webnovelvip Chapter 631 The Army Sets Off
Chapter 631 The Army Sets Off
Chapter 631 The Army Sets Off
Chang Lei stood in front of the huge observation window in the tactical room. The blood-red hole reflected the steel torrent and the grim army in the base below. A hint of genuine interest curled at the corner of his fierce mouth.
"Heh...it's finally starting to look decent, it's actually quite convincing."
Tang Zijun's gaze calmly swept over the fully operational war machine, finally landing on the leaden sky outside the window. This was not his battlefield, but Fang Xin's.
Tang Zijun had realized long ago that he was not suited to be a leader. He did possess godlike power, but in his heart, he had always been the lone wolf who came from No. 2 Middle School.
As the steel behemoths of Ash Citadel begin to awaken and point their fangs at the Sighing Pass, a more subtle and dangerous drama is unfolding in the narrow area outside the pass, shrouded in the shadow of death.
This place is no longer a pure wasteland.
The makeshift, rudimentary camps clung like festering sores to the steep mountainside and the less radioactive depressions. The flags fluttering in the air were all different: the burning gear torch of Anvil City, the cold, broken steel emblem of Holy Relic Fortress, the blood-dripping wrench of the Gear Mafia, the snake-entwined skull of the Plutonium Brotherhood... and other symbols of smaller, but equally fierce, factions.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of cheap fuel, sweat, and rusty metal, along with something thicker: suspicion, greed, and oppressive fear.
These armed leaders and representatives, from different cities, shelters, and even remote ruins, were like a group of venomous snakes forced to huddle on the edge of a cliff, flicking their tongues at each other but not daring to bite each other easily.
They were drawn here by the same ghostly rumor, and bound hand and foot by the same immense fear.
Those rumors, both true and false, lingered in everyone's mind. In the deepest part of the Forgotten Valley, there are traces of the gods of the era. It may be an undiscovered fragment of an ancient temple, a lost artifact, or even the core of power left behind by a fallen god.
At this moment when the gods have collapsed and a new era has begun, whoever can grasp this power originating from the pinnacle of the "old era" may have the qualification to reshape the wasteland and ascend to the throne of the new gods.
These rumors, like barbed thorns, have pierced the heart of every ambitious person.
Some people's eyes burned with a burning madness and greed; they longed for it to be real, for that power, for the chance to become the new rulers.
The fanatical leader of the Holy Relic Fortress, a gaunt man with one side of his face covered by a steel mask and eyes that gleamed with inhuman light, prayed fervently to the depths of the canyon every day, as if the "miracle" was already within his grasp.
However, many others harbored a deeper fear and apprehension in their eyes. The Free Fire representative of Anvil City, a burly man with a scar on his face, frowned deeply as he looked at the purple radiation mist that permeated the depths of the canyon.
He hoped the rumor was false, a complete lie. If a miracle truly existed, what would that mean? It would mean the shadow of the old gods had not completely dissipated, that the new era might just be the beginning of another cruel cycle, and even more so... that if any power truly obtained it, it would be a catastrophe for all other powers.
The territory, resources, and power they had painstakingly seized amidst the chaos following the fall of the gods would all vanish in the face of this overwhelming power.
Thus, a distorted and fragile balance was formed in this narrow land of death.
Various factions are vying for better campsites, limited clean water sources, and priority access to explore suspicious cave entrances. Any spark can ignite small-scale conflicts. Gunshots often ring out sporadically at night or in the fog, accompanied by the curses of the wounded and the low groans of the dead. Patrols from different factions cross the ridgeline, their eyes slicing across each other like knives, fingers tightly gripping the triggers, the air tense as a taut bowstring.
However, a large-scale, life-or-death battle eerily did not break out. The leaders of the various camps tacitly restrained their subordinates, at least on the surface.
They would conduct insincere negotiations in simple neutral tents, probing each other's intelligence and bottom line, using fake smiles to cover up their murderous intent, because everyone knew that once they were exhausted from fighting here, even if they won in the end, they would have no strength to explore the dangerous depths of the canyon, let alone deal with the possible battle for the divine miracle.
The principle of "when the snipe and the clam fight, the fisherman benefits" applies equally to the wasteland.
The real confrontation takes place in the shadows, with spies disguised as scavengers moving between camps, exchanging cheap liquor and expired canned goods for snippets of information.
Meanwhile, tech experts frantically tried to decipher the chaotic radiation signals and energy fluctuations in the canyon, attempting to find conclusive evidence of the existence of a miracle. A group of independent intelligence brokers became the busiest people here, appearing and disappearing mysteriously in the tents of various bigwigs, peddling exclusive news that was hard to distinguish between true and false, and injecting the poison of suspicion into everyone's ears.
In the midst of this suffocating stalemate, an even more unsettling message, like a cold, venomous snake, silently crept into the ears of every camp leader, bringing a real panic far exceeding the rumors of miracles.
"The dragon squads of Ash Fortress... they've come out in full force... their target... is right here."
The scarred, burly man from Anvil City was the first to receive the news.
He abruptly stood up from the leather-covered chair, knocking over the cheap beer on the table, spilling the beer and dust all over the floor.
He stared intently at the scout before him, his face ashen. "The Dragon Group? Is it that kid Fang Xin?"
"It's him." The scout nodded slightly.
Although the Dragon Group is relatively mild compared to other forces in the wasteland, its ability to gain a foothold in the wasteland is a testament to its formidable fighting power and Fang Xin's shrewdness. Their decision to come in full force at this time speaks volumes.
"Damn, this place is getting more and more lively." Scarface sneered and sat back down. "But it makes sense, considering this place is the closest to their territory. But with so many people, isn't he afraid someone will seize his fortress?"
Upon hearing this, a thin woman standing next to the scarred, burly man shook her head slightly and spoke in a singing-like tone.
"That guy is the second person in all these years, besides Leisen, to escape from the stronghold of the Epoch Gods. And not only him, but all his old subordinates escaped as well. But no one knows exactly how they got out. They may very well have something we don't know about."
Scarface slowly turned his head and looked into the woman's eyes. "What's your theory?"
"...It's not really speculation." The woman's expression was calm. "Ever since Fang Xin escaped from the AI stronghold, he seems to have had divine assistance. They have no shortage of supplies, no shortage of people, and even weapons have been given to them voluntarily."
"I have reason to suspect that during the process of Fang Xin being captured by the AI, they must have obtained something, perhaps technology, or perhaps a weapon targeting the gods of the era. Otherwise, it is impossible to explain how he grew into such a behemoth in just a few months."
"Moreover," the woman continued, "after the events in Glory City, almost one in ten of its survivors remained. The two largest factions, the Old Chimney and the rebel Hawke, ultimately sided with none other than Fang Xin."
As Scarface listened, his expression grew serious.
After a moment's hesitation, he tentatively asked, "You suspect that the rumors circulating here about the gods of the era were deliberately spread by that brat Fang Xin?"
"That's unlikely," the woman said, shaking her head slightly. "If he had spread this news, there would be no need for him to make such a big show of himself at this time. Wouldn't it have been better for him to stay in his fortress and watch us fight to the death?"
"Indeed..." Scarface smirked, casually picking up the wine glass in front of him. "In that case, it further demonstrates our importance here."
The scout, who had been kneeling on the ground, slightly raised his head. "Boss, aren't we going to do anything?"
"Operation? What operation?"
Scarface snorted coldly, then cast his gaze in the direction outside the stronghold.
"We're not the only ones having headaches now; it's just a matter of who can hold out the longest first..."
Subsequently, the man in the steel mask at the Holy Relic Castle also received the same message. In his last remaining eye, not covered by steel, the fanaticism faded, replaced by a cold anger and a hint of barely perceptible surprise.
Inside the Gear Mafia's camp, a sinister man dressed in an exquisite leather jacket, toying with a gold gear, revealed an even more amused and wary expression, his eyes becoming incredibly sharp and cold.
The news spread like wildfire.
The fragile peace between the camps was on the verge of collapse. The patrols, which had been merely on guard against each other, now had their weapons off, and the forces of each faction began to shrink back urgently, giving the impression of being on high alert.
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