28: Chapter 28: The entire mineral vein was acquired, and fame soared.

Three rhythmic, light sounds—like a heartbeat, or perhaps the lingering echoes left after that great battle had concluded.

Chen Wuwang's fingers were still resting on the edge of the stone table, his fingertips stained with scorched ash and undried remnants of spiritual energy.

High atop the city wall, the wind swirled with ash. In the distance, the scorched earth of the Northern Plains stretched to the horizon, the cracked mine entrances looking like eyes opened by the earth—deep, silent, yet no longer bleeding.

The Zerg had retreated.

That war which had torn apart heaven and earth three days ago had finally come to an end.

The humming of the defensive spirit array had ceased, the muzzles of the arrow towers had cooled and blackened, and the mech wreckage had been dragged away, leaving only a few deep tread marks leading from the battlefield into the depths of the Artifact Refining Workshop.

He did not move.

He maintained that posture, the rhythm of his fingertips tapping against the stone table steady and powerful.

It was not anxiety, nor fatigue, but a sense of control—much like a hunter standing in a clearing after a trap had been sprung, listening to the wails of a beast fading in the distance, confirming that the prey was caught.

"Family Head."

The voice came from behind, old and trembling, like a withered branch being snapped by the wind.

Elder Lin leaned on his bamboo staff, walking up the high platform step by step. He moved extremely slowly, every step as if treading on the tip of a blade, his breathing heavy, beads of sweat forming on his temples.

A corner of his coarse cloth garment was lifted by the wind, revealing a thin, withered lower leg, the skin wrinkled like tree bark.

He stopped half a step behind Chen Wuwang, not daring to get too close, yet not retreating.

"The surrounding small clans..." He caught his breath, his throat bobbing, "have all come, wishing to see you."

As his voice fell, the wind suddenly stilled for a moment.

Chen Wuwang slowly turned around.

His silver-white hair lifted in the wind. The mechanical prosthetic eye in his left eye emitted a faint blue light, then with a soft "click," it closed, returning to a normal pupil.

In that instant, the cold, sharp edge of wartime was put away, replaced by the aura belonging to the Family Head—as immovable as a mountain, where a single word could determine the fate of the world.

He did not look at Elder Lin, his gaze passing over the old man's hunched shoulders and toward the mountain pass in the distance.

There, dust and smoke were drifting.

Several groups were slowly approaching. Some wore coarse hemp tunics and carried bamboo baskets; some were draped in animal skins and held bone spears; some were even walking barefoot on the gravel road, their hands cradling simple pottery jars.

Their steps were cautious, their postures humble, and they stopped a hundred feet outside the city gate, not daring to advance further.

These were the small clans from the edge of the Eastern Wasteland—ants that, in the past, would not have even bothered to step across the threshold of the Chen Family's Council Hall.

Yet now, they had come to pay their respects on their own initiative.

The corners of Chen Wuwang's mouth lifted slightly—not a smile, but the arc of a blade before it is unsheathed.

"See them?" His voice was not loud, but every word was like a hammer striking a stone slab. "Of course, I will see them."

He raised his right hand, pointing toward the city gate.

"Open the main gate and ring the bell three times."

The command was concise and unquestionable.

Elder Lin's body trembled, and he suddenly looked up at him, a flicker of astonishment flashing in his eyes, which then transformed into wild joy.

His lips quivered, and he nearly lost his footing, hurriedly bracing himself against the ground with his bamboo staff.

"Pass the order down," Chen Wuwang continued, his voice as steady as the earth's veins. "Let everyone know who is receiving them."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over those figures who had come from afar, every word resonant like thunder:

"Tell them that from this day forward, the Family is the new hegemon of the Eastern Wasteland!"

The moment those words fell—

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Three bell tolls exploded from deep within the city tower, piercing through the wind of ash and shooting straight into the clouds.

The bell's toll was ancient and heavy, the symbol of the Family's three-hundred-year history.

In the past, it only rang during ancestral worship or grand ceremonies; today, it rang for victory.

At the distant mountain pass, those representatives of the small clans all shuddered, bowing their heads in unison. Some even knelt, holding their gifts high above their heads with both hands.

They understood.

This was not an invitation; it was a declaration.

The Family was no longer that discarded clan, cornered in a remote area and bullied by everyone.

They had used a bloody battle to blast the will of the Zerg Broodmother out of the Eastern Wasteland.

They had used seven days and seven nights of bitter fighting to firmly pin the mineral vein onto their own territory.

Now, they were going to receive the various clans.

Not to beg for help from a position of weakness, but to display power from a position of strength.

Elder Lin stood where he was, his chest heaving violently, his eyes actually turning slightly red.

He had lived for over eighty years and had seen too many rises and falls—great clans crushing each other, small clans being wiped out. In the Cultivation World, the strong prey on the weak; it had always been so.

But today, he had witnessed with his own eyes a Family that had once been trampled into the mud climb up step by step to stand above everyone else.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but could not make a sound.

He could only grip the bamboo staff in his hand tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Chen Wuwang remained standing, his back to the setting sun, his shadow cast long, spanning the entire high platform.

His right hand hung down, his fingertips beginning to tap against the stone table again.

Tap, tap, tap.

The same rhythm as before the battle began.

But this time, it was not a countdown.

It was a kettledrum.

The city gate slowly opened, the heavy bronze hinges emitting a dull grinding sound.

The patrol guards lined up on both sides, holding long halberds, their armor not yet removed, the scent of gunpowder smoke still lingering on them.

Their gazes were straight, their expressions stern; they were no longer that group of cowardly villagers from the past, but warriors in the true sense.

The first batch of envoys walked in.

At the front was the Clan Chief of the Stone Tooth Clan, a burly man with a fleshy face who had once spat in public three years ago when the Chen Family was paying tribute.

At this moment, he lowered his head, his hands cradling a piece of red iron ore the size of a fist, his knees bent, nearly kneeling.

"Head of the Chen Family... my clan... is willing to offer thirty percent of the mineral vein tax, begging... begging for protection."

His voice trembled, devoid of any confidence.

Chen Wuwang did not look at him, nor did he speak.

He only continued to tap his right hand against the table.

Tap, tap.

The third tap stopped abruptly.

Only then did he slowly turn his gaze, sweeping a faint glance over him.

With just that one glance, the Clan Chief of the Stone Tooth Clan stiffened, cold sweat trickling down his spine.

"Thirty percent?" Chen Wuwang spoke, his voice not loud. "Last year, your clan secretly dug seven tunnels to steal-mine my Dongshan Mineral Vein, burned down three of my patrol team's guard towers, and poisoned twelve of my clansmen."

With every sentence he spoke, the face of the Clan Chief of the Stone Tooth Clan grew paler.

"And now, you come to talk about thirty percent?"

The man fell to his knees with a thud, his forehead striking the bluestone slab: "I... I acknowledge my crimes! I am willing to offer fifty percent! If I am not sincere, may heaven and earth destroy me!"

Chen Wuwang did not pay him any more attention.

He raised his right hand and gave a light wave.

Two patrol members stepped forward, hoisted the man up, and escorted him to the side to await orders.

The second batch to enter was the female leader of Vine Valley, wearing a veil and cradling a bundle of green vines in her hands, claiming it was a "blessed holy object."

As soon as she opened her mouth, Chen Wuwang sneered: "You have hidden thirty-seven fugitives in your valley, two of whom are traitors of my Family, only intercepted by my patrol team last night."

The woman's expression changed drastically, her breathing beneath the veil becoming erratic.

"I... I was not aware..."

"No need to explain," Chen Wuwang interrupted. "Leave the tribute and get out."

She bit her lip and finally lowered her head to retreat.

The next dozen batches of people included those offering Spirit Stones, those bringing weapons, those seeking marriage alliances, and those requesting the bestowal of a Cultivation Technique...

They were of all kinds, with different attitudes, but without exception, they were all submissive, no longer possessing their former arrogance.

Chen Wuwang did not say much.

He accepted what should be accepted, reprimanded what should be reprimanded, and let go what should be let go.

He did not need to please anyone.

Nor did he need to explain.

His very existence was the answer.

The sun sank completely below the horizon, leaving only a streak of dark red in the sky.

On the high platform, only Chen Wuwang and Elder Lin remained.

The other envoys had been arranged to wait for an audience in the side hall; the city gate was closed, and the bell's toll had ceased.

The wind rose again, swirling ash in the air.

Elder Lin leaned on his staff, standing behind Chen Wuwang, his breathing still not yet settled.

"Family Head..." he spoke in a low voice, "You just now... with one sentence, settled the layout of the Eastern Wasteland."

Chen Wuwang did not turn his head.

He maintained that posture, the rhythm of his fingertips tapping against the stone table steady and powerful.

Tap, tap, tap.

After three taps, he slowly spoke:

"It was not my sentence that settled the layout."

He paused, his gaze turning toward the Medicinal Field—there, the outlines of the spiritual plants were faintly visible in the twilight.

"It was the blood of these seven days, drop by drop, that irrigated it."

Elder Lin was stunned.

Immediately, he nodded heavily.

He knew the Family Head was right.

Without those battles, without the roaring of mechs, without the backlash of the spirit array, without Xiao Dao severing the projection of the Zerg Broodmother, without Tie Zhu smelting in the furnace all night... there would be no bell toll today.

Nor would there be these small clans coming on their knees with gifts.

Chen Wuwang finally turned around, his gaze landing on Elder Lin's face.

"You came, not just to report, right?"

Elder Lin was stunned for a moment, then gave a bitter smile: "As expected, I could not hide it from you."

He took a Jade Slip from his bosom and handed it forward: "Over at the Medicinal Field... there is a matter, I think you should see."

Chen Wuwang took it, swiped his fingertip, and the Jade Slip lit up with a faint glow.

The next second, his brows furrowed slightly.

Elder Lin stood quietly, not speaking again.

The wind swirled with ash, blowing from the direction of the Medicinal Field, carrying a faint, elusive, strange fragrance.