448: Chapter 448: Mass Production Announced, Family Strength to Soar

The morning light had just suppressed the thin mist at the edge of the test flight field. Chen Wuwang hadn't even moved away from the mecha when the communication Formation pattern on his belt vibrated.

He didn't look down, only raised his hand to press near his ear—it was an encrypted frequency from the dispatch station: "The square has been cleared, the clansmen are in place, waiting for your word."

He withdrew his hand from the back of the mecha, his palm stained with a bit of cold metallic grey.

In the distance, the prototype that had just landed was still glowing with faint blue circuit light, like a sword that had just been quenched, its residual heat yet to dissipate.

He turned around, his pace unhurried, the soles of his boots grinding over the gravel with short, sharp clicks.

A group of technicians chased after him, some clutching data pads, shouting "Family Head, wait," but no one dared to step forward and stop him.

They knew what was about to happen.

The high platform at the center of Qiming Plain square had long been cleared. Where the drills' Formation Flags used to stand, there was now a black iron nameplate engraved with four words: "Psionic Navigation System."

A circle of representatives from various sectors stood below—the old man from the Medicinal Field, the drillmaster from the Training Grounds, the head artisan from the Furnace Area, the manager from the logistics warehouse, and those young people who usually squatted in corners drawing circuit diagrams.

They stood loosely, but their eyes were all pinned to the entrance of the high platform.

When Chen Wuwang stepped onto the final stair, the entire field fell silent for a moment.

He didn't speak immediately, first scanning the surroundings.

He saw a young technician in the front row with hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white; beside him, an Elder leaned on a cane, his neck craned back so far it almost snapped;

Further away, several guards straightened their sabers again and again, as if suddenly feeling their posture wasn't upright enough.

He spoke, his voice not loud, and he didn't use an amplification Formation, just saying plainly: "That mecha just now dived from three thousand meters with its eyes closed, missing the mountain ridge by only 0.1 degrees."

The crowd shuddered.

"But it didn't deviate."

"Because it 'knows' where the wind blows, where the lightning comes from, and where the ground meets it."

"It doesn't rely on our operation; it calculated it by itself."

A buzz began to rise from below.

"Someone asked, can this thing really be used?"

"I'm telling you—it's already been used."

"Extreme testing is complete; response speed, trajectory correction, terrain back-calculation—all standards met."

"Now, I have a second thing to say."

He paused, raising his hand to press down for silence.

His voice dropped half a beat.

"The Psionic Navigation System research and development is a success."

"From this day forward—"

"Mass production."

It felt as if the air had been sucked out for a second.

Then, it exploded.

"Mass production?!" A young technician jumped up abruptly, nearly knocking over the person beside him, "It's really going into mass production?!"

"Of course!" another beside him shouted while grabbing his arm, "Are you deaf? The Family Head said it himself!"

"I'm staying up all night to revise the blueprints!"

"I'm familiar with the Medicinal Field side! A batch of Psionic Grass was just harvested this morning; it can be transferred anytime!"

"I'll take Furnace Line Three! I'll even tear it down and relay it if I have to!"

The applause started sporadically, then connected into a wave, finally turning into a roar of thigh-slapping and foot-stomping.

Someone whistled, someone threw their hat into the sky, and an old man was so excited he threw his cane away, slapping his thighs and shouting: "Good! I've lived eighty years, and it's the first time I've seen a hunk of iron grow a brain!"

But amidst this boiling excitement, an old artisan squeezed out from the back row. His grey cloth clothes were washed pale, but his voice was as hard as a hammer: "Family Head!"

The field went silent for half a beat.

The man took two steps forward, looking up directly at the platform: "Mass production is a major matter. Our Chen Family has never built so many high-precision mechas in one go. Are the resources enough? If those big families outside get jealous, will they take action?"

As soon as these words came out, many people stopped smiling.

Indeed, creating one powerful mecha was one thing, but rolling out a production line was another. Everyone knew what this meant—it wasn't just upgrading equipment; it was flipping the table.

Chen Wuwang finished listening; he didn't argue, nor did he offer comfort.

He simply took a step forward, stepping onto the very edge of the high platform, the tips of his shoes almost suspended in mid-air.

"You are right."

"We don't have many resources."

"And we have many enemies."

"The Thirteen Families of the Eastern Desolation are watching us, the Blood Butcher of the Northern Border is eyeing us like a tiger, and the Chuanyun Sect calls us brothers while secretly sending people to steal our blueprints."

His voice paused, and he suddenly smiled.

It wasn't a frenzied smile, but a twitch of the lips with fire in his eyes.

"But have you forgotten?"

"Thirty years ago when the Zerg invaded, we didn't even have a decent defensive Formation."

"How did we survive back then?"

"We relied on one person thinking, ten people doing, and a hundred people risking their lives to protect us!"

He suddenly raised his hand, pointing at the black iron nameplate in the center of the square.

"It's different now."

"We have a System that can 'see' the path for itself."

"What does this mean?"

"It means that in future battles, we no longer need Cultivators to risk their lives to scout minefields!"

"It means our mechas can spin in the eye of a storm and thread the needle through enemy Formations!"

"It means—"

His voice suddenly rose, like a blade slicing through the clouds,

"While others are still guessing where we're going, we've already arrived behind them!"

The area below fell into a dead silence for an instant.

Then, it erupted.

"Right! Let them keep guessing!"

"My son is in the pilot group; this time he can finally come back alive for dinner!"

"Artifact Refining Workshop, clear out three lines! We start converting the assembly stations tonight!"

"Medicinal Field, pull out all the Psionic Liquid reserves! If it's not enough, I'll go to Old Man Lin for the recipe and brew it now!"

A youth suddenly lunged to the front row, his face flushed: "Family Head! We have thirty reserve pilots at the Training Grounds, ready to start anytime! No training needed, we can fly with our eyes closed!"

"Close what eyes!" Chen Wuwang glared at him, "Your life is your own. The System is a helper, not a sacrificial lamb!"

The youth shrunk his neck and grinned.

Chen Wuwang spoke no more.

He slowly scanned the crowd.

He saw the old man who had thrown his cane, now being supported by others, muttering "It's worth it, truly worth it" while wiping the corners of his eyes;

He saw several young artisans huddled together, their fingers trembling, yet shouting "I want to sign up for the main control module";

He also saw a guard in the corner, silently removing the old talisman badge from his chest and replacing it with a new iron plate that read "Navigation System Guard Unit."

He knew these people understood.

This wasn't just a technical Breakthrough.

This was a collective rise from the bottom.

He slowly raised his right hand, palm upward, as if holding an invisible fire.

The field gradually quieted down, all eyes gathered on his hand.

He didn't speak.

He just gave a soft nod.

The wind swept across the square, blowing against the black iron nameplate on the platform, producing a faint clinking sound as it bumped against the edge.

In the distance, on the ridge line of Qiming Plain, the morning sun completely leapt out of the sea of clouds, pouring golden light onto the cockpit of the seventh-generation prototype, reflecting a line of small characters:

[NWS-01]

[Where Qiming Points, the eye of wuwang]