Chapter 55: First Fortress 7

“Hurry up. The searchlights change range every ten minutes—the next one will sweep toward the tracks.”

Gu Xianqing’s face bore a smile, but her words sounded like a threat. She seemed to delight in seeing An He trembling nervously. Compared to her, An He’s movements were clumsy and inexperienced.

While An He psyched herself up, Gu Xianqing even backed toward her facing away, offering an invitation that seemed considerate: “Jump onto the track beside me. If you’re really too scared to walk, I can hold your hand.”

“No need!” An He gritted her teeth. After confirming the track’s position, she took several steps back.

An He lacked Gu Xianqing’s boldness and proficiency. But she had her Innate Talent, Shatterblade Time, which could slow her descent and give her more chances to adjust her landing.

“Jump farther, or you’ll fall,” Gu Xianqing’s whisper drilled clearly into An He’s ears.

It sounded like a reminder, but it invisibly amplified An He’s psychological pressure.

An He just wanted Gu Xianqing to shut up—normal companions encouraged each other. Hers only intimidated her.

An He worked to calm her mind. After preparing fully, she crouched, sprinted, vaulted over the railing, and leaped down!

Like a soaring raven spreading its wings in the sky, An He flung her arms wide, curling her body to lower her center of gravity.

Shatterblade Time activated in an instant! Her fall slowed to near pause, stretched infinitely.

An He looked down. The moment she glimpsed her footing, her pupils contracted. She quickly realized her jump direction was off—the landing spot skewed too far left.

In the blink of an eye, the ground scenery dwindled to pitch black in her vision, like the silent embrace of the Grim Reaper awaiting her, while the target track shrank to a hair-thin line.

Regaining composure amid terror was incredibly hard. An He desperately suppressed her instincts, immediately extending her body, twisting her core, and veering right.

When her feet finally crossed and landed solidly on the track, An He felt her heart had leaped out of her throat.

“Stand steady—whatever you do, don’t look down.” Gu Xianqing grinned from the adjacent track, reminding her as if fully confident An He would nail it perfectly.

Look forward.

Look forward!

An He repeated the mantra to herself, fighting the urge to drop prone, forcing herself to walk straight ahead.

Under Shatterblade Time, she should have outpaced Gu Xianqing easily, but Gu Xianqing somehow kept level with her.

“I’ve walked this path twice before,” Gu Xianqing chatted idly. “The broken tracks mean no guards notice it. Trust me—this is the most direct route.”

No normal person would ever think of such a path.

Even the superhuman Embedded Spirit Bodies of the First Fortress would struggle to balance a two-meter-tall brute up here.

But neither Gu Xianqing nor An He were bulky bruisers.

Their lithe builds became an advantage, letting them maintain balance effortlessly.

After conquering her fear and covering some distance, An He began eyeing Gu Xianqing ahead. Soon, she discerned the tricks to advancing.

Walking this wasn’t true tightrope— the track was wide enough for solid steps. And the hover rail’s load limit was high; even with gaps ahead, it didn’t wobble.

An He just needed to tense her muscles fully, controlling her body against swaying.

Asta’s drills hammered this control daily—An He was proficient.

Most crucially, she couldn’t fear psychologically. Mindsets of “I definitely won’t fall” versus “I’m definitely going to fall” yielded utterly different results.

Once treating it as routine, An He adapted swiftly to the daring maneuver.

Gu Xianqing timed the searchlights’ sweeps, guiding An He’s stops and starts. They dodged the beams, cautiously leaped gaps, then strode steadily faster.

Side by side on the tracks—like parallel cheetahs or rival swallows—wind whistled past their ears. An He suddenly felt truly soaring through the sky.

Gu Xianqing beside her was both unnerving and reassuring.

Their bangs whipped high in the gale as they advanced together, leaped together, raced together through the wind. The sensation was so novel, so intoxicating!

Elation surged in An He. Her eyes blazed as she strode forward, head held high like a hunter.

From below, they were mere sparrows perched on the rails—two black specks a hundred meters up, utterly ignored.

Dancing on the edge of a knife brought absolute safety.

They gradually left District 21, crossing above the Moat without pause, bypassing Central City’s fortified lines, approaching the tracks spiraling near Babel Tower.

“From here, jump to the track below.” Gu Xianqing halted. The lower track was a full five meters down.

An He asked, “Can’t we spiral down along the tracks?”

“No. Near Babel Tower, the searchlights cover more ground—we’d get lit up easily. It’s not ordinary light; it’s high-energy rays linked to alarms inside Babel Tower.” Gu Xianqing explained, “We have to leave the tracks, hug the wall, and descend the spiral stairs.”

The “spiral stairs” Gu Xianqing meant were hollowed ledges on Babel Tower’s exterior like steps. Up close, each was ten meters apart—impassable.

An He followed Gu Xianqing’s leaps down, Shatterblade Time shielding them both. After three suicidal drops, they reached the tower’s wall.

An He touched the wall for balance but yanked her hand back like she’d been shocked.

Babel Tower’s exterior felt bizarre—not brick, not iron, but soft like water.

Her fingertips sensed moisture and heat warmer than body temperature, sending chills up her spine—like touching living skin.

She thought it was dew on moss, but her palm was dry.

“What’s wrong?” Gu Xianqing vaulted onto a hollowed stone ledge, spotting An He’s odd reaction.

“It feels so weird when you touch it—don’t you think?”

“Nope.” Gu Xianqing half-crouched in the narrow hollow and replied.

An He touched the wall again. Familiarizing with the eerie texture, she accepted it quickly.

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

They passed searchlights embedded in the wall. An He realized how massive they were—black units the size of small trucks, pivoting smoothly to sweep everywhere but District 21.

“Huh?” At the 17th level down, Gu Xianqing sounded puzzled. “Looks like after I left, they beefed up the anti-theft on these windows.”

An He saw a protruding double iron grate on the wall—dense mesh too tight for a fist—like an ugly patch. Behind it: ordinary wall.

“Where’s the window?” An He asked.

“Right behind that grate. It blends with the normal wall, but this tower has thousands of tiny windows like a honeycomb—all one-way glass.”

Impossible to see inside from outside.

Another unseen tech. Everywhere she looked was novel, unknown—Ivyen City unfolded like a labyrinth blueprint before An He.

Pulling Gu Xianqing in had been spot-on; An He would’ve suffered without her.

“You know this stuff well,” An He said.

“Indeed.” Gu Xianqing sidestepped. “I escaped through here before—this window led straight to the lab, the easiest path. Pity they’ve wised up.”

She sounded rueful, but showed no discouragement. She pivoted, hugging the wall, and sidled left. “Follow me—we’ll take the scenic route.”

The foot-wide protrusions were narrower than the rails. An He witnessed Gu Xianqing’s madness anew.

But An He wasn’t as shocked now; Gu Xianqing had raised her tolerance.

A woman who’d conquered high-air tracks could succeed at anything.

An He followed silently, scooting lizard-like along the wall.

At a slightly wider spot where she could turn, Gu Xianqing stopped: “There’s a window here. Got anything hard on you?”

“Will my combat knife work?” For stealth, An He hadn’t brought the Holy Sword—her hardest tool was the knife.

Gu Xianqing eyed it: “Nah, too long, awkward to handle, and it’d chip the tip. Best if it’s pointed but blunt, easy to leverage.”

“Isn’t that contradictory?” An He rolled her eyes. “Tell me what we’re doing first?”

Gu Xianqing probed the wall with two fingers, pinpointing a spot. “This is the lower left corner of the glass. Smash it from here.”

She stepped aside, comfortably directing An He.

“Breaking glass, huh…” After a beat, An He summoned a Raven, pointing at its hard beak and tilting her head: “How about this?”

Perfect—efficient, no personal effort.

“Little genius.” Gu Xianqing praised with a smirk. “Right there—no deviation.”

The tasked Raven hovered, beak aimed at the spot, pecking ten times at blinding speed. Hard beak met glass in muffled thuds echoing along the wall.

Gu Xianqing critiqued: “Your Nestsoul could pivot to woodpecker later.”

The Raven flapped in protest.

An He glanced down: “Smashing glass—won’t we get spotted?”

If someone was inside, or shards fell, guards would come eventually.

Gu Xianqing’s boldness struck unexpectedly: “Relax—I picked this spot because it’s empty. And the glass won’t fall.”

A faint crack sounded as she spoke. The glass, seamless with the wall before, spiderwebbed like a shattered screen with laser flickers. It stretched, tilting downward.

But unlike normal glass, shards clung edge-to-edge like glued, landing silently in Gu Xianqing’s palm.

“See? Glass has weak points. Breaking from my spot keeps it semi-fluid.” Gu Xianqing peeled it back like a curtain.

A black void yawned in the wall. Gu Xianqing ducked inside, yanking the awestruck An He after.

An He tumbled in with a thud, caught steady by Gu Xianqing before hitting the floor.

Their arms and palms brushed, then parted—instantly, as if untouched.

No lights inside—just predawn blue haze from the window, soon swallowed by black.

As Gu Xianqing said: empty.

“What is this place?” An He whispered, stepping closer to Gu Xianqing to avoid getting lost in the dark.

“The Morgue,” Gu Xianqing stated flatly, scaring An He half to death.

“And a full one at that—why else would I say no one’s here? Rows of pull-out drawers with cryofluid, maybe a dozen ranks. Heroic Spirit soldiers with merits are stored here.” Gu Xianqing explained softly, edging toward a cabinet on the left.

“Central City land’s scarce. Heroic Spirits can’t be buried casually—thieves would loot their gear.”

Not exaggerated; in famines since ancient times, even corpses got robbed.

“So these people are interred in Babel Tower’s spare rooms.” Gu Xianqing murmured, nearing the cabinet.

Adapting to dark, An He saw black-and-white photos above each drawer—tiny enlistment shots from the Heroic Spirits Society. All faces frozen at fifteen or sixteen—the Nestsoul awakening age.

No names on the labels, just Heroic Spirits Society numbers. Many duplicates save unique photos—eerie.

This was a graveyard, a true Heroic Spirits hall, for nameless contributors to the First Fortress.

This eerie method of commemoration left An He both shocked and horrified.

She noticed dust coating the cabinets—no dedicated cleaner ever came here, which explained why Gu Xianqing showed no concern at all.

Yet even so, walking amid so many corpses, they found themselves enveloped in a palpable atmosphere of terror.

“How big is this place?” An He asked.

“Three floors, like a small library. Once we get through here, we’ll reach the entrance to the seventeenth floor.” Gu Xianqing led An He forward at an unhurried pace.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty room, muffled and steady at even intervals, stirring in An He the uncanny illusion that all the corpses throbbed to the same pulse.

They walked through the darkness for a long time, everything proceeding smoothly.

But when Gu Xianqing reached out to grope for the door handle, a faint click sounded from behind the morgue cabinets.

Then—

Creak—

The grating scrape of rusty metal being pushed aside.