196: Chapter 196 Undercurrents Within the Alliance, Spy Infiltration Sparks Crisis

The morning light once again pierced through the psychic glass of the Eastern Wasteland Alliance's main tower, reflecting onto the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye in Chen Wuwang's left eye, casting a cold blue glow; the trail of that messenger eagle had long since vanished without a trace.

He stood in the center of the quiet room, his fingertips still hovering in mid-air, while the holographic sand table before him had just retracted the final star map trajectory.

After yesterday's series of administrative tasks, the signatures of the thirteen Family representatives had been finalized, the "Resource Allocation Memorandum" was sealed into the jade contract, and the Alliance was operating as normal.

He did not move, nor did he turn around; he merely tapped his finger lightly against the tabletop, the rhythm steady, as if counting heartbeats.

There were still six hours until midnight.

The System notification sound rang out deep within his consciousness: countdown to the generation of new instructions has begun.

He sat back down on the stone chair, pressed his palm lightly against the tabletop, and an encrypted interface unfolded silently.

This was the exclusive channel for the [family rise system], visible only to him.

Three blank fields waited quietly—every day at midnight, three "heavenly secret instruction" would appear on time to guide the next phase of his plans.

He pulled up the voice recording program, preparing to continue refining the concept of the "Frontier Exploration Department."

But just as his fingertip was about to touch the start button, a whisper pierced into his Sea of Consciousness without warning.

It was not the regular broadcast that followed the ringing of the bell.

Nor was it the familiar System tone.

It was an abrupt, icy warning with the sound of metal friction:

[A Demon Race spy has infiltrated the Alliance]

Chen Wuwang's fingers froze abruptly.

His whole body stiffened for a moment.

His pupils contracted slightly, and the three old scars on his right cheek left by the insect race seemed to be swept by an electric current, faintly burning.

Yet there was not a ripple on his face, and even his breathing remained steady.

He merely withdrew his hand slowly and quietly closed the voice program he had just opened.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he casually pulled up a "Defense Zone Inspection Roster," projected it into the air, and scanned the handover times for each Family's station, the configuration of patrol teams, and the guard shift rotation points with a calm gaze.

The document looked ordinary; it was the old rule that had to be reviewed every month.

But his fingers tapped three times against the tabletop.

That was a secret signal.

The Family Shadow Guards would not provide any response upon receiving the instruction, but they would immediately initiate the Level 1 covert control protocol.

He knew he could not panic now.

A single instruction did not equate to evidence.

Nor did it mean he could conduct a thorough investigation with great fanfare.

Once the grass was beaten to startle the snake, that guy hiding in the shadows would retreat, or even bite back, creating even greater chaos.

What he wanted was stability, precision, and ruthlessness to strike true in one blow.

He sat upright again and ordered in a calm tone: "Notify all Families; starting today, optimize scheduling efficiency. All entry and exit registration data for external personnel must be submitted to headquarters for archiving within seven days."

His voice was not loud, but it reached the ears of the thirteen Family liaison officers directly through the encrypted channel.

The reason was high-sounding: to prevent information gaps in resource allocation and avoid misunderstandings similar to the disruption of the West Ridge transport line.

No one would find it unusual.

After all, Lu San had just been caught a while ago, and everyone knew that the risk of external infiltration still remained.

Immediately after, he added another sentence: "The Artifact Refining, Medicinal Field, and Spirit Network workshops must report their operational logs every two hours, including equipment status, personnel on duty, and energy fluctuations."

This was a new rule.

Previously, only daily summaries were required.

But now, he needed a denser data flow to capture those subtle, abnormal traces.

For example, someone in a certain position suddenly changing shifts, a minute deviation in energy consumption on a certain line, or someone appearing in an area they shouldn't be for three consecutive days.

He was not afraid of trouble.

What he feared was not seeing.

After issuing the order, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, his gaze had completely darkened.

He was waiting.

Waiting for that person who shouldn't exist to show their true colors.

A moment later, two guards in black silently pushed the door open and entered, standing three steps behind him, heads bowed in waiting.

They did not speak, nor did they need names.

Chen Wuwang only whispered five words: "Initiate the 'Grey Shield Protocol'."

Both nodded simultaneously and turned to leave.

The Grey Shield Protocol was an emergency mechanism he had set up privately, not in the written regulations of the Alliance.

Only a very few confidants knew of its existence—it was specifically used to deal with threats like internal infiltration, identity disguise, and long-term lurking.

This time, the goal was clear: to focus on monitoring the entry and exit records of non-Family resident technical personnel, especially individuals who had recently applied for transfers, cross-zone operations, or access to core facilities.

He also personally modified the permission levels of the headquarters database.

The Furnace Area, Star Map Room, and Spirit Array hub were marked as Level 1 protection zones.

Any unauthorized access, abnormal operations, or data reading behavior would automatically trigger an alarm and lock the location of the operating terminal.

After doing all this, he breathed a slight sigh of relief.

But the string in his heart remained pulled tight.

He knew that someone like Mo Yuan would not just send one pawn.

This time it was a spy; next time it might be an inside man.

He could no longer rely on remedial measures after the fact.

He had to build the wall higher and plant his eyes deeper.

He looked back at the sand table, but did not unfold the Star Domain map again.

Instead, he pulled up the personnel flow model of the Eastern Wasteland Alliance for the past seven days.

Densely packed dots of light shuttled across the map, representing thirteen Family members, external craftsmen, caravan attendants, technical consultants...

Every identity had a registration number and movement trajectory.

He began to screen them one by one.

Paying special attention to those technical roles that had no fixed station, frequently changed task areas, or had private contact with personnel from multiple Families.

Time passed minute by minute.

Outside the window, the sunlight gradually shifted from the east side to the middle of the sky.

From the Alliance square came the shouts of children imitating mecha warriors, and from the distant workshop area came the roar of forging spirit gold.

Everything was as usual.

But he knew that the storm was often hidden in the calmest moments.

He had seen too many Alliances that were harmonious on the surface but surging with undercurrents, and he had personally dismantled countless chains of betrayal that seemed unbreakable.

This time, he would not let anyone take advantage of the situation.

He stared at the data stream, his eyes focused, his body leaning slightly forward, as if pondering something.

He knew that the real contest was never about clashing swords.

It was about who could see through the opponent's trap first and who could place their own chess piece silently.

Don't know how much time had passed, the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye suddenly trembled slightly.

A new notification appeared:

[Midnight has passed, today's three heavenly secret instruction have been generated]

He was not in a hurry to check.

Instead, he first pulled up a new document—"Non-Core Position Temporary Transfer Approval List."

Then, in the remarks column, he quietly marked three red dots.

Those were three foreign technicians who had recently applied to transfer to the Artifact Refining Workshop to assist in upgrading the assembly line.

Their names were ordinary, their resumes were compliant, and their backgrounds were clean.

But their transfer applications were all concentrated on the same day, and all pointed to positions around the Furnace Area.

It was too coincidental.

So coincidental that it made one's heart creep.

He locked the document into the encrypted layer and turned to click open the System interface.

Three lines of instructions lay quietly there.

First: [Three days later, Dongshan Mineral Vein vibration frequency abnormal]

Second: [Tomorrow at the hour of Chen, Chiji Ridge Furnace efficiency peak]

Third: [A Demon Race spy has infiltrated the Alliance]

The third line was exactly the same as that abrupt whisper just now.

It was not a false alarm.

It was real.

His gaze locked tightly onto that line of text, not moving a fraction for a long while.

Then, he slowly exhaled and whispered to himself: "Good, in this game of chess, finally someone dares to face off against you, Family Head?"

As the words fell, the corners of his mouth actually curved slightly.

It was not a smile.

It was the coldness of a hunter seeing a trap being triggered.

He knew that every step from here on had to be steady.

He could not rush, he could not be chaotic, and even less could he expose that he already knew.

He leaned forward slightly, pulled up the communication panel, and prepared to arrange a new round of position checks under the pretext of "routine security review."

Just at this moment, a slight sound of footsteps came from outside the door.

It was not the rhythm of the Shadow Guards.

It was more like some daily duty deacon coming over with a stack of documents for signing.

He immediately composed his expression, returning to his usual calm and steady appearance, and his fingers stopped tapping.

Everything was as usual.

The wind had not yet risen.

But he knew the spark had already fallen.

Just waiting for the wind to come.