Chapter 56: First Fortress 8 Part 1

It shouldn’t have woken up so early—its body hadn’t fully formed yet.

But it heard strangers talking outside.

In its unstable state, any sound was excruciatingly piercing. So it opened its eyes, yanked out the tubes connected to its body, clawed at the metal cabinet above its forehead, and kicked hard.

Screech—

The metal cabinet door swung open.

The sub-zero temperatures scorched its muscles like hot coals. Part of the unfinished flesh melted like wax, but after adjusting to the chill, the “waxen meat” rapidly solidified again, encasing the bones.

Vaguely, it recalled that humans called this membrane-like layer of tissue “skin.”

For the first time, it crawled out from the cabinet.

…

The room’s temperature plunged. An He felt a real chill creeping up from the soles of her feet.

Soon, she spotted white mist rising from the edge of the innermost row of morgue cabinets, just like when a freezer door was opened. A bluish glow lit up the cold air, then vanished just as quickly.

An He’s scalp prickled. In a hushed whisper, she asked Gu Xianqing, “What did you say you added to the pull-out trays earlier?”

“Cryogenic fluid.” Gu Xianqing slowly lowered the hand she’d rested on the door, her expression grave as she swiftly drew the dagger from her waist.

This sudden development was completely beyond Gu Xianqing’s expectations.

An He crouched low. Her two ravens took flight silently to scout the situation.

Through the ravens’ eyes, An He saw something flash past the edge of the morgue cabinet.

No sound at all—like a specter wandering.

The room fell deathly silent. An He suddenly realized the intruder couldn’t be Babel Tower staff. If it were, the lights would be on and alarms blaring by now, not playing hide-and-seek with them.

Could it really be a ghost?

An He mouthed the shape of “ghost” to Gu Xianqing. At the same time, the raven pursued the vanishing shadow but lost track of it once more.

The layout here mirrored the Library’s: rows of heavy cabinets neatly aligned, nearly reaching the ceiling. Beyond the grid of aisles, there were countless visual blind spots.

Not enough. An He needed more ravens.

Over a dozen ravens emerged from the darkness, fanning out to search. Until she figured out who else was here, her heart pounded uncontrollably. She quickly hugged the wall, found cover, drew her army knife, and went on high alert.

The icy metal against her back chilled her through to her core. An He suddenly remembered the corpses in the cabinets were just a wall away from her.

Gu Xianqing couldn’t wait for the ravens’ report. After a brief moment to steady her nerves, she strode out boldly, moving row by row along the morgue cabinets.

She didn’t look the least bit afraid of ghosts.

An He had wanted to play it safe, but they couldn’t afford to separate too far. She hurried to match Gu Xianqing’s pace.

The two weaved between the cabinets. Soon, both the ravens and Gu Xianqing simultaneously spotted a shadow.

It was humanoid.

At least, it had a human silhouette. It stood on the other side of the morgue cabinets, its features melting into the darkness as it locked eyes with them briefly.

Then, it bolted, vanishing around the corner again.

They gave chase. Moments later, they encountered it at even closer range in another row, eyes meeting once more.

This time, a raven already in position dove down, racing past the shadow’s face in a split-second bid. The raven’s red eyes fixed on its gaze. An He froze in the distance.

“I saw it clearly!” An He kept her voice as low as possible, her breath trembling with excitement and shock. “So eerie.”

It was a stranger, barefoot, clad only in a thin surgical gown—explaining the silent footsteps. By its build, it was a sturdy Embedded Spirit Body, but its face looked no older than fifteen or sixteen, matching the ages in the morgue photos.

Even so, its height matched An He’s.

An He felt deeply uneasy. Its eyes were unnaturally strange, as if it were staring right through her and Gu Xianqing, peeling them bare and laying them out for inspection.

Gu Xianqing felt the same. She watched it tilt its head sharply, a flicker of confusion crossing its rigid face.

Such a gesture on a child-like ghost was utterly terrifying.

They were close enough now. Gu Xianqing struck without hesitation, flicking her wrist. The thrown dagger skimmed a raven’s belly and flew straight for its eye.

The attack came without warning, and Gu Xianqing’s knife work was flawless—the tip didn’t deviate an inch.

But it dodged.

No shift in the air, yet it evaded with precision, as if it knew the dagger’s trajectory in advance.

Then, it snatched the hilt midair, reversed its grip, wheeled around, and charged.

Its speed was blistering—not an Innate Talent, but raw muscular explosion, like a human trained for decades. In a blink, it closed the gap to Gu Xianqing. Unarmed now, she met it barehanded.

Gu Xianqing quickly realized every move she made was anticipated. When she threw a punch, it instantly read her intent, the knife tip blocking her attack path.

This wasn’t normal. Up close, Gu Xianqing felt its body was ice-cold, wafting cryogenic fluid vapors, its skin an unhealthy pink.

No living person belonged here.

In just two exchanges, Gu Xianqing—slightly outmatched in Innate Talent—was slammed against a morgue cabinet with a heavy Thud—

An He’s heart lurched. She stood farther back; her night vision, enhanced by the ravens, was solid, but she still couldn’t track every detail like this monster could.

By the time she moved to intervene, Gu Xianqing was already in peril.

How perilous? An He couldn’t gauge. Gu Xianqing struggled briefly, then stopped fighting back, turning her head toward An He.

“Save me,” Gu Xianqing whispered.

An He eyed her suspiciously, wondering how genuine the plea was. She knew this woman’s strength—no way she’d go down in two moves. But uncertainty gnawed; Gu Xianqing had just warned her own entry into the First Fortress was high-risk. An He couldn’t ignore it.

Save her or fight? Trust Gu Xianqing?

An He’s mind raced, but her body shot forward like a released arrow, slashing her army knife diagonally from above toward the “ghost’s” neck.

Her angle encompassed Gu Xianqing too.

An He planned to trigger Shatterblade Time the instant the blade fell—trapping the enemy while controlling the force to spare Gu Xianqing.

But something in her motion betrayed her. The “ghost” released Gu Xianqing first, seized An He’s shoulder strap, pinned her down, and slipped free from under her slashing knife.

An He’s plan unraveled. The blade missed its mark, halting just shy of Gu Xianqing’s eyelashes—one more inch, and it’d have gouged her eye.

Gu Xianqing’s face turned icy. “This is how you protect me?” Seizing the moment, she darted behind An He and held back.

An He gritted her teeth in fury. Of all times, they were still wary of each other!

Gu Xianqing was unreliable! Better to rely on herself!

An He regained her combat rhythm, coordinating ravens and her Innate Talent for offense.

After two seconds of circling, the “ghost” still gripped her strap. Soon, An He felt another chill slither up her neck—like something crawling. When she reached back to touch it, Gu Xianqing barked a warning.

“Snake.” Gu Xianqing snapped. “Don’t touch it—its Nestsoul is a snake!”

With the tip, An He sent a raven swooping to snatch the little serpent. But just before success, the “ghost” intercepted, and the cold thing burrowed into her left shoulder.

An He fumed. It could block one raven—could it block a dozen?

In an instant, all ravens dove. One’s talons seized the snake’s body. An He twisted to look: the head was an inverted triangle.

A viper! She’d nearly been bitten.

The raven’s claws clamped tighter, aiming to crush it. But the viper vanished into the “ghost’s” recall, slipping from the talons.

Its reactions were elite, rivaling a battle-hardened soldier.

And it predicted An He’s every move. Was its Innate Talent foresight? Locking eyes again, that flayed-alive sensation washed over her once more.

No—something was off.

An He wanted to call for Gu Xianqing’s help, but Gu Xianqing had edged farther away.

Damn it! Could she even trust Gu Xianqing anymore?

Moments later, Gu Xianqing—watching intently—spoke lowly: “I get it. It’s the eyes.”

Eyes?

The instant Gu Xianqing spoke, impatience flickered across the “ghost’s” face.

Spot on—the eyes were the issue. Gu Xianqing was right; the “ghost” grew desperate to kill them.

An He slowed her movements instead.

“What do you mean? Spell it out.”

Right in front of it, Gu Xianqing discussed tactics coolly: “Innate Talent. I don’t know how it does it, but it reads our action trajectories.”

Every muscle twitch telegraphed intent beforehand—a preparatory micro-motion for stepping, swinging a blade. Though mere milliseconds, undetectable to most, this “ghost” saw it.

It even anticipated mental energy shifts, like An He’s. It could probably peer into flesh, spotting weaknesses and vitals.

That’s why its dagger thrusts with Gu Xianqing’s blade always targeted the deadliest spots.

Gu Xianqing hadn’t pegged it as “foresight” because she’d positioned behind An He, in its blind spot. None of her actions or observations registered.

Not precognition—eyes. Its Innate Talent tied to its eyes.

That simplified things.

Gu Xianqing stepped forward, reentering the fray.

An He thought the same: Not some mind power I hate—easy fix!

She fell back a step. All ravens surged before her, black wings whirling to screen them from the “ghost.”

In fleeting gaps, silhouettes flashed for a second, then vanished behind feathers.