Chapter 53: Physical comfort

Xander didn’t want to frighten her, yet letting her understand the cruelty of the survival environment sooner rather than later was not a bad thing.

"We’ll start with the most basic tactical hand signals."

"In combat, body language is far safer and more efficient than verbal communication. Palm pressed to the chest means requesting fire support from teammates."

A holographic soldier demonstrated each standard gesture along with Xander’s words.

"Palm held flat and moved up and down means cease attack."

"Fist raised to the cheek with the palm facing a teammate means ’Copy—received.’"

"In addition, a squad often needs to split into multiple two-man teams for dispersed coordinated combat. Basic positioning is equally important."

Xander drew the pistol at his waist, reloaded and chambered a round with one hand, flicked off the safety, and began demonstrating together with the virtual soldier.

"For example, the fire team is responsible for setting up sustained fire to suppress areas where the enemy might appear."

"The maneuver team, under the cover of the fire team, uses cover or terrain blind spots to move rapidly toward the target location."

"As for the sniper, their usual task is to eliminate the cunning, hidden queen-type aliens."

Bunny carefully noted down the key points—until Xander’s slightly teasing voice sounded above her head:

"Our Bunny is a good student."

Good students deserved rewards.

With one arm, he lifted her out of the seat, then from behind took hold of both her hands and placed her index finger on the trigger.

His scorching chest pressed against her back. The man’s overly tall frame stood behind her like a brown bear. Instinct made her try to lean away, but Xander pressed her firmly back into place.

"Don’t move."

He bent down. A cool, slightly hoarse voice, carrying the clear scent of the ocean, brushed against the root of her ear.

"See that alien? Steady your breathing. Don’t let it notice you."

She had no idea when the virtual exercise had been activated. All she knew was that if she so much as breathed a little too heavily, that hideous, disgusting monster would charge at her without hesitation.

Her heart climbed into her throat.

"Wait until it gets closer before you fire. Guarantee the hit rate."

Just as she focused intently on observing the alien, a sudden moist sensation touched her earlobe—followed by a light, deliberate bite.

"Xander, you..."

Her breathing instantly became disordered. Even a 0.1 percent fluctuation in body temperature was precisely captured by the alien. It opened its sharp fangs and lunged toward her.

She had no time to push away the man who was secretly sabotaging her concentration. Gripping the gun handle tightly, she opened fire wildly at the target—until the final bullet punched through its skull.

"Hah... hah..."

She took two deep breaths and was about to angrily demand an explanation when the man evaluated her with complete seriousness:

"Unable to maintain focus under external interference. Additional male-temptation resistance training is required."

Her face flushed red. "No way!"

She hadn’t been affected—he had done it on purpose!

Xander set down the monitoring tablet and fixed those beautiful eyes directly on her.

"Data doesn’t lie. Just now your heart rate did become irregular and fluctuated."

"Or shall we run the experiment again? Something more stimulating?"

In actual combat, no sudden situation could be allowed to distract a soldier’s attention—otherwise one would place oneself in mortal danger.

As he spoke, Xander began unbuttoning his clothes.

"Time is limited. Let’s move on to the next topic!" Bunny rushed to stop him.

Xander did not miss the flash of panic that crossed her face. So she was not indifferent after all—she was simply far too pure.

The man’s base possessiveness began to flare again. He wanted to be the first man who was different to her.

"For tactical emergency medical care we use a modified version of TCCC. Although regenerative serum can save more than 60 percent of fatal injuries, in certain specific situations emergency techniques remain important."

This part was somewhat closer to Bunny’s previous field of study.

"Today we’ll only cover a portion."

It didn’t deviate much from what she had expected: fatal injuries first, extreme simplification, and zonal treatment—including pressure hemostasis, clearing airway obstruction, anti-shock measures, fracture immobilization... and cryogenic hibernation.

Because sentinels’ physiques were different, certain rules and numerical values naturally differed as well. For example, the frequency of external chest compressions rose from 120 to 160 times per minute.

A sentinel’s heart rate was far faster than that of an ordinary person.

Watching her practical operations, Xander remarked with mild surprise, "You seem quite familiar with this?"

After restoring the training model, she answered with rare, confident openness, "I studied this before."

She asked Xander for the electronic textbook on emergency medical care. Inside the data package was also a volume titled Post-War Psychological Care, yet it had never been activated.

She remembered Sunny telling her that the incidence of depression among the sentinel population reached as high as 80 percent, and the suicide rate remained persistently high.

Logically, paying attention to psychological trauma ought to be very important, right?

She opened the book. "Why isn’t there a psychologist stationed in the tower?"

That was a good question.

Xander lifted his lashes and answered with an ambiguous tone, "Sentinels do not need psychologists."

She met his gaze. "Why?"

He took the tablet from her hands, lifted her face-to-face onto the desk, and answered word by word in a deliberately intimate voice, "Because you are our psychologist."

She didn’t understand. Making her the psychologist—with her current mental state, she would drive patients straight to the afterlife.

"I... I don’t know about that."

The distance between them was so close that she could clearly see every individual lash on the man’s dense, distinct eyelashes, as well as the heat of his breath.

Xander was more than half Germanic in ancestry—high brow ridge and nose bridge, deep-blue hair as fluffy as the ocean. His appearance was restrained and self-controlled, yet his inner self was not restrained in the slightest.

It was debauchery that had been suppressed for far too long.

"For sentinels, the guide is their psychologist."

His large hand covered the back of hers. Cool, bony fingers pried her own fingers apart one by one, then slowly rubbed, intertwined, and closed tightly around them.

"A guide can know every secret a sentinel holds. Nothing can be hidden."

"Bunny, there are many ways to heal a sentinel’s psychological trauma. Guide pheromones are only the most insignificant part of them."

His voice was magnetic, hoarse, and hazy—like a siren luring hearts.

She fell for it completely. She already knew that most of the sentinels here had issues—especially in the head—and this was clearly reflected in both their behavior and their spiritual seas.

This simple-hearted girl only wanted a group of mentally healthy colleagues.

"Then what else can I do?"

The fish had taken the bait.

Xander quietly curved the corner of his mouth, lifted her hand, and closed his eyes to place a light kiss on the back of it.

"Compared with mental soothing, sentinels are born preferring..."

Her pupils widened slightly.

"Physical comfort."

Her expression changed at once. She refused firmly. "That is not allowed."

These tall, bear-like sentinels—if they lined up every day for physical comfort from her, her small frame would truly be worked to death!

Xander looked at her as though she were an idiot. "Bunny, where did your mind just go?"

"There are many forms of physical comfort—holding hands, hugging, kissing..."

His gaze suddenly deepened. "It isn’t only about going to bed."