhou."

Han Feng picked up the case and turned to walk out.

Not far away, the farm director, Lei Zhen, who had been silent the whole time, witnessed this scene.

His mechanical prosthesis, glinting with a cold light, tapped lightly on the table.

His eagle-like eyes stared at Han Feng’s retreating back as he grinned widely.

’Interesting.’

Lei Zhen grabbed a steamed bun from the table and took a bite.

"This kid has what it takes to do great things."

"He’s willing to put it all on the line."

Gu Yun sat nearby, his expression complex as he watched Han Feng leave.

He didn’t need to do the math to know what Han Feng’s move signified.

If it were him, he would never have the heart to dump his entire fortune on Potions.

"What a freak."

Gu Yun muttered under his breath.

This time, his tone held less arrogance and more of an indescribable emotion.

...

The searchlights on the tarmac illuminated the area as if it were daytime.

The night wind carried a slight chill, and the air felt a bit sticky on his face—a humidity unique to the wilderness.

The heavy support aircraft, codenamed "Gray Donkey," sat quietly in its parking spot.

The 30mm Machine Cannon under its belly gave off a cold, faint glint in the light.

Han Feng stuffed the briefcase full of Potions into the storage compartment under the pilot’s seat.

That spot was originally for emergency rations.

Then he patted the cold fuselage.

"Old friend, looks like we’re working overtime tonight."

Although it was just an inanimate object, the system’s connection always made Han Feng feel as if it were alive.

He climbed into the cockpit and skillfully switched on the power.

The instrument panel lit up sequentially, emitting a faint electrical hum.

"Calling the tower, this is Han Feng. Requesting takeoff for night adaptation training."

The communication channel was silent for a few seconds.

Then, Zhang Hao’s voice came through.

The captain’s voice sounded a little tired, but it was still steady.

"The farm has already approved it."

"Han Feng, visibility is limited at night. Don’t fly beyond the safety perimeter. If you encounter anything unusual, return immediately."

"Roger that."

"And one more thing,"

Zhang Hao paused.

"Take it easy. Your body is your capital. Don’t train yourself into the ground."

Apparently, word of Han Feng’s grand feat of splurging on Potions had already reached the captain’s ears.

Han Feng smiled.

"Don’t worry, Captain. I’m tough to kill."

The engines roared.

A powerful gust of air kicked up dust from the ground.

The "Gray Donkey" taxied clumsily yet powerfully, then lifted its nose at the end of the runway and plunged into the deep night sky.

Inside the cockpit, there was only the faint green glow of the instrument panel.

Outside the window was pitch-black darkness.

From several thousand meters up, the lights on the ground looked like scattered diamonds on black velvet.

But Han Feng was in no mood to admire the night view.

The abacus in his mind was clacking away furiously.

’A one-hour night cruise in the "Gray Donkey" costs five hundred Contribution Points in fuel and basic wear-and-tear.’

’I’m burning through money faster than my own heartbeat.’

An intense wave of fatigue, accompanied by immense physical exertion, washed over him.

After all, he had been flying at high intensity all day. Even a man of iron couldn’t take it.

He reached into the storage compartment and pulled out a Potion.

The cool glass vial against his palm invigorated him.

’Two hundred and fifty a pop, a "friendly price." Every sip tastes like money.’

Han Feng muttered to himself, flicked open the cap with his thumb, and tilted his head back to down the contents.

The liquid, carrying a faint metallic tang and the bitterness of herbs, slid down his throat.

It was like a burning coal rolling into his stomach.

BOOM!

The Medicinal Power exploded in an instant.

His depleted meridians, like parched earth after a long-awaited rain, greedily absorbed the immense Energy.

A warm sensation quickly spread through his limbs and bones, dispelling all his fatigue.

"Haaah!"

Han Feng let out a low growl, his hand tightening on the control stick.

[Sword Control Technique: Proficient (Active)]

The steadily flying fighter jet suddenly shuddered.

That familiar feeling of Human-Machine Unity descended upon him once more. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Qi Blood Power surged from his body, flowing through an invisible channel and pouring into the dozens-of-tons-heavy steel beast.

At that moment, he was no longer a Pilot sitting in the cockpit.

He *was* the plane.

The plane’s wings were his arms, its engines were his heart, and its radar was his eyes.

He executed an exceptionally standard aileron roll in the night sky.

It was followed immediately by a high-G barrel roll.

If anyone had been watching from below, they would have broken out in a cold sweat from shock.

A clumsy heavy support aircraft was as agile as a great swallow in the sky.

This completely defied the laws of aerodynamics.

But it was perfectly in line with the principles of Cultivation Immortality.

As the magnitude of his maneuvers increased, the Qi Blood in his body began to drain at a frantic pace.

It felt as if someone was using a pump to drain his blood.

In the past, Han Feng would have had to stop and catch his breath at this point.

But now...

He simply grabbed another Potion, bit open the cap, and downed it.

The moment his Qi Blood bottomed out, new Energy instantly replenished it.

This process of treating his body like a container—constantly draining it, refilling it, and draining it again—was excruciatingly painful.

His meridians ached faintly as they were scoured by the violent Energy.

His muscles also protested with a sore ache under the high G-forces.

But Han Feng’s eyes only grew brighter.

On his retina, the data on the system panel was jumping wildly.

[Sword Control Technique Skill Proficiency +1]

[Sword Control Technique Skill Proficiency +1]

[Current Cultivation: Body Tempering Seventh Layer (410/1400)... (425/1400)...]

This visible rate of improvement was more addictive than any drug.

He circled tirelessly above the farm, round and round.

When he occasionally encountered a few reckless nocturnal birds, they were turned into a bloody mist by a few precise bursts of fire before they could even get close.

Three hours later, the farm on the ground below had fallen into a deep slumber.

A small pile of empty vials had accumulated in the storage compartment.

Han Feng’s face was slightly flushed, a sign of his Qi Blood being overly abundant.

"Fifteenth one."

Han Feng tossed aside the empty vial and let out a burp that reeked of potion.

His stomach was churning, filled with the sound of sloshing liquid.

’These three thousand seven hundred and fifty Contribution Points were so worth it.’

Suddenly, a crackle of static came through his headset.

It was followed by the slightly panicked voice of the duty officer from the ground radar station.