"Retch——"

  Val Goldtooth supported himself against the pipe wall covered with slippery moss, body twitching violently, vomiting out all that expensive aged red wine and undigested roasted lizard meat in his stomach.

  This was the main sewage artery of Blacktooth City, called "The Appendix of the City" by locals. Five meters overhead was the cyber slum with flashing neon and roaring steam, but here, only eternal darkness, disgusting stench, and knee-deep toxic sludge.

  Those liquids permeating from city cracks presented a disturbing fluorescent green color, mixed with heavy metal waste liquid, biological excrement, and some fermented alchemy dregs. The air was filled with the smell of hydrogen sulfide and rotten dead rats; every breath scorched the lung lobes.

  Several huge mutated rats—without any implanted mechanical prosthetics, but having grown tumor-like sarcomas and extra claws due to long-term drinking of alchemy waste liquid—were lying on the top of rusty pipes, staring at these intruders greedily and gloomily with pairs of blood-red eyes.

  "My shop... my goods..."

  Val wiped the filth off the corner of his mouth with his cuff while chanting with a crying tone. Those hands usually covered with gem rings but now stained with sludge waved helplessly in the air:

  "That was my life savings... all blown up... not even a screw left..."

  "Shut up, Val. Save some strength to walk, unless you want to die here and become rat dinner."

  Savage walked in front to clear the way. His only remaining left hand held high that portable mine lamp; the dim light column swayed in the darkness, barely illuminating that narrow passage ahead seemingly leading to hell.

  Although his mouth was still tough, the dwarf's condition was actually very bad.

  Not just the lack of balance brought by losing the right arm; that overload shot just now burned the nerve connection port of his left arm prosthetic. Now, a string of blue sparks burst out from his severed arm from time to time—that was a sign of a short circuit in the mana loop. Every time the spark jumped, one could see the muscles on his stubbly face twitch violently.

  But he didn't make a sound. He tied a tourniquet dead tight on his thigh with that iron pipe crutch picked up from the ruins; steps were staggering but unusually firm.

  This was stubbornness belonging to a veteran—even if crippled, he couldn't become a burden.

  Carlisle walked in the middle of the team, holding that hot black box in his arms like holding a baby.

  He didn't participate in the quarrel, nor even cared that the sludge underfoot stained his boots, which were also picked up originally. His face was pale as paper; sweat slid down from his forehead dripping into his eyes, bringing a burst of stinging pain. The close-range explosion just now concussed his internal organs; now every breath felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing in his chest cavity.

  "Is it safe here?" Carlisle stopped suddenly, voice somewhat weak, stirring up layers of echoes in the empty pipe.

  "Here... here is a 'Blind Zone.'"

  Val sniffed, forcing himself out of the grief of bankruptcy. As an old dough stick who had lived in Blacktooth City for fifty years, his brain contained not only ledgers but also the map of this underground maze.

  "The Order's detection band can't scan here, those shadow monsters relying on light and shadow tracking... shouldn't have caught up yet. There is an abandoned steam pump station ahead; there are several ventilation vents still usable, we can rest for a while."

  ...

  Ten minutes later, the four collapsed on that relatively dry concrete platform of the abandoned pump station.

  This place was piled with rusty brass valves eliminated a hundred years ago, and some homeless corpses that had long turned into white bones. But at this moment, this was simply heaven.

  Lyria found a relatively clean stone to sit down. She untied the scorched cloak, revealing the ranger leather armor blackened by smoke inside. She tried to summon a little water to clean the abrasions on her arms, but just as a green light dot condensed at her fingertip, it was instantly swallowed by the surrounding turbid air.

  The environmental toxin here was too high; ether was extremely thin and chaotic, natural elements completely suppressed.

  The elf looked at her dirty hands, a trace of frustration never felt before flashing in her eyes. In the forest, she was an elegant deadly ranger, a darling of nature; but here, in the intestine of this steel monster, she felt like a wild dog falling into water, powerless.

  "That thing is dying."

  Savage spoke suddenly, pointing at the black box in Carlisle's arms with his chin:

  "The heat dissipation coating of the shell peeled off; the core is overheating. In another ten minutes, the memory crystal inside will fuse itself due to energy imbalance. This is the Order's standard anti-theft design—'Better Broken Jade than Intact Tile.'"

  "I know."

  Carlisle sat cross-legged on the ground, taking out a precision watch screwdriver and several stripped wires from his waist bag. His hands were trembling slightly; that was the dual manifestation of physical overdraft and mental exhaustion.

  "I want to give it a 'Cardiac Pacing.' But I need a helper."

  Carlisle looked up; those heterochromatic eyes looked at Savage:

  "Old stuff, can that hand of yours still do fine work? I need you to help me stabilize the voltage. The input port of this thing is military-grade; if the voltage fluctuation exceeds 0.5%, my brain will be burned into paste."

  Savage was stunned. He glanced at his severed arm still sparking, then looked at Carlisle's unreserved trusting eyes.

  "Hmph, don't underestimate dwarfs."

  Savage spat a mouthful of bloody saliva, holding the last spare battery with his knees; that only remaining left hand pinched two wires steadily, eyes instantly becoming focused and sharp:

  "My hand is steadier than your scalpel. Come on, don't kill yourself."

  "Lyria, watch the surroundings." Carlisle turned to the elf again. "You are our only radar. Although no nature magic, your hearing is still there. If anything approaches, even a rat, kill it."

  Lyria didn't speak, just silently drawing the dagger at her waist, standing back to the two, compressing perception to the limit.

  This wasn't an order; this was a silent contract of entrusting backs to each other in a desperate situation.

  "Start."

  Carlisle took a deep breath, hesitating no more.

  Crack.

  With a crisp sound, he pried open the deformed shell of the black box roughly. A smell of burnt ozone permeated instantly. The memory crystal core inside was still flashing faint red light, but the frequency was getting slower; that was the countdown to life ending.

  No keyboard for input, nor display screen. This was a "Physical Isolation" encryption method; only the Order's specific mana frequency could resonate to read.

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  But Carlisle had his way—the most barbaric, most dangerous way.

  He stabbed the battery wires directly into the energy node of the crystal core.

  Zzzzt—

  The moment current connected, Carlisle closed his left eye; the pupil of the right eye dilated sharply. He forcibly stabbed his soul tentacle into the circuit of the black box directly through that illegal alchemy conduit implanted in his left arm.

  [Foreign Creation: Captured]

  [Consciousness Sync: Access Denied...]

  [Initiate: Violent Logic Override]

  In an instant, huge and chaotic primordial ether streams rushed into the brain along fingertips.

  "Ugh..."

  Carlisle let out a suppressed low growl, body spasming violently; nosebleed gushed out instantly, dripping onto the black metal shell.

  "Steady!" Savage roared; that single hand pressed the battery output terminal dead tight, motionless like iron pincers, veins popping up on forehead. "Voltage locked! Don't die in front of me!"

  In Carlisle's spiritual vision, he was no longer in the sewer. He stood in front of a "Cognitive Barrier" composed of countless golden runes. That wall was heavy, majestic, emitting arrogance and sacred aura unique to the Order, rejecting all mortal prying.

  "Ordinary decoders would try to find the key, or pray for permission."

  Carlisle sneered in consciousness, although his soul was being burned by high temperature.

  "But I don't have that time."

  He turned into a sharp logic cone emitting gloomy blue light in the spiritual world, gathering all mental capacity, smashing ruthlessly against an inconspicuous Structural Rift on the barrier—that was a backdoor program named "Emergency Distress Broadcast."

  BOOM!

  A corner of the golden barrier collapsed. Massive memory fragments rushed down Carlisle's thinking defense line like a flood.

  "...Zzzzt... Zzzzt..."

  In the real world, Val and Savage watched in horror as that black box actually projected an unstable holographic light curtain. The light curtain shook violently; that was a first-person perspective recorder.

  The scene was extremely tragic, like a projection of hell:

  Inside a burning floating airship. Red alarm lights flashed madly, dyeing everything blood color. Ear-piercing alarms even drowned out engine roars; that was the last moment before crashing.

  "Port engine on fire! Shield generator offline!"

  An Order Knight wearing silver armor was shouting at the communication crystal; half his face was covered in blood, background full of screams of comrades being torn apart:

  "This is HK-47 Transport Convoy! We encountered interception! Repeat, we encountered interception! The opponent is not human! I repeat, the opponent is..."

  Shhh-lick—

  A pitch-black bodiless sharp claw suddenly stretched out in the picture. It passed through the knight's sturdy enchanted plate armor like passing through smoke, piercing his chest directly.

  No blood splashed. The knight's body withered rapidly the moment it touched the sharp claw, as if vitality was sucked dry instantly.

  The knight fell. The camera fell to the ground accordingly; the perspective became tilted ground, only able to capture a pair of feet.

  That was a pair of feet wearing black leather boots; soles stepped in blood pools but didn't splash a ripple.

  That person bent down, picking up a metal suitcase bound by heavy rune chains.

  The camera captured that person's profile.

  That was a slender man with an extremely pale face. But half of his face was covered by black patterns; those patterns wriggled and breathed under the skin as if alive, seeming to be some abyss creature parasitizing in the human body.

  He noticed the camera on the ground.

  Didn't destroy it. That man revealed a creepy smile at the camera, putting a slender finger on lips, making an elegantly disgusting shushing gesture:

  "Shhh."

  Zzzzt—

  The holographic picture stopped abruptly. The black box emitted a puff of green smoke; the crystal inside shattered completely, scrapped.

  Dead silence. Only the sound of sewage flowing and the four's heavy breathing remained in the sewer.

  "The Pale Walker..."

  Val looked at the direction where the picture disappeared, teeth chattering; that was fear from deep within the soul:

  "That's the leader of the 'Undertakers'... Pale Walker. Said to have been a high-level Inquisitor of the Order, later sacrificed himself to the Abyss... I saw him on the wanted list, bounty five million... dead or alive."

  "He took the box." Lyria's face was solemn, hand gripping the dagger tightly. "The box contains the second fragment?"

  "Yes."

  Carlisle wiped off noseblood, enduring the severe pain of brain being torn apart, slowly sitting straight with Savage's support. His eyes were covered with red blood streaks, but the gaze was unprecedentedly clear.

  "And, I know where they are going."

  He picked up a dry branch from the ground, drawing a simple map on the muddy ground.

  "At the end of that footage just now, there was a tower in the background." Carlisle pointed to a dot on the map. "The shape of that tower is special; the top is forked, like a snake's tongue."

  "Serpent's Tongue Tower!"

  Val and Savage blurted out almost simultaneously.

  "That's the landmark of the 'Old Industrial District.'" Val's face was uglier than just now, as if swallowing a dead fly. "That place was abandoned long ago. It's the sewage outlet of the entire Blacktooth City; all industrial toxins and magic waste are discharged there."

  "And..." Savage took over the conversation, face gloomy enough to drip water. "The spatial structure there is very unstable. Because of years of toxin erosion, that is the overlapping point of reality and void, a true 'Dead Land.' No wonder those shadows chose there as a nest."

  "The situation is clear."

  Carlisle threw away the dry branch, eyes becoming sharp as knives; that aura belonging to a "Hunter" returned to this weak man again.

  "The Order lost the fragment. 'Pale Walker' snatched the fragment, hiding in Serpent's Tongue Tower. They want to use the spatial weak point there to transfer the fragment away, or conduct some summoning ritual."

  He looked up, scanning the three wretched companions.

  "And we," he pointed to himself, then to the two companions, "we are going to snatch that box over."

  "Are you crazy?!"

  Val screamed, voice cracking due to fear: "That's Pale Walker! Even the Order's regular army was slaughtered by him like pigs! Just us? A cripple, a manaless elf, and a... a technician who only knows how to repair appliances?"

  "Relying on us group of cripples, indeed not enough."

  Carlisle turned around, looking at Savage, eyes becoming unusually serious:

  "But what if among these cripples, there is one who can use a pile of scrap copper and rotten iron to build a 'Physical Natural Enemy' that makes shadows scatter?"

  Savage looked up; that single hand gripped the backpack strap tightly, a trace of doubt flashing in his eyes: "What do you want to do?"

  "Shadows are afraid of strong light, but light can be blocked. They are more afraid of another thing—High-Frequency Oscillation."

  Carlisle picked up a rusty iron piece, scraping ruthlessly on a stone, making harsh noise:

  "Their body structure is loose ether aggregate. As long as the frequency matches, sound can be like that knife cutting open the blast door, shattering their 'Bodies,' forcing them to materialize."

  He looked at Savage: "Old stuff, don't need any precision machinery. I want you to use that hand to dismantle all loudspeakers and oscillation coils found in Val's shop. We are going to build a cannon."

  Carlisle gestured, eyes fanatical:

  "A sonic cannon capable of emitting a 'Death Scream.'"

  Savage was stunned, then the decadence in his eyes was gradually replaced by a fierce light.

  "Sonic cannon..." Savage licked his cracked lips. "You mean, the kind used in mines to shatter rocks? If you can calculate the frequency, I can build it. Even stepping on parts with feet, I can assemble it."

  "This is my Chief Artisan." Carlisle smiled.

  "Lyria." Carlisle turned to the elf again.

  "I know what you want to say." Lyria interrupted him; she looked at Carlisle, eyes complicated. "You want to say if we don't go, the forest will be finished too."

  "No." Carlisle shook his head. "What I want to say is, mere nature can't purify those things. That's not pollution; that's 'Error.' To correct errors, sometimes you must use noise to cover noise."

  He pointed to Savage: "We are the people making the biggest noise."

  Lyria was silent for a moment. She looked at the dagger in hand unable to respond to nature, finally took a deep breath, as if making some compromise.

  "I will cover you." She said coldly. "As long as we can destroy those things blaspheming nature, I don't mind making noise with you."

  "Very good."

  Carlisle finally turned around, gaze falling on the goblin shrinking in the corner preparing to sneak away.

  "Val, don't think about running. Your task is the heaviest."

  "Me... me?" Val pointed at himself, stammering in fright. "I can't do anything except accounting! And I have no money!"

  "We need two things."

  Carlisle raised two fingers, speaking extremely fast, as if issuing the final combat order:

  "First, we need liquid Mithril as a conductor. I know you have a secret warehouse hidden near the Zone C pump room, don't play dumb. Move all liquid Mithril conduits there here."

  "Second, we need a bait. Or rather, a 'Broadcasting Station' that can lure those greedy mercenaries over."

  "You want to borrow a knife to kill?" Val reacted instantly, small eyes lighting up. "You want me to spread the news that 'Serpent's Tongue Tower has treasure'?"

  "Smart." Carlisle snapped his fingers. "Only by muddying the water can we have a chance to fish. Also, if we succeed, I have no use for that 'Primordial Fragment,' but I heard the Order is willing to pay a sky-high bounty to retrieve it."

  The goblin's eyes lit up instantly; that was a firelight named "Greed," enough to overwhelm fear.

  "Bounty? You mean..."

  "We snatch it back, then sell it to the Order, or sell it to the black market. Either way, enough for you to buy ten Blacktooth Cities."

  This was of course painting a pie. But for greedy people, painting a pie was most effective.

  "Deal!" Val swallowed saliva. "I want thirty percent!"

  "Twenty percent. More nonsense and I'll throw you here to feed rats."

  "Deal!"

  Val gritted his teeth, turning to run into the darkness: "Wait for me half an hour! I'm going to move Mithril! Whoever dares short me those twenty percent, I won't let him go even as a ghost!"

  Watching the goblin's disappearing back figure, Carlisle looked into the depths of darkness, eyes flashing with the light of revenge and madness:

  "Since they are shadows, let's prepare a grand... Funeral of Physics for them."

  Happy Friday! This is Chapter 26.

  Next up: Chapter 27 this coming Monday.

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