312: Chapter 312 Preparations Before the Battle

Night wind carrying the scent of rust poured out from the underground pipe opening. Chen Xiaodao stepped onto the third rung of the maintenance ladder, his boot crushing half a piece of frosted sludge.

He looked up at the ventilation cover three meters above him and asked coldly, "How many times have you practiced the formation movements?"

"Seven times." A hushed voice came from below. It was Er Gouzi, the youngest in the Sword Cultivator Team. "But... but it got messy again just now. Lao Si's Sword Qi was off by half an inch and hit a pillar."

Chen Xiaodao flipped down and landed silently. When the sole of his Mechanical prosthetic limb touched the stone floor, it only made a muffled thud.

He walked to the front of the team and scanned the ten tense faces.

"Close your eyes," he said.

No one moved.

"I said, close your eyes!" he roared, his voice echoing through the pipe.

The ten people shut their eyes in unison.

"Now, remember—the year you were five, when the village was burning, what were you clutching in your hands?"

The air fell silent for a moment.

Someone shuddered.

"I see fire." Er Gouzi's voice trembled. "Mother stuffed me into the cellar. Just as the door closed, a burning beam crashed down... I was holding half a wooden stick; that was my only sword."

"I ran while holding my little sister, with the screeches of the Insectoids all behind me." Another voice joined in. "My father stayed behind. The last thing I saw was him turning back to yell at me to run... I didn't dare look back."

"When I woke up, I was lying in a pile of corpses." Chen Xiaodao spoke slowly. "What I was holding in my arms was a charred wood-cutting knife. I don't remember how I picked it up; I only knew at that moment, I wanted to kill someone."

He paused and raised his left hand. The joint of the mechanical arm gave a light click, and psionic energy lit up along the runic circuits.

"Today, they are coming again. Not the Insectoids, but humans. Yet what they want to destroy is everything we built with our own hands. Tell me, what are we fighting for in this battle?"

"To live!" Er Gouzi gritted his teeth.

"So that no one can ever press us into the ground like ants again!" someone growled.

"For home." Chen Xiaodao's voice deepened. "This life of mine was pulled out of the fire by the Family Head. My sword, my hands, my legs—everything was given to me by the Chen Family. Today, whoever dares touch a single finger of my family—I'll let them know what it means when a Sword Cultivator's life is traded for a life!"

He suddenly drew the short sword at his waist and slashed the tip across the ground. A burst of spiritual light erupted, revealing the Array Patterns already carved beneath his feet.

"Practice one more time! One wrong step, and you'll be penalized with ten breaths of weighted sprinting! Begin!"

Ten figures instantly took to the air, sword light weaving together like a net. The psionic energy driven by the mechanical arms pulled pale blue trails through the air. The sounds of footsteps, sword hums, and breathing blended into a roar within the narrow passage.

At the same time, in the workshop outside the South Cooling Tower, the smell of oil was thick and choking.

Chen Tiezhu crouched at the bottom of the missile bay, tightening the last mounting bolt. He suddenly looked up and glared at a gray-robed technician nearby. "Who told you to turn off the sensor? Huh? You think this is a joke?"

The technician shrank back. "I... I saw the indicator light flashing red and thought it was a malfunction..."

"Malfunction my foot!" Chen Tiezhu slapped the metal casing, making the entire row of conduits hum. "That's the cloaking program simulating aging! Turn it off, and the enemy will see the flaw at a glance! Do you want the whole clan to be buried with you?!"

He grabbed his dagger and carved into the bay interface, the marks deep enough to reach the metal. Four large characters appeared: "NOT INSPECTED HERE, HANDS CUT!"

"Listen up, all of you!" He stood up and wiped the grease from his face. "For the next twelve watches, anyone who touches a single wire wrong, I'll weld him into the base of this tower as a foundation pile! Do you hear me?!"

"We hear you!" seven or eight technicians roared in unison.

"Good, continue!" He turned and grabbed a spray gun, aiming it at a set of exposed connectors. "Come on, apply the anti-rust paint! Three layers, no more, no less! Not a single grain of sand is allowed in!"

Amidst the mist of paint, he muttered while spraying, "The Family Head is right. If we're going to be real, we have to be so real that even I believe it. This tower looks like junk, but what's hidden in its belly is something that will make the enemy cry for their mothers..."

He wiped a splash of paint from his face and grinned. "Just wait. When you try to blow it up, our missiles will blow your heads off first."

On the main city square, dawn hadn't fully broken, and a gray light weighed down on the city walls.

The clansmen were already busy at their posts. Some were stuffing dry rations into mecha cockpits, some were checking the seals on armor, and elders were leading children to tie reinforcement ropes to the battlements. No one spoke, but every movement was meticulous.

Suddenly, a long laugh erupted from the high platform—

"Hahahaha!"

Everyone started and looked up.

Chen Wuwang stood there, his silver hair wildly dancing in the wind. The three claw marks on his right cheek were particularly eye-catching in the dim light. His left hand was in his pocket, while his right hand held high the Titanium Alloy Dagger carved with runes. His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye scanned the field, a blue light flashing briefly.

"What are you all standing around for?" His voice wasn't loud, yet it reached every corner. "Scared?"

No one answered.

"I'm asking you!" He suddenly stepped forward, his heel hitting the stone platform with a thud. "Years ago, when the Insectoids invaded, the sky fell, the earth cracked, houses burned to ash, and loved ones were buried under the rubble—back then, who saved us? Hmm? Was it divine soldiers descending from the sky? Or was it an Immortal manifesting?"

He paused and looked around at everyone.

"It was my father who used his body to block the mine exit so my mother could take me and crawl out."

"It was my Master who fought to the death to lure away three Venom-Jaw Insects so that five of us children could escape into the mountain gully."

"It was my older brother who stuffed the last Fasting Pill into my mouth before he died, while he starved to death in the snow."

His voice lowered, but grew even heavier.

"There are no gods, no saviors. Those who survived relied on themselves. It was we ourselves, with our own fists and feet, who fought for our lives out of the piles of the dead!"

He raised the dagger, pointing toward the brightening eastern horizon.

"Today, they are coming again. Mo Yuan, the Zhao Clan, the Blood Fang Army, the Broken Sword Pavilion... They think our Chen Family relies on technology as a heretical path. They think we shouldn't stand up. They think we should kneel and beg for mercy!"

"I tell you—the Eastern Wasteland Chen Family only kneels to ancestors, never to enemies! Whoever dares reach out, I'll chop off their hand! Whoever dares look, I'll gouge out their eye! Whoever dares invade—I'll let them know what it means to die standing rather than live kneeling!"

Below the platform, there was still silence.

But people slowly began to lift their heads.

A young man tightened his grip on the spear in his hand.

An old craftsman let go of his trembling hand and picked up his tools again.

A little girl quietly stepped out from behind the eaves, staring at the figure on the high platform, her eyes shining like stars.

Chen Wuwang smiled. This time it wasn't a frenzied laugh, but a curl of the lips, filled with ruthlessness and warmth.

"I know you're afraid. Afraid of dying, afraid of your family getting hurt, afraid of everything starting over. But it's precisely because we're afraid that we must fight! Because we cannot afford to lose, and we must never lose!"

He put away the dagger, leaned his hands on the edge of the platform, and looked down at the crowd.

"Now, I give you two choices—either lay down your weapons, hide in the cellar, and wait for me to lead a team to carve out a bloody path; or, come with me, sharpen your blades, strap on your armor, straighten your hearts—and meet them head-on to slaughter every last one of them!"

Silence followed for three breaths after his words fell.

The first to step forward was a one-armed old man, a veteran of the city guard. He walked to the front of the platform with his cane, took off his hat, and slammed it onto the ground. "I've got one life left out of three; it's already been worth it! Count me in!"

Then a young mother handed her child to her mother-in-law and picked up a short axe. "My man died in an attack three years ago. In this battle, I'm going to personally chop off an enemy's head!"

More and more people walked forward.

Fists pounded against breastplates, making thudding sounds.

Blades and swords struck the ground, sending sparks flying.

Finally, the people across the entire square stood before the platform, densely packed, their gazes like torches.

Chen Wuwang stood on the high platform, looking at the faces below, and suddenly felt his chest burning hot.

He said no more, only raised his right hand and slowly clenched it into a fist.

In the next instant, thousands of voices erupted in a roar:

"To battle! To battle! To battle!"

The roar pierced the clouds, startling a flock of birds.

Far away, deep in the underground pipes, Chen Xiaodao opened his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.

At the South Cooling Tower, Chen Tiezhu wiped the paint off his dagger and hummed an old, out-of-tune song.

Meanwhile, Chen Wuwang still stood in the center of the high platform, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye continuously scanning the city. Three red dots flashed quietly—the East District Conduit, the North Junction Zone, and the South Cooling Tower.

He let out a soft breath and whispered, "Come on then."

The wind swept across the platform, fluttering the corners of his clothes.