254: Chapter 254 Planting the Bomb, Tie Zhu's Responsibility

The rock walls were still hot, and the air was filled with the smell of scorched flesh and sulfur.

Chen Tiezhu squatted by the edge of the pit, his knee pressing against a protruding rock. His left hand supported the mecha frame while his right hand held a Psionic Welding Torch, its nozzle aimed at the slick, purple-gray mucous membrane on the surface of the Ovary.

He didn't move or speak, just stared at the constantly writhing membrane.

A fluctuation cycle occurred every ninety minutes. The residual heat left after blowing up the power supply pipe in the previous chapter could only last for another thirty seconds. He knew time was running out.

"Wait five more seconds," he whispered, as if talking to himself or challenging himself.

The mucous membrane began to ooze new fluid, like plasma mixed with tree sap, dripping down the eggshell.

His hand trembled slightly—not out of fear, but because he hadn't done such delicate work in a long time.

The last time he personally installed a bomb was three years ago while mining a vein; that time, the explosion was off by half an inch, and the resulting collapse crushed two clansmen to death.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Can't be off," he said.

The welding torch ignited, and a blue-white flame spat out, sweeping across the surface of the mucous membrane.

With a soft hiss, the mucus instantly vaporized, leaving behind a layer of charred, hard shell.

His movements were fast but steady, burning inch by inch and sealing ring by ring.

Sparks splashed onto his goggles, crackling.

"Seal the interface, lock the edges, don't let them regenerate," he muttered as he worked, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "If this thing explodes while alive, the backflow of the shockwave could bury us all here."

Three main bombs lay in the toolbox, their casings covered in runes and fuzes exposed, like three sleeping hearts.

He wasn't in a hurry to take them. First, he used a mechanical arm probe to poke the hardened layer, confirming the thickness met the standard.

"Alright," he nodded, reaching for the first one.

The bomb felt heavy and icy in his hand.

He gritted his teeth and pressed the bomb into the designated groove, snapping it into the positioning ring with a click.

Then he pulled a miniature Rune Lock from his belt, inserted it into the seam, and tightened it.

With every turn, the runes lit up once, the red light flashing and vanishing instantly.

"First one, in place," he panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

The mucous membrane began to fluctuate again, and new secretions were emerging from the cracks.

He glanced at the timer: forty-seven seconds left.

"There's time," he said. His tone didn't change, but his hands moved faster.

The second bomb was installed more smoothly than the first; the position was right, the angle was precise, and the Rune Lock was tightened three full turns. The detection circuit activated automatically, and a green light turned on.

He breathed a partial sigh of relief and looked down at the third one.

This one was the largest, with a forty percent increase in yield, specifically designed to destroy deep-level embryos.

It was also the hardest one to install.

"Must ensure the power is great enough," he murmured in his heart—not a prayer, but a verification of parameters.

This was the blueprint he had revised seven times; he had personally calculated every gram of Materials and every line of runes.

He knew that this explosion would either eradicate the Hive or trigger a chain of contamination, turning the entire mountain into a living petri dish.

He took a deep breath, bent over, raised his arm, and slowly pushed the third bomb into its installation slot.

Just at the moment it was about to snap in, the mucous membrane suddenly contracted like a heart twitching, and a stream of corrosive liquid sprayed out, heading straight for his face.

He instinctively turned his head. The liquid brushed past his goggles, emitting acrid white smoke.

The protective plate on his right shoulder was splashed, sizzling as the metal began to blacken.

"Fuck!" he cursed. He didn't retreat but instead pushed forward, forcing the bomb all the way in until he heard a click as it locked.

The Rune Lock was inserted and rotated. On the first turn, the light didn't turn on; on the second turn, it was still dark.

"What's wrong?" He frowned, applying more force with his fingers.

On the third turn, the green light finally flashed.

"Connected!" He breathed a sigh of relief, but before he could smile, a line of text popped up on the detection screen:

[Fuze connection rate: 87.3%]

"Not enough," he gritted his teeth. "A little bit off means the destruction of the entire clan."

He immediately pulled out a portable Spiritual Energy Conduit, inserted it into a vein in his wrist, and connected the other end to the bomb's detection port.

Spiritual energy surged out, crawling along the circuits and repairing the slightly damaged nodes.

His face grew pale bit by bit, and his breathing became heavy.

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds.

The green light lit up again, steady and unchanging.

[Fuze connection rate: 100%]

"Good." He pulled out the conduit and shook his hand, droplets of blood flying off and hitting the ground in small spots.

All three bombs were in place, firmly fixed, with fuzes normal and energy stable.

He took two steps back and leaned behind a cover, looking up at the core of the Ovary.

It was no longer pulsing, as quiet as if it were dead.

But he knew this was just an illusion—the embryos were still developing, and time was approaching the critical point second by second.

He opened the communication channel and said hoarsely, "Southeast side, point three, installation complete. Fuze calibrated, stability Grade A, standing by."

A brief "Received" came from the other end of the channel, and then it returned to silence.

He didn't respond, just stood there with his hands on the frame, his eyes fixed on those three bombs.

Distance: forty-five meters; full field of vision coverage.

He could clearly see the luster of every rune, whether the welding marks had cracked, and detect any slight abnormality.

The wind blew in from the tunnel entrance, carrying the scent of vegetation from outside. It was faint, but real.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, his gaze was even deeper.

Over the years, others had called him the Refining Elder, the chief craftsman, and the pillar of the Chen Clan's technology.

But he knew himself; he was just an old blacksmith who repaired furnaces, welded pipes, and tightened screws.

He never thought about being a hero in his life, nor did he expect to be remembered in history.

But he remembered the day his wife died in front of the Artifact Refining bench.

Spiritual Qi backlash caused her Meridians to burst. Her last words were: "Don't stop... raise the furnace temperature... the child is still waiting for the medicine..."

He didn't stop.

He raised the furnace temperature to the limit and refined that batch of life-saving pills.

But she was gone.

From then on, he never touched technological modifications again, feeling it was something that profaned the Heavenly Dao.

Until Chen Wuwang stood before him and said, "Don't you want your son to inherit the true path of Artifact Refining?"

He was stunned.

He had a son, only eight years old, born with a defective Spiritual Vein and unable to live past fifteen.

But if he took the path of technological cultivation, he could live.

He looked down at his hands—full of calluses, joints deformed, with a scar in his palm where a furnace had burned through.

"I'll do it," he said.

Now, he stood here again, once more deciding the fate of a clan.

The difference was, this time he no longer resisted technology, nor did he blindly believe in tradition.

He knew that what truly mattered was not the means, but the responsibility.

He touched the prosthetic interface on his left arm, which was connected to the remote control System of the earth dragon.

As long as he pressed the button, the drill could burst out of the ground and forcibly clear the obstacles.

But he didn't move.

This explosion had to be precise and could not rely on external interference.

"This is my responsibility and mission as the Refining Elder," he said softly, not to anyone, but to himself.

There was no solemnity or excitement on his face. Only calmness, a kind of serenity after having experienced too much life and death.

He stood there like a nail, pinned to this land that was about to be destroyed.

In front was the Ovary, and behind was the passage.

He didn't look back.

Nor did he intend to.

Debris fell from overhead, hitting his shoulder and bouncing off.

He didn't dodge.

The ground beneath his feet vibrated slightly—it wasn't a cave-in, but the energy cycle inside the bombs starting up.

Slight, but clear.

He heard it.

The corners of his mouth slowly curled up slightly.

It wasn't a smile; it was confirmation.

Everything was normal.

Ready.

Just waiting for the order.