372: Chapter 372 Mo Yuan is unwilling to accept defeat and plots another conspiracy.

The door just closed, and the light in the room dimmed by half.

Mo Yuan stood still, twelve mechanical bodies lined up behind him like shadows, resembling a row of nailed-down wreckage.

He didn't turn around, but merely raised his right hand and flicked his fingertips—a distorted light screen appeared in the air, the images flickering but piercingly clear: Aelia turning around, wings unfolding, light patterns flashing and vanishing; the moment the door closed, Chen Wuwang looked down at his panel, his lips twitching slightly.

"Another one," his voice was so low it was almost inaudible, "another person extending their wings toward that madman."

The moment his voice fell, the temperature in the secret room plummeted.

Frost flowers formed on the metal pipes in the corners, and fine cracks split the ground, as if it couldn't withstand some invisible pressure.

He walked forward step by step; his footsteps weren't heavy, but with every step he took, the alloy floor beneath his feet made a crisp "crack" sound.

He stopped in front of the cracked black mirror.

The mirror cycled through projections of twelve Puppets, each one battered and broken—some missing arms, some with tilted heads—only the one in the center was the most complete—

A silver-gray shell, a dark red core embedded in the chest, and a face covered by translucent armor, with a pale face faintly visible.

That was his original shell.

"We lost," he spoke, his tone so calm it didn't sound like he was admitting defeat. "Three days ago, nine Nascent Souls joined forces to pressure the borders, and what was the result? Mechs crushed blades and shields, sword arrays tore through the Sorcerer Corps, Spirit Arrays locked the valley, Bai Ling reinforced the defense, and finally, that metal hulk threw a punch, even a Nascent Soul Expert's psionic shield was blown to bits."

He stared at himself in the mirror and suddenly laughed: "Is it ridiculous? I was supposed to be the Terminator, the Purger of Order, the Sword-bearer of Old Whispers... and now, I've become a piece of trash hiding underground watching others celebrate."

The laughter grew louder, finally turning into a roar: "No! I don't accept this!"

He slammed his fist into the mirror.

With a "crash," the glass shattered into pieces, shards scattering on the floor, reflecting countless versions of his face—each one distorted, bloodshot, and filled with resentment.

"Chen Wuwang... you think you've won?" He gasped, his fingers tracing the edge of the shattered frame, leaving a trail of blood. "You build your mechs, refine your Rune Plates, win over the Angel Race, and pave your trade routes... you think you're pioneering an era?"

He slowly raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, with what seemed like electric currents pulsing deep within his pupils.

"You're not a pioneer. You're a sacrifice. You personally pushed the entire Chen Family onto the pyre."

He stepped back two paces, and mechanical arms automatically extended to lift him, placing him onto the throne behind him, which was entwined with black iron and cables.

The surface of the seat was covered with interfaces; his spine, arms, and temples were plugged in one by one, and data streams surged into his brain through the tubes.

Images began flashing before his eyes: a holographic map of the Chen Family's main city, the 3D structure of the Artifact Refining Workshop, the distribution of Spiritual Vein nodes, mech patrol routes, and heat maps of clan activities...

Red lines marked defense strength, green represented resource flow, and yellow indicated alert zones.

"Too tight," he gritted his teeth. "Every entrance has a mech sentry tower, every section of the city wall has psionic sensing wires buried, and even the branch veins three hundred feet underground have seismic monitoring networks... they can even keep out insects."

The screen switched rapidly, information fragments jumping continuously: records of a certain battle, mech test flight videos, Family meeting clips, Medicinal Field harvesting processes...

Suddenly, an old piece of footage froze.

The screen showed an outer outpost, numbered C-7, where a young clansman was operating an energy converter, frantically connecting the wrong wires, causing the energy storage tank to overload and explode.

Flames soared into the sky; three were seriously injured, and one died on the spot.

Mo Yuan's eyes lit up.

"Ordinary people... they are the weakest link," he whispered, his lips slowly curling up. "Not every Chen Family member can master that set of cold machines of yours. They rely on System commands, standardized processes, and unified training... but what about the people? People panic, make mistakes, get greedy, and feel fear."

He closed his eyes, and the deduction began in his mind.

Suppose—at an outer mining site, an ordinary technician makes a mistake due to fatigue, triggering a chain reaction;

Further suppose—this mining site happens to be connected to the main power grid, and the overload surge kicks back along the lines;

Further suppose—the shockwave triggers the Artifact Refining Workshop's backup furnace self-start program while the furnace is in an uncalibrated state;

The consequence—the entire production line is paralyzed, unable to recover for at least seventy-two hours, and the prototype mech's test flight is delayed.

And in this gap, who will come?

The enemy won't miss such an opportunity.

Blood Butcher has wanted to blow up the Artifact Refining Workshop for a long time.

The Zerg Broodmother has been waiting for the Chen Family's defenses to loosen.

Even those small clans of the Common Alliance who have ostensibly surrendered might not be without their own hidden agendas.

"I don't need to do it myself," he opened his eyes and chuckled. "Just a single spark can burn through their golden shield."

He pulled up another record: during the last Zerg attack, the Chen Family temporarily drafted a group of non-combat personnel for logistics coordination, three of whom accessed the secondary console without authorization.

"The loopholes have always been there," he said. "They're just too confident, thinking they can use technology to level all gaps. But no matter how strong technology is, it's used by people. People have weaknesses, so the System has cracks."

He leaned back into the throne and lightly tapped the air.

All the images vanished, leaving only a rotating red dot marked at the very edge of the Chen Family's territory—Nanling Outpost No. 13.

Only twenty clansmen were stationed there, responsible for monitoring Spiritual Qi fluctuations in an abandoned mine shaft. The daily tasks were extremely dull, and no abnormalities had occurred for three consecutive years.

"It starts here," he whispered. "No one will care about a dozing sentry, and no one will check a log that was uploaded late."

He slowly raised his hand, and a Black Chip appeared in his palm, its surface carved with fine patterns, like a Fusion of some ancient rune and circuitry.

"This isn't an attack." He gently pressed the chip into the slot beside the seat. "This is sowing seeds. Let chaos take root on its own, and let errors spread by themselves."

The mechanical arms around the throne began to operate, cables winding like snakes, and the data stream infusion accelerated.

His consciousness sank into darkness, his mind racing like a venomous snake coiling in a cave, searching for the first place to strike.

The duty roster of Nanling Outpost No. 13, handover procedures, communication frequencies, backup power activation mechanisms... piece after piece of information was extracted, analyzed, and reorganized.

He didn't need a massive army to invade.

He only needed one person, one moment of negligence, one ignored warning signal.

That would be enough.

Deep in the secret room, there was only the hum of electricity and his barely audible self-muttering:

"The higher you build, the harder you fall."

"Chen Wuwang, believe it or not..."

"The one who destroys you won't be an enemy, but your own people."

The last line of data was locked.

His body remained still, eyes tightly closed, his consciousness still calculating.

The red dot on the map flickered slightly, like a seed about to explode.