39: Chapter 39: First Taste of Success, Confidence Soars

The morning breeze, carrying the scent of scorched iron and Spiritual Plant, swept across the edge of the test flight field.

The clansmen were crowded in front of the mecha array, pointing and gesturing; laughter and exclamations rose one after another, like a boiling pot of water.

Several teenagers stood on tiptoes to touch the cold armor plating of the "po shan" mecha, only to shrink back at a low shout from Chen Xiaodao—

That guy was still standing beside the command platform, his left hand pressed on the hilt of his sword, his right hand resting on the data interface, his eyes scanning the surroundings, not relaxing for even an inch.

In the center of the high platform, Chen Wuwang finally moved.

He didn't look at the cheering crowd, nor did he pay attention to those envoys from the great clans who were quietly lowering their heads.

He turned his steps, the soles of his boots crushing the residual light traces on the stone steps, and walked down the Main Hall step by step.

Just as he stepped onto the last step, a group of young clansmen surged over, their faces flushed with excitement.

"Family Head! We won!" someone shouted, their voice trembling. "That shot just now blasted the face of that grandson from the Green Robe faction white!"

"That's right! How dare they still call us a pile of scrap metal? Now who doesn't know that the Chen family has a mecha array!"

"Family Head is wise! This Cyber Cultivation really can carve out a bloody path!"

Seven or eight mouths clamored all at once, surrounding him tightly.

Chen Wuwang stood still, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye rotating slightly. A pale blue scanning beam shot out from his right eye, gently sweeping across the crowd—not to check for enemies, but to measure their hearts.

He knew these people truly believed now—believed in technology, believed in him, believed that this family could stand up.

But he also knew that this kind of "belief" was too light.

He raised his right hand, palm facing down, and pressed down lightly.

His voice wasn't loud, and the movement wasn't heavy, but everyone felt as if their throats had been pressed by some invisible force, and the clamor ceased abruptly.

Chen Wuwang looked at them, the corners of his mouth slightly raised—not a smile, but cold.

"Won?" he began, his voice deep but with strong penetrating power. "Do you think this is called winning?"

Everyone was stunned.

"One mecha takes off, a few beams of light explode in the sky, and you think no one in the Eastern Wasteland dares to look up at us anymore?" He paused, his gaze sweeping over each young face. "Then let me ask you—the Zerg retreated, was it because they were afraid of us? Or was it because they weren't ready for an all-out attack yet?"

No one answered.

"That scene just now was merely to let others see one thing clearly." He said slowly, "The Chen family is no longer that mud pit for anyone to step on. But we haven't reached the top of the mountain yet."

He paused for three seconds, enunciating every word:

"This is only the first step."

The air froze for a moment.

Then, he raised his voice again: "In the future, what the Chen family must do is not to guard the Eastern Wasteland, not to scare away a few clowns."

He spread his arms wide, as if to tear open the sky. "We are going to slaughter our way through the heavens and myriad worlds! Trample the galaxy, crush the rules, and let all the Immortal Emperors and Demon Sovereigns who look down on the Mortal body see—technology is the new Heavenly Dao!"

As his words fell, the whole place was deathly silent.

Some clansmen widened their eyes, as if listening to crazy talk; others, old craftsmen, clenched their fists, their knuckles white, flames igniting in their eyes.

That was not wild talk; it was a direction.

It was the path their ancestors had been trapped on this wasteland for generations and never dared to imagine.

Chen Wuwang didn't say more and turned to leave.

His cloak flared, his back resolute.

He left a group of people stunned in place, the six words "slaughter our way through the heavens and myriad worlds" still ringing in their ears like thunder striking their brains.

He passed through the crowd, walked along the edge of the Medicinal Field, skirted the scrap pile accumulated outside the Artifact Refining Workshop, and didn't stop, heading straight for the secret stone steps behind the Main Hall.

The stone steps were narrow and deep, engraved on both sides with the names of Chen family ancestors, and now a few new dagger marks had been added—the marks he left every time he planned a layout.

He pushed open the iron door of the secret room, and with a click, it locked.

The room was dark, with only a translucent crystal board embedded in the wall, reflecting a dim blue light.

On the table, a titanium alloy dagger was inserted diagonally into a stone crack, its edge facing upward, like a totem of some sacrificial rite.

He walked over, his fingers tapping the table unconsciously, the rhythm short and powerful—one, two, three.

The same rhythm as when he tapped the table to activate the mecha array at the ceremony.

But this time, it was not for deterrence.

It was to calm his mind.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into his Sea of Consciousness.

In an instant, a familiar whisper sounded, like the teachings of the Heavenly Dao, and also like a code execution prompt.

[heavenly secret instruction generated]

The first was blurry, only sensing "storm is coming."

The second vaguely emerged: "Spiritual Vein movement, prepare defenses."

The third was as clear as if carved by a knife:

"Surrounding small clans covet the spiritual spring."

Chen Wuwang's pupils constricted.

Then, the corners of his mouth slowly raised.

Not surprise, but a smile.

A cold smile.

"It's here?" he whispered to himself, his voice echoing in the secret room. "I thought they could hold on for another half a month."

He opened his eyes, blue light swirling in his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye, reflecting the words on the crystal board.

His fingertips brushed the back of the dagger, the touch icy cold.

He knew that this instruction was not a warning, but a trigger. It was the first move in a big game of chess.

Outside, the cheering continued.

Chen Tiezhu was still standing in the mecha display area, looking up at the twelve silver-gray battle armors, his oil-stained palms wiping the armor seams over and over, muttering:

"This rail... the output is incredibly stable; if only a buffer valve were added..."

He didn't leave, and didn't intend to, his head full of improvement plans.

Chen Xiaodao remained at the command platform, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. He stared at the backs of the envoys from several great clans in the distance, the cold light in his eyes not fading.

He had seen the ceremony more clearly than anyone—some people lowered their heads in submission; others lowered their heads to hide their blades.

And at this moment, in the secret room.

Chen Wuwang closed his eyes again, his breathing gradually slowing.

He didn't issue orders, didn't mobilize troops, and didn't summon anyone for a meeting.

He just stood quietly, like a sword that had not yet been unsheathed.

He knew that the sweet taste had already been tasted.

The clansmen believed, the enemies were afraid, and the small clans were beginning to harbor ulterior motives.

But this was not enough.

Far from enough.

What he was waiting for was never the afterglow of a victory.

What he was waiting for was—the next prey to walk into the trap on its own.

Outside the secret room door, the morning light shone obliquely, stretching his shadow very long, extending all the way to the end of the steps, as if to pierce through the entire Eastern Wasteland, pointing to the farther starry sky.

He suddenly remembered the old saying from Earth:

"Don't celebrate; after the victory banquet, it is often the beginning of defeat."

And now, the victory banquet had just begun.

Yet he was already sitting in the hunter's position.

Fingers tapped the table again.

Tap, tap, tap.

Synchronized with his heartbeat.

Resonating with the System.