Chapter 80: First Fortress 32 Part 1

Wen Yewang was in trouble.

An He immediately activated her Eye of Probing to search for Wen Yewang’s whereabouts.

In her vision, Wen Yewang wore bulky protective gear, but her helmet was missing—nowhere to be seen on her head.

Her neck was covered in nail scratches, as if she’d clawed them herself. Whether from shock or ecstasy, Wen Yewang’s expression was grotesquely twisted, her pupils shrunken to pinpricks, as though she’d witnessed something utterly unbelievable.

The surroundings were pitch dark, save for a faint glow on the ground—likely from a fallen light fixture, casting light upward onto that horrific face, making it twice as terrifying.

An He activated her Innate Talent several more times, trying to pinpoint Wen Yewang’s location. But the scene offered no landmarks; beyond a few dozen centimeters around Wen Yewang, everything vanished into shadow.

After six attempts, An He finally spotted something at the edge of the light circle: a corner of a Sealed Box, gleaming red in the dim glow.

An He had only ever seen black and silver Sealed Boxes. Where did this red one come from?

Had she overused her Innate Talent and started hallucinating?

Uncertain, she checked again.

This time, that red patch suddenly writhed!

It wasn’t a red Sealed Box—something red was crawling over it! The box door had cracked open a sliver, and they were squeezing through the gap.

An He’s scalp prickled; she sensed danger.

Her vision lingered on Kazama Asagiri’s face. Their conversation had halted midway, and Kazama Asagiri was now eyeing her strangely.

Somewhat worried, Kazama Asagiri waved a hand in front of An He’s eyes. “Are you alright?”

An He snapped back, brushing aside Kazama Asagiri’s hand. She demanded sternly, “Is there an underground space here? Take me there. Now.”

Her tone was pure command—time was critical; no room for debate with Kazama Asagiri.

Wherever Wen Yewang was, it was utterly lightless. Combined with Gu Xianqing’s intel on the tree roots’ spread, it had to be underground—but exactly where? An He wasn’t familiar enough with the place, had no registered access, couldn’t search alone. She needed a guide.

Kazama Asagiri was cowed by An He’s intensity. She glanced at An He’s expression and the sword hilt peeking over her shoulder, then admitted candidly, “There’s a Cocoon Incubation Base, but I just came up from there—Professor Wen isn’t around.”

Kazama didn’t hide the secret project; Professor Wen had already confirmed An He was the secret project itself. No need for secrecy with her.

Still, escorting someone into the Cocoon Incubation Base required clearance from superiors. With Professor Wen absent, that meant reporting to the Saint Lord.

“The Saint Lord isn’t available,” An He cut in preemptively. “No time. If there’s trouble, it’s on me.”

Perhaps it was An He’s unyielding certainty—or maybe An He now carried real weight even before the Saint Lord—Kazama Asagiri raised no further objection. After all, Wen Yewang was crucial; delaying because of her could mean bigger accountability.

These people were masters at reading the room.

Kazama Asagiri gave no verbal reply, just glanced up at the active camera, then decisively led An He to the elevator. She authorized access and selected the command for Secret Floor X.

The Incubation Base was as bone-chillingly cold as ever. An He scanned the area the moment she exited the pod. Wen Yewang wasn’t here. Emergency lights glowed; it wasn’t pitch black. All the sealed pods were black, and the Observation Room outside was deathly quiet.

“Any other places besides here?”

“This is the only one I know,” Kazama Asagiri replied.

An He grew anxious. Wen Yewang’s death would be a minor issue compared to the unpredictable fallout from mycelium invasion.

Was the mycelium about to overrun the First Fortress? Why the mutation? An He had no answers.

The unknown bred danger. If Wen Yewang died here, the Babel Tower would collapse entirely. With the Divine Blood and An He’s origins still unclarified, she couldn’t let leads vanish.

Wrong spot—keep searching.

But the underground was vast. Even if another space existed, unconnected to this one, she had no way to find it.

If only Gu Xianqing were here. An He couldn’t help thinking. That woman would know the layout better.

But right now, An He couldn’t just nap on the spot.

She mused silently: Next time, steal a high-end First Fortress communicator for Gu Xianqing. Something that bypasses Babel Tower’s signal jamming for real-time contact.

An He refocused, peering through the glass. A failed Cabin Cocoon was still draining bloodwater outside the window; she quickly noticed the shallow trench in front of the Sealed Boxes.

The trench sloped away—no dedicated pump in sight.

An He sensed something off. “Where does this bloodwater drain?”

“Underground,” Kazama Asagiri said. “There’s a channel at the end. Probably feeds into some subterranean river.”

“You’re just letting it flow underground?” An He recalled the bloodwater’s rancid stench. No fear of contaminating water sources?

“No choice—hundreds of meters deep; pumps can’t pull it up,” Kazama Asagiri explained. “Besides, who knows if there’s even a water source down there? The base was ancient design; we’re just using it as-is.”

An He’s eyes sharpened. She grabbed a nearby protective suit and suited up.

Sewers usually interconnected. Golden Age engineering would account for drainage. No other options—might as well follow the trench.

Kazama Asagiri sensed trouble and reached to stop her. “What are you doing?”

“Saving Professor Wen,” An He shot back casually.

Kazama Asagiri watched An He’s practiced motions with concern. These suits were a hassle to don—why was An He so adept?

Is this what a Cabin Cocoon genius looks like?

In that hesitation, An He snatched a flashlight from the Observation Room, opened the door, and stepped out with one foot.

“Right,” An He paused suddenly, turning back. “Go report to the Saint Lord fast. Have her clear the trees around the fortress—the mycelium’s invaded the roots. Best to burn them.”

Mycelium invasion was dire. Lower City still had “New Oasis” folks; An He couldn’t let them die.

Ignoring whether Kazama Asagiri understood, An He bolted along the trench to the cavern’s end. Sure enough, an inverted manhole cover—bloodstains seeping from the cracks.

She was about to wade through this filthy, reeking gore.

Good thing the suit provided a barrier.

No time for mental prep, An He drew the Holy Sword, wedged it into the gap, twisted—and the blade flung the cover flying. She glanced down once, then leaped into the drain.

This was clearly manmade, like the space above. The sewer walls were alloy—mycelium couldn’t penetrate.

An He was seasoned at crawling vents; even in tight confines, she adjusted swiftly.

The path slanted downward gently at first, but soon the alloy gave way to stone walls, manmade traces gone. The floor dropped vertically.

Bloodwater cascaded down, echoing even through the suit.

Deep.

An He focused, then let go without hesitation, plummeting straight down.

No fear—thanks to Gu Xianqing’s training, she’d leaped far worse.

Two seconds later, she splashed into shallow water with a muffled Bang—.

…

Bang—

Gu Xianqing landed from on high, rolling to shed momentum. She sprang up before touching roots, brushing dirt off first thing.

She grabbed her pack from the ground, looked up. This surging root cluster had burst through stone slabs, cracking them; impossible to gauge height above. Her flashlight beam died three meters out in darkness.

Must be dozens of meters underground already. After parting with An He, she’d slipped into Lower City’s drains, cleverly tailing the roots. Banyan root systems were labyrinthine—clusters of eight or nine roots swelling to create navigable gaps. She moved through one now.

“Come down,” Gu Xianqing tossed her flashlight and reached up. “I’ll catch you.”

No reply from above.

But soon, a shadow dropped. Gu Xianqing’s arm dipped; she used finesse to absorb the impact, her free hand snagging Vivian’s collar. “Steady yourself, Vivian.”

Vivian obeyed.

Gu Xianqing flashed the light over Vivian’s face. Second time tagging along, and she jumped without a word—obedient as could be. An He would’ve argued the “I’ll catch you” line endlessly.

Gu Xianqing found it dull, trudged ahead alone. “Follow me.”

Pure command—this was how to handle ordinary Cabin Cocoons, not An He’s lecturing style or sweet-talk with Scavengers.

No reasoning needed. She’d brought Vivian as backup; if things went south, Vivian would kill for her.

Gu Xianqing moved fast. Darkness brimmed with fissures; aberrant roots outdid any drill, exploiting soil’s weakest points to pierce, swell, spread.

Red mycelium writhed on the roots. Gu Xianqing glanced back. “From here, mask up. Don’t inhale spores.”

Vivian couldn’t catch Bone Erosion Disease, but those Yellow Spores were “lethal” to Cabin Cocoons.

Mainly, disobedience kills. Vivian wasn’t An He, Gu Xianqing thought.

They threaded countless gaps: slabs first, then dank, foul mud walls. Impassable spots? She dug out a shovel from her pack.

Her toolkit was complete, her knowledge of the terrain intimate.

After an age, mycelium thickened ahead on the roots—they were nearing Babel Tower.

At a tight choke point, twisted roots and mycelium blocked the way.

Gu Xianqing halted, drew a folding machete, tested its weight. Roots weren’t too thick—hackable.

But she eyed the mycelium, handed the blade to Vivian. “You do it.”

Vivian blinked. “Me?”

She’d assumed Gu Xianqing would handle it—adults were stronger.

Gu Xianqing just nodded: get on with it.

While Vivian worked, Gu Xianqing frowned at the mycelium, pinching her palm. It stung—the hand that’d crushed mycelium before bore a deep burn scar. Damn, my bones might scar too.