267: Chapter 267 The Blood Demon's Hidden Danger, An Unfounded Worry

The wind blew from the depths of the mine shaft, carrying the scent of scorched earth and residual blood.

Chen Wuwang stood on the high cliff, his back to the campfire still burning below.

The sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the shouts of youths imitating combat moves were all blown intermittently by the night wind, as if separated by a thick wall.

He could hear them, yet it felt as if they did not belong to the same world.

His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flickered slightly, and post-battle archival data scrolled along the edge of his vision:

"Casualties: seventeen. Mecha damage rate: sixty-three percent. Spiritual energy shield energy remaining: twelve point four percent..."

The information slid by quietly, like flowing water washing over a stone surface, leaving no trace.

Yet he knew that the real reckoning had not yet begun.

His fingertips unconsciously tapped the hilt of the Titanium Alloy Dagger at his waist—three times, short and forceful.

This was his old habit when thinking; he loved doing this when writing code on Earth three years ago.

Back then, when staying up late to fix bugs, he would tap the keyboard, then the desk, then the water cup; once the rhythm was right, his thoughts would clear.

Things were different now. It wasn't fixing bugs; it was disaster prevention.

It wasn't patching programs; it was patching life.

The System interface ran silently in the depths of his consciousness, pitch-black as usual.

It only generated three heavenly secret instructions at midnight every day, and there was still half an hour left.

But just a moment ago—less than ten breaths ago—his peripheral vision caught a lingering shadow that flashed by and vanished, leaving behind only a blurred coordinate and an incomplete timestamp.

[ ... 9:45 PM, 7 degrees North latitude, 300 zhang underground ]

There was no specific content, only these two parameters.

It was as if the signal had been interfered with, or as if someone had deliberately cut off the transmission.

He narrowed his left eye, the mechanical lens automatically adjusting its focus to lock onto the direction of the mine shaft fissure.

It was pitch black, bottomless, as if even the moonlight was swallowed upon entering.

Yet he remembered clearly that when Blood Butcher fled, the final trajectory of that blood shadow was sinking exactly in this direction.

"It's not that simple," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost scattered by the wind.

Blood Butcher was no fool.

Having lived for over three hundred years, he didn't rely on brute force, but on ruthlessness combined with calculation.

Every time he was beaten to a pulp, he would disappear for a while, only to suddenly emerge and catch you off guard.

The last time was in the territory of the Dongling Wen Family, where he infiltrated a wedding banquet and refined the entire wedding procession into blood Puppets;

The time before that was even more ruthless; he directly performed Possession on a junior who had just advanced to the Nascent Soul stage, detonated his Golden Core publicly at a victory banquet, and collapsed half of the mountain gate.

A person like this wouldn't just take a beating and run away for nothing.

Especially this time; the Demon Nest was one of the strongholds he had operated for many years, and outsiders had no way of knowing how many traps or hidden hands were concealed inside.

Now that it had been wiped out in one fell swoop, it would be strange if he didn't go mad.

"Retaliation is certain," Chen Wuwang slowly closed his eyes. "The question is, how will he retaliate?"

He began to simulate the possibilities in his mind.

The first possibility: a frontal assault. Impossible.

Although the Blood Demon Sect was strong, gathering a large army under the nose of the Eastern Wasteland Alliance would have long been detected by spiritual energy radar.

Moreover, Blood Butcher was severely injured now, his right arm gone; he couldn't possibly organize a large-scale operation.

The second possibility: infiltration and sabotage. That was plausible.

The Chen Family had just experienced a major battle; defenses were lax, and the clansmen's mindset was relaxed—it was the easiest time to exploit loopholes.

Poison attacks, mental control, Puppet infiltration... any one of these could cause significant trouble.

The third possibility: targeted elimination. This was the most dangerous.

If he targeted someone—

For instance, the core furnace that Chen Tiezhu was currently calibrating, or the Sword Intent nurturing chamber that Chen Xiaodao used for recovery, or even just a few mutated spiritual plants in Old Lin's Medicinal Field—

Just one explosion would be enough to cause the entire technological System to grind to a halt.

Thinking of this, his brow twitched violently.

"That's not right."

He opened his eyes, a trace of blood-colored spiritual patterns appearing in his pupils.

Blood Butcher's goal was never just destruction, but to destroy confidence.

He wanted to make people afraid, to create chaos, to make people doubt whether the path the Chen Family was taking was viable at all.

Therefore, he wouldn't just blow up one mecha, nor would he just kill one person. He would choose the place that could most shake the Foundation.

For example... the main node of the Spiritual Vein?

For example... the data core of the Heroic Spirit Projection Formation?

Or perhaps—

He suddenly paused.

The System interface lit up without warning.

It wasn't a heavenly secret instruction, nor was it a mission prompt.

It was just a faint blue light, like an electric current passing through glass, vanishing in an instant.

But he understood it.

That was a warning signal.

The family rise system rarely reacted on its own; once an abnormal fluctuation occurred, it meant the external environment had reached the "potential crisis threshold."

"It's coming," he whispered. "The layout has already begun."

The cheers in the distance continued.

Someone was drunk, belting out an old Chen Family tune at the top of their lungs, completely off-key, drawing roars of laughter from the crowd.

A few children circled around Bai Ling, begging her to conjure an ice flower one more time;

Chen Xiaodao sat on a rock, checking the interface of his mechanical arm while responding distractedly.

Everyone thought it was over.

But he knew, this was just the beginning.

He raised his right hand, palm upward, and squeezed gently.

Invisible spiritual energy circuits circulated within him, connecting every surviving mecha, every remaining Formation, and the chip module inside every clansman.

Although the Heroic Spirit Projection Formation had been shut down, the underlying network was still running.

As long as he was still standing, this connection would not be broken.

"I can't let them relax," he thought. "But I also can't frighten them."

If he were to shout "The Blood Demon is coming" right now, the entire Family would be plunged into panic by tomorrow morning.

The craftsmen wouldn't dare to work, the warriors wouldn't dare to take their shifts, and even the children wouldn't dare to go out to practice swordsmanship.

That would play right into Blood Butcher's hands.

He needed to change his approach.

He slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping across the celebration scene.

The firelight illuminated every face—some laughing, some drunk, and some so tired they were leaning against each other, dozing off.

These people had followed him in battle for five years, so many had died, and they had finally won once; it was normal for them to want to catch their breath.

He understood.

Yet he also knew that true strength didn't lie in those who celebrated after winning, but in those who could still keep their eyes on the darkness after winning.

"Tomorrow morning," he decided. "Convene the Council of Elders."

In name, it would be a post-battle review to summarize lessons learned and discuss the next steps for defensive upgrades.

In reality, it would be to quietly raise the alert level.

Double the encrypted scanning frequency of the border radar, add heart rate anomaly monitoring to the clansmen's chips, activate backup protocols for the Heroic Spirit network...

These things couldn't be rolled out all at once; they had to be done step by step.

Most importantly, he had to let others suggest it first.

He didn't want to be the Family head who was always pouring cold water on them.

He wanted collective wisdom, to let everyone realize for themselves: victory was not the end, but the starting point of a new battlefield.

The wind blew again, colder than before.

He stood at the edge of the cliff, motionless.

The three claw marks on his right cheek tingled faintly; they were the mark left by the Zerg, and also the first wound he received after his Transmigration.

Whenever something major was about to happen, this place would itch, as if something were crawling under his skin.

He raised his hand and touched it.

"Blood Demon Sect..." he said softly, "Come."

The next second, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye suddenly captured a trace of abnormal movement.

Deep underground, three hundred zhang below, a certain energy point that had originally been stationary began to move slowly.

The speed was extremely low, the frequency eerie, like some creature turning over while hibernating.

The coordinates completely overlapped with the heavenly secret instruction remnant from just a moment ago.

His eyes narrowed, and his fingers tapped the hilt of the dagger again—five times, the rhythm had changed.

It was not a question, but a confirmation.

"So you are still here."

He didn't move, nor did he call for anyone. He just watched the darkness quietly, the corners of his mouth curling up bit by bit.

It wasn't a smile, but Battle Intent.

A moment later, he turned around, his steps steady as he walked toward the cliff edge.

He had not yet gone down the mountain, nor had he summoned anyone.

He stood alone in the wind, his gaze sharp as a blade.