Passing through those two inner city gates pieced together from rusty armor plates, the noise level instantly increased by twenty decibels, hitting the eardrums like a heavy punch.

  This was the "Jawbone" area of the excavator—a three-dimensional maze composed of countless suspended platforms, swaying cable bridges, and illegally built neon signs. Because it was located under the giant bucket, it never saw the sun all year round; overhead was the oppressive steel dome, relying only on those haphazardly connected alchemy pipes and holographic billboards for illumination.

  Purple steam, green fluorescent liquid, and red warning lights rendered this place like a nightmare after taking some hallucinogen.

  The streets were narrow and crowded; the ground was forever covered with a layer of slippery, greasy black grime, sizzling when stepped on. The hawking of roadside vendors rose and fell, mixed with the hiss of steam leakage, weaving into a maddening symphony.

  Every item sold could send a chill down a civilized person's spine:

  "Fresh! Hydraulic knees just removed from a corpse! Only three energy blocks! Never washed, guaranteed authentic!"

  "Memory bank! Who wants the memory echo of a dead man! This is a brain lobe slice of a pianist; plug it in and play 'Moonlight Sonata'! Experience the artist's melancholy!"

  "Non-toxic synthetic meat! Eating it only causes hair loss at most, absolutely won't kill you—fair trade for everyone!"

  Lyria wrapped her cloak tighter, pressing the hood almost covering her entire face, revealing only a bit of pale chin.

  As a keenly perceptive elf, every inch of air here was destroying her senses: pungent chemical stench drilled into her nasal cavity; every breath was like swallowing tiny glass shards. What made her physiologically uncomfortable were the rules here—life was clearly priced, souls disassembled into parts, dignity sold by weight.

  She could "Hear" the faint wailing of organs on the stalls, could "Smell" the residual fear on the blood-stained prosthetics; those negative emotions pricked her nerves like needles.

  "Don't look around, Elf."

  Savage's iron pipe crutch smashed heavily on the wrist of a beggar who came up to fumble, heavy enough to crush bones, movements rough almost like venting. The beggar shrank back screaming. Savage's voice carried impatient harshness:

  "Here, eye contact means you want to buy, or you want to pick a fight. Either way, it ends up paying money or losing life."

  Carlisle walked between the two; his hood was pressed very low, hands in pockets.

  In his Truth Vision, the analysis mandate of his left eye was running silently in the background; the True Script stream was fast as a waterfall, automatically filtering surrounding garbage information.

  [Scan: Low-Level Prosthetic (Scrap Rate 85%)... Ignored]

  [Scan: Expired Nutrient Paste (Heavy Metal Exceeded)... Ignored]

  [Scan: Illegally Modified Firearm (High Explosion Risk)... Ignored]

  "All stitched garbage." Carlisle commented coldly, gaze not staying on those stalls for even a second. "The mana entropy here is ridiculously high, chaotic and disordered, 99% industrial waste."

  "Good stuff is deep inside." Savage lifted his chin, pointing to the end of the street in the distance—there was a huge metal container with a golden neon sign hanging, looking out of place in the dim slum.

  "Val is greedy, but he only accepts real goods."

  That container was modified into a micro fortress. Two Ogre bodyguards nearly three meters tall stood at the door, heavy explosion-proof suits wrapping bloated bodies, rotary machine guns in hands gleaming cold light, eyes dull yet fierce. Suture marks on their foreheads were clearly visible, obviously "Living Meat Shields" who had undergone lobotomy and implanted with control chips.

  Savage walked up, fished out a rusty gear badge from his bosom, and shook it in his only remaining hand.

  The Ogre's red prosthetic eye flashed twice, sluggishly scanning the badge, slowly moving the huge body away, making a passage only allowing two people to walk side by side.

  Walking into the store, the original noise was instantly cut off by heavy soundproof walls.

  The decoration style here was full of nouveau riche extravagance and weirdness: the wall hung precise mechanical blueprints of the Second Epoch, but next to them were mind gems of the Third Epoch; in the corner, a complete angel skeleton soaked in formalin floated quietly, the price tag on the bone wing exceptionally dazzling.

  Behind the counter sat a Goblin.

  He was much fatter than ordinary kin, wearing an ill-fitting purple velvet suit; ten short thick fingers wore gem rings of various colors. Most striking were the two big gold teeth revealed when he grinned, even inlaid with micro light-gathering runes, blinding eyes under the light.

  Val "Goldtooth."

  "Look who's here!"

  Val's shrill voice echoed in the room, carrying a greasy fake enthusiasm. He pushed the monocle on the bridge of his nose; his gaze stayed on Savage's empty sleeve for a second, a trace of shrewd light flashing.

  "Old Savage! I thought you died in some sewer long ago, or were swallowed by those broken machines of yours. What, are you using this remaining hand to pay off debts today?"

  "Shut your stinky mouth, Val."

  Savage limped to the counter, slamming the iron pipe heavily on the mahogany desktop, making the teacup on it jump.

  "I brought big business. I want the highest purity Mithril, and a brand new neural interface unit. In stock."

  "Mithril?" Val sighed exaggeratedly, fingers flicking fast on the pure gold abacus, making crackling crisp sounds. "Old friend, don't you know? The Order is checking strictly recently; that's contraband. This price... has to triple."

  "Triple?! Why don't you go rob?!" Savage roared, veins on his neck popping up. Phantom pain of the severed limb made his temper like a powder keg soaked in oil, exploding at a touch.

  "This is robbery; it's about willing to hit and willing to suffer."

  Val shrugged, spreading his hands like a rogue. "Buy it or not. Or..."

  His small eyes like mung beans rolled to Lyria standing in the shadow, licking his lips greedily, revealing a disgusting smile:

  "This elf chick is nice. Although wrapped like a dumpling, I can smell it... pure blood. That scent of the forest is simply superb. If you don't mind, leave her to pay off debts, I can..."

  Zzzzt—!

  A slight but creepy electric current sound interrupted his fantasy.

  Val only felt the light in front of him twist suddenly. When he reacted, a seemingly ordinary dagger was already stuck in the mahogany counter in front of him; the blade was only two millimeters from his fingers. A golden hair floated down slowly; the section cut by the blade was clearly visible.

  And beside the dagger, lay something.

  That was a crystal only the size of a thumb, emitting gloomy blue cold light.

  "Is this enough to buy your life?" Carlisle's voice came from under the hood, calm and waveless, but carrying unquestionable chill.

  Val's expression froze instantly. As an old fox who had been in the black market for decades, his intuition was more accurate than the highest-level appraisal spell. He reached out tremblingly, picking up that crystal, and put on a special multi-magnifying glass.

  Under the lens, he saw a suffocating scene.

  That wasn't natural crystal, nor ordinary magic gem. The internal structure of the crystal presented an absolutely perfect geometric arrangement; every edge line seemed cut by the most precise algorithm. Even more terrifying, in the core of the crystal, a trace of extremely weak but scarily high purity energy fluctuation was sealed.

  That was the residue left by Carlisle after formatting that "Fifth Epoch Tumor BOSS" in the underground ruin—highly compressed Order Crystal.

  In this wasteland world full of impurities, radiation, and chaotic True Script, this "Absolutely Pure" thing was priceless.

  "This... what is this?"

  Val's voice changed, becoming dry and reverent. "Relic of the Second Epoch? No, this purity... even the royal tribute of that era was no more than this. How was it cut?"

  "You can call it 'Logic Diamond.'"

  Carlisle made up a name casually, fingers tapping gently on the counter. "Is what I want in stock now?"

  "Yes! Yes yes yes! All available!"

  Val's attitude underwent a light-speed change; he even jumped off the high stool personally, pouring expensive red wine for the three, face piled with fawning wrinkles.

  "Master, however much you want! This diamond... no, this sacred object, is enough to buy half my shop! Whose agent are you, Master? Why haven't I seen you before?"

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  While rubbing his hands, Val secretly made a gesture to a hidden button under the counter.

  Carlisle didn't touch that glass of wine. His left eye lit up slightly; the retina captured Val's small movement instantly, as well as a faint encrypted band in the air.

  [Warning: Specific Frequency Band Ether Emission Detected]

  [Signal Type: Short-Range Encrypted Communication]

  [Target Location: Underground Level 2]

  "He's calling for backup," Carlisle said to Savage and Lyria in the consciousness link, but remained calm on the surface.

  "Relax."

  Carlisle extended that gloved left hand (charred skin underneath), gently pressing Val's hand trying to put away the crystal.

  "Before closing the deal, I need to inspect the goods first. Besides..."

  He leaned forward; the shadow under the hood enveloped the short goblin, voice carrying a trace of undisguised killing intent:

  "If the signal you just sent attracts people I don't like, this crystal will turn into a bomb. Its yield is just enough to blow you tin can to the sky."

  Val's back was instantly soaked in cold sweat. He looked at Carlisle's hand pressing on the crystal, where blue arcs flashed faintly, seeming to inject some unstable mandate into the crystal.

  This was actually Carlisle's bluff. That crystal was completely solidified and couldn't explode at all. But he bet this goblin didn't understand the principle of "Formatting," nor the operation mode of "True Script Logic." He was betting on this greedy merchant's "Risk Aversion" instinct.

  "Misunderstanding! All misunderstanding!" Val screamed, hurriedly pressing the cancel button under the counter madly. "I just... just asked the guys to get the best goods! For safety! For safety!"

  "Better be so."

  Carlisle withdrew his hand, fingertips tapping a strange rhythm on the desktop gently, as if counting down:

  "Bring out all the lists of 'Ancient Scrap Iron' in your shop. Especially those things you can't appraise and threw in the corner as garbage. I want to see."

  "Are you... a scrap collector?" Val was stunned. Someone with such a top treasure actually wanted to see scrap iron?

  "No."

  Carlisle stood up, looking down at the goblin, a mocking arc curling on the corner of his mouth. That was the natural contempt of someone mastering core technology for simple resellers:

  "In the eyes of an [Architect], matter has no value, only 'Useful' and 'Useless.'"

  He tapped the table gently; the sound was like issuing an ultimatum to Val:

  "The garbage in your eyes is just True Script that hasn't found the right place yet. Go get the list, don't use your barren imagination to speculate on my intentions."

  Val was completely awed by these words that sounded "Awesome but Incomprehensible." He shrank his neck, daring not ask more, and ran stumbling to the backstage.

  "That's right." Carlisle looked at the goblin's back figure; the cold light in his eyes finally converged. Only by making him feel he was an incomprehensible "Weirdo" could this deal proceed safely.

  Chapter 24: Wasteland Rules

  Val led the three through a hidden door behind the shop, descending along a narrow spiral staircase. The air became even more turbid, filled with the smell of stale engine oil, moldy paper, and the bitter scent of some preservative, like an esophagus leading to a giant's stomach.

  "Please enter, please enter. This is my 'Private Collection Room.'"

  Val rubbed his hands together; those short, stubby fingers tapped rapidly on the rune panel on the wall.

  Accompanying the buzzing sound of a series of ether tubes activating, lights lit up one by one, revealing a huge underground warehouse to everyone. This place was piled high with mountains of metal scrap: broken power armor, rusty levitation engines, wreckage of alchemy golems long out of production... They were stacked casually together, like silent steel graves.

  "Every item here has a history." Val's beady eyes flashed shrewdly behind the lens, fingertips sliding over the broken chest cavity of a golem. "Of course, they all have a price too."

  Savage looked at this pile of scrap iron, the light in his eyes dimming a bit.

  "What kind of garbage is this..."

  The dwarf poked a gear at his feet with that iron pipe, voice hoarse and disappointed: "Civilian steam engine from the Fourth Epoch? Broken crystal ball from the Third Epoch? Val, is this a museum? I want usable parts, not antiques!"

  "Don't rush, old friend."

  Val chuckled, stepping on a low stool to take down a dusty lead box from the top shelf. The metal box body was engraved with blurred alchemy patterns. "Look at this. This is a good thing I just received not long ago—a high-energy heart said to be from 'Storm Fortress.'"

  The moment the lid was lifted, a wisp of dark red halo spilled out. Inside lay a dark red biomechanical heart still pulsating faintly. Its surface was covered with slippery film; several blood vessels twitched unconsciously in the air like tentacles.

  "For just fifty energy blocks, it can make that severed arm of yours move again, even stronger than before."

  Lyria covered her nose, stepping back in disgust, as if the box contained a plague.

  "That thing is alive. It's screaming... it emits resentment before death."

  Carlisle didn't speak. He just glanced at that box; gloomy blue light flashed in his left eye.

  [Analysis: Biomechanical Heart (Aberration)]

  [Source: Illegal Live Experiment]

  [Hidden Danger: Rejection Rate 98% | Attached Mental Pollution]

  "If you want to turn Savage into a ghoul that only drools and bites people, this is a good choice."

  Carlisle's voice was as cold as the ice of underground rock layers, piercing Val's rhetoric with one sentence. "The core logic of this thing collapsed long ago; it's full of chaotic noise inside."

  Val's expression stiffened, then he laughed dryly: "Misunderstanding, that's... a collectible, purely for collection! Come look over here..."

  The next ten minutes became a precise deconstruction of false packaging.

  Val took out pieces of seemingly precious "Treasures," trying to package them with flowery rhetoric and false history. But each time, Carlisle only needed one look.

  "That 'Ancient Shield Generator'? That's a mining blast shield, can only block stones, not magic particle attacks."

  "That 'Dragon Slayer Sword'? Just an industrial cutting strip plated with a layer of mithril; the edge will curl after two cuts."

  "As for this..." Carlisle pointed to a glowing sphere Val held in his hands, tone carrying a trace of mockery. "This is just a scrapped energy core about to overload. If you don't want to be blown to ashes, throw this thing far away."

  Val had more and more cold sweat on his forehead. He originally thought he met a rich outsider with money but no brains, unexpectedly meeting an expert more vicious than an appraisal master. In front of Carlisle, he was like a clown trying to sell a gold-plated copper block to an alchemist; all tricks were seen through by that blue eye.

  "Enough."

  Carlisle's voice carried a dangerous chill. He stopped in front of a mess of heavy machinery wreckage, a pile of metal garbage that looked like it had been chewed by a giant beast, emitting a disgusting rust smell.

  "What we are looking for is not in here. Val, you are wasting my time."

  Carlisle turned around; the black robe drew a resolute arc in the air, pretending to leave.

  "Wait! Wait!"

  Val panicked. That small piece of "Logic Diamond" was still in Carlisle's pocket; how could he let this fat sheep run away?

  "There's more here! This pile of stuff was just transported back from the 'Crash Site' yesterday, haven't had time to classify yet! All raw goods!"

  Carlisle stopped, back facing Val, a successful arc curling on the corner of his mouth. This was the rhythm he wanted. He turned around, pretending to walk toward that pile of real ruins reluctantly.

  [Truth Vision · Deep Analysis Mode: Activated]

  The world became a translucent wireframe diagram in his eyes. Tens of thousands of parts information scrolled madly before his eyes; the vast majority were useless [JUNK], but deep in that pile of ruins, a faint but extremely stable orange light was flashing. That was the unique "Perfect Craftsmanship" signal signature of the Second Epoch.

  Carlisle's heart moved, but he remained calm on the surface. He kicked away a few iron plates blocking the way casually, as if venting dissatisfaction.

  "Savage, come here."

  Carlisle pointed to an inconspicuous, oil-covered black metal rod at the bottom of the ruins. "Look at this."

  Savage limped over, looking at that thing puzzledly: "What's this? A broken transmission shaft? This model has been out of production for ages..."

  "Wipe it clean and look." Carlisle handed him a rag.

  Savage muttered, wiping the oil sludge off the metal rod surface hard with one hand. As the oil stain faded, it revealed the dull, obsidian-like metal luster underneath. And at the end of the metal rod, there was a circle of extremely complex golden etched patterns dense as blood vessels.

  The dwarf's eyes widened suddenly.

  His breathing became rapid; that single hand stroked those patterns tremblingly, feeling that absolutely smooth touch without any processing traces. That was like stroking a lover's skin, no, more sacred than that.

  "This... this is..." Savage suddenly looked up at Carlisle, voice changing tone due to over-excitement. "This is a servo hydraulic rod of a 'Titan-Class' construct?! And a military model?!"

  "This alloy is called 'Blackstar Steel,' hardness is fifty times that of ordinary steel, and..."

  Carlisle tapped the metal rod gently with his fingertip.

  Hummmm—

  "It comes with a mana return circuit. No need for extra enchantment; it is a conductor of mana itself."

  "Using this as a skeleton..." The decadence in Savage's eyes swept away, replaced by a fanatical ambition belonging to an artisan. "I can build an arm ten times stronger than before! No, a weapon!"

  "Is this the 'Gold' you were looking for?" Val leaned over, looking at that black stick suspiciously. In his eyes, this was still just a harder piece of scrap iron.

  "This is just a base."

  Carlisle winked at Savage quickly (that was a tactical signal only they understood: don't blow it), then stood up with a face of disgust.

  "Although it's an antique, it's barely usable. Val, this broken stick, plus this pile..."

  Carlisle pointed casually at a few pieces of electronic garbage that looked intimidating but were actually useless, mixing them with that precious servo rod: "Package price, one-tenth of that crystal of yours. Deal or not?"

  Val's eyeballs rolled. He couldn't see the value of that stick, but he saw Savage's excitement. However, facing the price suppression of a "Technical Authority" like Carlisle, he really had no confidence to refute.

  "One-tenth... too little." Val gritted his teeth. "At least one-fifth! This is... uh, very weighty scrap iron!"

  "Deal."

  Carlisle agreed too quickly, making Val stunned for a moment, a faint illusion of "Did I lose out" rising in his heart.

  Just as Savage was excitedly stuffing that servo rod into his backpack, Lyria suddenly let out a soft cry.

  She had been standing in the corner, far away from those dirty machines. At this moment, she was staring at a rusty iron box thrown at the edge of the ruins.

  "On that box..." Lyria pointed at that box, frowning, face a bit pale. "There is the smell of blood. And, very fresh blood."

  Carlisle's gaze condensed, walking over immediately.

  That was a long-scrapped "Black Box," usually used to record flight data of reconnaissance airships. Its shell was severely deformed, as if squeezed by some huge force; dark red bloodstains that hadn't completely dried were indeed stained on it.

  [Scan: Encrypted Memory Crystal Unit]

  [Source: Order of Syntax · Hunter-Class Recon Ship (ID: HK-47)]

  [Status: Severe Physical Damage | Internal Storage Circuit: Intact]

  "This belongs to the Order." Carlisle lowered his voice, speaking at a volume only companions could hear. "And it crashed not long ago."

  He turned his head sharply to look at Val, eyes sharp as knives: "Val, where did this come from?"

  Val was startled by Carlisle's gaze, stammering: "This... this was just sent by those scavengers yesterday. Said picked up from the 'Death Canyon' in the west. What's wrong? Is this thing valuable?"

  "Death Canyon in the west..." Savage's face changed. "That is the only way to the 'Grand Cathedral.'"

  Carlisle squatted down quickly, took out a probe from his pocket (a simple tool he made on the road), and inserted it directly into the broken interface of the black box.

  Blue light exploded in his left eye.

  [Forced Mandate Decoding...]

  [Access Log Extraction...]

  Intermittent audio exploded in Carlisle's mind: "...Calling... This is HK-47... We encountered an ambush... Not the Rebellion... It's... Shadow... Cargo... Cargo hijacked... Repeat... 'Primordial Fragment' has been hijacked..."

  Zzzzt—! The audio stopped abruptly.

  Carlisle pulled out the probe sharply, heart beating violently. He subconsciously pressed his faintly aching left eye socket—there was also a same fragment there.

  He looked at Savage and Lyria, eyes flashing with the shock of discovering a heaven-shaking secret: "Trouble. The 'Cargo' the Order was transporting... was intercepted."

  "And," Carlisle glanced at those few drops of blood, "the hijackers used neither magic nor guns. It was 'The Shadow.'"

  Just then.

  BOOM——!

  A dull explosion sound came from the ground overhead. Immediately after, the lights in the entire underground warehouse flickered violently; dust fell rustlingly from above.

  The abacus in Val's hand fell to the ground. "Damn it! This is the alarm!" Val screamed; those two gold teeth trembled in the darkness. "Someone is storming the outer wall of Blacktooth City!"

  Carlisle stood up, stuffing that black box into his bosom, and took out that energy hand cannon (parts state) just bought from Savage's backpack.

  "Looks like the people who don't want us to know this secret have come knocking."

  He pulled up his hood, saying to the panicked goblin and teammates preparing for battle:

  "Take the stuff. We have to go through the back door. This deal not only bought goods but also included a war as a bonus."

  Next Update: This Friday at 19:30 EST.

  OGs (Original Gangsters) of this book.