130: Chapter 130 The Zerg retreat, and the situation eases.

The alarm still echoed deep within the rock layers; that weak yet rhythmic vibration signal felt like a thin needle piercing into the nerves.

Chen Wuwang stepped onto a pile of rubble at the edge of the scorched earth, his boot grinding over the remains of a Zerg compound eye, emitting a crisp "crack".

He did not look down; his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye had already switched to Psionic Thermal mode, the field of view filled with dark red interspersed with sporadic cooling black spots—these were the residual energy of the insect corpses.

"They have retreated." He spoke, his voice not loud, but Chen Xiaodao, who was standing behind him, immediately straightened his back.

"It's not a feint?" The young man's hand gripping the sword tightened, his knuckles turning white.

The battle just now had been too brutal; they had fought until their ammunition was bottomed out and their mechs were overloaded. If it had been a feigned defeat to lure them into a pursuit, the entire defensive line would have been dragged into the nest and slaughtered.

Chen Wuwang did not answer, instead crouching down and brushing his finger over a fresh crawl mark on the ground.

The mucus had not yet solidified; it was gray-green and carried a slightly corrosive odor.

He dipped his fingertip into it and traced an arc in the air—the convergence direction of the marks was consistent, the density gradually thinning, and the ends showed no signs of turning back or branching.

"A rout." He stood up. "They didn't even take their wounded."

The moment his voice fell, the body of the last Heavy-Armored Soldier Ant in the distance twitched twice, its six legs kicking against the rock wall a few times, dragging itself half a foot further into the cave entrance before finally falling completely still.

Further ahead, the darkness was like ink, swallowing all light and sound.

Chen Xiaodao slowly exhaled, his shoulders relaxing by half an inch.

But before this breath had fully dispersed, Chen Wuwang had already raised his hand and pressed it onto the young man's shoulder; the force was not heavy, yet it made him tense up again.

"People who relax won't live to see tomorrow." Chen Wuwang stared at that patch of darkness, the three claw marks on his right cheek turning pale under the moonlight. "The Zerg won't admit defeat. They are just retreating to lick their wounds, waiting to bite deeper next time."

The communicator suddenly rang; it was the notification sound that the frontline outpost rotation records had finished uploading.

He glanced at the data stream: all twelve observation points were in position, the warning Formation was activated, and the energy readings were stable. No one was slackening.

Very good.

He strode forward, his boots stepping over the surface mixed with scorched earth and bloody mud, making a muffled sound.

Every step felt like treading on a taut drum surface.

Behind him, Chen Xiaodao followed in silence, his hand resting on the sword hilt the entire time, even though his palms were already soaked with sweat.

They arrived at the temporary lookout, a protruding rock ridge that perfectly overlooked the entire nest entrance.

Chen Wuwang leaped up, crouching on one knee, and adjusted his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye to high-magnification scan mode.

The lens hummed slightly, focusing on a spot thirty zhang inside the entrance—there, a thin layer of crystal membrane was slowly closing, as if some kind of biological tissue was self-repairing.

"They are sealing the gate." He said.

Chen Xiaodao leaped onto the rock on the other side, his gaze piercing the darkness like a blade: "Should we blow it open now? While they haven't had time to reinforce it."

"No." Chen Wuwang shook his head. "There is still space inside, and the airflow hasn't been cut off. They don't intend to hold it at all costs; they are preparing for the next wave."

The young man pressed his lips together and did not ask again.

Chen Wuwang withdrew his gaze, straightened his body, and looked around. The battlefield was eerily quiet.

The wind had stopped, the stars were hidden, and even the tremors of the underground rock veins had vanished. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

He knew what this silence meant.

That night three years ago had been just as quiet. Before the Zerg broke through the soil, even the insect chirps had disappeared.

"Go and pass on the order." He turned to face Chen Xiaodao, his tone calm yet unquestionable. "Lightly wounded are to rotate for rest, severely wounded are to be sent back, combat units are to keep their equipment in place, and no one is to remove armor or unsheathe blades. Double the sentry rotation, changing groups every quarter of an hour to prevent mental paralysis."

Chen Xiaodao nodded, and just as he was about to leave, he paused: "You aren't going down?"

"I am not tired." Chen Wuwang smiled, though the smile lacked warmth. "I am fine standing here."

The young man looked at him, but in the end, he didn't say anything more, leaping off the rock and quickly disappearing into the bunkers.

A moment later, the first sentry shift was in position.

Chen Xiaodao stood on a boulder at the very front, back to the camp, facing the nest.

Moonlight shone on his silver-white hair tips, as if covered in a layer of frost. He remained motionless, his hand resting on the sword scabbard; if the enemy appeared, it would take less than half a breath to draw his sword.

There began to be movement in the camp.

The medical team carried away the last batch of wounded, their footsteps light and steady; the engineering team quietly reinforced the bunkers, making no extra noise while securing steel plates with psionic nails; several young technicians gathered around a damaged mech, whispering about repair plans, and no one dared to breathe loudly.

Everyone knew—they had won, but it wasn't over.

Chen Wuwang stood on the high ground, watching all of this. His fingers were unconsciously tapping the guard of the Titanium Alloy Dagger at his waist, one tap, another tap, the rhythm as steady as a heartbeat.

This was not a celebration after a victory, but the ballast before a storm.

He looked up at the sky. The clouds hung low, obscuring the Big Dipper.

The air was humid, carrying a hint of a metallic, rusty smell—the embers left after blood and metal burned.

His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye was still running, continuously scanning the life fluctuations in the cave entrance area.

Currently, it was zero. But there was a faint disturbance in the energy field, as if some kind of deep resonance was brewing.

He didn't tell anyone.

It was useless to tell them. A threat of this level could not be solved by mere warnings.

He could only wait.

Wait for them to come again.

In the distance, a moth flew into a lighting talisman lamp, its wings instantly scorched by the high heat, falling to the ground, twitching twice before going still.

Its shadow was stretched long, crossing the entire scorched earth like a crack.

Chen Xiaodao suddenly moved.

He jerked his head up, his pupils contracting.

"There is something." He whispered.

Chen Wuwang immediately raised his hand and pressed the communication silence key; the entire camp instantly fell into dead silence. Even the sound of breathing was lowered.

The wind blew up a wisp of ash, spinning as it drifted toward the cave entrance.

Then—

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

But that feeling of being watched grew stronger and stronger.

Chen Xiaodao slowly drew his blade by half an inch, the cold light reflecting off his tense jawline.

"Where are you looking?" Chen Wuwang suddenly spoke, his voice not high, yet it reached the front clearly.

The young man did not turn his head: "In the darkness. There is a point, it keeps moving... yet it doesn't seem alive."

"Don't stare too long." Chen Wuwang said. "The Zerg use hallucinations to attack those with weak wills. If you look at it for too long, it will become something you are afraid of."

Chen Xiaodao gritted his teeth: "I am not weak."

"I know." Chen Wuwang walked up two steps, standing behind him to the side. "That is why I let you stand here."

The young man's breath hitched, and he did not speak.

After a long while, he asked in a low voice: "Do you think they will come again?"

"They definitely will." Chen Wuwang gazed at that patch of darkness. "And they will be smarter, more ruthless, and better prepared than last time. Once they suffer a loss, they will study us. Study our weapons, our rhythm, our weaknesses."

He paused, his voice lower: "They will learn."

Chen Xiaodao's hand gripping the sword tightened: "Then we will fight until they cannot learn anymore."

Chen Wuwang smiled, this time with a bit of warmth.

"Good." He said. "Then we will fight until they cannot learn anymore."

He patted the young man's shoulder and turned to walk off the rock.

The camp resumed operation, but no one dared to truly relax.

Lunch boxes were opened and closed, and water skins were passed around, with everyone taking only a sip.

Everyone was waiting for the next order, or the next battle.

Chen Wuwang walked over to an abandoned bunker and took a piece of black iron from his bosom, on which a few faint marks were carved—it was the defense deduction sketch he had revised for the third time tonight. He crouched down, continuing to draw by the faint light, the tip of his pen scratching across the metal with a rustling sound.

In the distance, Chen Xiaodao still stood on the boulder, like a statue that refused to fall.

Moonlight spilled onto him, casting a long shadow that pointed straight toward the unhealed entrance of the nest.

The wind finally picked up.

It was very light, swirling up a few pieces of scorched wings and flying toward the high sky.

Then, everything returned to silence.

Chen Wuwang stopped his pen and looked up.

His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye caught a trace of abnormality—the crystal membrane at the cave entrance was contracting at an extremely slow speed, as if it were breathing.

He narrowed his eyes.

It was not an illusion.

It was truly breathing.

He slowly stood up, neither calling anyone nor giving an order.

He just stood there quietly, his fingers tapping the guard of the dagger again, one tap, another tap.

As if counting seconds.

Waiting for the moment the thunder strikes.