154: Chapter 154 The clansmen responded with great confidence.

The messenger's words fell, and the heat that had just been ignited in the square hadn't dissipated yet; it was like a red-hot iron bar dipped in cold water, rising with a hiss of white mist but refusing to cool down.

Chen Wuwang didn't respond immediately, nor did he turn to enter the Council Hall. He just slowly raised his head, moving his gaze from the messenger's face to sweep across the crowd.

One full circle.

The old craftsman was still leaning on his hammer handle, his knuckles white; the child in the arms of the woman from the Medicinal Field had fallen asleep at some point, their head tilted on her shoulder; the young soldier stood bolt upright, his eyes slightly red; several children squatted by the stone steps, clutching freshly picked stone fragments in their palms, looking up at him without blinking.

No one spoke.

But that energy was still there, pressed against their chests, swelling in their throats, just waiting for an outlet.

The blue light of Chen Wuwang's Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flickered slightly; the hologram had been retracted, and the dagger was sheathed. He didn't need to say anything more—the Three Great Principles were already deeply carved into the stone and even more so branded into everyone's hearts. What was missing now wasn't orders or planning, but a shout, a spark, a leap from "listening" to "acting."

Just then, a young clansman suddenly took a step forward, his soles scraping against the bluestone with a harsh sound.

"Clan Head!" he shouted, his voice trembling but rising in pitch. "I am willing to enter the Artifact Refining Workshop! I will forge a hundred nails a day and never retreat a single step!"

Before the words had even finished, his face turned red, as if he were startled by his own voice. But he didn't lower his head; instead, he puffed out his chest, his fists clenched tight.

This shout was like a stone thrown into the center of a lake.

"I am willing to guard the Medicinal Field! I will plant one more spiritual seedling every season!" a young woman shouted after him, her voice not loud but crystal clear.

"I am willing to patrol the mountain! Three laps every day, regardless of wind or rain!"

"I am willing to engrave Array Patterns! I won't stop even if my hands are worn raw!"

"I am willing to memorize Cultivation Techniques! Ten chapters a day, I won't sleep until I'm done!"

One after another, shouts rang out from corners, exploded from the back rows, and swept in from both sides of the high platform. Some shouted with choked voices, some roared until their voices cracked, some youths threw punches into the air, and some elders wiped the corners of their eyes, suddenly planting their canes on the ground, sending dust flying.

"We are willing to follow the Clan Head!" the young man spoke again, his voice much steadier. "For the future of the Chen family—we won't hesitate even if we have to sacrifice our lives!"

"We won't hesitate even if we have to sacrifice our lives!"

"We swear not to fail the Chen name!"

"Strong Root, Expand Territory, Build Momentum—we'll see it through to the end!"

The waves of sound layered one upon another, soaring into the sky. Even the distant roar of mecha patrols seemed to be drowned out. Tiles trembled slightly, roof beams shook, and even the stone plaque hanging for decades with the words "Die Rather Than Yield" seemed to hum in resonance.

Chen Wuwang still didn't speak.

He just slowly nodded.

To the first youth, a nod.

To the woman who shouted about the spiritual seedlings, a nod.

To the fist-swinging youth, to the cane-wielding elder, he nodded to each one.

Then, he moved.

His pace was neither hurried nor slow as he walked through the small path the crowd had spontaneously cleared. His soles stepped across the bluestone, making a solid sound. He walked up to an old craftsman and stopped. The old craftsman shuddered and subconsciously straightened his back.

Chen Wuwang reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

He didn't speak, only gave a gentle squeeze.

The old craftsman's eyes grew hot, and he suddenly lowered his head, rubbing the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. Then, he raised his calloused hand and thumped his chest hard twice: "Every blade I forge... will carve out a peaceful world for you!"

Chen Wuwang continued walking.

He walked up to the young soldier and patted his shoulder: "Practice the sword? Or do you want to pilot a mecha?"

The boy's face flushed, and he stammered, "Both... I want both!"

"Good." The corner of Chen Wuwang's mouth curled slightly. "Then practice both."

He then walked to the woman from the Medicinal Field, looked at the sleeping child in her arms, and whispered, "Every furnace of medicine you brew is the lifeblood of our Chen family."

The woman's nose crinkled with emotion, and she nodded vigorously.

Finally, he stopped in front of the group of squating children. The children all stood up with a rustle, looking at him nervously.

Chen Wuwang squatted down, his line of sight level with theirs.

"Do you still remember the dreams you talked about last night?" he asked.

A thin, small boy took a half-step forward, his voice not loud but clear: "I want to pilot the biggest mecha and fight the fiercest Yao Beasts!"

The people around laughed, their laughter filled with warmth.

Chen Wuwang laughed too. He reached out, ruffled the child's hair, and pulled out a bronze plaque engraved with the character "Chen," placing it in his hand: "Starting tomorrow, learn one more character every day. Once you've recognized three hundred characters, I'll allow you into the training grounds to see the real deal."

The child held the plaque with both hands, his eyes shining like stars.

Chen Wuwang stood up and continued forward, passing through the crowd toward the stone steps in front of the Council Hall.

Just then, a sudden movement occurred.

An elder suddenly knelt down, not toward Chen Wuwang, but facing the ground of the stone steps. He pulled a short blade from his robe, made a cut on his left palm, and as blood gushed out, he dipped his finger in the blood and forcefully wrote two characters on the bluestone—

"Strong Root".

Every stroke was so powerful it seemed to penetrate the cracks of the stone.

Immediately after, another middle-aged man knelt, bit his fingertip, and carved "Expand Territory" next to it.

A young girl wiped away her tears and wrote "Build Momentum" on the third step; the handwriting was crooked, but not a single stroke was missing.

Several children, following the adults' example, picked up stone fragments and mimicked the carving in the empty spaces, chanting under their breath: "Strong Root... Expand Territory... Build Momentum..."

On the stone steps, bloody characters, stone marks, and naive strokes crisscrossed, like a living map of a covenant.

Chen Wuwang's footsteps finally stopped in front of the Council Hall.

He slowly raised his hand, fingers spread, and pressed down gently.

In an instant, the wave of sound came to an abrupt halt.

Everyone fell silent, their gazes focused on him.

He didn't turn back, but slowly squatted down and picked up a sharp-edged stone fragment from the ground. Then, on the bluestone floor in the center of the square, he used all his strength to draw a straight line.

Sha—

Stone chips flew as that line, deep and straight, traversed the entire square like an unsheathed sword pinned to the ground, severing the past and pointing toward the distance.

He stood up, patted the dust off his hands, and pointed toward the rising sun on the horizon.

"This is our path."

"No turning back."

"No stopping."

After saying this, he turned and stepped up the stairs in front of the Council Hall one by one.

His silhouette was tall and straight, his steps firm. His silver hair fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, and a blue light flashed in his left Mechanical Prosthetic Eye before fading away.

No one left the square.

The old craftsman still stood in place, hand on his hammer handle, his gaze fixed on that line.

The woman from the Medicinal Field held her child, softly humming the Chen family's ancestral Farming Song.

The young soldier silently drew the short knife from his waist and began to sharpen it.

The children gathered before the stone steps, pointing at those blood-red characters and carvings, reading them one by one.

Sunlight filled the square, shining on that scratch and casting a long shadow.

Like a path, and like a vow.