Chapter 57: First Fortress 9

On the surveillance feed, Experimental Subject No. 101 still lay in her original position, her eyes peacefully closed, with various tubes haphazardly piled on her body—this was the real-time monitoring inside the pod, and the timestamp in the bottom right corner matched the electronic clock.

From the footage alone, it looked as if No. 101 had never left. She appeared to be sleeping soundly, dying inexplicably inside the pod.

This conclusion was obviously unconvincing.

“Let me handle it.” Wen Yewang reached out, and in her urgency, she nudged the Saint Lord’s chair with her butt. “Scoot over a bit, make some room for me.”

Without regard for the Saint Lord’s reaction, Wen Yewang bent down and took control of the floating screen, her fingers flying across the virtual keyboard in a flurry of operations.

The Saint Lord stood up with a darkened face and moved to stand behind her seat, showing remarkable tolerance for Wen Yewang’s disrespect.

“If you’re tired of standing, you can sit,” the Saint Lord mocked with an unkind expression.

“No need.” Wen Yewang refused the “invitation” in a perfectly serious tone.

Under her control, the monitoring camera above the pod began swiveling left and right, the footage sweeping over No. 101 from her toes to the tips of her hair.

“Have these tubes always been like this?” Wen Yewang pointed at No. 101’s neck, turning back with a shocked expression to ask.

The Saint Lord suppressed her anger and raised an eyebrow. “It’s your project. You’re asking me?”

“Fair point.” Wen Yewang turned back and zoomed in on the feed.

In the image, the tube that should have been connected to the brain was now tightly wrapped around No. 101’s neck, looped three times over, with the connector jammed into the side of her neck. Some blood had backflowed into the delivery tube.

Following this tube, the two women finally noticed that the cryogenic fluid beneath No. 101’s body had turned from blue to red—that was blood.

“If there was no outside interference, I’d think the kid didn’t want to live and suicided with the delivery tube,” Wen Yewang muttered to herself, quickly negating her own words. “But that’s impossible.”

She swiftly exited the pod’s monitoring and switched to the hidden camera in the upper right corner of the morgue.

This camera was wedged between cabinets, able to capture the entire innermost walkway—originally positioned so discreetly to avoid stressing newly awakened test subjects.

The footage showed no one there.

Wen Yewang’s face filled with doubt. She quickly cycled through the machines, reviewing real-time feeds from the nearby dozen or so labs, even checking the Babel Tower entrance surveillance.

Still, no sign of anyone.

It looked like the experiment had simply malfunctioned—a common failure.

But the Saint Lord wasn’t satisfied. She stared intently at the screen and issued a command. “Pull up the playback. Then go to the morgue for an on-site check.”

Wen Yewang straightened up, rubbing her hands together. “Then I’ll head back to my office to handle the hard drive recorder and sync the footage to you later.”

The fortress’s alarm and surveillance systems were massive—Babel Tower housed two classified projects, one uninitiated project, seven ongoing batches of experiments, and twelve registered projects.

Every project subject was wired to monitoring, with a total of four hundred cameras throughout the tower. The wasteland lacked suitable servers or network infrastructure for support, and the Saint Lord’s desk communicator couldn’t handle that much storage. All recording and archiving was done via dedicated hard drive recorders.

“How long is the footage saved for?” the Saint Lord asked.

“Seven days, as I set it.”

“That’s enough. Go, quickly.” The Saint Lord pulled out her chair and sat back down. If it was just an accident, it wasn’t a big deal—she didn’t need to handle it personally.

“Wait, take Min He with you. Have her escort you into the morgue,” the Saint Lord called out before Wen Yewang could leave. “But don’t reveal any project secrets.”

Wen Yewang paused. “Min He? Who’s that?”

“The one waiting at the door.”

“Got it.” Wen Yewang didn’t bow and strode straight out the door.

She found the young person slouched dejectedly against the wall and patted their shoulder. “Penalty box?”

The Research Institute and Heroic Spirits Society were the Saint Lord’s two organizations—one handled civil affairs, the other military—and under the Saint Lord’s deliberate isolation, most information didn’t cross over. Plus, Wen Yewang held a high position; aside from the test subjects she’d personally “forged,” she barely knew anyone from the obscure Heroic Spirits Society.

This “Min He” was someone Wen Yewang was seeing for the first time.

Min He looked up in surprise.

Wen Yewang took two steps, then turned back and shouted, “What are you standing there for? The Saint Lord wants you to come with me.”

The two entered the teleportation elevator one after the other. Wen Yewang input her exclusive code, and the elevator panel verified her biometrics before beginning its descent.

“What’s your ability?” Wen Yewang asked with a beaming smile, trying her best to look friendly.

Min He instantly felt chilled to the bone. She sensed something off in the way Wen Yewang looked at her—the smile only made it more terrifying.

When she’d joined the team, her teammates had warned her: Stay away from Research Institute people. They’re all messed up in the head.

Now that she’d met one, Min He understood why.

Wen Yewang’s gaze wasn’t like she was looking at a person—it was like appraising prime experimental material. And there was no need to hide it—at Wen Yewang’s level, there was no need to conceal her intentions.

Min He’s thoughts turned quickly. No one could barge so casually into the Saint Lord’s office except Wen Yewang.

This is someone I can use.

Min He answered as deferentially as possible. “My Nestsoul is a wild dog.”

“Which kind? African wild dog?”

“The researcher who registered me logged it as some kind of Australian wild dog,” Min He said vaguely.

Wen Yewang wasn’t done with the topic. “And your Innate Talent?”

Min He felt some discomfort—this professor had no sense of boundaries. She paused for two seconds. “My talent is… Low-HP Annihilation.”

“What’s that?”

“Simply put, when an enemy is injured and their health drops to a certain level, I can instantly erase them with one strike.”

“I get it—like a critical hit. That’s a good talent,” Wen Yewang said, her eyes gleaming with fanaticism. “Mind if I ask how low the health has to be?”

Min He leaned back warily—Wen Yewang was prying too deep. “I… don’t really know exactly.”

“Is that so? Perfect timing, then.” Wen Yewang made the decision on the spot. “Once this is done, come find me. I’ll measure it for you for free.”

Nothing was free in the First Fortress—it surely came with a hidden price tag.

Min He stared at the elevator seams without committing, changing the subject. “What exactly is this about? I don’t know what task I’m supposed to carry out.”

“Oh!” Wen Yewang clapped her hands. “Nothing major. Come with me to patrol the morgue, check for intruders. Lucky you—your Nestsoul should come in handy.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to both sides.

Wen Yewang stepped out ahead. As she crossed the threshold, she remembered something. “Right, since it’s our first meeting, one nosy bit of advice: If we run into trouble, do your utmost to protect me.”

…

An He crawled through the ventilation duct using both hands.

After killing the test subject, they hadn’t chosen to leave the morgue through the main door. Instead, they’d climbed the morgue cabinets to the ceiling and found the vent.

Babel Tower’s operations were bizarre—these ducts were abnormally narrow, unlikely to be cleaned by anyone.

But they were spotless, cleaner than An He’s clothes.

That didn’t mean An He enjoyed this method of travel. She could barely lift her knees, inching forward bit by bit on her elbows.

The metal panel pressed against her back, giving her the illusion of wriggling through an intestine.

Gu Xianqing led the way ahead. Soon, they reached a wide corner, and Gu Xianqing finally stopped her maggot-crawling. Using the space, she twisted around slightly.

There was a vent grille here. Through the slits, An He saw an empty corridor below—few people were active at this hour.

“Do we have to go this way?” An He whispered.

“It’s safer.”

Gu Xianqing hadn’t known about the experiments in the morgue before, but now that they’d destroyed a test subject, the monitoring systems might have already alerted Wen Yewang.

Gu Xianqing had worn physiological monitoring gear before—even elevated heart rates got logged.

Taking normal routes risked bumping straight into investigating guards. They needed to play it safe.

“The elevator’s right below here. Past that, head forward to the staff lounge,” Gu Xianqing said.

They couldn’t speak loudly, so to hear each other, they pressed close. Gu Xianqing spoke almost directly into An He’s ear.

“We’re going to the lounge?”

“Yeah. Teleportation elevators need biometric scans—we have to kidnap a sleeping researcher.” Gu Xianqing made the suggestion. “Your Parasitic Talent would get noticed if used on someone awake. Try controlling a sleeping one; it might pass as sleepwalking.”

“It’s past seven—anyone still sleeping?”

Gu Xianqing smiled. “Researchers here work shifts and live in the institute year-round. By now, the night shift should just be drifting off.”

Normally, Gu Xianqing could pinpoint sleeping people easily, but in this dream-shielding zone, she relied on prior observations.

“Got it.” An He backed up a step—Gu Xianqing’s breath tickled her ear.

Their current position was far too intimate.

As soon as the urgent exchange ended, An He pulled away.

But Gu Xianqing suddenly thought of something and grabbed her collar, leaning in again. “Don’t move. Pay special attention to Wen Yewang. We killed a secret project test subject—she might come check it out. Be careful around her.”

An He froze in place. “Why? Is her Nestsoul that strong?”

“She’s not an Embedded Spirit Body.” Gu Xianqing sighed meaningfully.

An He was surprised again. Gu Xianqing always spoke of Wen Yewang with trepidation; An He had assumed she was some ultra-powerful Embedded Spirit Body. But Gu Xianqing said otherwise.

“There are two kinds of researchers who terrify people in this world. First: amoral mad scientists who do any experiment, no matter what. Second: ones who go further and turn themselves into guinea pigs.” Gu Xianqing’s breath brushed An He’s ear—it was faintly warm, yet it chilled her to the bone.

“Wen Yewang is the second type,” Gu Xianqing said. “If we encounter her, don’t try to kill her. Not this time, at least.”

“Why? I thought you wanted her dead.”

“But I don’t want to die.” Gu Xianqing released An He. “She’s linked her pulse to Babel Tower’s self-destruct system. Unless you can kill her and get clear in one second flat, don’t make a move. No one here is dumb enough to try—not even Sekhmet.”

The two fell suddenly silent.

Directly below them, to the side of the corridor, the elevator doors shrrred open, and two people stepped out.

The instant Min He came into view, An He’s breath hitched. Gu Xianqing clamped a hand over An He’s mouth and nose. Once she saw who it was, Gu Xianqing frowned too.

Two people appeared in the corridor—An He and Gu Xianqing each recognized one.

“Wen Yewang.” Gu Xianqing mouthed the words, pointing to the one on the left.

After confirming Min He wasn’t deploying her Nestsoul, An He shifted her gaze and finally got a look at Wen Yewang.

An He couldn’t pinpoint Wen Yewang’s real age. Gu Xianqing had mentioned thirty-five last time—barely older than Professor Su.

Her face did look young, not the old professor An He had imagined.

But Wen Yewang’s gait and aura didn’t match a young person’s.

By Gu Xianqing’s account, she’d overseen countless experiments, with deep knowledge of Ivyen City’s legacy—accumulated over time.

An He doubted that accumulation was less than four or five decades.

Recalling Gu Xianqing’s description, it fit perfectly. Wen Yewang exuded that near-pathological researcher vibe without restraint—rare pure silver hair, thick brows, deep-set eyes, exaggerated expressions, and sweeping gestures that made her seem restless.

But the impression she gave contradicted her demeanor: her gaze was steady.

Her expressions merely hinted at her emotions being in a constant state of restrained excitement—the overflow, not the full torrent.

And that state was fully ignited by Min He at her side.

Even An He noticed Min He’s defensive posture—Min He’s hand rested constantly on the gun holster at her waist, which might have been a soldier’s habit. But the way she advanced not in a straight line, continually putting distance between them, still betrayed the young officer’s extreme efforts to suppress her discomfort.

After stepping out of the elevator, the two stood in the corridor for a moment.

Wen Yewang issued her orders without ceremony: “Go wait by the morgue door first and stand guard—don’t wander around. I’ll head back to my office to check the surveillance footage. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Got it.”

Soon, the footsteps faded away, splitting into two paths at the end of the corridor.

An He and Gu Xianqing exchanged a glance, their breathing growing heavier. They had both caught the word “surveillance.”

It looked like they had more trouble to deal with before they could put the researcher into a “sleepwalking” state.

“This way.” Gu Xianqing immediately switched directions. “I know where her office is. Hurry.”