"Trade Secret?"
Alastor repeated the phrase softly, the ending slightly raised. The playfulness in his tone was like a thin layer of ice concealing bone-chilling cold underneath.
He took a step. Those dazzlingly white boots stepped on the obsidian floor, each step making a crisp click sound—like an invisible whip, snapping the last string named "Reason" in Savage's brain.
"Go to hell! You hypocrite of the Order!"
Extreme fear turned into rage. The dwarf let out a roar like a trapped beast. That mechanical right arm, already overloaded and smoking, suddenly sprayed a thick stream of steam. The roar of the hydraulic pump instantly soared to the edge of cylinder explosion; metal joints screeched due to overload operation.
He had no tactics to speak of, relying purely on brute force. He swung the half-broken industrial wrench weighing fifty pounds in his hand, smashing toward that defenseless white-robed mage like a fired cannonball.
This strike condensed all the resentment and unwillingness Savage had struggled with in the wasteland for five years. Even a fully armed armored rhino would have its skull smashed by this brutal force.
However, Alastor didn't even blink.
He didn't chant, didn't raise his hand, didn't even shake that elegant smile on his face. He just moved his left index finger slightly, as light as brushing away an insignificant speck of dust.
Hummmm—
No shield floated out of thin air, nor did any energy torrent erupt.
But in front of Savage's charge path, countless golden refracted light rays suddenly lit up in the air. These rays interwove at millisecond speed, instantly constructing an Optical Mandate Wall composed of hexagonal honeycombs. Between the flow of light, it revealed a suffocating sense of order.
CLANG——!!!
A loud noise enough to shatter eardrums exploded in the cavity; sound waves agitated gravel to fall rustlingly. Savage felt he didn't hit a wall, but crashed head-on into an armored train running at full speed.
Huge reaction force conducted madly back along the wrench. The tool made of special steel shattered instantly into dozens of sharp iron pieces, splashing in all directions.
Then came the sound of bone fracturing.
Crack—
The dwarf's proud mechanical right arm underwent devastating structural distortion the moment it touched the light wall. Precise brass gears, tough hydraulic rods, all twisted into a ball of scrap iron like crumpled dough at this moment. Accompanied by a muffled bang, it exploded with black smoke; dark green engine oil mixed with dark red blood splashed.
"Arghhh——!"
Savage let out a heart-tearing scream. His whole body flew backward like a kite with a broken string, smashing heavily onto the rock wall dozens of meters away, making a muffled impact sound. Sliding down, his body dragged a shocking blood trail on the rock wall, twitched twice, and completely passed out.
"Great strength, but the vector is too dispersed."
Alastor took out a snow-white silk handkerchief from his bosom, gently wiped his fingers that weren't stained with any dust, then tossed it casually. The handkerchief drew an arc in the air, landing among the metal fragments all over the ground, looking out of place.
"Typical Wasteland Mechanical School. Rough, inefficient, devoid of aesthetics."
He strode over the metal wreckage and bloodstains all over the ground, just like stepping over a pile of worthless roadside trash.
He didn't even give the comatose Savage a second look—in this man's world, creatures unable to understand "Absolute Order" were no different from ants.
Lyria blocked in front of Carlisle.
She lost her companion longbow of a hundred years, and the mana in her body was exhausted by the Requiem just now; even standing was tottering.
But she still pulled out the only remaining mithril dagger at her waist, holding it backhand, blade facing forward. Amber eyes stared dead at the approaching Alastor; pupils constricted due to extreme vigilance, like a lone wolf forced into a desperate situation.
"Step aside, Elf."
Alastor stopped, a trace of hypocritical pity flowing in his golden pupils.
"I am always tolerant of endangered species. Primordial blood flows in you. Although primitive, at least it is pure. If you leave now, I can pretend I didn't see you."
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"There is only 'Noise' here." Lyria gritted her teeth, voice trembling slightly due to force. The hand holding the dagger was also shaking uncontrollably, but her eyes were unusually firm. "And you are the biggest Noise."
"Noise?"
Alastor raised his eyebrows as if hearing a huge joke, a cold arc curling on the corner of his mouth.
"No, my dear. I am the Tuner—responsible for erasing all discordant noise."
He reached out, making a "Grabbing" gesture at Lyria across the air.
Zzzzt—
The air around Lyria solidified instantly, as if turning into hard amber. Four golden halos floated out of thin air, precisely locking her wrists and ankles. The moment the halos tightened, an irresistible huge force came, nailing her directly to the crystal pillar beside her.
The mithril dagger fell to the ground with a clang. She struggled to twist her body, but could only feel the severe pain of bones being squeezed, unable to move.
"See, this is Order."
Having dealt with all interferers, Alastor ignored the elf struggling on the wall and finally walked to Carlisle.
Carlisle at this moment was like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.
He lay on the obsidian slab, left arm charred, face pale, even breathing smelling of blood foam. But his intact right eye was still open, gaze terrifyingly calm, without any fear, only an indifference of insight into everything.
Alastor squatted down. The hem of that dustless white robe hovered one centimeter above the ground, never staining filth.
"Now, we can have a good talk."
Alastor's breath-takingly perfect face leaned close to Carlisle. In those golden eyes without pupils, Carlisle's wretched appearance was reflected.
"I don't care what your name is, nor do I care why you stole into this ruin."
Alastor extended a slender finger, gently tapping on Carlisle's closed, bleeding left eyelid.
"I only care about that Formula."
His voice suddenly became fanatic. That greed for knowledge finally tore through the elegant disguise; nearly paranoid light flashed in the golden pupils:
"Just now in that instant, I felt it clearly—you cut off that monster's law chain. You didn't use any known magic elements, didn't rely on any props; you directly modified its Definition of Existence."
A slight tingling sensation came from his fingertips.
"That is the Authority of God, child." Alastor's voice was low and hoarse, carrying a nearly devout obsession. "That is the language used by the Creator to weave the world only in the Mythological Age."
Alastor whispered, "Give it to me. Tell me the structure of that True Script, or even just a syllable, a symbol..."
His tone became coaxing, like a devil whispering in the ear:
"I can cure your hand, I can give you endless wealth, even let you enter the Highest Council of the Order. As long as you give me that 'Primordial True Script.'"
This was not just interrogation; this was the devil's temptation.
Carlisle looked at this man close at hand, like a god. He could smell that cold, snow-like fragrance on Alastor.
Suddenly, Carlisle smiled.
That was an extremely ugly smile. The corner of his mouth pulled charred skin; mouthfuls of blood foam spilled out, yet it was full of undisguised mockery.
"Cough cough... You want... Primordial True Script?"
Carlisle's voice was hoarse and broken, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing.
"Of course." A trace of expectation flashed in Alastor's eyes.
"Come closer... I'll tell you."
Alastor didn't doubt at all, really bending down. Those golden eyes revealed a mortal-like desire for the first time, staring closely at Carlisle's lips.
"Primordial True Script is..."
Carlisle took a deep breath, accumulating the last strength:
"Fuck your Order."
The air was dead silent for a second.
The expression on Alastor's face froze. That originally flawless look carrying compassion for the world cracked completely in an instant, revealing the extremely cold, nearly hideous gloom underneath. Golden pupils constricted slightly; the air around seemed to become viscous due to this anger.
"Disappointing."
He straightened up, took out a new handkerchief, and wiped the cheek just sprayed by Carlisle's breath with disgust.
"Since you refuse to say, I can only dig out your brain, slice it thinly, and read it bit by bit."
Alastor raised his right hand, fingers spread.
In his palm, a mass of high-density Golden Mandate Light Blade was forming rapidly. The edge of the light blade flashed with fine flowing light, buzzing, carrying sharpness enough to cut the soul. The surrounding space was slightly distorted by this force.
"Goodbye, little rat."
The light blade fell with a biting wind, only a few centimeters from Carlisle's neck.
"If I were you, I wouldn't cut down."
Carlisle's voice suddenly became unusually clear and calm, without the weakness and hoarseness just now, like a dagger quenched in ice, piercing the killing intent in the air.
Alastor's hand stopped in mid-air, only three centimeters from Carlisle's neck. The heat of the light blade had even scorched Carlisle's collar.
"Bluffing?" Alastor sneered.
"Look at your feet."
Carlisle lay on the ground, pointing at the ground with his chin.
Alastor subconsciously looked down.
He was surprised to find that those originally solidified blue crystals on the ground (the formatted monster remains) were glowing faintly at this moment.
Countless tiny blue True Script streams, invisible if not looked at carefully, were connecting along the ground like blood vessels to the suspended "Primordial Power Furnace" in the center of the hall.
And the source of these True Script streams was exactly Carlisle's charred left hand that looked useless.
Although his fingers couldn't move, that implanted illegal interface had been inserted in the crystal cracks on the ground from beginning to end, never disconnected.
"That Power Furnace is an 'Annihilation Core' left by the Second Epoch." Carlisle said calmly, as if discussing today's weather, without any ripple in his eyes. "Its core is extremely unstable, maintained only by a fragile cooling field. And now, I have taken over its cooling system with my neural network."
Carlisle looked at Alastor's gradually constricting golden pupils, the smile on the corner of his mouth becoming crazy and dangerous:
"I set a 'Life-Bound Pact.'"
"As long as my heart stops, or my consciousness dissipates..." Carlisle paused, a determination to perish together flashing in his eyes: "The cooling field here will close instantly. This Power Furnace will overload and explode in 0.5 seconds."
"The equivalent of that explosion is enough to flatten the entire Blackthorn Woods, along with half the urban area of Aethelgard above."
"Even if you are 'Starflame,' even if you are a genius of the Order..." Carlisle glanced contemptuously at the light blade hanging over his neck, the mockery in his tone almost overflowing. "You can't withstand a miniature sun exploding in your face, can you?"
He narrowed his eyes slightly, tone becoming cold and tough:
"Now, move that glowing hand of yours away. It hurts my eyes."
> **Status:** 2025 Shutdown Sequence Initiated... 99%
> **Current Objective:** Clear cache before the new year.
While the real world is preparing for champagne and fireworks, Carlisle and his team are dealing with a different kind of explosion.
I am currently sketching the storyboards for the upcoming arc in 2026. If you thought the "Dirty Data" was dangerous, wait until you see the full System Crash.
I promise you: The visual fidelity of the next volume will be cinematic.
> Let's finish this year's data logs with high numbers!
> ?? **Drop a Heart/Like:** To help me cross the finish line of 2025.
> ?? **Rate the Fiction:** The best New Year's gift you can give an author.
-Field Analyst Zimo ???
// 2026 Loading... //

