69: Chapter 69: Initial Reputation and Attracting Attention

The aftershocks of the siren were still vibrating in his eardrums, but Chen Wuwang was already sitting upon the high platform of the Main Hall.

He had not changed his clothes, only removed the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye used during combat and replaced it with a pair of black jade lenses inlaid with spirit patterns, covering the three old scars left by the Insect Race on the right side of his face.

Spread across the table was a yellowing "Map of the Eastern Wasteland's Ley Lines," its edges carved with several deep grooves by a dagger, appearing like some sort of marking.

The tactical screen in the command room was still lit, the image frozen on the final frame of the mechs returning—tracks crushing through the morning mist, leaving three straight imprints.

He watched for a full quarter of an hour, tapping his fingers seven times on the edge of the table—not one more, not one less—syncing perfectly with the System refresh time.

Then, he stood up and walked out.

The first group of people outside the mountain gate arrived faster than expected.

A bronze beast-drawn carriage stopped below the stone steps, pulled by two green-scaled lizards, their nostrils puffing out white steam.

An old man in gray robes stepped down from the carriage, his cuffs embroidered with a spiral pattern; he was a Guest Elder of the Zhao Clan of Xiling.

"I heard the Chen Family dealt a crushing blow to the Yao Race last night, so I have come specifically to offer my congratulations." The old man cupped his hands in a salute, his tone respectful, though the corner of his eye swept toward the spiritual energy array hub on the eaves of the Main Hall.

Chen Wuwang stood on the high platform, not descending to greet him.

"Defending the land is my duty; I merely repelled the invaders." He picked up a teacup, blew on it, and took a light sip. "Elder Zhao has come from afar; you might as well rest your feet first."

The words were polite, but his stance was neutral. Neither humble nor arrogant.

The old man's smile faltered slightly, then he nodded and entered the hall. The attendant behind him handed over a gift box, which was stopped by the guards for inspection. He was not annoyed, only saying, "A small token of my sincerity, it is not much."

Chen Wuwang did not look at the box, instead pushing the ley line map half an inch toward the edge of the table.

The old man's gaze glued itself to it—several mineral vein tributaries marked on the map were precisely the Forbidden Ground in the West Ridge area.

His throat bobbed, and he stopped mentioning the word "congratulations," turning instead to ask: "What powers this mech of the Chen Family...? Does it require Spirit Stone for energy?"

"It uses a heartbeat." Chen Wuwang answered crisply. "A machine's heartbeat and a human's nerves, connected together, become a living thing."

The old man was stunned, not understanding.

But more people had arrived outside the hall.

A deacon from the Nangu Lin Family arrived with a three-person team, riding Wind-Wing Cranes, their wings beating up a circle of dust upon landing. They brought not gifts, but news—

"The battle situation at the Northern Rift Valley has already been recorded by three merchant caravans and is being transmitted toward the Eastern Wasteland border." The deacon got straight to the point. "Within three days, all seventy-two small clans will know that the Chen Family has mechs guarding their mountain."

Chen Wuwang finally looked up.

He had expected this long ago. Those merchant caravans had camped thirty miles away last night. The light trails when the mechs took off could not possibly be hidden.

He gently set down his teacup, the porcelain bottom hitting the wooden table with a "clack."

"Let them spread it." He said. "The wider it spreads, the better."

The second wave was an envoy from the Northern Plains Sun Clan, arriving on an Ice Shuttle, clad in silver armor from head to toe, their Aura imposing. The leader spoke directly: "My Sun Clan is willing to trade three Cold Iron mines for one mech defense System."

Chen Wuwang smiled slightly and shook his head.

"Not for sale." He said. "We only guard our own mountain gate; we do not watch the yard for others."

The Sun Clan envoy's expression changed, and he wanted to say more, but Chen Wuwang raised his hand to stop him.

"What do you want to know?" He looked directly at the other party. "Do you want to know how many mechs we have? Or do you want to know if the next wave of the Yao Race comes, they will incidentally trample your stronghold?"

The man was speechless.

Chen Wuwang stood up and walked to the ley line map, his fingertip pointing at the location of the rift valley: "The Yao Race has retreated, but they will not die. They will return to heal their wounds and summon more of their kind. And we—" He paused. "Will wait for them to come again."

The hall fell silent for a moment.

The third and fourth waves arrived one after another. Some brought Medicinal Pills, some brought spiritual materials, and some came empty-handed, bringing only their mouths. Five families wanted to discuss cooperation, two only wanted to probe the reality of the situation, and one even tentatively asked:

"If an external enemy bears down on the border in the future, would the Chen Family be willing to lead an alliance?"

Chen Wuwang responded to everyone with the same four sentences:

"The Chen Family has a duty to defend the land."

"I merely repelled the invaders."

"Mechs are not for sale."

"I appreciate your kindness, everyone."

But every time he spoke, he would inadvertently touch the ley line map at the corner of the table, or when setting down his teacup, let half of a Titanium Alloy Dagger engraved with runes slide out from his sleeve.

These details were like nails driven into the eyes of every envoy.

They began to discuss in low voices and exchange glances.

Some saw that Chen Wuwang was extremely familiar with the ley line trends; some noticed that although he sat alone on the high platform, he controlled the rhythm of the entire scene; still others discovered—he never actively mentioned the word "victory," yet he made everyone feel that this battle was just the beginning.

As noon approached, the last envoy left.

It was an Elder of the Xu Family; before leaving, he looked deeply at Chen Wuwang: "This battle of the Chen Family did not just defeat the Yao Race."

"Is it that I won hearts?" Chen Wuwang asked.

"It is that you won fear." The old man said in a low voice. "Making people fear you is much more effective than making them respect you."

Chen Wuwang did not respond, only seeing him to the hall entrance.

Outside the mountain gate, the carriages and horses gradually thinned, with dust swirling. The sunlight shone obliquely, casting a long shadow of the Main Hall, like a knife thrust horizontally into the earth.

He turned and returned to the hall, his footsteps not stopping.

A Jade Slip was already laid out on the table, recording the words, expressions, and requests of all the visitors today.

He picked up a pen and drew seven vertical lines at the end—seven families had clearly expressed a desire for in-depth negotiations.

The tip of the pen paused.

He gently drew a circle next to the two characters for "Xu Family."

It was not trust; it was usability.

He knew that these forces were not genuinely submitting; they were simply scared.

They saw the mechs take to the sky, saw the Yao Race flee in defeat, and saw a small Family that had once nearly been exterminated suddenly possess the strength to flip the table.

Fear, therefore probing.

After probing comes the choice.

And what he needed to do was not to immediately consolidate, but to let this fear continue to ferment.

Let every watching Family understand: The Chen Family does not actively seek trouble, but if anyone does not believe it—then just try and see.

He put away the Jade Slip, his fingertips brushing over the runes on the handle of the dagger.

In the distance, from the direction of the Northern Border Base, came the low rumble of engines.

That was the mechs performing routine inspections, with orbital scanners calibrating, preparing for the next strike.

He did not turn back, only saying in a low voice: "Those who should come, none will be able to escape."

Sunlight shone through the window lattice, landing on half of his face. The black jade lens on his left eye glimmered with cold light, while the scar on his right cheek hid in the shadows.

Inside the Main Hall, only he remained.

The Jade Slip lay quietly in his sleeve, like a chess piece that had not yet been cast.