68: Chapter 68 Mechs Show Their Power, Demon Race Retreats

Alarms pierced the night sky.

It wasn't a long, drawn-out wail, but a short, high-frequency triple burst—"beep, beep, beep"—like steel needles stabbing directly into the brain.

On the main screen of the command room, a crimson heat source signal suddenly exploded from the direction of the Northern Border Rift Valley. The AI automatically tagged five high-speed Demonic Qi trajectories rushing out from the depths of the leyline mist, heading straight for the Chen Family Outpost.

"They're here." Chen Wuwang sat before the command console, his fingers resting on the edge of the control panel, his knuckles slightly white.

He didn't look up, and his voice was kept extremely low, yet it sounded like a hammer striking an anvil—each word leaving a deep mark.

On the surveillance screen, three wolf-headed Yao soldiers were the first to leap from the rift, their fangs bared and claw blades tearing through the air. Behind them followed two giant lizard Yao with bone spikes on their backs; they were incredibly fast, closing within three hundred zhang of the outpost in the blink of an eye.

"Level one response confirmed," the System's voice reported calmly. "Mecha squad boarding rate 100%, energy charge 98.7%, neural synchronization calibration complete."

With a swipe of Chen Wuwang's fingertip, a tactical map popped up. Three silver-gray points of light rose from the Northern Base, ascending to an altitude of a thousand meters in a triangular formation. These were the three 'broken star-i' mechas.

Inside the cockpit, Chen Xiaodao took a deep breath. His helmet visor dropped, and his field of vision was instantly covered by data streams.

"Target locked, vanguard cluster." His voice came through the communication channel, steady in a way that didn't sound like a nineteen-year-old. "Requesting permission to fire."

"Approved," Chen Wuwang uttered a single word.

The next second, the flagship mecha's shoulder-mounted Rune Cannons deployed. The psionic circuits hummed as they charged, and a faint blue electric arc flickered at the muzzles.

Chen Xiaodao pushed the right lever all the way forward and lightly pulled the trigger with his left hand—

Boom!

Two intersecting energy beams tore through the night, accurately hitting the wolf-headed Yao soldier leading the charge.

The beast didn't even have time to scream before its body exploded into a bloody mist, severed limbs flying everywhere.

The giant lizard Yao following closely behind was overturned by the shockwave; it twitched twice upon hitting the ground and then stopped moving.

"A hit!" someone in the ground dispatch group growled low.

But Chen Wuwang's brow did not relax. He stared at the energy readings in the bottom right corner of the screen—the Rune Cannon required 4.3 seconds for a single recharge. Although that strike was accurate, a second wave of heat source signals was already approaching, faster and with a heavier aura.

"Don't get bogged down in a fight," he said into the comms. "Electromagnetic net, disrupt their Divine Sense."

"Understood!" Chen Xiaodao quickly adjusted his commands.

Diamond-shaped metal nets deployed from the backs of the three mechas, instantly releasing a large-scale psionic wave that swept across the battlefield like an invisible tide.

The movements of the sole remaining wolf-headed Yao soldier suddenly stiffened, its eyes grew vacant, and the rhythm of its charge was thrown into chaos.

Now!

"Dive, four hundred zhang, fire coverage!" At Chen Xiaodao's command, the three mechas dove simultaneously. Their engines roared like thunder as the units traced a sharp triangular formation in the air.

The Rune Cannons finished recharging, and three energy beams sprayed out in a fan shape, engulfing all the remaining Yao Beasts.

The light from the explosions illuminated half the sky, and thick smoke rolled upward, carrying a burnt stench. On the surveillance screen, the enemy heat source signals were all extinguished.

"Vanguard cleared," Chen Xiaodao reported. His breathing was slightly heavy, but his tone remained steady. "Requesting tactical assessment."

Chen Wuwang stared at the screen and did not respond immediately.

He knew this was only the beginning.

Sure enough, in less than fifteen minutes, the radar captured a second batch of heat source signals. They were larger in scale and dispersed in position, clearly intending to flank the weak areas behind the outpost.

This group of Yao didn't charge blindly; instead, they stayed close to the mountain ridges, moving stealthily at low altitudes. They were obviously well-prepared.

"They've learned their lesson," Chen Wuwang sneered. He tapped his finger twice on the edge of the table, as if keeping a beat or counting down.

He pulled up the high-altitude early warning radar map and quickly judged that the main enemy force would enter the blind spot of their attacks in thirty seconds. If they were allowed to burst out, the outpost's defensive line would face a pincer attack.

"Xiao Dao, change formation," he ordered. "Advance the left wing, pull up the right wing, and maintain altitude suppression. Prepare flashbangs and the Broadcast Formation."

"Copy that." Chen Xiaodao executed the order immediately. The three mechas quickly adjusted their positions. The left-wing mecha descended to six hundred zhang, while the right wing climbed to fifteen hundred zhang, forming a high-low pincer position.

Simultaneously, the bomb bays in the mechas' bellies opened, and several psionic flashbangs slid out.

"Three, two, one... Release!"

Boom—boom—boom!

Several bursts of intense light suddenly exploded, as if daylight had arrived, blinding anyone who looked.

Following the flashbangs, the Broadcast Formation activated. A metallic roar spread from high altitude, simulating the noise of a large number of mecha engines running, as if a vast army was mobilizing.

"Are they... surrounded?" a mecha pilot asked in a low voice.

"They aren't 'surrounded,' we're making them think they are," Chen Xiaodao said coldly. "The Yao Race fights on instinct. They aren't afraid of death, but they are afraid of the unknown. Making them unable to guess how many of us there are is more effective than killing ten of them."

Sure enough, the heat source signals on the radar began to grow chaotic. The originally orderly advancing formation suddenly stalled. Several small squads spun in circles on the spot, and there were even signs of them trampling each other.

In just a dozen seconds, all the signals began to retreat rapidly, scrambling to get back into the depths of the rift.

"They're retreating," the ground dispatcher breathed a sigh of relief. "They've all pulled back!"

Chen Wuwang slowly leaned back against his chair, finally revealing a hint of a smile. It wasn't one of wild joy or arrogance, but a sort of nearly cold calm.

They had won, and they had won cleanly and efficiently, without taking an extra step or wasting a single drop of energy.

He picked up the tactical terminal and pulled up the damage report: aside from a slight scorch mark on the shoulder plate of the left-wing unit, the three mechas had no structural damage. The Rune Cannons had been used an average of seven times, with energy consumption controlled within the planned range. The neural synchronization System had remained stable throughout, and not a single pilot had suffered a shock reaction.

Perfect execution.

"Return to base," he issued the command. "Land according to the set procedure, perform cooling maintenance, and all personnel remain on standby."

"Starbreaker Flight, copy that," Chen Xiaodao's voice came through the communicator, carrying a trace of fatigue that was hard to detect, but mostly full of certainty.

The three mechas slowly turned around, their engines humming low as they cut through the dimming sky, descending toward the runway of the Northern Base.

The morning mist had not yet dispersed. The mecha tracks ground over the runway, sending up wisps of white steam like three steel beasts returning to their nest.

Chen Wuwang stood up and walked to the window.

The horizon was just beginning to turn pale. Silence returned to the direction of the rift, as if everything from last night had never happened.

But he knew that the results of this battle would spread like the wind—the Eastern Wasteland Chen Family was no longer that small clan that could be pushed around by anyone. Their mechas could fly, they could fight, and they could suppress the Yao Race.

He glanced down at the time on the tactical console: the start of the Hour of the Dragon.

From start to finish, the battle had lasted less than an hour.

"Next time they come, I'll have to change tactics," he murmured, turning toward the control console to retrieve the full battle recording.

Just then, footsteps came from outside the door.

It was Chen Xiaodao. He had just stepped out of the cockpit, his helmet tucked under his arm. His face still bore the flush of high-intensity combat, and the scorch marks on his shoulder plate shimmered dark red in the morning light.

"Reporting," he stood at the door, straight as a spear. "The mecha squad has returned to post in full health. The units are in good condition, and the combat details have been submitted to the dispatch group."

Chen Wuwang nodded. "Well done."

Chen Xiaodao didn't move. He paused for a moment before asking in a low voice, "Are we... really not going to pursue?"

"No pursuit," Chen Wuwang answered decisively. "We are border guards, not butchers. Letting them flee is more useful than killing them all. Those who escape will carry fear into the depths of the rift, letting every Yao who wants to make a move know—if you step in, you die."

Chen Xiaodao was silent for a moment before finally nodding. "I understand."

He turned to leave, but Chen Wuwang suddenly spoke: "The damage on your shoulder plate—record it."

"Huh?" Chen Xiaodao was taken aback.

"Every bit of damage is a mark of growth." Chen Wuwang looked at the screen. "The next time we upgrade, we'll start from there."

Chen Xiaodao was stunned for a second, then the corners of his mouth curled slightly. He raised his hand in a mechanical salute and turned to leave.

Chen Wuwang was the only one left in the command room.

He sat back down and pulled up the battle replay, his gaze falling on the trajectory of the flagship mecha's final dive.

The maneuvering angle at that moment had almost pushed the System to its limit.

His finger tapped the tabletop, once, and then again.

As if calculating, and as if waiting.

In the distance, the mechas of the Northern Base were slowly entering the hangar. The residual heat from the engines steamed in the morning mist, leaving three clear tread marks on the runway.

The daylight grew brighter.