Chapter 47: Ninth Fortress

At three in the afternoon, An He picked a corner in the office and sat down.

The negotiation meeting started right on time. A communicator on the table projected a large hovering electronic screen into the air. Ide sat at the desk, with the camera framing only her.

At the same time, the display permissions on the back of the screen were open, so everyone in the office could see what was on it.

There were three people on the screen.

One was Ide. The other was said to be Qin Zhilin, the leader of the Seventh Fortress—slightly older than Ide, equally tall, but with a warm, squinting smile that made her seem guileless. Before the First Fortress joined the call, this woman had chatted idly with Ide for a bit.

Then, An He finally laid eyes on the Saint Lord of the First Fortress, Sekhmet.

From the image, Sekhmet had the camera trained only on herself. She appeared to be in a dedicated conference room, where the lens captured the empty chairs on either side of her, as if she were attending the negotiations alone.

An He’s gaze never left the woman’s face.

This person gave An He a strange feeling. At first glance, Sekhmet exuded powerful pressure—her stern features and eyes directly conveying a leader’s resolve and dignity. People like this usually spared no effort to flaunt their strength, ideally making foes cower without a fight.

But unlike what An He had imagined, Sekhmet didn’t seem flashy or tyrannical. She was restrained, her expression calm throughout. From pulling out her chair, to sitting down, to finally gazing at the lens—every movement was precise and controlled, perfectly measured, without excess. Not a single white hair in her temples was out of place. And this was despite her current role as the defeated party.

An He suddenly understood why Gu Xianqing had predicted she’d suffer a setback. A leader with such unshakeable composure revealed just how terrifying the First Fortress was.

Behind Sekhmet, on the wall, hung a mural—indistinct in subject, a chaotic mix of red and gold pigments splashed like abstract watercolors. The colors were so vivid they seemed to blend with Sekhmet’s red cloak, extending onto the wall itself. An He couldn’t help but glance at it longer.

Overall, the conference room felt vast and opulent—blinding lights, gleaming furniture. It was no wonder; these were relics of the Mother City.

By contrast, the setup for Ide and Qin Zhilin was far more modest, much like the steel and fuel they commanded—raw and wild. Behind Ide stood clothing racks; cold iron weapons hung on the walls. The lighting was dim, everything unadorned.

No small talk. The meeting dove right in.

For the first half hour, Ide and Qin Zhilin led with their first demand: the First Fortress must never launch violent wars against the three allied fortresses again. They required a ceasefire agreement, plus minor compensation to the Ninth Fortress.

If Sekhmet refused to sign, the three allied fortresses might launch a counterattack at any moment.

The First Fortress had suffered heavy losses, short on weapons, and couldn’t withstand three united foes. This was why Ide had brought Qin Zhilin into the talks—they’d pressure together, weighing pros and cons to bind the enemy while it was weak.

An He listened silently, observing everything.

All three women were utterly calm. Even Ide, as the invaded party, showed no burning rage. The sharper their words, the more restrained their demeanors—the clashes hidden, ensuring neither lost composure or ground.

An He was stunned by their rationality.

In the standoff, she almost believed the Seventh and Ninth Fortresses would counterattack. But Sekhmet’s reasoned rebuttals made her doubt it was possible—wars on this land tied to everyone’s survival, and the Ninth Fortress couldn’t afford the manpower or resources.

The situation shifted again and again.

In the end, even Sekhmet couldn’t be sure if Ide—having survived such brutal clashes—might snap and seek revenge. After all, Ide clearly wanted to cripple the First Fortress.

They eyed each other warily, bargaining in this tense tug-of-war. Finally, Sekhmet agreed to the ceasefire, compressing the term to twenty years.

Ide’s first demand was settled quickly. An He had thought Sekhmet would be frustrated.

But not at all.

The Saint Lord showed no defeat or fury. Instead, once the outcome was set, she looked straight at the camera with perfect composure: “Let’s sign now. No need to wait.”

The fortresses weren’t large enough to require legal departments for drafting. The leaders held full decision-making power. They swiftly signed the electronic agreement, adding fingerprints and irises, recording the whole process.

Sekhmet cooperated fully throughout.

This only stirred unease in Ide and Qin Zhilin—the First Fortress had broken trade pacts before. The more nonchalant she was, the more it made them question how little this agreement mattered to her.

During the break, Ide’s expression turned grave as she warned everyone: “This makes it clear—a ceasefire like this can’t guarantee lasting peace between fortresses. It’s only binding on those who follow the rules anyway.”

And Sekhmet clearly wasn’t one of them.

Even An He could see it: this Saint Lord’s logic had long discarded rules and morality.

So Ide valued her deal with An He even more—they had to strike at the First Fortress’s core weakness.

After the brief rest, the second half began. Ide finally brought up Sora.

Sekhmet remained calm: “Out with it. What will it take to release her?”

Light flashed in Ide’s eyes: “I want the Bionic Limb Technology left in Ivyen City.”

The words stunned everyone briefly, including Sekhmet on the screen.

When Asta had just lost her legs, An He had overheard Heidi mention the tech casually. Only the First Fortress had it—a Golden Age relic. But in this battle, An He hadn’t encountered any cyborg warriors, so the lost tech clearly wasn’t in wide use yet.

An He sneaked a glance at Asta beside her. Asta showed little reaction, but her left hand on her lap clenched, wrinkling her pants fabric.

On reflection, Ide’s demand was brilliantly shrewd.

The technology had vast potential, minimizing losses for groups like the Thorn Lamp—huge value for manpower-strapped fortresses.

Even knowing the Ninth Fortress wouldn’t casually modify soldiers’ limbs, restoring fighters like Asta to full strength would deter enemies immensely.

No fortress would refuse such tech, especially one like the Ninth—tech-poor but resource-rich.

Cleverly, Ide’s ask was reasonable yet aligned indirectly with An He’s plan. Exchanging it just for Sora? They’d never agree easily.

But there was room to negotiate.

As expected, the talks dragged on. Sekhmet didn’t accept outright. She masked her surprise, pondered with downcast eyes, then lifted her gaze to stare through the lens as if at Ide herself.

“If you need to outfit the wounded, I can trade some ready-made devices and installation methods. But I can’t hand over the technology itself.”

“Then I won’t release her,” Ide countered slowly, threatening. “Since this captain’s still alive, I’ll keep her like livestock on scraps, then find a Nestsoul who can read minds in another fortress. We’ll get the First Fortress’s defense maps right away. Mind-type Nestsouls aren’t that rare—maybe one of my allies has it.”

Of course, Ide had no idea if the Third or Seventh had such Nestsouls, but Qin Zhilin nodded with her warm smile nearby, looking suspiciously agreeable.

Sekhmet didn’t reply at once. Whether it was the “livestock” insult to her captain or the mind-reader threat, she fell into thought.

Moments later, she spoke calmly, shelving the hostage exchange to dredge up old history: “Ten years ago, I offered you a chance to share tech. Your mother rejected the deal. Since you’re raising it again, why not reconsider my proposal?”

Sekhmet spoke like an elder, invoking Ide’s mother and flipping the negotiation.

Ide cut her off, annoyed: “That wasn’t sharing. It was annexation.”

In the corner, An He perked up her ears, catching a glimpse of unknown history.

Sekhmet rebutted steadily: “I don’t see the difference. It’s good for all fortresses—pool resources, focus on purging the Black Fog, probing the Radiation Zone’s edges.”

Oh, An He realized. This was the “dispute” Ide had mentioned before—cooperation talks before Ide took power.

But it was big fish swallowing small: backward fortresses merged would cede partial or full control.

Everyone knew the First Fortress’s way—resources skewed heavily, “useful” elites surviving first. Call it focused development politely, or monopoly harshly.

The Ninth Fortress could never agree. By those standards, aside from the Thorn Lamp, everyone here was “useless.”

An He watched the leaders’ faces; none seemed surprised by the history. They’d all lived it, dealt with each other many times.

Ide opened her mouth to retort, but Su Ling beside Asta suddenly stood, gesturing to cut her off.

Professor Su meant: don’t follow Sekhmet’s lead anymore, or they’d be derailed.

Ide dropped it, steering firmly back to the Bionic Limb Technology exchange.

They sparred another half hour. Ide stayed resolute, demanding the tech explicitly.

It even made Sekhmet and Qin Zhilin wonder if the Ninth had taken such losses it needed tech to save its dying Thorn Lamp.

Mutual suspicion reigned; no snap judgments. The exchange didn’t conclude.

But before ending, Ide yielded slightly: if no tech sharing, then at least three thousand sheets of synthetic bionic skin and finished limbs for the Ninth Fortress.

She conceded, but the quantity was hefty.

Ide’s give made Sekhmet sense more room to haggle. The talks didn’t collapse—they’d need more rounds.

Afterward, Ide chatted briefly with Asta and Su Ling. Once they left, she kept An He for a private talk.

Only they two knew of their deal.

Ide asked: “You got a read on Sekhmet now. Scared?”

“A little,” An He admitted honestly. “She’s… not what I expected. More rational.”

Madmen scared you. Rational madmen chilled you to the core.

Before seeing her, An He pictured a bloodthirsty tyrant who reveled in killing and looting—the stories painted her as a resource-hoarding magnate who scorned lives.

But it wasn’t so simple. Sekhmet’s brutality clashed subtly with her calm aura. Her words weren’t arrogant disdain; her stance was level, at least here.

That was the terror.

Beneath it, she could still act with iron-fisted cruelty.

Ide pressed: “Think you can maneuver around her?”

An He recalled Gu Xianqing’s warning, deflating: “Not sure I can even get in front of her.”

“Strange? Have you turned timid all of a sudden?” Ide glanced down at her. “Yesterday, you were brimming with confidence, trying to persuade my people. And now a single meeting has you spooked?”

That wasn’t it, An He thought. Gu Xianqing just poured cold water on me. It has nothing to do with today’s meeting.

If anything, the meeting today had given An He a bit more confidence. At the very least, she now knew the Saint Lord’s age, tone, demeanor, and manner of speaking from the First Fortress.

An He rephrased her response: “It’s a bit challenging, but we’ll see about that.”

She would succeed.

“By the way, Professor Su has agreed to meet Lola. We’ll head over shortly.” Ide walked toward the door. “Didn’t you want to see Lola too? Come along.”

“Alright.” An He followed calmly behind Ide.

When they arrived at the prison, Su Ling was already waiting there ahead of them. The three of them stepped one after another into the room holding Lola.

An He brought up the rear. The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt something under her foot. She shifted her right foot and saw a puddle of congealed blood on the floor.

The splattered bloodstains stretched all the way to the edge of Lola’s chair. That night, Lola’s wounds had only received rudimentary bandaging. Since being locked up here, no one except the guards delivering meals had bothered to clean.

The bloodstains had dried, slightly raised and scattered in red, inexplicably reminding An He of the mural behind Sekhmet—chaotic in the same way, mixed with other colors.

Suddenly, An He froze in place, her nerves snapping taut.

She remembered.

She hadn’t subconsciously noticed that painting. She had seen that mural before.

Only it wasn’t painted on a wall—it was a thirty-centimeter oil painting on paper, neatly stored in an album on her mother’s desk.

An He hadn’t thought of her mother in a very long time. Even now, she could barely recall her figure or face. But these fleeting details from daily life lingered in her mind. Just moments ago, a word had popped into her head: Burning.

The painting’s name was <Burning>!

An He looked up in disbelief. Ide and Su Ling hadn’t noticed her movement at all; their backs were still to her as they stood before Lola.

But Lola, seated in the chair, peered through the gap between them and locked eyes with An He.