4: Chapter 4 Tool Improvement, The Wisdom of the Iron Pillar

At dawn, the doors of the Artifact Refining Workshop were burst open.

A heatwave mixed with rust and scorched smells billowed out. Chen Wuwang stood at the entrance, not even flinching.

The Mechanical Prosthetic Eye in his left eye automatically activated, a scanning interface flashing across the edge of his vision—temperature three hundred degrees, unstable Spiritual Qi fluctuations, seven minor breaks in the Rune Circuits, but the overall structure was intact.

"Hasn't exploded yet?" His voice was low and raspy, as if he had just rolled through sand.

No one answered from inside. Only the "Clang! Clang! Clang!" of a hammer striking metal rang out, each strike more urgent and forceful than the last, as if trying to wake the entire Eastern Wasteland.

Chen Tiezhu crouched before the furnace, his back hunched like a fully drawn bow. His left hand tightly gripped a modified iron pickaxe, while his right swung the hammer, striking the Psionic Core at the tip of the pick.

Sparks exploded, splashing onto his face and arms, burning several new wounds.

Coal dust mixed with sweat, carving muddy streaks across his face, but his eyes were terrifyingly bright, staring unblinkingly at the pick's tip.

"It's done... just one more!" He gritted his teeth, his voice hoarse. "I don't believe this damn rune won't carve into your bones!"

The final blow fell.

*Hum—*

The tip of the pick vibrated violently, and a faint blue Spiritual Light surged along the rune lines, crawling from the base to the edge like a living snake.

Then, the entire pickaxe let out a soft hum, as if it were breathing.

Chen Wuwang's pupils constricted.

He strode inside and reached out to grab it.

"Don't touch it!" Chen Tiezhu shouted, but his hand didn't stop him.

Chen Wuwang had already gripped the handle.

It felt warm to the touch—not hot, nor cold—but like holding a living thing that had just been awakened. He weighed it; it was thirty percent heavier than a normal iron pickaxe, but the center of gravity was extremely stable.

He raised his hand and swung it down toward an abandoned Ore sample in the corner.

*Thud!!!*

A dull thud shook the dust from the roof.

The blade of the pick sank half a foot deep into the rock, sending debris flying and sparks scattering. Even stranger, after the impact, a faint crackling sound came from inside the rock, as if it were being torn apart from within by a shockwave.

Chen Wuwang grinned.

Data streams flashed wildly in his left eye: "Impact +300%, oscillation penetration effective, energy consumption stable, rune conduction efficiency 87.6%... Uncle Tiezhu, this isn't just a tool modification; you've given it a heart."

Chen Tiezhu slumped on the ground, panting like an old ox, still clutching the hammer with white-knuckled fingers.

He looked up at Chen Wuwang and grinned, his face covered in cracked coal dust.

"What Genius or no Genius... I'm just a blacksmith. Yesterday you said 'even if we have to dismantle the bedboards, we have to get it done,' so I thought—if bedboards can be dismantled, why can't this pickaxe be modified?"

He raised his hand to wipe his face, but only made it blacker, making him look like a painted actor in a play.

"I've feared two things most in my life," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "One is an explosion during Artifact Refining that hurts people; the other is the craft dying with me, so that if my son wants to learn in the future, there's nowhere for him to learn."

Chen Wuwang didn't speak; he just gently placed the iron pickaxe in front of him.

The tip of the pick still emitted small blue lights, like stars fallen onto iron.

"I saw that Rune Chip diagram you drew with charcoal last night," Chen Wuwang said calmly. "Hidden under the pile of waste paper, the edges scorched, yet you couldn't bear to throw it away."

Chen Tiezhu froze, his eyes flickering, then he lowered his head and muttered, "Just some random scribbles... I don't know the rules. The elders said runes must be hand-carved; those carved by machines lack spirituality."

"But you still drew it," Chen Wuwang stared at him. "And you drew it three times, each more detailed than the last. It's not that you don't believe in technology; it's that you're afraid that if you do, you'll fail again."

The air went still for a moment.

The furnace fire was still crackling, its residual heat warming their backs.

Chen Tiezhu slowly looked up, his eyes slightly red, and not from the smoke.

"Clan Leader... it's not that I don't respect you," his voice dropped. "I'm just afraid... afraid that these hands of mine aren't worthy of the 'new path' you spoke of."

"And now?" Chen Wuwang asked.

"Now..." Chen Tiezhu reached out and grabbed the modified iron pickaxe, gripping it so hard his knuckles creaked. "Now I feel this damn pickaxe is even more comfortable to use than the hammer techniques my old man taught me!"

He stood up abruptly, swung the pickaxe, and smashed it hard against another hard rock!

*Clang—!!!*

With a loud bang, the rock split into four pieces on the spot, the afterglow of the Spiritual Light drawing arcs in the air that lingered for a long time.

Chen Wuwang smiled.

He turned and walked out of the Artifact Refining Workshop with steady steps. Behind him, Chen Tiezhu was moving out the remaining tool sets one by one—six modified iron pickaxes, three reinforced crowbars, and a set of rope buckles with psionic buffers, all of which he had pieced together from Materials scavenged from the ruins overnight.

Morning light finally climbed over the horizon, bathing the Eastern Wasteland in a layer of thin gold.

Chen Wuwang stood on the open ground outside the workshop, holding the tested iron pickaxe. His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye was closed, and the claw scar on his right cheek was particularly clear in the sunlight.

He looked back at Chen Tiezhu; the old man was crouching on the ground checking the Rune Circuit connection points of the last pickaxe, muttering, "Don't leak electricity... don't leak electricity..."

"Uncle Tiezhu," Chen Wuwang suddenly spoke.

"Hmm?"

"You really are a Genius of technological Artifact Refining."

As soon as those words came out, Chen Tiezhu's hand shook, and the charcoal pencil snapped right in the rune slot.

He froze for several seconds before reacting, scratching his head and laughing sheepishly, his voice a bit weak: "Clan Leader is joking... this is all for the Chen Family."

A simple sentence, nothing more.

But the strength in that laughter was louder than the sound of the pickaxe smashing the rock earlier.

Chen Wuwang didn't say anything more. He turned his gaze toward the Dongshan direction. The dawn light dyed the horizon red like a silent fire. The team had already assembled at the edge of the camp, about thirty blurry figures standing silently with their packs and weapons.

They were waiting for his command.

He looked down at the iron pickaxe in his hand and ran his fingertips over the rune lines on its body—crooked and not as refined as the Late Stage, yet carrying a brute vitality, like something that had forced its way out of the ruins.

He raised his hand, lifting the iron pickaxe high.

Sunlight hit the tip of the pick, reflecting a piercing light straight toward the east.

"Set out!" His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the morning mist like a blade. "Dongshan Mineral Vein—dig!"

The team moved.

Chen Tiezhu carried the last box of tools and quickly caught up. As he passed Chen Wuwang, he whispered, "Clan Leader, if... if we really dig something up, can we get one for Xiao Dao too? He said arms that practice the sword can also swing a pick."

Chen Wuwang paused.

He didn't look back, only nodded.

The wind blew from Dongshan, carrying the dry smell of earth.

He gripped the iron pickaxe tightly and walked at the very front.

Behind him were the clansmen ready to go, the tools worked on through the night, and the first light of dawn exchanged for a craftsman's sleepless night.

And ahead, deep within the mineral vein, beneath a layer of rock that had yet to be turned, a faint, unusual vibration was quietly spreading.