Chapter 56: First Fortress 8 Part 2

One advance, one retreat—they pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, right arms to left, An He still up front.

Next instant, An He felt Gu Xianqing yank her left wrist sharply. Blink—and the Wrist Blade from her bracer was gone, stolen.

An He battled focus while chilled: When did Gu Xianqing figure out how to release it?

No time for that now.

Sight blocked, the “ghost” grew frantic. An He seized the opening, thrusting her army knife.

Ravens synced perfectly, parting only as the tip struck. The blade pierced like an emerging needle at an uncanny angle—for its eye.

But its vision was freakish. It dodged.

In that dodge, a slimmer Wrist Blade thrust from behind through a feather gap—heedless of the ravens.

Rip—

Not the eye—the throat.

The short hilt was clenched in strong hands, red sleeves peeking from a cloak.

An He, seeing Gu Xianqing connect, clamped the “ghost’s” shoulders, spun, locked its head and jaw in a crossed-arm twist.

Crack—

Death sounded so faint.

…

Deep in the morgue, another cabinet door yawned open. The cryogenic fluid’s bite made An He shudder—the extremes of frost and heat mimicked each other on skin, both screaming pain.

“She could be killed, so she wasn’t any ghost.” At An He’s feet lay the corpse, still cold.

“Obviously not.” Gu Xianqing eyed the photo on the cabinet. Unlaminated and faded, edges curled—decades old at least.

The person in the photo didn’t look like the corpse they’d just killed, but the eyes were eerily similar.

This row of morgue lockers was clearly different from the others. They were wider, and next to each number was a name, marked with red pen strokes.

This one’s number was 101, and the name was “Mu Chezi.”

When An He pulled open the locker, she immediately understood why it was so spacious. Inside lay another body.

Calling it a body wasn’t quite accurate—it was more like a shed layer of skin, with only soft, floppy hide remaining. Every place that should have had bones was now caved in and hollow.

Gu Xianqing guessed that some unknown corrosive agent had been added to the cryogenic fluid.

To figure out what was going on, Gu Xianqing pondered as she circled around and opened another marked locker nearby.

At that moment, both women couldn’t help but step back.

The neighboring locker held two bodies—one a genuine corpse, and the other a black Skeleton Frame. Countless red tubes intertwined between them, both submerged in the cryogenic fluid together. It looked like some kind of mysterious surgery.

“I was wrong,” Gu Xianqing said thoughtfully. “This isn’t just a morgue—it’s a lab too. No wonder it’s so close to the 17th floor. I thought it was some special fetish of Wen Yewang’s.”

If it was a lab, the security protocols would be on a whole different level. Gu Xianqing looked up warily. The corners and ceiling were spotless—no cameras in sight.

“What’s this black thing?” An He steadied herself against the locker door as she peered inside. “Dried-up bones? Did they separate the corpse’s bones from the flesh?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Gu Xianqing fell silent for a moment, then plunged her hand directly into the cryogenic fluid, pinching the Skeleton Frame between two fingers.

That was fluid at subzero temperatures. An He immediately grabbed Gu Xianqing’s wrist.

“It hurts,” Gu Xianqing said.

“Of course it hurts—you’ve got frostbite.”

“I mean you’re gripping too hard. It hurts.” Gu Xianqing said impatiently. “Get your claws off me already.”

An He let go, and Gu Xianqing rubbed her wrist. “This isn’t real bone inside. It’s very hard, ice-cold—some kind of alloy.”

“Alloy?”

“Wait, let me think. I feel like I’ve seen something like this before.” Gu Xianqing hugged her arms and paced the morgue, racking her brain. She occasionally glanced at the Skeleton Frame using the eerie blue glow from the locker. Half a minute later, she dropped her arms with a snap. “It’s not alloy. It’s Meteor Bone.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Something from the Golden Age. The books mention it—a byproduct of space exploration, a mineral brought back from Hunter Star. Highly polymerized, intricately structured, and it even grows. It was used in the Regenerative Limb industry for a while back then.”

Wait—An He stared blankly. What kind of books was Gu Xianqing reading? Hers had never taught any of this.

“You mean the Regenerative Limb industry is the First Fortress’s Bionic Limb Technology?”

“Not the same thing,” Gu Xianqing said. “Regenerative Limb isn’t mechanical. Meteor Bone itself has no life, but it carries some special activity. As long as there’s even a scrap of body tissue left, using it lets you regrow an entire body. The side effects are obvious, though. Test subjects who used this tech gradually changed in appearance and temperament—sounds more like pollution. So in the Golden Age, it got banned quick due to all sorts of issues.”

Gu Xianqing’s face darkened. “I didn’t expect the First Fortress folks to dig up this old legacy and use it on corpses.” She picked up her dagger and prodded the tubes in the locker, noting how especially complex they were around the brain area.

Gu Xianqing circled the lockers once more. Moments later, she stopped. “This name—I saw it before, when I invaded an assistant’s dream.”

An He walked over and examined it. The name card read: “Saihelansi.”

“It’s similar to the Saint Lord’s name,” An He said.

“This is Sekhmet’s sister.” Gu Xianqing gave an knowing smile. “She has another identity you might be more interested in—she was the previous Captain.”

Gu Xianqing pulled open the locker. Inside lay two more “bodies.” This corpse showed no changes—it hadn’t dissolved. It floated in the cryogenic fluid, preserved in death, and indeed bore some resemblance to the Saint Lord.

“I think I know what they’re doing now,” Gu Xianqing said. “Everyone lying here was handpicked—probably Lieutenants or Captains. Most importantly, their abilities were exceptionally powerful.”

An He looked up in surprise. “They want to carry on those abilities?”

No. 101 had incredibly rich combat experience, a masterful command of her Nestsoul and Innate Talent—something no fifteen- or sixteen-year-old recruit could achieve.

It was inherited, innate.

“Very likely,” Gu Xianqing said. “The Meteor Bone here serves to ‘revive’ dead Embedded Spirit Bodies. The First Fortress burns through them fast, especially at the general level. Losing one is a loss for the whole fortress.”

The Saint Lord couldn’t just train a new Captain from scratch—that required one-in-a-million talent, plus years to instill loyalty in the troops.

Gu Xianqing asked, “That one earlier—did she ever speak?”

“No, and her expressions were minimal too.”

Gu Xianqing speculated, “These newborns probably only inherit the Innate Talent and Nestsoul when they’re born. Memory and emotions are lost with the original body’s death. But they still seem in a state of ignorance—easy to control.”

“That explains why the Saint Lord wants Tina back,” An He said, her eyes flashing. Tina’s abilities were extraordinarily powerful—a rare warrior.

Captains really were special.

An He added, “The other fortresses don’t know about this.”

“If they did, it’d spark panic and envy. It’s horrifying,” Gu Xianqing said. “I doubt many in the First Fortress even know.”

Fortunately, not many of the corpses here had successfully “regenerated.” Even the Saint Lord’s sister remained just a dead body.

But An He couldn’t guarantee that one day, these people wouldn’t rise again like No. 101—with Meteor Bone as skeleton and old flesh as meat—reborn as brand-new warriors.

“We need to put it back in the locker.” An He lifted the corpse. They’d snuck in here; they had to return the test subject and avoid making a scene.

An He carefully restored the locker. Since it was a test subject, she worried about hidden alarm systems or cameras they hadn’t spotted.

Better not be any. They’d lingered here too long.

…

The electronic clock on the Saint Lord’s desk ticked toward exactly seven.

“Wait.” She cut off Min He, who was reporting on the battle situation. Her face turned grim.

Min He lowered her head nervously, noticing her toe on a white flower in the carpet. She jolted inwardly and quickly stepped back, off the flower.

But the Saint Lord didn’t seem upset about that.

The figure in the chair was inscrutable. “You can go. Come back in half an hour to report.”

“Yes.” Min He, puzzled, hesitated as if to speak.

She’d thought wiping out a Bone Eater in District 21 would earn her rewards or a promotion. But now, her achievement seemed trivial.

Min He bowed deeply and left.

The Saint Lord activated the comm button on her desk. “Get Wen Yewang here immediately.”

The floating screen showed an alert from ten minutes ago: a “tube detachment” fault in the classified project.

The crate system had detected it—the test subject had undone them herself. This had happened before; upon waking, test subjects would curiously tinker inside the crate. No. 101 had done it multiple times—she was curious about everything.

But thirty seconds ago, the crate system reported: Test Subject No. 101 was dead.

“Impossible!” Wen Yewang, summoned urgently, was stunned. She expressed it to the fullest, flying into a hopping-mad rage. “We finally succeeded with one after two years—how could she just drop dead out of nowhere?!”

A vein throbbed at the Saint Lord’s temple. She glowered. “That’s what I want to ask you. Her health report a month ago was spotless—no issues.”

“There were none then,” Wen Yewang said, heedless as she trampled the white flower in the carpet—then stopped abruptly. “Oh right! The surveillance.”

She hurried up the steps, stood beside the Saint Lord, leaned over the desk, and jabbed at the screen with her right hand.

“Saint Lord, check the surveillance quick!”