233: Chapter 233 Chen Wuwang strengthens defenses, awaiting the enemy's attack.

The night wind was still blowing, the torches were only half-burned, and the clamor of the celebration feast lay over the Chen Family Main Peak like a thin veil.

Chen Wuwang stood at the edge of the high platform, his fingers no longer tapping against his cup.

He turned, walking down the stone steps with a steady pace.

Every step held a rhythm—not fast, but no one dared to stop him.

The Main Hall was brightly lit, and the doors of the Council Hall slid open automatically before him; the guards bowed in salute, not asking a single word about why he was summoning people at this hour.

More than thirty people quickly gathered in the hall—the elders on duty, the combat post commanders, the logistics managers, the Medicinal Field stewards, the patrol captains... all were key personnel who could respond immediately.

Their faces were still flushed with alcohol, some with crumbs of steamed cake on their lips, but upon seeing Chen Wuwang in his unchanged battle armor, silver hair draped over his shoulders, and his left Mechanical Prosthetic Eye gleaming with a cold light, everyone immediately straightened their posture.

"Has it not dispersed yet?" Chen Wuwang asked; his voice was not loud, but it sounded like a knife scraping against an iron plate.

"We were just about to," one of the elders said in a low voice. "The children are still releasing lanterns."

"Do not disperse." He walked to the head seat but did not sit down, instead pressing his right hand against the edge of the table. "From this moment on, initiate the Level 3 combat readiness protocol."

The entire hall went silent for a moment.

"Head of the Family?"

"An enemy attack is coming." He spoke decisively, without beating around the bush. "This is not a guess, it is a judgment. I cannot provide evidence because the evidence has not yet landed, but I can provide the basis."

He raised his left hand, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye sweeping over the crowd: "In the past three years, we have lost seven people who fell before Zerg raids; two apprentices killed by the poison planted by Moyuan; and one medicinal boy who died because someone tampered with the ventilation shaft. Each time, there were signs."

"The first time, it was an abnormality in the Spiritual Qi trajectory of the abandoned battlefield; the second time, the Puppet's head was tilted at the wrong angle; the third time, whispers echoed in my Sea of Consciousness."

He paused, his voice dropping lower: "Tonight, all three of these signs are present."

No one spoke.

Someone swallowed hard, and someone else quietly gripped the talisman tablet at their waist.

"I know what you are thinking." Chen Wuwang scanned the room. "The celebration feast has just begun, and everyone has just let their guard down. But the enemy loves to strike at such times. They do not fear our strength; they fear our relaxation."

"I do not gamble with luck." He tapped his knuckles against the tabletop. "We have survived until now by relying on vigilance, not System prompts. The System did not speak this time, so I will take charge myself."

"The Artifact Refining Workshop will immediately switch to emergency production mode; all non-essential processes are to be suspended, with priority given to replenishing the energy cores and ammunition reserves of the defensive mechs."

"The Medicinal Field is to be placed under the full control of Steward Li; the spiritual seedlings are to be moved into the underground temperature-controlled room, and all children are to be concentrated in the B-Zone shelter; no one is to act alone."

"The patrol team will rotate in three shifts, changing posts every two hours; each person will be issued a portable spiritual energy alarm and a short-range communication talisman. The armory will open Level 1 access, and all combat personnel may collect basic protective armor and counter-attack talisman blades."

The orders fell one by one, crisp and decisive.

Someone frowned: "Head of the Family, what if it is a false alarm..."

"Then we shall treat it as a drill." Chen Wuwang interrupted. "But if it really comes, who will take responsibility for those children? You? Or you?"

The person shut his mouth.

"I am not trying to scare you." His tone softened slightly. "I want you to remember—we are not an ordinary Family. We walk the path of Cyber Cultivation, and our enemies are waging a war of extermination. They will not stop because we are celebrating; they will only pounce because we are lax."

"Therefore, from now on, everyone is to enter combat duty status."

"Yes!" The voices were uniform.

He nodded: "Go."

The crowd quickly dispersed, their footsteps echoing in the corridor.

Some ran toward the Artifact Refining Workshop, some rushed into the communication room, and children were carried by adults toward the underground.

The Main Hall was half empty in the blink of an eye.

Chen Wuwang did not stay.

He walked out of the Main Hall and ran into the patrol captain, who was leading a team out.

"Head of the Family!" The captain stood at attention. "The patrol routes have been rearranged; the East Ridge cliff, the South Slope dense forest, and the West Wall observation point have all been reinforced with sentries."

"Good." He raised his hand in a gesture. "Take thermal scanners and focus on checking for barrier fluctuations. If there are any faint cracks, report them immediately."

"Understood!"

He continued walking.

He walked across the plaza, passed the Medicinal Field, and climbed up to the Main Peak defensive line.

His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye scanned continuously: barrier strength was 98.7%, energy was stable, but there was a fluctuation value in the southeast corner that was 0.3 Spiritual Pressure units higher.

He stopped, crouched down, and pressed his fingertips against the ground.

Sure enough.

An extremely thin crack was hidden under the moss, no more than three fingers long and only half an inch deep; it would be almost invisible without using spiritual energy perception.

"A small problem," he said in a low voice, "but even mosquitoes can cause bleeding if they bite enough."

He took a micro-repair spray from his waist and sprayed it at the crack for two seconds; with a flash of blue light, the crack closed.

Footsteps came from behind; it was two young craftsmen rushing over with toolboxes on their backs.

"Head of the Family, we are here for the inspection."

"Mm." He stood up. "Check all the barrier anchor points from Zone A to Zone D, especially that batch of rune piles installed last year. Their durability is insufficient, and they are prone to aging."

"We have already made a list." One of them opened a tablet. "Our first team will check the west side, and the second team will check the north slope."

"Do not miss any blind spots." He said, "The enemy specializes in striking at blind spots."

The two saluted and left.

He walked forward again and climbed up to the observation deck.

The view here was the widest, allowing him to see the entire Main Peak defensive line.

At this moment, red dots were lighting up one by one on the tactical tablet—those were the positioning signals of each post.

Patrol teams deployed, surveillance restarted, the armory opened, and underground passages sealed.

Everything was in motion.

He called up the full-area defense map and stared at the pitch-black Eastern Wasteland border.

There, twelve Puppets still stood silently.

He still remembered that thought from just now.

"You honor the heroes; I honor the sacrifice."

Bullshit.

He sneered, plucked this sentence from his memory, and tossed it into the data ruins behind his mind.

Now was not the time for trading insults.

It was time for preparation.

He pressed the communication button: "Attention all posts, I am the Head of the Family. The time is now 9:45 PM, the entire Family is to enter Level 3 alert. Without my order, no one is to unauthorizedly lift the alarm. Repeat, this is not a drill; it is preparation for actual combat."

Responses came in one after another.

"Patrol Group One received."

"Artifact Refining Workshop B-line has switched to emergency mode."

"Medicinal Field basement lockdown complete."

"Children's shelter confirmed safe."

The voices sounded one after another, steady and firm.

Listening to them, the tension in his heart eased slightly.

It was not that the threat had passed.

It was that the team had been rallied.

He walked down from the observation deck and strolled slowly along the defensive line.

Every time he passed a sentry post, the guards would look up at him; there was no panic in their eyes, only confirmation.

He knew what they were waiting for.

Waiting for a word from him.

Waiting for an order from him.

But he did not speak.

Now was not yet the time.

He returned to the Stargazing Platform behind the Main Hall—this was the highest point and the final line of defense for the command center.

He stood before the railing, looking at the eastern horizon.

The sky had not yet brightened.

The deepest part of the night is often just before dawn.

He raised his hand and pressed the encryption button on his wristwatch.

The next second, an audio clip rang out in the earpieces of all sentry posts.

No music.

No slogans.

Only sound.

Screams, explosions, children's cries, women's roars, the deafening roar of mechs shattering, the piercing shriek of barriers breaking...

Mixed with all the real battlefield recordings from that night of the Zerg night raid three years ago.

Lasting for thirty seconds.

Then it stopped abruptly.

He knew that this sound would make some people tremble, and would make some people recall nightmares.

But he also knew that this could make everyone sober.

A few minutes later, a young voice came over the communication channel: "Head of the Family... we understand."

He did not respond.

He just stood there quietly.

Behind him, a projection slowly unfolded; the full-Family defense map hovered in the air, red dots flickering and pulsing rhythmically, like the beating of a giant heart.

The entire Chen Family had become a war machine on standby.

He touched the dagger at his waist.

There were three scratches on the hilt—left there when he first killed an enemy.

He closed his eyes.

The wind came from the east.

Carrying sand, carrying cold, carrying something indescribable.

But he knew.

It was coming.

It was not a question of if.

But when.

He opened his eyes, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye locked onto the distance.

His fingers tapped lightly against the railing.

Thump, thump, thump.

Three sounds.

Like a heartbeat.

Like a countdown.

Like war drums, quietly beating in a place where no one could hear.