389: Chapter 389 Firm Belief, Moving Forward Courageously

The morning mist had not yet dispersed, and the mountain wind whipped against the edges of the iron-sheet flag, making a flapping sound. Chen Wuwang pushed open the heavy stone door of the secret chamber and stepped out.

He did not look back. The intelligence screen behind him was still lit, with red dots flickering, but he did not glance at it again. His fingertips had long left the communication key; it was not that he would not press it, but he knew—it was time to let everyone see the light.

"Pass the order down." His voice was not loud, yet it pierced the morning mist like a blade, "Gather the entire Family before the ancestral shrine."

Xiao Wu rushed out from under the corridor, panting: "Family Head, now?"

"Now." Chen Wuwang raised his eyes to look at the high platform on the Main Peak, "The sooner the better."

In less than a quarter of an hour, the members of the Chen Family poured in from all directions.

The craftsmen from the Artifact Refining Workshop threw down their forging hammers, the herbalists from the Medicinal Field took off their gloves, the young disciples in the training grounds put away their spears, and even the elderly came leaning on their canes.

They stood in the square before the ancestral shrine, arranged neatly. No one spoke, but their eyes held something hidden—worry, unease, and a heaviness suppressed deep in their hearts.

Chen Wuwang walked up the high platform step by step. His silver-white hair was lifted by the wind, and the three old scars on his right cheek were clearly visible in the morning light.

He wore no battle armor, nor did he wear the protective cover for his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye. He just stood there, just as he had when he first stood on this platform thirty years ago.

"You are all here." He began, his voice low yet carrying far, "I know that the winds have been tight lately; patrols have increased, security has tightened, and some of you cannot sleep soundly at night."

Below, some lowered their heads, and some clenched their fists.

"I will not hide it from you either." He paused, "The outside is indeed not peaceful. Someone wants to move against our Chen Family, wants to make us chaotic, wants to make us afraid."

The crowd stirred slightly.

"But I want to ask one thing—" He suddenly raised his voice, "What has our Chen Family relied on to survive until today?"

No one answered. But everyone was listening.

"Thirty years ago, the Zerg slaughtered the village in one night. The ancestral hall collapsed, the mineral veins were severed, and we could not even find a decent pot."

He pointed to the iron-sheet flag behind him, "Back then, this flag was welded from scrap iron sheets. It would rattle whenever the wind blew—it was not imposing; it was just poverty clanking!"

Someone laughed, the laughter not loud, carrying a hint of bitterness.

"But we survived." His voice deepened, "How did we survive? Not by relying on anyone's charity, not by relying on luck, but by hammering and chiseling, blade by blade, sword by sword, fighting our way out!"

He turned and pointed into the distance—the pale blue trails of the mecha patrol cutting across the sky were still dissipating, the fires of the Artifact Refining Workshop reflected against the base of the clouds, and the spirit plants in the Medicinal Field shimmered in the morning dew.

"Look at now!" He waved his arm, "Mechas can fly, Formations can protect the land, and even the most remote Southern Ridge mineral belt has yielded branch veins! This did not fall from the sky; we fought for it ourselves!"

Below, people began to nod; craftsmen straightened their backs, and young disciples gripped their weapons.

"I know some of you are drumming in your hearts." His gaze swept over the crowd, "Afraid of not being able to win, afraid of the high cost, afraid that after this battle, the Family will be gone."

He paused, his voice softening: "I am afraid too. I am afraid of you getting hurt, afraid of the elderly weeping, afraid of the children experiencing the things I went through back then.

But I am even more afraid—afraid that we will lose heart first, afraid that we will believe the word 'impossible' ourselves!"

He suddenly looked up, his eyes like blades: "I, Chen Wuwang, can die, and the Chen Family can be defeated, but I will absolutely not allow us to admit defeat before we even make a move!"

"Our Chen Family has walked all this way, experiencing countless storms, but we have never retreated." He enunciated each word, "This time, we will not either!"

The square was silent for a moment.

Then, a youth stepped out from the crowd. Seventeen or eighteen years old, his face still bearing signs of youth, his hand tightly clutching a newly forged short sword.

He knelt on one knee, his voice not loud, but clear: "Wherever the Family Head points, that is the direction our Chen Family will move forward!"

After finishing, he stood up abruptly, drew his sword from its scabbard, and pointed the tip straight at the firmament.

"Better to die than retreat!"

That roar was like a thunderclap splitting the morning mist.

"Better to die than retreat!"

"Swear to defend our home!"

"Follow the Family Head, move forward courageously!"

One voice after another rang out from all directions. Some raised iron hammers, some raised medicinal hoes, some raised long spears.

There was no unified slogan, no rehearsed Formation, but that spirit, that Aura, like a mountain flood bursting through a sluice gate, erupted with a roar.

Chen Wuwang stood on the high platform, not speaking again.

He looked at the faces below—old and young, wounded and disabled, craftsmen with calloused hands, and youths who had just picked up swords.

Their eyes had changed; no longer filled with worry or hesitation, they were bright, hot, and burning with fire.

He knew that once this fire started burning, it could no longer be suppressed.

An old clansman, leaning on a cane, tremblingly walked to the front, his voice hoarse: "Family Head... this old bone of mine cannot do much else, but guarding a gate or lighting a lamp is something I can still manage."

"Count me in!"

"My son just joined the Artifact Refining group yesterday; I can help out too!"

"If the Medicinal Field is short-handed, I will go; do not mind that my hands and feet are slow!"

Voices rose one after another.

Chen Wuwang finally smiled. It was not a manic laugh, but a grounded, warm smile. He raised his hand and pressed it down gently.

The crowd gradually quieted down.

"I do not need you to die." His voice was calm, "I want you—to live, to live better than anyone else.

I want our children, when they mention the Chen Family in the future, not to say 'that is a warring Family', but to say 'that is the Family business our ancestors fought for'."

He slowly scanned his surroundings: "So, do not be afraid. And do not hide. If the enemy wants us to be chaotic, we will be even steadier; if they want us to be afraid, we will be even stronger. As long as our hearts do not scatter, the Family will remain!"

"This journey has had strong winds and heavy rains, with many pits and slippery roads." He paused, the corners of his mouth slightly raised, "But we Chen Family members have never been afraid of falling—just get up, dust ourselves off, and keep walking!"

"Move forward courageously!" Someone shouted.

"Move forward courageously!"

"Move forward courageously!"

The wave of sound was like the tide, shaking the mountains and wilderness with its echo.

The mecha patrol turned in the air, as if responding to this Aura. The forging hammers of the Artifact Refining Workshop rang out again, and the spirit plants in the Medicinal Field swayed gently in the wind.

Chen Wuwang remained standing on the high platform, his silver hair flying, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye reflecting the morning sun, shimmering with a faint light.

He said nothing more, just quietly watching this scene.

The clansmen were still shouting and taking oaths; some had tears in their eyes, some were trembling with clenched fists, and some silently shouldered their tools, as if ready to set off at any moment.

He looked at them, looked at this land, and looked at that iron-sheet flag, which was flapping loudly in the wind.

Thirty years.

From crawling out of the ruins to standing on this high platform today.

He was not walking alone.

He never was.

The wind rose again, carrying the morning mist, carrying the shouts, and carrying a momentum that no one could stop.

He stood there, motionless, like a mountain.