The Trash Guide Awakens: The Youngest General's Hidden Wife

The metal floor beneath them gave way with a deafening, sickening groan.

BOOM!

The impact sent the heavy descent vessel bouncing violently across the blackened terrain, metal screaming as its underside tore through the rocky earth and hurled shower upon shower of bright red sparks and scorched debris into the cloudless air.

Students screamed as the shuttle flipped onto its side, several protective restraints snapping under the intense, violent force of the crash. Bodies slammed hard against the bulkheads and row seats before the vessel finally ground to a bone-rattling halt.

For several seconds, nothing filled the cabin except a thick, ringing silence.

Then, complete panic erupted.

”Help me! Somebody help!” a young noble boy shrieked, his face contorted in agony as he cradled his bloody forearm. ”My arm is broken!”

”Get me out of this harness!” another student sobbed, clawing wildly at the emergency release buckle. ”The lock won’t open! It’s jammed!”

”The emergency communications aren’t responding!” yelled a third cadet near the ruined cockpit console, hammering his fist against the unresponsive HoloScreen interface. ”We’re completely cut off!”

Rhaevia slowly opened her dark eyes, completely untroubled by the chaos around her. A narrow line of blood trickled down her temple from a shallow cut above her eyebrow, but she ignored it, already conducting a rapid tactical assessment of the cabin.

Twenty students were unconscious, at least seven suffered from visible physical injuries, and the lead instructor was currently pinned underneath a collapsed metal support beam. Emergency red warning lights flickered rhythmically overhead, casting long, ominous shadows across the wreckage.

And then, she felt it.

A faint, subtle vibration thrummed through the soles of her boots from deep beneath the shuttle’s metallic floor.

Rhaevia’s expression hardened instantly into cold steel. Her battlefield instincts, forged in the fires of an apocalypse, screamed a clear warning.

”They’re coming,” she said softly to herself.

She unbuckled her harness with a swift, practiced motion and stood up in the tilted aisle.

”Everyone who can still move, unbuckle yourselves immediately!” she commanded, her voice cutting sharply through the frantic crying.

Nobody listened to her.

”Where are the rest of the instructors?” a panicked girl wailed, ignoring Rhaevia entirely. ”We’re trapped in here!”

”Don’t touch the main door!” someone else yelled. ”Wait for orders!”

Rhaevia stepped forward, grabbing an emergency hatch lever and locking her gaze onto the nearest group of students.

”Get away from the shuttle,” she repeated, every word heavy with absolute authority.

A male student sitting nearby stared up at her incredulously, a look of pure contempt flashing across his terrified face. ”You? Shut the hell up, E-rank trash! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Rhaevia’s eyes remained completely flat, utterly unbothered by the insult. She had heard plenty of arrogant words from foolish people in her past life, and she knew one fundamental truth.

In the middle of a warzone, people who refused to listen to experienced soldiers usually didn’t survive long enough to regret it.

”Three seconds,” Rhaevia said calmly, stepping toward him.

”What?” the boy spat, frowning in confusion.

”Three,” she counted down flatly.

The deep vibration beneath their feet violently intensified, the entire metal floor trembling beneath them.

”Two,” she said.

A distant, sharp screech echoed through the torn hull of the wreckage, accompanied by the sound of crumbling stone.

Rhaevia reached out, grabbing the stunned boy by his collar and forcefully yanking him out of his seat just as she uttered her last count. ”One.”

CRASH!

The ground directly beside the shuttle exploded outward in a shower of dirt and shattered metal. A monstrous Zerg, its serrated carapace gleaming black under the dim light, burst through the soil with a terrifying roar.

Students shrieked in absolute terror, scrambling backward in a frantic, unorganized pile.

Rhaevia didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. She immediately shoved three frozen students toward a nearby rocky ridge outside the breach.

”Move now!” she barked.

The creature lunged forward, its massive razor-sharp claw slicing down toward the nearest survivor.

Rhaevia seized a heavy emergency axe from the wall mount, planted her feet, and swung with precise, deadly momentum.

Slash!

The reinforced blade struck precisely at the Zerg’s exposed, unarmored joint. Dark, thick blood sprayed across the dry earth as the beast shrieked in pain.

”Run!” Rhaevia ordered, her sharp command finally snapping the students out of their utter shock.

The terrified cadets scrambled wildly out of the ruptured hull, following her lead toward the elevated terrain. Behind them, the ground buckled and split in dozens of places as an entire swarm of Zergs erupted from the barren wasteland.

Near the cockpit, the injured assistant instructor stared out at the emerging horde in absolute horror.

”This is impossible...” he whispered, his face pale as chalk. ”Training Planet V-17 is supposed to be a low-risk zone. It shouldn’t contain a Zerg population anywhere near this density!”

The chief instructor, bleeding from a head wound, staggered over to the communications console. ”Did you launch the emergency distress signal?”

”Failed!” the assistant yelled frantically. ”The transmitter was manually fried before we even hit the atmosphere!”

”What about the orbital satellite connection?”

”Nothing! We’re completely jammed!”

The chief instructor’s face turned entirely ash-white. The cold reality hit him like a physical blow: someone had not merely sabotaged the shuttle’s flight path, they had intentionally isolated these children on a death world.

High above the planet’s atmosphere, inside the command bridge of the imperial flagship Veyr, a sharp, crimson alarm suddenly pierced the quiet rhythm of the deck.

”General!” a communications officer shouted, rushing forward with a HoloScreen display held tight in his hands. ”We’ve just intercepted a fragmented distress ping from Training Planet V-17!”

A tall, imposing figure standing before the main tactical display slowly turned around.

Major General Raevor Veyr looked over the officer with calm, piercing eyes. At thirty-five years old, he was the youngest Major General in the history of the Empire, a man whose very presence demanded absolute silence and obedience.

”How many students were on that transport?” Raevor asked, his deep voice smooth yet heavy with authority.

”Two hundred and thirteen cadets, sir,” the officer replied instantly.

”Survivors?”

”Unknown at this time, General. Atmospheric interference is heavy.”

Raevor’s dark eyes turned icy cold as he looked back at the planet’s orbital map. ”Deploy the rescue fleet immediately, and prepare my personal drop ship.”

”Yes, General!” the officer yelled, turning back to his station.

The tactical HoloScreen display expanded, zooming in rapidly past the atmospheric clouds to render a high-resolution scan of the crash site.

Suddenly, the satellite operator froze, his fingers hovering over the glowing controls.

”General...” he stammered, his voice laced with pure confusion.

Raevor didn’t turn, but his gaze sharpened. ”What is it?”

The operator swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly against the console. ”Our long-range optical scanners just detected motion near the wreckage.”

”Are the Zergs closing in on the survivors?” Raevor asked.

”No, sir,” the operator whispered, raising the zoom level on the primary screen. ”It’s a single student.”

The main tactical monitor zoomed in further, clearing away the smoke to reveal one small, slender figure emerging from the burning metal wreckage. Without a hint of fear or hesitation, the figure turned and began walking away from the crash site, stepping directly into the dangerous wasteland.

Alone.

Raevor’s eyes narrowed as he watched the figure move with the calm, methodical posture of a seasoned veteran. ”Identify her immediately.”

The satellite operator pulled up the cadet database, running an instant biometric match against the visual feed. When the name flashed on his screen, his expression changed to absolute disbelief.

”It’s... Rhaevia Rythundeir, General,” the operator reported softly.

A heavy silence descended upon the entire command deck.

Officers and bridge crew alike stared at the monitor in complete shock, unable to process what they were seeing. The infamous E-rank daughter whom the entire capital mockingly dismissed as trash was currently walking completely alone into a high-density Zerg dead zone.