3: Chapter 3: The Clan Assembles, The Oath of Prospecting

The wind stopped.

The metal fragment wedged in the rubble crack continued to sway gently.

Chen Wuwang did not move. He stood at the edge of the high platform, charred beams and shattered green bricks beneath his feet, and the silent figures of his clansmen behind him. The dawn had not yet fully broken; a gray light pressed against the horizon like an unlifted old cloth draped over the Great Eastern Barrens.

He slowly raised his right hand and gripped the titanium alloy dagger at his waist.

"Clang—"

With a light sound, the cold blade left its sheath.

In the next instant, the dagger was thrust fiercely into the stone table in front of him, sinking in up to the hilt. Several cracks spiderwebbed across the tabletop as stone fragments splattered.

The entire area fell silent.

Everyone's eyes were fixed on that dagger, before slowly shifting to Chen Wuwang's face. His silver hair was disheveled by the night wind, the three claw marks on his right cheek were clearly visible, and his left mechanical eye glinted with a faint, cold light, as if hiding an uninitiated program.

"In three days, we explore the mine," he spoke, his voice not loud, yet it felt like a blade hacking into frozen earth. "Those who are unwilling, leave now."

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Only a distant crow took flight with a flap of its wings, piercing the silence.

Chen Wuwang didn't look at them. He knew what they were thinking. What Old Lin had said—'No one dares to go'—had long since spread through the Family. The Dongshan Mineral Vein? That was a dead zone left behind by the Zerg, where Spiritual Qi was chaotic and rock layers collapsed; nine out of ten people who entered never came out. Not to mention... the rumors of the Broodmother awakening in three days were like a thorn stuck in everyone's hearts.

But he couldn't wait.

The window provided by the System was only three days. The Egg Core, the drill bit, the resource accumulation—everything was interconnected. One slow step meant death at every turn.

His fingers began to tap on the tabletop.

"Clack, clack, clack."

The rhythm was steady and grew faster. It was like some kind of countdown, or the beat of code being compiled. Every tap struck the hearts of those present, forcing their breathing to tighten.

Finally, someone moved.

It was Chen Tiezhu.

He stepped out from the front row of the crowd with heavy steps, the iron hammer he had used for twenty years slung over his shoulder. Coal dust still stained his face, his knuckles were thick, and his palms were covered in calluses from old burns. Walking to the base of the platform, he looked up at Chen Wuwang, his eyes cloudy yet firm.

"Head of the Family," his voice was raspy, like sandpaper over an iron plate. "My Artifact Refining Workshop is willing to follow."

Having said that, he suddenly raised his iron hammer and slammed it onto the ground.

Thump!

Dust flew.

This sound was like smashing through a layer of ice.

Several young craftsmen looked at each other, gritted their teeth, and stepped out of the line to stand behind Chen Tiezhu. Some carried toolboxes, others held furnace parts; no one spoke, but their shoulders were squared.

The corner of Chen Wuwang's eye twitched slightly.

He knew this old man hadn't had it easy. Twenty years ago, after a failed Artifact Refining session, his wife died from Spiritual Qi backlash, and since then, he had looked down on any 'new methods.' But last night, he had seen Chen Tiezhu crouching in a corner of the ruins, secretly using a piece of charcoal to draw the structural diagram of a rune chip on paper—his hands shook violently, yet he didn't stop for a single stroke.

Now, he had come.

Not just for the Family, but for that small fire within himself that refused to go out.

The crowd loosened further.

More people leaned forward. There were men from the Medicinal Field, sentries from the night watch, and even a few half-grown children clutching wooden sticks behind their parents, their eyes frighteningly bright.

But what shook Chen Wuwang's heart the most was the young man who had remained silent all along.

Chen Xiaodao.

He stood at the very back of the crowd, dressed in faded coarse cloth, cradling the section of a wooden sword he had scavenged from the ruins. When he was five years old, Chen Wuwang had pulled him from the fires of a village slaughtered by the Zerg; at the time, he was clutching this very thing, muttering 'slash... slash it.'

Over the years, he was a man of few words and a stubborn temper, bowing to no one except Chen Wuwang.

At this moment, he didn't step forward, nor did he voice his stance.

He just lowered his head, wiping that wooden sword over and over with his sleeve. His movements were slow and earnest, as if what he held wasn't a piece of broken wood, but a divine weapon that could cut through iron like butter.

Chen Wuwang stared at him.

He knew this boy hated the Zerg. More than anyone.

And because of that, he didn't dare to nod easily.

"Xiao Dao," he called out.

The youth looked up.

Their gazes met.

No words were spoken, yet it felt as if a thousand words had passed between them.

Chen Xiaodao finally took a step.

Step by step, he walked up the platform.

He came to a halt in front of Chen Wuwang and gently placed the wooden sword on the stone table, right next to the dagger.

Then, he knelt on one knee, hand over his chest, performing the oldest oath-taking rite of the Chen Family.

"Your subordinate, Chen Xiaodao, requests to go to Dongshan."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

Chen Wuwang didn't reach out to help him up.

He knew that this kneel wasn't an act of submission, but an entrustment.

He scanned the entire field.

More than thirty people stood in a crooked row. There were old and young, wounded and disabled, with ragged clothes and crude weapons. But their eyes were all shining.

It wasn't because they saw hope.

It was because they no longer had a choice.

"Good," Chen Wuwang finally spoke, his voice deepening. "We set out tomorrow."

His left hand remained on the hilt of the dagger, while his right continued to tap the tabletop.

The rhythm changed.

It was no longer a monotonous 'clack-clack,' but three short and two long, followed by a heavy strike.

Like some kind of secret code.

Or like the first beat of a war drum.

He knew these people were afraid. He was afraid too. But he was even more afraid of waiting for death where they stood.

The Dongshan Mineral Vein had to be mined. The first pot of gold had to be obtained. Even if there was only one day to prepare, they had to bring everything they could—pickaxes, ropes, Lighting Talismans, dry rations, emergency Medicinal Pills... Every item had to be inventoried, and every person assigned a task.

Especially the Artifact Refining Workshop.

Without proper tools, entering the mineral vein was just seeking death.

His gaze fell upon Chen Tiezhu: "Uncle Tiezhu, don't sleep tonight."

The old man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth: "I once guarded a furnace for seven days and seven nights thirty years ago, and I never saw you being this polite."

"This time is different." Chen Wuwang stared at him. "I want you to modify a set of tunneling equipment that can operate under high-pressure rock layers. Deliver it before tomorrow morning."

"And the Materials?" Chen Tiezhu frowned.

"Everything usable in the ruins belongs to you. For what's missing, take it from my room—bedboards, door frames, window lattices, tear them down to use as supports."

"Your bed is made of Spirit Wood!" someone exclaimed in shock.

"Our lives are almost gone, what do I need a bed for?" Chen Wuwang sneered. "What I want is a tool that can drill through rock, not a coffin to sleep in."

A ripple of low laughter went through the crowd, and the tense atmosphere loosened an inch.

Chen Xiaodao stood up at this moment, picked up his wooden sword, and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Chen Wuwang asked.

"To practice my sword," he said. "I'll need it tomorrow."

After saying that, his silhouette disappeared around a corner of the ruins.

Chen Wuwang watched the direction he left in and didn't stop him.

He knew this boy wouldn't sleep tonight. He would swing his sword over and over until his arms could no longer be raised. It wasn't to perform loyalty, but to ensure that when danger came, he could be the first to rush forward and block that strike for others.

The wind rose again.

It blew against that metal flag, making a faint humming sound.

Chen Wuwang finally pulled out the dagger.

He didn't sheath the blade, but instead used the tip to carve a deep mark into the stone table.

A horizontal line.

Below it were three names: Chen Tiezhu, Chen Xiaodao, Chen Wuwang.

Further down was a string of numbers: 3 Days.

"This is an order," he said in a low voice, "and also a bet."

"If we win, we rebuild the Chen Family."

"If we lose..." He paused, looking up toward Dongshan, "then we'll all be buried there together."

No one responded.

But everyone silently took note of that carved mark.

After a long while, Chen Tiezhu shouldered his iron hammer and turned to leave. His steps were heavy, yet incomparably resolute.

The others dispersed one after another. Some went to pack their belongings, some to reinforce their weapons, and some silently headed toward the Medicinal Field to prepare some emergency herbs.

Only Chen Wuwang remained on the platform.

He stood there, unmoving.

His left hand gripped the dagger, while his right rested on the edge of the stone table, his fingertips still gently tapping.

"Clack, clack, clack."

As if writing a piece of code that no one understood.

In the distance, a sliver of white appeared on the eastern horizon.

A new day had begun.

And his countdown had officially started.