419: Chapter 419 Clues Point to a Mysterious Organization

The feather landed in his palm, so light it almost had no weight.

But Chen Wuwang knew that this thing was incredibly heavy.

He didn't move, nor did he look up; he just stared at this crow feather, watching it tremble slightly in the morning breeze like a needle piercing the tightest string in his mind.

"Dry Bone Valley..." he whispered, his voice as raspy as if he hadn't drunk water for three days. "Three groups of scouts, a seven-day round trip, three separate lines—all pointing to you."

He turned around and stepped back into the secret chamber.

The door closed silently behind him, sealing off the gradually brightening morning light outside.

The room remained dim, with only the faint flickers of three bronze lamps on the wall reflecting off half of his face—

His left Mechanical Prosthetic Eye slowly activated, a flash of blue light appearing as it began to retrieve data.

"Gray Rat's intelligence: someone is buying witness records and refusing to use messaging talismans."

He muttered to himself as he walked, his finger swiping through the air to call up a virtual interface. "Not using Divine Sense channels, leaving no traces—are they afraid of eavesdropping? Or... are they themselves part of this chain?"

He gave a cold sneer and continued to push forward.

"Metal wreckage captured by the caravan, texture comparison 97.3% complete—consistent with the alloy used in the rebel Puppet legs from three years ago. Not a forgery, but original parts.

Who could still produce military-grade fragments from back then after three years? Unless... they never stopped production."

He stopped walking, took out that bronze fragment from his robe, and placed it on the table.

A twisted curve was engraved on the front, vaguely resembling the outline of a valley.

He projected the image sent back by Gray Rat and overlaid it onto the fragment—the angle, curvature, and turning points all matched perfectly.

"The angle of the stone tablet hidden by the illusion Formation was set according to the 'Nine-Turn Yin Eye Instrument'. This thing has long been lost, and even the ancient records were burned to ashes. Yet it appears now on the edge of the wasteland, providing cover for a hidden path?"

He narrowed his eyes, and the three Zerg claw marks on his right cheek burned faintly.

"Looking at the third piece of intelligence—the hunter said the team escorting the crates shouted 'Light-Erosion is eternal' before they died."

He paused, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye quickly scanning the residual spiritual waves on the Jade Slip to extract the voiceprint frequency.

"It wasn't nonsense. The tone was stable and the phrasing clear, like an oath. Moreover... the pronunciation of the two words 'Light-Erosion' is wrong. It's not an Eastern Wasteland accent, nor is it a Northern Frontier dialect; it's more like... a fragment of some ritual prayer."

He suddenly raised his hand, tapping into the Family database deep within his consciousness.

"Search keywords: Light-Erosion, Shadow Council, Black Scarf Guards, timed spiritual light flashes, two-hour cycle."

The screen scrolled as information refreshed at high speed.

Ten seconds later, a long-buried record popped up—

[Three hundred years ago, in the Extreme North Cold Abyss, there was an evil Cultivator society named the 'Solar Erosion Alliance'. They believed that 'when light erodes, the Dao is born'. Every new moon at the hour of the Rat, they would activate the 'Light-Devouring Formation', using living human spirits as a catalyst to disrupt the flow of Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi. They were later suppressed by the Righteous Path, with all members executed and related records burned.]

Chen Wuwang stared at this record for a full thirty seconds.

"The Light-Devouring Formation... triggers a spiritual light pulse every two hours to maintain the Formation's cycle?" he murmured. "And the regular flashes at the bottom of Dry Bone Valley are spaced exactly two hours apart."

He suddenly laughed, a low sound that carried a hint of madness.

"Good, very good. Did you think that by changing your name and hiding in Poison Mist Valley, you could escape? Not only are you alive, but you've also learned to bypass the early warning System, learned to buy people's hearts, learned to use caravans as cover... you've even begun to subvert people within the Alliance."

He walked to the wall and pressed a relief carving.

The entire wall slid open, revealing a massive star map projection marked with all known strongholds in the Eastern Wasteland.

With a swipe of his fingertip, he focused on the western side of the Northern Frontier wasteland.

"Black market intelligence acquisition—clearing traces; caravan supply points—maintaining operations; hunter witnessing cargo transport—organizational expansion."

He counted them one by one. "Three events, three actions, none of them isolated. This is a standard operating procedure for a dormancy period—clearing traces, building a network, and expanding the ranks."

He sneered, "I used to think the enemy's biggest problem was hiding too deep. Now I realize that what's most terrifying is that they hide too precisely. Every step lands in the blind spot of my reaction, and every move leaves no evidence."

He looked down, turning his gaze back to the three Jade Slips.

"But you missed one point." His voice turned cold. "You wanted to cover up the name 'Light-Erosion' so much that you instead exposed its importance. What a person shouts before death won't be a lie, nor will it be nonsense. That is faith, an obsession, something they are willing to die for."

He closed his eyes, his mind rapidly performing deductions.

If this organization has truly been lurking for three years, then it's impossible for them to be targeting only Dry Bone Valley.

He accessed the database again and entered a new command: "Correlate all abnormal incidents within the last three years: mecha malfunctions, brief Spiritual Vein disturbances, sudden defections of Alliance high-rankers, mysterious damage to Materials in the Artifact Refining Workshop..."

Twenty-one records popped up.

He looked through them one by one, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

"Seven months ago, a deacon from the Zhao Clan of Xiling suddenly defected, claiming to be guided by a 'higher will'."

"Five months ago, an outpost of the Leiyin Pavilion lost contact collectively; three days later, everyone was found to have committed suicide, with twisted symbols left at the scene."

"Two months ago, a trial Disciple of the Chuanyun Sect accidentally entered a Forbidden Ground and claimed to hear 'whispers coming from underground'."

He snapped his eyes open.

"These incidents were all treated as individual cases at the time—mental pollution, Cultivate deviation, accidental death. But looking back now, they are all symptoms. Like a fever, it's a minor illness when seen alone, but when linked together, it's the precursor to a plague outbreak."

He took a deep breath, stood up, and paced back and forth in the secret chamber.

His footsteps were light, but each step felt like treading on the edge of a blade.

He knew he had two choices now.

One was to immediately gather elites, charge into Dry Bone Valley, and wipe out the nest.

The second was to stay still, continue to cast the line, and wait for them to weave their net even larger before catching them all at once.

The former was satisfying, while the latter was more secure.

But he wasn't here for satisfaction.

He was the Family Head.

He had to consider the situation ten years from now for the entire Chen Family and the entire Eastern Wasteland Alliance.

"If I rush in now, I might catch a few minions and blow up some equipment."

He whispered, "But what about the people behind them? The real leaders? Is it possible that this is just bait? A flaw intentionally exposed, waiting for me to go after it with great fanfare?"

He stopped pacing and looked toward the weapon rack.

Standing there quietly was an entirely pitch-black mecha, its inscriptions restrained and without any identifying marks.

That was his battle armor, which had never been shown in public.

"No," he shook his head. "I can't alert the enemy. For these people to hide under our noses for three years means they have internal moles, methods, and patience. If I act now, at most I'll cut off an arm.

But if they notice any movement and retreat, changing their skin once more, the next time they emerge, they might strike directly at my heart."

He turned and walked toward the communication Formation Plate.

His finger hovered above it, but he did not press down.

He knew that as long as he gave the order at this moment, thousands of troops would assemble, and a mobilization rally could begin immediately.

But he couldn't.

He was still missing one thing—conclusive evidence.

Without evidence, he couldn't convince the other Alliance powers to cooperate with a blockade;

Without evidence, he couldn't explain why he was deploying a strategic-level force like the 'Shadow Fleet';

Without evidence, even he would be questioned for using the opportunity to expand his power.

"I have to hold back a bit longer." He withdrew his hand and took a blank jade talisman from a drawer.

Spiritual energy condensed at his fingertips as he began to inscribe secret orders.

First order: Blockade all trade routes around Dry Bone Valley; anyone carrying metal components, rune fragments, or high-purity spiritual crystals is to be detained for investigation without making a scene.

Second order: Retrieve all missing person files from the last five years, focusing on screening Cultivators who have had contact with Northern Frontier caravans, black market middlemen, or abandoned outposts to build a correlation model.

Third order: Secretly activate the 'Shadow Fleet'; under the guise of mineral vein prospecting, dispatch three stealth vessels into high-altitude orbit to implement 24-hour surveillance of Dry Bone Valley, prohibiting active attacks and only allowing data collection.

Once the three orders were inscribed, he blew a breath, and the jade talisman dissipated into green smoke.

The tasks had been sent.

Next was to wait.

Wait for the enemy to strike again, wait for the clues to surface on their own, and wait for that leader hiding in the shadows to finally lose their patience and reveal their true face.

He stood up and walked toward the weapon rack.

His fingertips lightly brushed across a row of battle armors, finally stopping on the shoulder plate of that black mecha.

The icy metallic sensation traveled through his fingertips.

"Prepare," he said softly, his voice incredibly calm. "It's time we go meet those rats hiding underground."

He turned, his cloak sweeping across the floor without leaving a single trace.

The secret chamber door slowly closed behind him.

Outside, the sky was already beginning to brighten.

He walked along the bluestone path, step by step toward the Main Hall.

His figure blended into the morning light, his expression unreadable.

But in those eyes, a storm had already ignited.