22: Chapter 22 Seven Days of Seclusion, The Crucible Fantasy

When the furnace's flames surged to their peak for the seventh time, Chen Tiezhu no longer looked like a human being.

He knelt by the cooling tank, his knees sinking into the cracks in the floor. His fingers were covered in blisters from the heat; they burst and regrew, burst and regrew, with black blood seeping from beneath his fingernails.

His face was caked in a layer of grime, making it impossible to distinguish between mud washed away by sweat or furnace slag. Only the whites of his eyes remained visible, bloodshot as they stared intently at the metallic core he had just pulled from the tank—the blue light was still flickering, unextinguished.

Did it work?

If it hasn't gone out, it hasn't exploded.

If it hasn't exploded, then it's alive.

A ragged sound escaped his throat, sounding like a laugh and a sob at once, finally turning into a glob of phlegm laced with sparks that he spat at his feet.

His right hand still gripped the titanium alloy pliers tightly, his knuckles white and his entire arm trembling.

He braced his left hand on the ground, trying to stand, but his legs gave way. His knees struck the edge of the tank with a dull thud.

"The seventh day..." he panted, his teeth grinding. "I... I actually refined it for you."

Outside, dawn was approaching.

The wind rushed in from the mine entrance, carrying the dampness of morning dew and causing the spiritual energy lamps on the ceiling of the Artifact Refining Workshop to sway.

The direction of the main hall was silent; no one came to rush him, and no one asked questions.

For these seven days, he had been the only living thing in the entire workshop. Even the patrolling sentries took a detour—the Patriarch had ordered that no one was to approach during the seclusion, on pain of thirty lashes.

The blueprint was pinned to the wall behind him, its cold metallic paper stained with dark rings of sweat. He didn't dare take it down, fearing that a single touch might destroy the fruits of these seven days of labor.

Every step of the process had followed those cryptic, talisman-like lines: embedding the pre-compression module, skipping the three-stage annealing, merging the rune engravings into two segments... If any step went wrong, the entire batch of Materials would be ruined, and his old life would likely be lost along with them.

But he had won the gamble.

Bracing himself against the edge of the tank, he forced himself upright. His legs felt like they were filled with lead as he staggered toward the iron door of the secret chamber. Raising his hand, he struck the latch three times.

Thud!

There was no movement inside.

Thud! Thud!

Still no response.

Growing anxious, he kicked the door open. The iron door swung wide with a clang, its hinges nearly snapping. The morning wind rushed in, causing the furnace fire to flicker violently, nearly extinguishing it.

He stumbled out, squinting as he scanned the area under the rising sun.

Someone was standing on the stone steps.

Dressed in black martial attire with a high ponytail, his left eye glowing with a mechanical blue light, he stood ramrod straight, like a blade resting in its sheath.

Chen Wuwang had arrived long ago. It was unclear how long he had been standing there.

Chen Tiezhu's throat tightened. He opened his mouth, his voice so hoarse it startled him: "Patriarch..."

Before he could finish, he lunged forward two steps and held the still-hot core high with both hands. His arms shook violently, yet he held it steady.

"It's done!" he roared, his voice tearing through the air. "A Mid-tier Mecha core, capable of being equipped with spiritual energy cannons! The energy rails are fully connected, and the stability threshold is above eighty-seven! I welded every joint myself—not a single one failed!"

As he finished, his chest heaved violently, and the veins on his forehead pulsed.

He hadn't slept for seven days, sustained entirely by spiritual liquid. Now that the tension had finally broken, his vision went dark and his calves cramped, but he stubbornly refused to collapse.

Chen Wuwang did not move.

He just stood there, looking at Chen Tiezhu, at the core component glowing with a faint blue light in his hands, at his face covered in soot and cold sweat, at his hands with split webbing, and at the pool of blood that had dripped beneath his feet at some unknown point.

Then, he took a step forward.

His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye activated automatically, a blue light scanning the surface of the core. A stream of data instantly scrolled through his vision: Temperature 38.7°C, energy fluctuation ±0.3, rail impedance normal, rune lock-positioning complete.

A green light flashed.

He reached out and took the core.

It was warm to the touch, heavy, and vibrating slightly, as if he were holding a heart freshly plucked from a chest.

"Stable energy output?" he asked, his voice low but every word clear.

Chen Tiezhu grinned, a bloody crack opening at the corner of his mouth. "Steady as a rock."

Chen Wuwang did not smile.

But a glint appeared in his eyes—not of wild joy or excitement, but a piercing light, like the first bolt of lightning to tear through the clouds at the end of a dark night.

He looked down at the core once more to confirm it was correct, then turned around. Without pausing his stride, his voice suddenly rose:

"Pass down the order—begin mass production immediately!"

The command was like a blade striking stone: crisp, decisive, and absolute.

The sentry standing guard in the distance jolted to attention, immediately pulling out a signal rune from his waist and snapping it. A red light soared into the sky.

Outside the Artifact Refining Workshop, the industrial area that had been silent for seven days suddenly erupted into motion. The sound of forging, the starting of conveyor belts, and the hum of rune engravers exploded in wave after wave.

The dormant assembly lines were awakened, and the spiritual energy rails lit up one by one, like a Dragon's spine coming to life.

Chen Wuwang stood on the stone steps in front of the main hall, his back to the Artifact Refining Workshop, his hand still gripping the core, his knuckles tightening slightly.

He knew that this single piece was only the beginning.

Later, thirty units, three hundred units, three thousand units would all be made according to this blueprint. Every part and every process would be etched into the Chen family's Bloodline.

From now on, Artifact Refining would no longer be a metaphysical art relying on talent, experience, and ancestral secrets; it would be a System engineering project that could be replicated, iterated, and mass-produced.

He caught a glimpse of what was behind him out of the corner of his eye.

Chen Tiezhu hadn't left.

The man was kneeling by the cooling tank, still clutching those pliers, looking up at his back. His face was too dirty for any expression to be seen, but the corners of his mouth were turned up, and his eyes were bright.

He looked just as he had twenty years ago, when he had first forged a sword embryo capable of flight.

Chen Wuwang did not look back.

But he knew that the spark had already been lit.

Not everyone could gamble their life to light that fire.

And not everyone could walk out after seven days and nights still holding a heart aloft.

Chen Tiezhu was as tough as iron, and he was also mad.

But only someone mad to this extent deserved to be called an "artisan."

He raised his hand, and his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye called up the System interface—

[heavenly secret instruction updated]

In three quarters of an hour, a blood mist will descend in the west; one Zerg egg core can be collected.

Chen Xiaodao will have an Epiphany of Sword Intent tomorrow at noon.

The Artifact Refining Workshop must upgrade the spiritual energy assembly line within seven days.

Beside the third instruction, a green checkmark was clearly visible.

Completed.