428: Chapter 428 Chen Wuwang's Determination to Embrace New Challenges

The wind whipped ash against the shell of the "eye of wuwang," producing a soft, rustling sound, like countless tiny claws scratching against metal.

The mech's six wings unfolded, spewing blue and white flames, piercing through the morning mist as it sped toward Qiming Plain.

Inside the cockpit, the energy readings slowly recovered, electric arcs still flickering from the cracks on the left arm, while the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye trembled slightly, revealing a trace of exhaustion.

Chen Wuwang gazed at the brightening horizon ahead, his fingers tapping unconsciously against the console—tap, and tap again, the rhythm steady, as if calculating something, or perhaps waiting for something.

He did not return to his residence, nor did he summon anyone.

When the "eye of wuwang" came to a steady halt on the highest cliff platform of Qiming Plain, he activated the ejection mechanism himself, his figure flashing as he leaped out of the cockpit, landing firmly on the edge of the Family's ancestral sacrificial platform.

The wind immediately rushed upon him.

Carrying the charred scent and blood stench lingering from last night's battlefield, along with the faint fragrance of spiritual mist drifting from the distant Medicinal Field.

The three scents mingled together, impossible to tell if it was life or death, stillness or war.

He stood still, unmoving.

His long silver hair was pulled straight by the wind, the three zerg claw marks on his right cheek faintly burning, and his left Mechanical Prosthetic Eye automatically adjusted its focus, scanning the distance—

Between the fields, several young clansmen were bending down to transplant rice seedlings, their movements uniform;

Deep in the medicinal garden, Old Lin's figure flashed by, a hoe descending as the soil turned over;

From the direction of the Artifact Refining Workshop, the sound of forging came faintly, one strike after another, like the heartbeat of the earth.

Everything was as usual.

Yet he knew that beneath this calm, an abyss was hidden.

"They don't know yet..." he said in a low voice, his words scattered by the wind, "but they will."

He raised his hand and slowly removed the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye from his left socket.

His palm gently stroked the lens, cold and smooth. The mirror surface reflected himself—weary, sharp, with a volcano suppressed deep within his eyes.

Further back, on the plaque above the ancestral hall, were four ancient seal characters: "Roots and Veins Endure Forever."

He closed his right eye.

When he opened it again, three extremely fine Spirit Arrays appeared deep within his pupil, dense with bloodshot veins, as if something was crawling inside his blood vessels.

That was the brand of killing intent carved into his Soul by thirty years of life-and-death gambles, the price the Transmigration traveler paid from being a programmer to becoming a Family head.

He was not a born madman, nor was he a bloodthirsty Devil Head.

He was forced into it.

The night the zerg massacred the village, he held a charred infant's corpse and knelt in the ruins for an entire night.

When the System activated, the whispers of the Heavenly Dao resounded through his Sea of Consciousness. His first reaction was not ecstasy, but a cold sneer:

"So this world, even the Heaven is fucking fake."

He did not walk this path to become a god.

"I am doing this so that you all... can live and look up at the sky." He finished speaking, put the prosthetic eye back on, and locked it in place with a click.

The wind suddenly stopped.

He laughed.

The laughter was low and hoarse at first, as if squeezed from deep within his throat, then it grew louder and more frantic—

"Hahahahahaha—!"

The laughter shook dust from the withered trees on the cliff, startling a flock of spiritual birds into scattering and fleeing.

Down in the Medicinal Field, Old Lin suddenly looked up, his hoe pausing in mid-air;

In the Artifact Refining Workshop, Tie Zhu's hammer faltered, and he didn't even notice sparks splashing onto his arm; by the window of the mech workshop, Xiao Dao tightened his grip on the wooden sword that never left his side.

No one heard what he was laughing at.

And no one knew who he was laughing at.

But that didn't matter.

"No one heard? It doesn't matter." He wiped away the blood that had seeped from the corner of his eye due to the vibration, his eyes burning bright like stars, "It is enough that I say it to this land, to my ancestors, and to myself."

He took a sudden step forward.

As his feet landed, the bluestone beneath him cracked in response, spiderweb-like fissures spreading for three feet.

His right hand held high, five fingers spread wide, as if to grasp the entire firmament—

"People of the Chen Family!" He roared the first sentence, the sound wave amplified by the natural resonance Spirit Array of the high platform, spreading for a hundred miles.

The wind rose.

The clouds moved.

"Let us move forward together!" With the second sentence, the entire defensive Spirit Array of Qiming Plain seemed to sense its master's will. Runes on the tower tips lit up one by one, and beams of light shot into the sky, intertwining with the morning dawn.

"For the glory of the Family!" With the third sentence, Old Lin in the Medicinal Field stopped his hoe and looked up toward the mountain;

In the Artifact Refining Workshop, Tie Zhu put down his hammer and wiped his hands in silence; by the window of the mech workshop, Xiao Dao stood up and walked to the door.

"For the future of the Alliance!" With the fourth sentence, the mech squad patrolling far at the border simultaneously turned their cameras, aiming them from afar at the high platform;

Apprentices debugging the spiritual energy assembly line stopped their operations and looked up at the communication screens;

Even on the watchtower of the Zhao Clan of Xiling, the guards removed their hats and saluted solemnly.

"Charge—!!!"

The last word exploded like thunder, and the entire mountain range trembled. Flocks of birds flew up in alarm, streams surged backward, and even the underground Spiritual Vein emitted a low hum.

The wind stopped.

The clouds parted.

The morning light finally spilled down completely, shining on him, casting an extremely long shadow, like a spear piercing through the vast expanse.

He stood on the high platform, his chest heaving, his eyes bright and piercing, his left hand pressing on the hilt of the Titanium Alloy Dagger at his waist, his entire body's Spiritual Pressure fluctuating faintly, as if infinite Battle Intent was ready to be unleashed.

He did not move.

Nor did he speak.

That shout just now was not the beginning, nor was it the end.

It was a declaration.

It was a declaration of war against fate.

He knew that the threat of Cthulhu remained, the shadow of Moyuan had not dissipated, and the pawns of the Light-Erosion Alliance might have already been buried within the upper echelons of the twelve clans.

He knew that the road ahead would not be smooth, and might even have no end in sight.

But what of it?

He came from Earth; he was an anomaly to begin with.

He survived by relying on the System, but he had never relied on the System to win a true battle.

He built the Chen Family not to rule or dominate, but so that every clansman could breathe freely under the sun, instead of waiting for death in fear.

He did not fear loneliness.

Because he had long since not belonged to any world.

He was Chen Wuwang.

The ninth-generation head of the Eastern Wasteland Chen Family.

A Transmigration traveler from Earth.

A binder of the family rise system.

The pioneer of Cyber Cultivation.

When he stood on the first floor, people cursed him; he heard it clearly, his fists clenched with a cracking sound.

When he stood on the tenth floor, people cursed him; he couldn't hear it clearly, treating it only as the sound of the wind.

Now, standing on the hundredth floor, looking out, there was only scenery.

Those doubts, ridicules, betrayals, and conspiracies were, in his eyes, nothing more than specks of dust beneath his feet.

He did not fear the abyss.

Because he himself was the abyss.

He did not fear the darkness.

Because he was madder than the darkness.

He did not fear death.

But he feared seeing the living fall, one by one.

So he had to stand.

Even if he had only one breath left, he had to stand.

He looked down at his left hand; his fingertips were still trembling slightly.

Not because of injury, not because of exhaustion, but because the Battle Intent, suppressed for too long, had finally found an outlet.

He slowly released the dagger, then slowly tightened his grip again.

He knew that in the next moment, the clansmen would come.

They would rush over from the fields, from the workshops, from the training grounds, from the sentry posts, to stand behind him, to stand beneath the high platform, to stand in every inch of this land.

They would ask: "Family head, what should we do?"

He would say: "Prepare for war."

But now, it was not yet time.

Now, he just wanted to stand for a little longer.

Standing on this high platform, watching the land he had protected for thirty years, watching the people he had risked his life to protect.

The wind rose again.

Blowing his clothes, blowing his hair, blowing the fire in his heart that would never be extinguished.

He gazed into the distance.

His eyes were firm.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

Then, he said softly:

"Come."