Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Mechanism

The entrance was a dilapidated stone gate. Cobwebs hung everywhere, dust piled thick, yet traces of visitors lingered throughout, and occasionally, remnants discarded by past adventurers could be seen. Several deep corridors stretched out before Tang Tian and Bing. Tang Tian noticed that the stone used for the corridors appeared to be the same kind as the red rock outside.

Bing’s face was grave. “Follow me, and be careful.”

“Uncle Bing, have you been here before?” Tang Tian asked quietly. Despite the eerie atmosphere, he felt no fear.

Bing drifted ahead, replying, “Yes, this used to be a base for the Corps. There’s an armory inside, so there are plenty of traps.”

“Traps?” Tang Tian’s eyes widened as he searched the area.

On Tang Tian’s shoulder, Ya Ya mimicked his expression, puffing out its cheeks, eyes round as marbles, scanning the surroundings. Its soul core was nowhere to be seen, but it clutched a tiny bow and arrow.

Bing suddenly sensed something, snorted coldly, and said, “There’s someone behind us.”

“Someone?” Tang Tian instantly grew alert.

A chill settled over Bing, who made no move to enter the corridor. Instead, he silently moved to the rock wall, fumbled along its surface, and suddenly—click, click, click—the entire wall began to slowly rise, revealing a bronze passageway.

Tang Tian swallowed. This corridor was entirely cast from bronze, and after all these years, not a bit of rust marred its surface. Exquisite bronze bricks, each carved with ancient patterns, paved the corridor, unveiling a forgotten era before Tang Tian’s eyes. Overhead lamps flickered on, illuminating the winding passageway that stretched deep within.

“Luckily, it hasn’t failed,” Bing said.

Tang Tian could tell that, despite Bing’s efforts to sound calm, his shifting tone betrayed his unease.

As Tang Tian stepped into the bronze corridor, the rock wall settled back into place, sealing them in seamlessly. What struck Tang Tian was the freshness of the air; it was nothing like the stagnant atmosphere he had expected.

“Don’t step on the floor,” Bing warned.

“Don’t step on the floor?” Tang Tian was momentarily stunned. “How am I supposed to walk then?”

Ya Ya’s eyes lit up. With a kick from its little legs, it launched itself at the wall, bouncing from side to side like a rubber ball, darting ahead at lightning speed.

“Looks like Ya Ya is smarter than you,” Bing remarked, drifting forward.

Tang Tian’s eyelid twitched twice. Without a word, he summoned his agility, tapping lightly on the walls in a zigzag pattern, progressing swiftly. His training in light footwork was solid, making the task effortless.

The corridor was far deeper than Tang Tian had imagined, and he sensed it sloped downward as they advanced.

His awe grew stronger. This bronze corridor extended over ten kilometers and still descended further—a feat of staggering engineering and immense resources!

“Careful, if the next section hasn’t failed, we’ll need identity verification,” Bing said, voice tense.

“How do you verify?” Tang Tian asked.

“Badge,” Bing replied.

“Do we have one?” Tang Tian pressed.

“No,” Bing answered bluntly.

Tang Tian stared blankly. “Then what do we do?”

“We rush through,” Bing said.

“Rush… rush through?” Tang Tian thought he’d misheard.

“That’s right!” Bing suddenly appeared beside Ya Ya, grabbed it, then materialized behind Tang Tian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It all depends on you now, boy genius!”

Tang Tian was about to curse when a sudden flash of light burst before his eyes.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tang Tian dodged aside.

A bronze arrow grazed his body, embedding itself deep in the wall with a thunk. Its fletching vibrated furiously, and Tang Tian’s heart raced in terror. His face paled; if he’d been struck, he might have been pierced right through.

“Don’t freeze! Move!” Bing urged.

“You bastard!” Tang Tian shouted, launching himself toward the opposite wall—another bronze arrow whistled past.

“Don’t touch the floor!” Bing, hiding behind Tang Tian, reminded him.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

The hair-raising sound of arrows slicing through the air echoed from deep within the corridor.

Tang Tian’s pupils contracted as several tiny dots appeared in his vision. His legs, still recovering from the prior leap, pushed off with explosive force, sending him hurtling toward the wall like an arrow released from a bow.

Thunk, thunk, thunk!

Tang Tian could no longer spare the breath to curse. A volley of arrows rained down, twelve bronze shafts nearly sealing off every escape route.

Intense fear pushed every muscle in his body to its limits. His focus sharpened like never before. Just as he was about to reach the wall, he thrust out his hand, fingers hooked like claws, and plunged them deep into the bronze surface. The momentum slammed his body against the wall, pain radiating from his fingertips, but he ignored it. His other hand followed suit, anchoring him further.

His arms tensed, and Tang Tian, clinging to the wall like a gecko, scrambled forward at lightning speed.

Thunk, thunk, thunk!

Bronze arrows whistled past him, their force making his scalp tingle.

“Well done!” Bing was clearly excited. “That’s the spirit! Keep going, rookie!”

Rookie…

Tang Tian’s eyelid twitched again. He fought the urge to slap Bing off the wall, burying his head and surging forward with all his might. Pressed to the wall, relying solely on his fingers and arms, Tang Tian’s formidable strength came fully into play.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Arrows rained down like a storm, their terrifying momentum unrelenting.

Tang Tian’s expression changed. This wasn’t good. He sank his fingers deep into the wall, shifted from gripping to slapping, and with a powerful push from his legs, he launched himself like a frog.

“Excellent! Your coordination is superb, full of explosive beauty! Rookie! Fantastic! Don’t stop, keep going!” Bing, energized as though injected with adrenaline, cheered from behind. The familiar environment transported him back to another era—leading young recruits through rigorous training, shouting encouragement from the sidelines.

Now, only Bing remained of the Corps.

He couldn’t be called dead, nor truly alive.

A sense of confusion haunted him—why was he the only one left?

Within the Corps, his strength was unremarkable, countless members far surpassed him. His knowledge of mechanics was basic at best, his cunning and wisdom nothing exceptional.

Why did he survive when others faded away? Why him? Why?

He had asked himself that question countless times, unable to comprehend it. The Corps had been extinguished—what use was a drill instructor left behind? If fate truly existed, surely it should have been someone as brilliant as the commander who remained alive…

But it wasn’t. Only he had survived.

The roar of arrows whistling past brought his thoughts back to the present.

He had to admit, Tang Tian was a good soldier.

Though Tang Tian’s innate talent wasn’t remarkable—Bing had said his elemental balance was not a bad thing, and his energy affinity was fine. But Bing hadn’t told the whole truth; what he meant by “fine” was only that Tang Tian was not incompatible with true power. Bing had seen many people naturally attuned to true power—that was real talent. In Bing’s eyes, single-element talent meant nothing; among the recruits he’d handled, many were gifted in all five elements. Such people cultivated true power faster, more efficiently, advancing rapidly.

Yet, to Bing, innate talent was just that—important for prodigies, but for a soldier, courage, willpower, and resilience mattered most. In these aspects, Tang Tian stood out among all the recruits Bing had trained.

Tang Tian wasn’t particularly smart, but his calm in battle and beast-like instincts impressed Bing deeply. Freshly advanced to the fourth rank, yet able to press forward steadily through this arrow storm—if the Corps were still around, Tang Tian’s feat would cause a sensation.

Tang Tian was not the first to attempt this trap.

Most soldiers in the Southern Cross Corps were fierce and loved challenges. Many deliberately avoided wearing their badges just to test themselves against this mechanism. It was a source of amusement, but only veterans ever made it through—no rookie had ever succeeded.

Suddenly, Bing wondered if Tang Tian could make it all the way.

Oblivious to Bing’s thoughts, Tang Tian was entirely focused, his concentration at its peak.

His gecko-like approach soon met trouble—the mechanism seemed to have learned his pattern, and the bronze arrows grew more threatening. Tang Tian felt the pressure; several arrows grazed dangerously close, one even slicing his forehead and leaving a thin, bloody line.

Cold sweat poured down Tang Tian’s face. For the first time, he was in such dire straits.

The corridor offered precious little space to dodge; increase the number of arrows, and the remaining gaps vanished. His breathing grew heavy from the taxing method, but his resolve never wavered. He lifted his face, staring forward, mind racing.

No room to dodge… What now?

Sweat dripped from his chin, unnoticed. This method was draining his stamina fast.

He needed space—if there was none, he would have to make it.

Tang Tian pressed forward at a terrifying pace, clinging to the wall, evading the relentless arrows. The cold bronze beneath his palms made him ever more composed. Seven arrows blocked his path, but Tang Tian didn’t hesitate. He launched himself upward.

Three bronze arrows, arranged in a triangle, shot toward him with deadly speed.

In midair, Tang Tian suddenly curled into a ball, and the three arrows missed, scraping past.

Yet now, suspended in air without support, another arrow followed swiftly.

On the verge of being pierced, Tang Tian moved.