Chapter Twenty-Four

Declaration: This is purely a work of fiction, a fantasy novel, not a treatise on technology! Besides, I come from a science background myself—so I do know these things! But if everything were exactly as in reality, wouldn’t that be rather dull for everyone?

***

Mu’s pace was elegant and unhurried, as if he were taking a leisurely stroll through a garden, utterly devoid of any hint of tension or hostility. His only remaining right arm held a seven-meter titanium staff, which was angled toward the iron python-lizard, still engrossed in its toil.

The creature’s brown body was sheathed in a thick layer of pale blue scales. Sensing the murderous intent saturating the air, it abruptly raised its head. Its blood-red eyes glared viciously at Mu Shang. Even though Ye Chong was safely ensconced within the cockpit, he couldn’t suppress a shudder that racked his entire body.

The iron python-lizard was already terrifying enough as it crouched on the ground. When it reared up, it resembled a towering, armored hill, casting a mammoth shadow across the earth.

Mu Shang made no move, standing as he had from the start, silently confronting the colossus before him. Yet he exuded the lofty pride of a god gazing down upon all existence, while the iron python-lizard seemed no more significant than an ant beneath the clouds.

Sensing danger, the iron python-lizard dared not act rashly. It clawed furiously at the ground with its forelimbs and issued a low, guttural growl.

But what Ye Chong saw from inside the cockpit was something else entirely. With his helmet on, the whole scene unfolded before his eyes. Mu Shang’s body seemed equipped with multiple hidden cameras at various angles, all seamlessly connected by the onboard intelligence system, so Ye Chong felt as though he were standing outside, observing everything firsthand.

Ye Chong’s jaw hung slack in disbelief. This was simply too astonishing! He had piloted many mechs in this consciousness training base and was no longer the naïve youth he once was, but none could compare with Mu. The other mechs might boast a few more screens to ensure no blind spots, but that was all.

For the first time, Ye Chong felt a sense of mystery surrounding Mu’s origin.

Before he could ponder further, the view before his eyes shifted. The holographic image of the iron python-lizard appeared and began to rotate. A red beam swept across, dividing the creature’s image into a myriad of tiny grids. Immediately, a red patch appeared beneath the monster’s chin.

A strange synthesized voice sounded in Ye Chong’s ear: “Scan complete. Target for attack confirmed!”

Mu leapt lightly from the twenty-meter-high mountain of refuse, silent and swift, like a bat unfurling its wings. Had the backdrop been a full moon in a night sky, anyone would have mistaken him for a nobleman descending by moonlight—elegant, aloof, and exuding a deadly allure.

Could a mech truly possess something akin to human charisma? Ye Chong found it hard to believe, yet he could not deny it, for everything played out before his very eyes.

Suddenly, the view flickered, and without warning, the iron python-lizard loomed directly before him. Ye Chong’s heart contracted violently; he could even make out the mysterious, ancient rune-like patterns on the beast’s scales.

Had there been any other witnesses, they would have seen an uncanny sight: Mu, suspended in midair with no visible support, vanished abruptly and then reappeared at the iron python-lizard’s flank. It was as if he had shattered the shackles of time and space, disappearing and reappearing out of nothingness.

This was why Ye Chong was so startled when the iron python-lizard suddenly materialized in front of him.

The beast, too, was startled by Mu, its massive head turning slightly as it prepared to retreat.

At that instant, a flash of silver streaked by. The sharp tip of the titanium staff, moving at incredible speed, left a straight, shimmering trail in the air. There was no wavering—Mu’s stab was unwaveringly precise, the tip not trembling in the slightest. The shriek as it tore through the air was enough to rend eardrums.

With a muffled thud, the staff plunged deep into the soft flesh beneath the iron python-lizard’s neck. The creature’s huge, brown eyes stared wide and motionless at Mu. Mu, expressionless, withdrew twenty meters away, watching intently.

It was as if only now the iron python-lizard realized what had happened. Its hoarse, mournful cry echoed through the junkyard, growing weaker and weaker until it faded completely. Its wide eyes grew glazed and lifeless; the spark of life had fled. Fetid saliva mingled with blood seeped from between its teeth—each tooth twice as thick as Ye Chong’s fingers—and dripped onto the ground.

Ye Chong was dumbfounded, utterly stunned. From the start, his mouth had hung open in disbelief.

This was the first time Ye Chong had truly witnessed Mu’s strength—what an unfathomable power!

Now, his mind was entirely consumed by that soul-stirring strike—the silver line that seemed to cleave the void, the unique sound of air being torn apart—replaying again and again in his memory.

Even when Mu called him down to help skin the beast, Ye Chong was still in a daze, his footsteps light and unsteady, as if he were treading on clouds.

After a long while, his spirit returned to his body, and he hurried to help peel away the iron python-lizard’s scales, one by one.

Ye Chong couldn’t help but exclaim, “Mu, that strike of yours just now was perfect! Absolutely incredible!” His tone brimmed with unconcealed admiration.

Mu, however, was indifferent. “Perfect? I’m still far from it. That strike lacked the most important thing.”

Ye Chong paused, his hands stilling. “The most important thing? What’s that?”

Mu stopped as well and explained patiently, “Spirit. Though my strike was flawless in terms of strength, angle, and timing, it lacked spirit—soul, if you will. I can’t recall who said it, but the phrase has always been in my data banks. I believe there’s some truth to it. However, I’ve never been able to understand it. My technique has evolved to the highest level a current AI can achieve, but in the end, I am not human. And perhaps that is a uniquely human trait.”

“Spirit…” Ye Chong murmured, lost in thought. All along, he’d thought his own strength was decent, and his recent successes seemed to confirm that. But witnessing Mu’s strike, he realized just how vast the gap truly was. He was certain he could never have dodged that blow. For the first time, Ye Chong took a hard look at his own abilities. Discouragement and inferiority had no place in his vocabulary; Ye Chong believed that with enough effort, he could reach, or even surpass, Mu one day.

Mu picked up a scale and bent and twisted it in his hand, praising, “Remarkable! The strength reaches about 8.12, and its toughness ranges from 7.0 to 7.2. For such high strength to come with such flexibility is rare indeed!”

He set a scale on the ground, swung his right arm, and let a point of silver light fall gently yet swiftly upon it. With a dull thud, dust spread outward from the scale’s center.

Mu retrieved the scale. Save for a tiny mark in the middle, it was otherwise undamaged. Mu nodded in satisfaction. “This is a real treasure, Ye. We must not waste a single one of these scales!”

“Of course!” Ye Chong replied at once. “Who knows when we’ll come across such a find again!” Seeing the web of cracks on the ground beneath the scale, Ye Chong couldn’t help but marvel silently.

The two of them stripped the iron python-lizard completely bare. Ye Chong was certain the creature had never been so clean since the day it was born. He even filled a bottle with its blood. Always curious about the taste of its meat, Ye Chong was not about to pass up this opportunity—he cut off a foreleg, slung it over his shoulder, and kept glancing back longingly at the mountain of flesh as they left. Tsk, tsk—Grandpa is leaving soon; if not, how many days could that meat have lasted!