The Strongest Brain in the Interstellar

“At least eight,” Xierman suddenly said.

Jiang Hui was a bit confused.

“I mean, these severed limbs belong to at least eight star beasts.”

“…Classmate, I think you might have a real talent for medicine.” Otherwise, how could he determine such specific information from these mangled remains, and so meticulously?

Xierman didn’t fully understand, so he just assumed Jiang Hui was complimenting him. “Thank you.”

Alright, she thought, he’s a straightforward person—case closed.

“So, should we… keep moving?” Xierman tentatively used a stick to push aside a few severed limbs in front of them, then looked at Jiang Hui with a pure expression, signaling her to continue forward.

“Alright, let’s go.”

The two of them walked for quite a while, and as they went, more and more star beast remains littered the ground. The air was thick with the stench of acid, blood, and an odd, sticky feeling that made them both uncomfortable.

Even Xierman, who usually had pretty thick nerves, was starting to feel uneasy—let alone Jiang Hui.

The two pressed on, forcing themselves to move forward until they finally reached an open area with a broader view.

“There!” Xierman shouted, immediately rushing in one direction without looking at anything else.

Jiang Hui also spotted the large object standing in the middle of the forest. It had a sleek, silver-white body, with dozens of limbs neatly inserted into the ground.

Although it had a spider-like appearance, eerily lifelike, Jiang Hui didn’t find it frightening at all. Instead, she felt it represented the pinnacle of human technology.

However, this mighty and reliable creation now appeared quite damaged.

Jiang Hui quickly regained her focus, scanning the surrounding area to ensure there were no lurking star beasts. Once she confirmed the coast was clear, she approached the impressive-looking mech.

Beneath the mech, the ground was littered with even more star beast remains, piled high. The entire surface was covered in dense brown fragments, making each step feel unsettling underfoot.

By now, both of them had grown somewhat accustomed to the grisly sight, their initial fear and disgust gradually fading.

While they had successfully found the instructor’s mech and the gravesite of countless star beasts, there was still no sign of the instructor himself.

“Maybe we should call out? He could be… sleeping inside…” Xierman’s voice trailed off, growing quieter.

Jiang Hui gave Xierman a look as if to say, “Do you really think he’s sleeping?” before asking, “By the way, do you know the name of this instructor?”

Both of them shook their heads almost in unison—they had no idea.

Setting aside their unreliable thoughts, they started searching for the mech’s cockpit.

The more they inspected, the more certain they became that the instructor was likely inside. A trained soldier wouldn’t just abandon their mech. Leaving such a large machine behind made it unlikely the instructor had run off; he was probably injured or unconscious in the cockpit.

But first, they had to find the cockpit.

To be honest, the mech was so massive that it was hard to make out its full structure. It took them a long time just to figure out where the head and tail were.

After finally locating the general area, they still didn’t know how to get in. They had no choice but to climb up some landing parts and carefully make their way around to the front.

Standing on a ledge about ten meters high, Jiang Hui looked down without any safety equipment. Remarkably, she felt calm, showing how much she had grown.

They carefully edged closer to what they assumed was the cockpit, but when they got there, they just stared at each other, utterly clueless on what to do next.

“Is this something we can even take apart?” They both started to realize that maybe their initial idea was overly optimistic.

They tried shouting near the cockpit for a while, but no one responded. Inside, it felt like an empty shell—no signs of life at all.

So, was there really no one in there?

No, Jiang Hui could still sense a faint energy fluctuation, but the lack of response made both of them uneasy. They decided to find a way to force it open and check inside.

As for who would take the lead, naturally, it fell to Jiang Hui, the one with at least a “half-baked” understanding of mechs. After all, she’d at least skimmed through a mech beginner’s guide… well, okay, she’d built plenty of similar models too, making her slightly more reliable than Xierman, who seemed a bit clueless.

Luckily, the area near the mech’s spider-like eye structure had sustained significant damage. The entire cover and its complex structure were compromised.

If they applied the right amount of force and used some ingenuity, they might be able to open it up successfully.

Their plan sounded good, but Jiang Hui underestimated the difficulty of the task.

The structure of a real mech was far more complex than a model. When scaled up hundreds or thousands of times, the difference was night and day—whether in weight, thickness, or overall feel.

Jiang Hui realized how foolish she had been just fifteen minutes earlier, thinking she might be able to do this. No, she couldn’t.

But what choice did she have? The arrow was already on the string and had to be released. She forced herself to recall the scattered bits of mech knowledge from the schematics and tried to apply them in practice, aiming to remove the obstacle.

On one side, she failed—the giant pincer seemed to have lodged itself into some crucial area, making that part almost immobile.

So, she turned her efforts to the side. Fortunately, this time it didn’t take long before she succeeded. The panel cracked and fell off in large pieces, revealing a portion of the interior of the cockpit.

And just that glimpse was enough for them to see the situation inside.

The instructor they had been searching for was indeed there—he had been there all along, inside the mech’s cockpit. But he had also been unable to respond to them. Jiang Hui couldn’t even be sure if he was dead or alive.

Staring at the instructor, impaled by a giant pincer as tall as a person, Jiang Hui thought she would be the first to break down. But it was Xierman, who had remained calm throughout, that suddenly lost control.

Jiang Hui stood there, feeling his tremors as he shook, his throat emitting strained sounds, and his entire body seemed on the verge of breaking down.

Her entire body felt cold from the soles of her feet, and her senses—from her brain to her eyes, nose, and mouth—felt completely numb.

She found herself, almost instinctively, carefully approaching the cockpit. She consciously avoided looking at the pool of blood and cautiously pressed her fingertips to the instructor’s neck.

She had already suspected it—there was no pulse, not even body heat. It was cold, the unmistakable sign of death.

Jiang Hui’s heart sank completely. It seemed they were too late.

But before she could withdraw her hand, the eyelashes of the man, who seemed as if he were dead with his eyes tightly shut, suddenly fluttered briefly before going still again. Yet she was certain—there was still hope. She quickly turned and said, “Wait, he’s not dead yet. He’s still breathing.”

Behind her, Xierman suddenly snapped out of his emotional state. Jiang Hui could hear the sound of his hurried footsteps, and the platform beneath her feet seemed to shift slightly under the added weight.