Character Side Story — Captain of the Swordfish Squad, Cao Fusheng

The end of the year 2125, Common Era.

Wild, roaring waves swept across the boundless ocean, and at its very heart stood a solitary island.

“Captain, do you think we can pull off this mission?”

Seven or eight soldiers clad in wetsuits climbed ashore on the far side of the island. With practiced efficiency, they tossed their waterproof gear packs to the ground, stripped off their cumbersome suits, and buried them on the spot.

At their head stood a man, his expression grave, his tone exuding an unshakable steadiness. “When has ‘Swordfish’ ever failed a mission?”

They all changed into special combat uniforms suited for island operations, an insignia on their sleeves reading, “Swordfish Special Forces, XX Army.”

“Come on, Captain, you know me. I have to ask you this every time before we start. No matter what you say, I get fired up. Feels like we can accomplish anything.” The young man who spoke first laughed again, though his eyes brimmed with a pain and complexity that the captain, his back turned, could not see.

The man at the front allowed himself a faint, silent smile. He did not know what tumult was playing across the faces of his comrades behind him, nor how their hands, gripping their weapons, trembled just slightly.

“Captain, if we fail this time… will you blame us?” The youth’s voice quavered as he stared hard at the man ahead, whose every movement radiated maturity.

It was under this man’s leadership that Swordfish had never met defeat—seventy-six level-three missions, twenty-two level-two, nine level-one, and even one top-level assignment, all accomplished flawlessly. They were the nation’s true sharpest blade.

That man was none other than the captain of Swordfish Special Forces—Cao Fusheng.

The two bars and three stars on his shoulder were earned through nothing but blood and merit.

Cao Fusheng’s brow furrowed slightly as he turned, sensing the young man was unusually talkative today.

The youth gave a sheepish smile, as if embarrassed.

“Our Swordfish team has never failed. Never before, and never again. Besides, even if we did, I’d die before any of you—how could I blame you?” Cao Fusheng sighed, gesturing for them to set their minds at ease.

Yes, it was always so. No matter the situation, the captain would be the one to stay behind and cover their retreat, the first to take the lead.

He always put his men first.

But why? Why had the higher-ups issued such an order?

The young man could not understand. Nor could the others behind him, all wondering what dark twist had forced the powers above to destroy the very weapon they had forged for the nation’s protection.

“Brothers, let’s get moving.”

Cao Fusheng donned his gear, unaware of the subtle, dangerous change coming over his once inseparable comrades.

Click, click!

The sound of guns being loaded—but the noise came from behind Cao Fusheng.

He turned, puzzled, and looked at the men he had personally trained. His expression grew unreadable.

“Captain, you always taught us a soldier’s highest duty is obedience. But tell me—must we obey every order?” Tears streamed down the young man’s face, wracked with pain, but the bitter irony was that the gun he’d loaded was now aimed at the captain he had idolized all his life.

The same tortured look was on the others’ faces—some red-eyed, some gritting their teeth, some weeping silently—yet all raised their weapons in perfect unison, pointing them at Cao Fusheng.

“Hahaha… I see now,” Cao Fusheng laughed hollowly, dropping the gun he’d been about to load, resting his hands on his hips, a look of utter calm upon his face.

His gaze swept slowly across their faces as he sighed, “There’s no mission today, is there? Mine was a lie. Your real orders… are to eliminate me, isn’t that right?”

No one spoke.

“Carry out your orders, my little fish. You still have families, loved ones waiting for you on the mainland. I have no one. It doesn’t matter for me.” Cao Fusheng drew a deep breath, forcing the words out between clenched teeth, his helplessness plain to see.

“Captain Cao, I’m sorry…!”

He never imagined some people could be so ruthless, so brazen as to use the pretext of a mission to erase a hero like him.

Perhaps, in their eyes, this was a fitting end, a hero’s death—leaving behind a martyr’s honor for the state. Yet he, orphaned since childhood, without parents, wife, or children—what use was any of it? Even if he had such ties, what would it matter?

When a man dies, his flame is snuffed out.

How perfect an example of being used and then discarded, like the loyal hound put down after the cunning hare is caught.

But for those who claim to act for the greater good, an individual’s life or death seems unimportant.

Yet every life is unique, irreplaceable. No life should be sacrificed for profit, unless by choice.

Clearly, this was not his choice. So why wait meekly for death?

You have your orders, I have my convictions. If your orders threaten my life—then forgive me, but I’ll tear you apart instead!

Rat-a-tat-tat…

Rat-a-tat-tat!!!

Gunfire exploded in chaos, sand and earth erupting to shroud the place where Cao Fusheng and his men stood.

After two minutes, the gunfire faded, then ceased entirely.

Coughing, Cao Fusheng slumped weakly against the island’s earthen wall, two blood-stained military knives still clutched in his hands.

That earlier hands-on-hips gesture had actually been to draw the knives concealed at his waist—a secret only the dead now knew.

But the odds were against him: he was outnumbered by the best of the best, and though his skills and strength surpassed the norm, and his knife-fighting was peerless, he could not avoid taking several bullets.

Fortunately, he had maneuvered so that none struck a vital spot, but without swift treatment, he would still bleed out and die.

His leg wounds already made movement impossible.

These men—his own protégés, who once trusted him utterly—had turned their guns on him.

Cao Fusheng held no grudge; he understood the pressures they faced.

Nor could they blame him, for he bore them no ill will.

Such is life: you kill me, I kill you. If both sides wound each other, there is no room left for blame.

Cao Fusheng was a model soldier—loyal and patriotic. But he was no fool. If you come to kill me, do you expect me to offer my head meekly?

He felt no guilt over his actions. If anything, only a deep, bitter helplessness.

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a cigar. By regulation, smoking was strictly forbidden during missions—a rule he himself had set for Swordfish.

But rules are dead; people are alive. Breaking his own rule bothered him not at all, though he would never tolerate others doing the same.

After every mission, he would smoke a few puffs—a vice he could not shake.

Snap!

Lighting the cigar, he took a long, deep drag, filling his lungs until the dizziness made him feel almost heavenly.

Blowing out a few skillful rings, Cao Fusheng’s eyes suddenly widened as he stared ahead, muttering under his breath, “Damn it all!”

Boom!!

The back of the island vanished in a sea of fire, the very spot where Cao Fusheng had been resting turned to ashes by the blast.

His last thought before consciousness fled was: Worth it. Damn, it was worth it! They actually used a missile to send me to the afterlife!