19: Chapter 19 The Zerg Assemble, the Final Offensive Imminent

The smoke had not yet fully dissipated, and the wind still carried the scorched debris of insectoid carapaces.

Chen Wuwang stood on the high platform on the shoulder of 'po shan', slowly lowering the hand he had just raised, his gaze as deep as an abyss, unmoving.

The night wind made the corners of his clothes flap loudly, and the three claw marks on his right cheek glowed a dark red under the reflection of the remaining fires.

Within the field of vision of his mechanical prosthetic eye, the panoramic view of the mining area was still being automatically scanned: damage reports from each group, transport of the wounded, equipment restarts... everything was proceeding in an orderly fashion.

His fingers lightly tapped the control panel—tap, tap, tap—the rhythm carrying a hint of dullness.

Below, some people began to laugh, and a young Sword Cultivator even pulled out a wine flask.

He was just about to speak—

Rushed footsteps came from the distance, crackling as they stepped on the gravel.

“Family Head!”

The voice was hoarse and panting; it was Elder Lin.

The old man came running all the way up, his coarse cloth short-sleeved shirt from the Medicinal Field area covered in dust, and the wooden cane he leaned on was nearly snapped in half.

He stopped at the edge of the high platform, his chest heaving violently, yet his eyes were fixed intently on Chen Wuwang.

“What is it?” Chen Wuwang didn't turn around, his voice kept very low.

“The Zerg... have assembled.” Elder Lin panted, “A hundred miles away, on the eastern wasteland, the number... exceeds a hundred thousand!”

The air seemed to freeze suddenly.

The laughter that had just emerged below stopped abruptly; even the lid of that wine flask wasn't unscrewed before it was silently stuffed back into someone's robe.

A hundred thousand?

On that night three years ago when the Zerg raided the mineral vein, it was only thirty thousand Worker Insects leading the charge, followed by swaths of Soldier Bugs and Earth-Digging Beasts.

In that battle, seventy-three people of the Chen Family died, two furnaces in the Artifact Refining Workshop exploded, and the Medicinal Field was gnawed until only scorched earth remained.

Now this number had more than tripled, and they had completed their assembly in such a short time?

This wasn't a migration, nor was it harassment.

It was a general offensive.

“Did you see it with your own eyes?” Chen Wuwang finally turned around, his gaze like a blade.

Elder Lin nodded: “I took two young brats to gather mutated Spiritual Plants, and when we reached Eagle Beak Cliff, I noticed something was wrong—the ground was vibrating, and the sky was an unnervingly wicked green. When we lay flat on the ridge to look, it was a black mass covering the entire Eastern Plains, even the sky was obscured.”

He paused, his voice tightening: “They... aren't moving randomly. They are forming ranks. The front row consists of heavy-armored Soldier Bugs, there are Floating Brood Nests in the middle, and in the rear... there are glowing command-type individuals, as if they are waiting for orders.”

Chen Wuwang narrowed his eyes.

The mechanical prosthetic eye instantly switched modes—long-range zoom, thermal imaging, energy fluctuation tracking—and indeed, a layer of eerie ghostly green halo shimmered on the horizon at the edge of his vision, the result of the resonance of spirit cores within a massive number of high-tier Zerg.

It wasn't just a hundred thousand.

It was likely a hundred and fifty thousand, perhaps even two hundred thousand.

But the corner of his mouth suddenly twitched upward.

“A hundred thousand?” He let out a light laugh, his tone as if he were saying 'there isn't enough food today.'

Elder Lin was stunned.

“Not enough to be a threat,” Chen Wuwang spat out those words and turned to leave.

His pace was steady, one step per stair, the soles of his boots making a crisp sound as they stepped on the metal wreckage.

He didn't look at anyone, nor did he give any orders; he simply walked straight toward the direction of the Family's core buildings.

Elder Lin stood where he was, opening his mouth as if to call out, but no sound came.

A patrol member stepped forward to support him: “Old Uncle, take a rest. The Family Head surely has a plan.”

Elder Lin shook his head, staring at the receding figure, and whispered: “You don't understand... the more he is like this, the bigger the disaster that is about to happen.”

...

The secret chamber door closed behind him and locked tight.

This place used to be where the Chen Family ancestors kept their ancient texts, but now it had been converted into a strategic hub.

A tactical screen polished from a whole piece of Spirit Crystal hung on the wall, a miniature Spirit Array was engraved on the floor, and crates of unopened mecha parts were piled in the corner.

The air held a faint scent of machine oil and the scorched fragrance of burnt talismans.

Chen Wuwang walked to the central control console, his finger hovering over the start button, but he did not press it.

He was waiting.

Midnight had not yet arrived.

But this battle could not wait three days, nor could it wait twelve watches.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the depths.

[System.]

A silent call.

[Activate heavenly secret instruction—‘Chen Family to complete mass production of mechas within seven days’.]

There was no response.

No light screen popped up, no data stream scrolled, nothing at all.

The System continued to run silently, like a piece of iron sunk in the deep sea.

But he knew it had heard him.

Just like a programmer typing the first line of code, even if the compiler hasn't given feedback yet, he knows the program has begun to run.

Mass production in seven days.

It sounded like the ravings of a madman.

The last batch of 'po shan' had less than ten units built, and that was only because Chen Tiezhu led the craftsmen to assemble them through the night. Now they wanted mass production? Where would the Materials come from? Where was the production line? Were there enough operators?

But he knew this wasn't a request; it was a layout.

The System wouldn't give the answer directly, but it would factor in resources, crises, and opportunities. At a certain point, it would use a seemingly random instruction to tell him—'it's time to act.'

And what he needed to do was set the chessboard in advance.

So that once that instruction dropped, it could immediately ignite the entire situation.

He opened his eyes, and a blue light flashed through his mechanical prosthetic eye.

His fingertips lightly tapped the console—tap, tap, tap—the rhythm faster than before.

Footsteps came from outside the door, very light; it should be the guards on a routine patrol.

He ignored them.

His gaze fell on the half-disassembled mecha prototype in the corner—numbered 'X-0', it was the first-generation combat unit he had reverse-engineered using Earth code. It lacked power and the armor was too heavy, but its structure was modular, making it suitable for mass replication.

As long as he could stably connect the energy of an Egg Core to the power supply System and then embed the Spirit Array chips into the main control module...

“Ding.”

A soft sound.

It didn't come from outside the door, nor was it the machine starting up.

It was an almost imperceptible notification sound from the depths of his Sea of Consciousness.

It was here.

The first heavenly secret instruction emerged:

[In three quarters, blood mist will descend in the west; one Zerg Egg Core can be retrieved]

His pupils shrank.

It wasn't about mechas, it wasn't about defense, but rather... a trigger for an attack.

Blood mist? That was an atmospheric phenomenon that only occurred when a Zerg Broodmother laid eggs. It usually appeared at the center of a battlefield, lasting no more than half a watch; it would rot anything it touched and kill anything it contacted.

But now, it was going to appear in the west?

He jerked his head up and looked at the tactical screen.

The west was precisely the last canyon pass leading to the outside world. If he could get a complete Egg Core there...

“Energy conversion rate will increase by at least 40%,” he murmured. “Enough to support the simultaneous activation of the first batch of fifty mechas.”

The second instruction immediately emerged:

[Elder Lin will cough up blood tomorrow at the Hour of the Tiger; three doses of ‘Clear Meridian Powder’ required]

He frowned.

Elder Lin's health had always been robust. Although he was nearly ninety, he woke up early every day to weed, gather herbs, and brew soup, never slacking. Suddenly coughing up blood?

Unless...

He recalled Elder Lin's complexion while running just now—pale with a hint of greenish-gray, short of breath, and his right hand constantly pressing against the left side of his chest.

It wasn't exhaustion.

He had been poisoned.

And it was a slow-acting poison with an incubation period of at least three days.

Who administered it?

Only he and two young herb boys went to Eagle Beak Cliff. Those two had been active in the Medicinal Field area since they returned; no one had approached the high-level leadership.

Unless...

The red light of a surveillance camera.

He stood up abruptly.

The third instruction emerged:

[The Artifact Refining Workshop must upgrade the psionic assembly line within seven days]

It wasn't a suggestion.

It was a necessity.

The three instructions were strung together like a rope, forcefully pulling his crazy idea of 'mass production within seven days' into the orbit of reality.

He laughed.

The laughter wasn't loud, but it carried an unnerving madness.

“So that's how it is... you let me shout the goal first, and then you lay the path step by step.”

He turned toward the door, pausing as his hand touched the handle.

The world outside was still recuperating; the wounded were healing, the craftsmen were counting Materials, and the children were playing by the ruins, picking up parts.

It was as calm as the sea before a storm.

He pulled the door open.

The guard immediately stood at attention: “Family Head.”

“Notify all Elder-level personnel to assemble at the Mineral Vein Map Hall tomorrow morning at the Hour of the Rabbit,” he said. “Also—”

He glanced at the ghostly green that had yet to dissipate in the distant sky. “Double the sentries on the eastern, western, and northern highlands, rotating every half watch. If any abnormalities are found, ring the bell immediately.”

“Yes!”

The guard took the order and left.

He stood by the door, unmoving.

The night wind swept through the hall, blowing his long silvery-white hair. The mechanical prosthetic eye was still scanning the surroundings—every shadow, every corner.

Elder Lin had already been helped away, his back hunched, walking slowly.

He knew that before the Hour of the Tiger tomorrow, he must have the ‘Clear Meridian Powder’ ready.

It wasn't just to save a life.

It was to confirm—exactly who, and at what time, had put the poison into the water source of the Medicinal Field.

His finger tapped lightly on the doorframe again, the rhythm tight, as if urging something on.