309: Chapter 309 Mo Yuan's Wrath

Mo Yuan's fingertips tapped lightly on the armrest, the rhythm not fast, yet perfectly synchronized with the pulse of the clamor in the exhibition hall.

Twelve mechanical Puppets stood in a silent circle behind him, faint blue data streams slowly scrolling within their eye sockets.

His right eye was a pure black crystal, currently reflecting images transmitted back from the Quantum Spirit Net—the Eastern Wasteland Alliance exhibition area, where the dust had not yet settled, the inscriptions on the mecha's spaulders still glinted with cold light, and the crowd knelt, handed over talismans, and pledged Spirit Stones, like a pilgrimage.

"Irreversible?" He whispered those two words, his voice sounding like it was squeezed out of a rusted iron pipe. "Do you even know what 'irreversible' means?"

The image froze at the moment Chen Wuwang turned around.

Silver hair flew up, the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye reflecting the setting sun, his back looking so lonely and proud that he didn't seem like a Mortal.

The corner of Mo Yuan's mouth twitched; he didn't smile, but instead looked as if he had been bitten hard by something.

"Boom!"

He stood up abruptly, and the entire Abyssal Dark Palace shook violently.

The psionic shield on the dome let out a piercing wail as spiderweb-like cracks instantly spread across the Void Realm. A few wisps of black mist seeped through the cracks, only to be ground into nothingness by the automatically activated Restriction.

The twelve Puppets opened their eyes at the same instant, their pupils of various colors—crimson, deep purple, ashen gray—but all focused on the figure in the center.

"Did you all see that?" he growled, not as a question, but as a declaration. "They knelt! Those high-and-mighty fellows who call themselves the Righteous Path are now kowtowing and begging to buy a pile of scrap metal!"

There was no response. Only data streams shuttled silently through the air, synchronizing his rage to every Clone.

"Technology? Industry? Mass production?" He sneered, stepping down from the throne one pace at a time, his boots crushing the frost formed on the ground. "They trample the Heavenly Dao underfoot, using gears and rune nails to piece together a so-called 'future'... Laughable! Absurd! Sacrilegious!"

He turned suddenly and pointed at the holographic projection floating in the air—the recently captured footage of the exhibition scene, looping the moment a clan elder of the Northern Plains Sun Clan knelt to beg for a purchase.

"Look at this face!" Mo Yuan roared. "Three months ago, he said the Chen Clan was practicing sorcery and wanted to report them to the Celestial Court for extermination! And now? For ten pieces of scrap metal, he's even thrown away his knees! Is this the order you believe in? Is this the cultivation orthodoxy you speak of?!"

A bolt of lightning exploded from his eyes, piercing the projection and leaving a charred hole.

"The Chen Clan must be destroyed." He spoke each word deliberately, his tone as heavy as clouds crushing a mountain range. "Their mecha must never fall into the hands of other forces."

Before he finished speaking, the twelve Puppets raised their hands simultaneously, signal transmitters of various shapes appearing in their palms.

Some were shaped like bone flutes, some like metal honeycombs, and three even tore open their chest cavities to reveal pulsing energy cores, beginning to send encrypted pulses to specific coordinates.

"Target One: The remnants of the Zhao Clan of Xiling, hiding three hundred zhang beneath Starfall Valley."

"Target Two: The renegade Sect 'Broken Sword Pavilion,' currently active in the rift zones at the edge of the Cultivation World."

"Target Three: The black market arms dealer 'Blood Fang,' who controls seven illegal psionic weapon distribution lines."

"Target Four: The remnants of the demonic Cultivator Alliance 'Night Owl Society' whose base was once destroyed by the Chen Clan, lurking in the former territory of the Nanqiu He Clan."

With every name announced, a signal shot out, penetrating spatial barriers and vanishing into the distorted Star Domain channels.

"Tell them," Mo Yuan stood in the center of the hall, arms wide like a priest summoning calamity, "I am no longer asking them to act alone. This time, I want an Alliance. I want them to see with their own eyes as the very thing they once despised becomes the final iron beam that crushes them."

He closed his eyes, and within his Sea of Consciousness, twelve consciousnesses resonated frantically.

Memory fragments surged—three years ago, he had seen similar assembly line blueprints in a secret room of the Zhao Clan of Xiling, but at the time, he had dismissed them as a madman's graffiti;

Six months ago, he sent Shadow Lurker Thirteen to infiltrate the outskirts of the Chen Clan, and they sent back footage of autonomous mecha patrols, which he personally incinerated, believing it to be an illusion trap.

"I should have acted sooner..." he muttered. "As soon as the first mecha touched the ground, I should have stripped its parts one by one, melted them into dross, and fed them to the Zerg as fodder!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his right shoulder. Fine cracks appeared on the surface of his armor, and an internal energy overload alarm flashed silently.

He glanced down and ignored it.

"Pain? This is just the beginning." He grinned, his teeth glinting with a metallic sheen.

"When I blow their production lines into scrap metal, when I tie Chen Wuwang to an altar and rip the mechanical parts from his body one by one, listening to him scream 'stop' in agony—that will be true satisfaction."

He looked up again, staring at the video clip still playing—Chen Xiaodao demonstrating the mecha Triangular Coordination Formation, his movements as fluid as a dance.

"You think this is progress?" He sneered. "This is regression! It's stuffing the mettle of Cultivators into cold shells to be sealed away! You no longer Cultivate, no longer comprehend the Dao, no longer risk your lives for that sliver of a chance at a Breakthrough... You just press a button and get power?"

He waved his hand violently, and a wave of black Qi swept across, completely shattering the projection.

"Absurd! Ridiculous! Disgusting!"

He panted heavily, his chest heaving. The twelve Puppets trembled in synchronization, and the data streams suffered a brief disruption.

"I'm not stopping change," he said softly, his tone suddenly becoming calm. "I am merely enforcing the true Law—the Law of the jungle, survival of the fittest. And you... you cowards hiding behind machines don't deserve to live in this era at all."

He walked toward a sealed container in the corner of the hall, inside which floated a pitch-black egg-like object, its surface covered in wriggling runes.

"The Lord of Old Days told me that the evolution of civilization must be guided by chaos."

He reached out and touched the glass. "And I am the beginning of that chaos."

He withdrew his hand, turned back to his throne, and sat cross-legged.

"Wait for the response," he said. "The first batch must be those who hate the Chen Clan the most. Those who have been humiliated, defeated, pushed to the brink... I will use their resentment to ignite this great fire."

The twelve Puppets slowly closed their eyes, leaving only the single eye of the central body still glowing, staring intently at the reception interface of the Quantum Spirit Net.

Time passed minute by minute.

In the distance, the first ray of morning light pierced the clouds above the abyss, spilling onto the outer edge of the dark palace.

But here there was no day or night, only eternal gloom and the faint glow of data.

Suddenly, a notification popped up in the bottom right corner:

[Signal Response: Night Owl Society's acting contact "Crow Head" has connected, requesting voice dialogue.]

The corner of Mo Yuan's mouth curled up.

"Connect."