86: Chapter 86 Unexpected Move Turns the Tide

The moment the killing intent descended, Chen Wuwang moved.

He didn't dash; instead, his entire body vanished from the high platform like a shredded piece of paper—the next breath, he was already standing on the shoulder of a raider, his right foot kicking hard against the back of the man's neck.

The man didn't even groan as he slammed face-first into the dirt, half his face embedded in the ground. His Talisman Weapon flew from his hand and lodged into a stone pillar at the edge of the Medicinal Field, sizzling with black smoke.

He didn't look at the fallen enemy; as he landed, his left knee bent slightly, and his daggers were already fully unsheathed.

The blade sliced through the air, not in a hack, but a precise flick, sending the Explosive Talisman Weapon attached to the second raider's conduit flying thirty feet away.

The Talisman Weapon hit a withered tree and exploded, the vibration causing leaves to rustle and fall.

Just as the third person turned around, Chen Wuwang's knee had already slammed into his chest.

With a muffled crack, the opponent's ribs broke, and he was sent flying backward, knocking over two companions who were about to encircle them; the three rolled into a heap.

The entire field fell silent for half a beat.

Thirteen well-trained raiders, whose offensive had advanced like a tide until the final moment, had their Formation shattered by one man in three moves.

"Big Brother!" someone shouted.

The black-robed man in the face mask finally moved, his left hand slamming onto the ground. A silver-and-black snake insignia flashed on his palm, and five uninjured raiders immediately dispersed, flanking in a fan shape.

They no longer lunged straight for the spiritual plants, but instead locked their target on Chen Wuwang, their footwork interlacing, clearly having undergone combined-attack training.

Chen Wuwang stood his ground and did not move.

Holding a dagger in his right hand at his side, he slowly raised his left hand, pressed two fingers together, and lightly wiped beneath his right eye.

Blood-colored spiritual runes spread from deep within his pupil, like a spiderweb crawling across glass, instantly filling the entire eye socket.

His Mechanical Prosthetic Eye activated simultaneously, and heat source signals jumped violently in his vision—the movement trajectories, heart rates, and muscle contraction levels of all five men appeared before him in the form of a data stream.

He smiled, his lips curling into a cold arc.

Good timing.

The first man rushed to within three paces, his short halberd sweeping toward the throat. Chen Wuwang neither retreated nor dodged; waiting until the tip was only half an inch from his Adam's apple, he suddenly ducked, a few strands of hair severed by the force of the wind.

Simultaneously, he flicked his right-hand dagger upward in a reverse grip, the back of the blade striking the middle of the halberd. Using the momentum to spin, he used his left palm to strike the opponent's wrist.

Crack!

The sound of the wrist bone snapping was clearly audible. Before the man could scream, Chen Wuwang had closed in, kicked the inside of his knee, snatched the halberd in passing, and turned with a horizontal sweep.

The wind pressure from the halberd blade scraped against the second man's cheek, forcing him to lean back in a panic.

But Chen Wuwang had no intention of harming him; this strike was only to create an opening. He slammed his left foot onto the ground, and the miniature Earth-Tremor Formation hidden in his sole triggered in response.

Boom!

Spiderweb-like cracks exploded across the ground, and dust billowed. Two raiders lost their footing and stumbled.

Chen Wuwang took the opportunity to leap, twisting his waist in mid-air and throwing his dagger.

A flash of cold light.

The dagger pierced the third man's shoulder blade, pinning him to the ground.

As the man struggled to pull the blade out, Chen Wuwang had already landed, stepping on the hand holding the Talisman Weapon and crushing the five fingers with a crunch.

"Iron Pillar Group, activate emergency shields!" he suddenly bellowed, his voice piercing through the battlefield. "Squad B, block the retreat!"

The moment the command left his mouth, the hum of mecha starting up echoed from the distant woods, and the vibration of treads crushing gravel approached from afar.

Though no figures were seen, those rhythmic mechanical footsteps were enough to shake the enemies' resolve.

In reality, there was no such thing as an "Iron Pillar Group" or "Squad B" coming—these were tactical codes Chen Wuwang shouted intentionally, using the echoes of a previously set up Broadcast Formation to amplify them, creating the illusion that reinforcements had arrived.

But the raiders didn't know that.

They only saw a monster capable of soloing those at the Peak of Foundation Establishment, heard the sound of mecha coming from all directions, and coupled with their previous failed ambush and the leak of their plans, their psychological defenses began to crumble.

"Retreat!" the leader finally spoke, his voice hoarse and distorted like grinding metal.

But before his words had even faded, Chen Wuwang had already charged toward the last two men.

These two were about to detonate bombs, their fingers already touching the detonating Talisman Weapons.

While in mid-air, Chen Wuwang clamped his legs around one man's neck and used the force of his rotation to hurl him into the other.

The two collided, and the Talisman Weapons rolled out of their hands.

He landed and rolled, grabbing the Talisman Weapons before they could explode and tucking them into his belt.

Boom!

The shockwave flipped the surrounding turf and flames shot into the sky. But because there was no directional focus, the destructive power was greatly weakened.

The protection Formation nodes were merely scorched black; the core structure remained intact.

Chen Wuwang stood up, patted the dust off his hem, and unhurriedly pulled the dagger from the man's shoulder on the ground, flicked off the blood droplets, and sheathed it.

The remaining raiders had already begun to retreat. They dragged their wounded, their movements still orderly, clearly showing rigorous training; even in retreat, they did not lose their composure.

But no one dared to look back at the figure standing in the firelight.

The leader was the last to withdraw. He stood at the edge of the forest, his eyes staring fixedly at Chen Wuwang from under his face mask.

"You are not Foundation Establishment," he said.

"Nor am I Golden Core," Chen Wuwang replied indifferently. "Care to guess?"

The man didn't answer and leaped into the dense forest.

Ten breaths later, the battlefield was completely silent.

Scorched earth, broken armor, and remnant talismans were scattered everywhere. A harvesting mecha lay tilted on the field ridge, its cockpit cracked open; the pilot's face was covered in blood, but he was still alive.

Two other clansmen lay on the ground groaning, their leg bones broken, but fortunately, their lives were not in danger.

Chen Wuwang didn't go to check on the wounded.

He stood before the stone steps of the Medicinal Field, his right hand hanging at his side and his left hand raised, his fingertip lightly tapping the edge of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye.

In his vision, a 3D path map was slowly being generated—it was the evacuation trajectory he had just tracked with his prosthetic eye, accurate down to every turn's angle and change in speed.

The data was automatically saved to the backend and encrypted.

He whispered, "Daring to touch my Chen family's things... then don't blame me for not following the rules."

His tone was calm, as if he were talking about what to eat for dinner.

After saying that, he turned to look in the direction where the clansmen were gathered and waved his hand: "Count the wounded, reinforce the defensive line, everyone is on watch duty tonight."

His voice wasn't loud, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears.

A few clansmen who could still move immediately crawled up to carry out the orders. Some went to help the injured, some checked the damage to the mecha, and others quickly patched the damaged protection nodes.

Chen Wuwang didn't leave.

He stood in place, his gaze sweeping toward the northeast dense forest, his eyes as cold as river water beneath a layer of ice.

The wind blew his long silver-white hair, revealing the claw mark left by the Zerg on his left face, which was slightly flushed.

A trace of an unusual aura remained in the air—it wasn't the Spiritual Qi fluctuations native to the Eastern Wasteland, nor was it common Demonic Qi or Demonic Breath, but a kind of spiritual resonance with a metallic rust smell. It was extremely faint; if not for the special frequency modulation of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye, he wouldn't have sensed it at all.

He noted it down.

This land never lacked those who coveted it.

Three years ago, the Zerg slaughtered the village; two years ago, the surrounding great clans tested them; a month ago, the undercurrents when the Alliance was first established... every time, there was first a trace of an abnormal aura, and then came the meeting of blades.

He knew this was just a beginning.

But this time was different.

In the past, he hid his strength to survive and to set his plans. Now he showed his hand, not because he couldn't hide it anymore, but to tell everyone—

The Chen family is not a soft target. Whoever wants to squeeze them must be prepared to have their hand pierced through.

He slowly exhaled and walked toward the nearest damaged mecha.

He crouched down, checked the deformation of the flexible Psionic Claws, and habitually took out a miniature tool card from his waist, inserting it into the interface to begin debugging.

His movements were as skilled as eating or drinking water.

In the distance, a young clansman ran over holding an emergency shield launcher and froze upon seeing this scene.

"Patriarch... why are you repairing it yourself?"

"By the time I wait for you guys to fix it, the opportunity will be long gone," Chen Wuwang said without looking up. "Besides, I designed this thing myself; if I don't fix it, who will?"

The man scratched his head and grinned foolishly, put down the shield generator, and stood by to wait for orders.

Chen Wuwang continued with his work, his peripheral vision catching a glimpse of a discarded weapon on the ground—a short blade with fine runes engraved on the blade and a serrated fire mark branded on the hilt.

He didn't pick it up, nor did he have anyone collect it.

He just let it stay there.

Whether as evidence or a warning.

Regardless, someone would eventually come to see it.

The night wind picked up, blowing the embers of a fire that had yet to go out at the edge of the Medicinal Field. Sparks drifted toward the sky like a swarm of escaping fireflies.

Chen Wuwang stood up and took one last look toward the northeast.

Then he turned and walked toward his clansmen.