Jing Yuan's face darkened. It took every ounce of his legendary composure to smooth out the twitching at the corner of his mouth and the tremor threatening to seize his cheek. When he finally spoke, his tone was so flat it could've been read off a teleprompter.
"Oh. How wonderful."
I'm at this age, and he calls me a kid? he thought grimly. In Xianzhou slang, the dirt's nearly up to my eyebrows already. Even Yanqing wouldn't let that one slide, let alone me.
To call him a child—preposterous. Sure, the long-lived species of the Xianzhou rarely showed outward signs of aging before entering dormancy due to being struck with Mara, but their minds matured long before that.
A woman might take "youthful" as a compliment. For a man? Not so much. It was just plain awkward.
Even Feixiao couldn't stand by in silence anymore.
"Child?" she echoed, giving him a once-over from head to toe—and then again for good measure—before turning to Sylvester. "You sure you've seen a child built like that?"
Jing Yuan's features might not betray his years, but his demeanor? That of a retired old general—she'd seen it firsthand.
And while he carried himself with the grace of a scholar, in terms of sheer height, he was already near the upper limit even among the Xianzhou. Once he donned that half-armored general's uniform, his presence could rival any warrior's.
Feixiao had seen the High-Cloud Quintet's group portrait. Even Imbibitor Lunae—counting the horns and floating off the ground—barely matched Jing Yuan's stature.
She imagined such a "child," all innocence and wide-eyed wonder, chirping up at her: "Big sis! Big sis!"
Eurgh.
Feixiao felt her tail want to curl right off her spine.
But Sylvester stood unmoved. Straight-backed, solemn, he declared:
"Childhood knows no age nor size! A man is a boy until the day he dies!"
Feixiao arched a brow. "Then why haven't either of you done anything remotely youthful?"
Her eyes swept over the two "boys" before her.
One—tall and stately, his hair not yet grey but completely white, buried daily under mountains of paperwork, speaking in the slow, deliberate rhythm of an old statesman.
The other—holed up in his little shop, sitting at the same table every day with one pot of tea and enough serenity to bore a Buddha.
She wasn't even sure he ever left the building.
Well… maybe he did. His clothes did faintly smell like Qingque this morning. So, he had gone out. Probably. For how long? Who knew.
Sylvester, however, was unshaken.
"Not youthful? Now, take General Jing Yuan here!"
He jabbed a finger toward Jing Yuan, eyes blazing with what could only be described as "boyish passion."
"In battle, he gives his attacks names! Glorious, heroic names—and he shouts them out loud! Tell me that's not youthful! Tell me that's not hot-blooded!"
"…Wait, really?"
Feixiao's ears perked, her eyes sparkling with intrigue—and maybe a hint of gossip.
The great General of the Xianzhou, naming his own attacks?
Jing Yuan froze. The brilliant tactician's mind went momentarily blank.
What? Who said that? When did I ever—?
Before he could deny it, Sylvester had already stepped out from behind the counter.
He picked up a broom from the corner, closed his eyes, and began to recreate the scene.
That moment when the Emanator of Destruction, swollen with the Abundance's stolen might, had loomed like a mountain before them—Jing Yuan remembered it too well.
Sylvester's demeanor shifted; gone was the smiling shopkeeper. His expression hardened, his aura sharpened, and even Feixiao could feel the weight of command radiating from him.
For a brief instant, she found herself wondering—was this man a former leader somewhere? An actor? Or had one of the Xianzhou's ancestral spirits just possessed him for dramatic effect?
While she was still processing that, Jing Yuan realized exactly what Sylvester was about to do.
No, no, no—that doesn't count! he screamed internally.
Then came the performance.
Sylvester raised the "blade," twisting his wrist as if channeling the power of heaven itself. His voice boomed like thunder.
"Radiant and divine—by my decree—SMITE, WITHOUT MERCY!"
Feixiao's tail flicked upright.
"Oh, very stylish!" she exclaimed, slapping her thigh.
As a long-lived foxian, she'd lived long enough to forget many things—but not that battle. The High-Cloud Quintet's records might have been wiped, and Jing Yuan hadn't fought personally in ages, but she recognized it instantly.
That was from the Ambrosial Arbor Crisis! When Jing Yuan's Lightning-Lord struck the fatal blow against Phantylia the Undying.
Not bad at all, she thought. Not bad.
Her gaze toward Jing Yuan softened, even sparkled a bit.
Who would've thought that the master strategist, famed for his calm intellect, could be so magnificent in the heat of battle?
Maybe… she should think up a cool battle line for Flying Aureus too.
Hmm… she wondered if Jiaoqiu was any good at writing those.
Jing Yuan, catching her admiring look, gave a strained yet polite smile.
If I'd known summoning the Lightning-Lord looked that dramatic, he thought helplessly, I'd have chosen a less… chuunibyou phrase.
Sylvester casually returned the broom to the corner, all calm and poise again—as though Jing Yuan had been the one performing and he, merely the appreciative audience.
But he meant no harm.
Truth be told, that line was impressive. And more than that—it had fit the moment perfectly. Against the [Massacre Ruler], such words weren't just flair; they were a decree of judgment, a rallying cry that bound the troops' morale.
"General Jing Yuan's performance that day remains vivid in my mind," Sylvester said solemnly. "I understand—those words were necessary to unleash the Lightning-Lord's full might. I meant no disrespect."
Jing Yuan exhaled quietly, relieved. And yet… puzzled.
Why did I even feel nervous about that? he wondered. As Sylvester said—it was appropriate for the moment.
Then—his scalp prickled.
Because Sylvester added, far too smoothly:
"So, if the General wishes to channel the Digital World's power, shouting something like 'Digimon—Charge Up!' before each attack would be perfectly acceptable, yes?"
"Hhk— cough."
Trap. It was a trap!
Jing Yuan inhaled sharply, failing to suppress the cough that followed.
He glanced down at the Digivice in his hand.
Wait… was this thing voice-activated?
What was the term for this again?
Ah. Right.
A Battle Cry.