Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Grand Marshal's Medal of Honor

Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Grand Marshal’s Medal of Merit

President Wilson walked down the aisle, shaking hands with those lined up to welcome him. He started with Xinghui Song and Setu Yue. Having shared life-and-death experiences with Setu Yue, the president gave him a warm embrace—far more intimate than his greetings to the others.

Witnessing this, Hoffman and his son looked even more grim. Dealing with Setu Yue alone was already a headache; now, with the president involved, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

“Father, patience brings calm seas; one step back, and the ocean widens,” Ray tried to console him.

“Rubbish. If we let this go, what dignity does the Hoffman family have left? Say no more, I have my own plan.” Clenching his teeth as he watched the scene unfold, Philip had already made a secret decision—one that would alter the course of their family’s fate.

When President Wilson approached the Hoffmans, his expression shifted slightly. As he shook Philip’s hand, he spoke in a conciliatory tone: “Philip, the Federation has never forgotten the Hoffmans’ contributions and sacrifices. I am deeply grateful on behalf of the nation. With the war at the Evernight Frontline at a critical stage, as President, I sincerely hope more talented individuals will join the campaign to retake Evernight City. All personal grudges must yield to this cause. As long as your family continues its unwavering support and provides talent, the Federation will not treat you unjustly.”

Ray’s eyes lit up at these words—a clear olive branch from President Wilson.

“Thank you, Mr. President, for remembering our past. But when the best sons of my family die unnatural deaths, this enmity must be repaid. I hope you understand,” Philip replied stubbornly, refusing the president’s suggestion. Ray, beside him, turned ashen, as if he could already see the downfall of the Hoffman family.

Indeed, after Philip spoke, the onlookers regarded him with disapproval. Even President Wilson’s eyes darkened, though he quickly masked his displeasure with a smile: “Very well, perhaps I’ve said too much.” With that, he moved on, ignoring Philip.

“Father…” Ray pleaded in despair.

“Ray, when I’m gone, you’ll be the next patriarch.” Philip left after this inexplicable statement. He no longer wished to stay. By rejecting the president’s offer, the Hoffman family would now have to rely solely on themselves.

Ray never expected his father to say such a thing at this moment. Was he not as confused as he seemed? But why persist in seeking revenge now?

When President Wilson reached Xia Zheng and Felina, his face showed satisfaction once more. He extended his hand. Forewarned by Felina, Xia Zheng respectfully clasped the president’s hands with both of his.

“Great heroes have always sprung from youth. Xia Zheng, yours is not a name I’m hearing for the first time. The military regrets not retaining you—so much so that the Grand Marshal himself blamed his subordinates. Despite adversity, you persevered and excelled in the professional exams, demonstrating admirable resilience. Young man, I have great faith in your future.” President Wilson’s praise was high indeed. Had Xia Zheng been with the military, he would have risen swiftly on merit alone.

Even so, Xia Zheng remained composed. “Mr. President, you flatter me. I am unworthy; I have yet to earn any real achievements.”

“Good—ambitious and modest. As for your dispute with the Hoffmans, it’s not my place to intervene. But as long as you have the strength, you need not fear them.” The president’s stance was clear. With Setu Yue’s support, the Hoffmans’ hopes were already slim; this was just another lock on the door.

Tonight’s event was a charity celebration, prompted by a major breakthrough at the Evernight Frontline. Vampire forces had been repelled, tens of thousands slain, the human side held the outpost, and three new strongholds—each a third the size of the outpost—had been claimed. This was the greatest victory in eleven years. In response, President Wilson and the Setu family jointly hosted this banquet to raise funds for the frontline soldiers and the many gifted individuals who had sacrificed, inspiring others to follow.

All attendees were wealthy or influential, and the Hoffmans were also invited—an attempt to resolve their feud with the newly risen genius, Xia Zheng.

Unfortunately, Philip spurned this goodwill, determined to avenge his kin. Thus, Xia Zheng could not avoid facing the Hoffmans’ challenge. If the Hoffmans sought vengeance, Xia Zheng’s loved ones would inevitably be drawn in, something he could not accept.

Relying solely on his fists for now, Xia Zheng realized that when confronting a family as powerful as the Hoffmans, he had to borrow the influence of others—incurring debts in the process. If he had his own group or faction, he wouldn’t need to depend on anyone.

“I wonder how Chen Xiu is doing. After the quarterfinals, I’ll visit his school and discuss concrete collaboration; launching the pharmaceutical company must be accelerated. As for the development of the Blessed Land…” Xia Zheng thought of the secret place in the Great Snowy Mountains and shook his head. He knew he couldn’t be reckless—developing it blindly was courting death. When huge interests are at stake, even the Setu family could become enemies. This is not about sentiment, but human nature.

The banquet continued. President Wilson had organized a small auction, inviting scholars, artists, and collectors to contribute pieces for bidding, with wealthy entrepreneurs making symbolic “donations.”

The entire event was broadcast live by the Federation’s premier STARTV. The atmosphere was lively and amicable, donations soared, surpassing a billion within minutes. By the end of the auction, over five billion had been raised—enough to compensate the families of fallen soldiers and gifted individuals.

Three hours had passed; it was nearly midnight. As the auction ended and the banquet was about to conclude, a commotion swept the hall—some major news had broken.

Xia Zheng noticed President Wilson, General Xinghui Song, and Setu Yue all looked grim, even indignant. Ray of the Hoffman family was already drunk beyond comprehension, and Philip, who had left before the banquet began, had yet to return.

Felina approached Xia Zheng, her face tense. “There’s some very bad news. Do you want to hear it?”

“Go ahead, I’m prepared,” Xia Zheng replied calmly, earning Felina’s admiration.

She switched to a live feed on her phone. The image showed Philip Hoffman, half his body in frame, apparently about to make a statement.

Simultaneously, the banquet hall’s main screen switched to the live broadcast. Philip’s voice, sorrowful and resolute, rang out from amidst dozens of microphones: “Tonight, allow me—Philip Hoffman, on behalf of the Hoffman family—to make our final stand. Our family sacrificed over a thousand men and women founding the Federation, nearly to extinction, and we were thus granted the very first Grand Marshal’s Medal of Merit. The Medal may be used three times: for clemency, or to make a demand of the Federation and the military—one that, as long as it is not improper or unreasonable, must be honored. Otherwise, it would violate the original pact between the Grand Marshal and the Hoffman family. To date, the Medal has been used twice in over two centuries.”

At these words, President Wilson and General Song both exhaled in displeasure. Were it not for the cameras, they might have spat in disgust.

“Not long ago, my family’s finest—Dick, Tyron, Valentine, and more than fifty kinsmen—were murdered by a single killer. That man is the gifted Xia Zheng, nineteen years old. Though a commoner, with his talent and cunning, he has been shielded by those in power and remains unpunished, while the bones of my kin lie unrested. I, too, cannot rest in peace. Therefore, I am invoking the Medal of Merit for the last time, demanding that the Federation and the military permit my kinsman, Lyon Hoffman, to face Xia Zheng in the upcoming First Gifted Tournament!” With that, Philip produced a blood-red token, raising it high above his head. He then knelt on both knees as countless flashbulbs lit up, broadcasting the scene across the Federation.

With the Medal of Merit invoked, neither the Federation nor the military could remain silent—they had to respond. Philip’s request was, in truth, not excessive; vengeance was both reasonable and justified. Rarely, however, would a noble so brazenly challenge a commoner—this was unprecedented.

Xia Zheng sat expressionless as many turned to stare at him. The pressure was immense.

“Ah Zheng, the Hoffmans can invoke the Medal, but if you truly don’t want to fight, you can refuse. Such private duels are usually for nobles—not as binding for commoners,” Setu Yue advised.

General Song approached as well. “Kid, this duel isn’t fair to you. If you go to the Evernight Frontline now, spend a few years and earn enough merit, you can avoid this challenge. Lyon may still be ranked B+, but his true power is likely A-grade, nearing S-grade. He’s delayed his advancement just to deal with you.”

“Thank you for your concern. But if I refuse, my family may never know peace. No one can guarantee the Hoffmans will stop at nothing. My parents are ordinary people—they can’t hide forever. Otherwise, I could never face myself. This battle is inevitable. From the moment they targeted my loved ones, it was decided that I would have to face them,” Xia Zheng replied resolutely.

General Song nodded and left with Felina—he needed to consult the military. Setu Yue ordered Wan Hua to organize the Foundation’s response to the impending PR crisis. If Xia Zheng did not defend himself, he would be branded a murderer. Regardless of victory or defeat, that would be a heavy blow to him and his family. This, perhaps, was Philip’s true aim: to saddle Xia Zheng with the stigma of a killer.