Dead silence.

  The huge underground cavity returned to dead silence. The roar that shattered eardrums just now seemed like an illusion from the last century. The disgusting smell of rotten meat in the air had been thoroughly evaporated, replaced by a dry, pungent smell of ozone and scorch.

  The heavy rock layer overhead was neatly melted through, forming a circular skylight two hundred meters in diameter. Sporadic lava rain dripped from the edge, making sizzling sounds.

  At the foot of the twenty-meter-high gloomy blue crystal statue, Savage dragged his left leg, which had lost sensation, circling around that suspended golden light sphere like a greedy rat smelling honey.

  "Rich... really rich this time..."

  The dwarf's voice changed tone due to extreme greed; saliva dripped uncontrollably from the corner of his mouth. His only remaining mechanical hand reached out tremblingly, trying to touch the light sphere, but shrank back burned by a layer of gentle high-temperature force field at two centimeters away.

  He shook his burning knuckles, but the fanaticism in his eyes became more intense: "This is an intact 'Primordial Power Furnace'... even the serial number is still there! As long as I dismantle it and transport it to the black market, I can exchange for a whole new set of Vanadium Alloy skeletons. No, I can buy a floating island and drink in a pile of gold coins every day!"

  Lyria ignored the dwarf's madness.

  She knelt among the crystal fragments all over the ground, fingertips gently stroking a pool of black liquid on the ground—that was the wreckage of her longbow "Wind Whisperer" completely melted to protect her. A trace of undisguised pain flashed in her eyes, but soon, she took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing this sentimentality, turning to check Carlisle's injuries.

  Carlisle lay on a flat obsidian slab, in a horrible state.

  That left arm serving as a conductor showed a shocking gray-black carbonized state. Skin curled and peeled off like burnt paper, revealing scarlet muscle fibers underneath. The mana circuit implanted in the arm was flashing slowly, trying to self-repair; gloomy blue glimmer flickered between charred textures, emitting faint current sounds.

  "Water..."

  Carlisle's throat emitted a dry groan like sandpaper friction.

  His eyelids trembled, struggling to open his intact right eye. Vision blurred, world spinning; the Truth Vision interface had only one flashing red box left:

  [System Overheat Protection... Forced Hibernation Lifted]

  [Remaining Mental Capacity: 0.01%]

  "Don't move." Lyria's voice came, carrying a trace of imperceptible fatigue and hoarseness. She half-knelt on the ground, carefully supporting Carlisle's upper body, movements gentle as touching fragile porcelain. "Your neural circuit almost burned out. If your willpower weren't perverted enough, you would be a vegetable now."

  She poured the last bit of water from the leather pouch at her waist to Carlisle's mouth.

  The cold liquid slid down his throat, moisturizing the burning dryness. Carlisle's consciousness finally cleared up a bit. He struggled to prop up his upper body, glancing at the huge crystal statue next to him—that was his masterpiece, and the trophy he almost paid his life for.

  "Savage..." Carlisle called weakly, voice light but calm. "Stop drooling. Check the exit... The commotion just now was too big; the Order's dog nose will smell it sooner or later."

  Click.

  A crisp, arrogant footstep sound abruptly rang out at the entrance of the empty trestle bridge.

  The sound wasn't loud, but in this absolute dead silence, it was like a heavy hammer, precisely smashing onto the hearts of the three.

  Savage stopped his movements abruptly; the mechanical arm popped alloy claws instantly, emitting a "hum" warning. Lyria's hand pressed onto the dagger at her waist instantly, body tense as a poised cheetah, hairs standing on end.

  Carlisle narrowed his eyes, enduring the severe pain all over his body, struggling to turn his head, looking at the end of the trestle bridge.

  There stood a person.

  In this underground ruin full of oil stains, rotten smells, scorch marks, and chaos, the appearance of this person seemed out of place, as if a high-definition oil painting was wrongly spliced into a rough black-and-white wasteland photo.

  He wore a spotless snow-white mage robe; the hem was embroidered with extremely complex astrological charts with gold thread, emitting faint fluorescence in the darkness.

  By the gloomy blue ambient light, the three finally saw his face clearly.

  That was a suffocating, perfectly symmetrical face.

  His skin was pale to almost transparent, like fired from the finest cold porcelain; you couldn't see any pores, freckles, or traces of sunburn. The high nose bridge was straight as a Greek sculpture; thin lips pursed into an absolutely horizontal straight line, revealing a near-ascetic indifference.

  His pale blond long hair was tied behind his head by a silver ring; every strand of hair seemed combed by some force field, smooth and obedient, without a single stray hair flying in the air full of static electricity.

  He held no staff in hand, only wearing a pair of snow-white silk gloves, fingertips gently stroking a heavy ancient book like a code of laws in his hand.

  That was the symbol of the Order of Syntax's Highest Executor.

  "Truly... a breathtaking work of art."

  The comer didn't look at the three wretched fugitives. He looked up slightly, revealing a slender neck where cyan blood vessels faintly pulsed under pale skin.

  He stared at the twenty-meter-high tumor crystal statue with those pure golden pupils. There were no pupils in those eyes, only countless tiny, slowly rotating golden rune circles.

  "Forcibly reconstructing chaotic biomass into a stable crystal structure..."

  His voice was warm and magnetic, carrying a calm rhythm unique to nobles, like commenting on a famous painting in a royal gallery:

  "This technique is brutal, yet full of some wild mathematical beauty."

  With that, he lowered his head.

  Those eyes burning with golden light flames finally locked onto the blood-stained Carlisle like two searchlights.

  Those were a pair of pure golden pupils. No emotions a human should have in the pupils, only absolute reason and order burning like a stellar core, cold enough to make one shudder. That wasn't looking at a peer.

  "Let me introduce myself."

  He bowed slightly, etiquette impeccable, yet revealing a bone-deep alienation and arrogance, making people feel bone-chilling cold:

  "Order of Syntax First-Class Executor, Alastor. But I prefer others to call me... 'Starflame.'"

  "Starflame..."

  Savage's throat made cluck-cluck sounds; that was the sound of teeth chattering uncontrollably. As an old dough stick mixing in the black market for years, he knew the weight of this name too well—that was a code name equivalent to disaster.

  "Damn... it's that lunatic who burned the 'Polar Rebels' alone!" The dwarf subconsciously took a step back; mechanical legs scratched harsh friction sounds on the ground. Even facing that tumor monster devouring everything just now, he hadn't been so terrified. Because no matter how strong the monster was, it could be killed eventually; but "Starflame" was an invincible existence whom even death had to follow his order.

  "Can't escape." Lyria whispered, her body trembling.

  Alastor wasn't in a hurry to attack.

  He walked slowly along the obsidian trestle bridge as if strolling in his own backyard. Every step he took, the dust and gravel under his feet would automatically separate to both sides, as if even dust dared not stain his white soles.

  "I tracked the energy reaction that destroyed the fleet here."

  Alastor stopped ten meters away from the three. This distance was both the so-called "Gentleman's Distance" in mage duels and a disdain of absolute confidence—he wasn't worried at all that these three remnants could pose any threat to him.

  He glanced at the huge hole overhead and closed the ancient book in his hand:

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  "Three 'Punishment Class' battleships vaporized instantly. I thought I would see some out-of-control ancient weapon."

  The golden gaze swept over Carlisle's charred left arm again, a trace of playfulness flashing in his eyes.

  "But I saw something more interesting."

  Alastor smiled. That smile was perfect like a carefully carved mask, without any real emotion, yet creepy:

  "An unregistered Wild Mage, an exiled Mechanic, and..." His gaze briefly swept over Lyria, a trace of imperceptible playfulness flashing in his eyes, "A Primordial Elf nearing extinction."

  "Just such a combination full of 'Errors' and 'Impurities' actually solved a Fifth Epoch aberration tricky even for me."

  He extended his right hand; a pure white flame ignited slowly at his fingertip. That flame had no temperature, yet made the surrounding space begin to twist and wrinkle, as if even light was swallowed by it.

  "Tell me, child."

  Alastor looked at Carlisle, tone gentle as asking a harmless question, yet carrying irresistible oppression:

  "How did you do it? That... 'Delete Key' you used, who taught you?"

  Carlisle struggled to sit up straight.

  Severe pain all over his body hit like a tide; zero mental capacity made his brain chaotic, and his left arm was completely numb as if not belonging to him. But he still raised his head, looking straight into those cold golden eyes, without flinching.

  On his pale, blood-stained face, a rebellious smile belonging to a "Low-Level Hacker" slowly emerged, carrying a bit of mockery, a bit of provocation.

  "Cough—Ptooey."

  Carlisle spat a mouthful of bloody saliva. The bright red liquid drew an arc in the air, landing exactly one centimeter in front of Alastor's dustless white boot, splashing a few tiny blood flowers.

  "No comment."

  Carlisle panted, every word squeezed out from between his teeth:

  "That's a trade secret, big shot."

  Chapter 19: Zero-Sum Game

  "Trade Secret?"

  Alastor repeated the phrase softly, the ending slightly raised. The playfulness in his tone was like a thin layer of ice concealing bone-chilling cold underneath.

  He took a step. Those dazzlingly white boots stepped on the obsidian floor, each step making a crisp click sound—like an invisible whip, snapping the last string named "Reason" in Savage's brain.

  "Go to hell! You hypocrite of the Order!"

  Extreme fear turned into rage. The dwarf let out a roar like a trapped beast. That mechanical right arm, already overloaded and smoking, suddenly sprayed a thick stream of steam. The roar of the hydraulic pump instantly soared to the edge of cylinder explosion; metal joints screeched due to overload operation.

  He had no tactics to speak of, relying purely on brute force. He swung the half-broken industrial wrench weighing fifty pounds in his hand, smashing toward that defenseless white-robed mage like a fired cannonball.

  This strike condensed all the resentment and unwillingness Savage had struggled with in the wasteland for five years. Even a fully armed armored rhino would have its skull smashed by this brutal force.

  However, Alastor didn't even blink.

  He didn't chant, didn't raise his hand, didn't even shake that elegant smile on his face. He just moved his left index finger slightly, as light as brushing away an insignificant speck of dust.

  Hummmm—

  No shield floated out of thin air, nor did any energy torrent erupt.

  But in front of Savage's charge path, countless golden refracted light rays suddenly lit up in the air. These rays interwove at millisecond speed, instantly constructing an Optical Mandate Wall composed of hexagonal honeycombs. Between the flow of light, it revealed a suffocating sense of order.

  CLANG——!!!

  A loud noise enough to shatter eardrums exploded in the cavity; sound waves agitated gravel to fall rustlingly. Savage felt he didn't hit a wall, but crashed head-on into an armored train running at full speed.

  Huge reaction force conducted madly back along the wrench. The tool made of special steel shattered instantly into dozens of sharp iron pieces, splashing in all directions.

  Then came the sound of bone fracturing.

  Crack—

  The dwarf's proud mechanical right arm underwent devastating structural distortion the moment it touched the light wall. Precise brass gears, tough hydraulic rods, all twisted into a ball of scrap iron like crumpled dough at this moment. Accompanied by a muffled bang, it exploded with black smoke; dark green engine oil mixed with dark red blood splashed.

  "Arghhh——!"

  Savage let out a heart-tearing scream. His whole body flew backward like a kite with a broken string, smashing heavily onto the rock wall dozens of meters away, making a muffled impact sound. Sliding down, his body dragged a shocking blood trail on the rock wall, twitched twice, and completely passed out.

  "Great strength, but the vector is too dispersed."

  Alastor took out a snow-white silk handkerchief from his bosom, gently wiped his fingers that weren't stained with any dust, then tossed it casually. The handkerchief drew an arc in the air, landing among the metal fragments all over the ground, looking out of place.

  "Typical Wasteland Mechanical School. Rough, inefficient, devoid of aesthetics."

  He strode over the metal wreckage and bloodstains all over the ground, just like stepping over a pile of worthless roadside trash.

  He didn't even give the comatose Savage a second look—in this man's world, creatures unable to understand "Absolute Order" were no different from ants.

  Lyria blocked in front of Carlisle.

  She lost her companion longbow of a hundred years, and the mana in her body was exhausted by the Requiem just now; even standing was tottering.

  But she still pulled out the only remaining mithril dagger at her waist, holding it backhand, blade facing forward. Amber eyes stared dead at the approaching Alastor; pupils constricted due to extreme vigilance, like a lone wolf forced into a desperate situation.

  "Step aside, Elf."

  Alastor stopped, a trace of hypocritical pity flowing in his golden pupils.

  "I am always tolerant of endangered species. Primordial blood flows in you. Although primitive, at least it is pure. If you leave now, I can pretend I didn't see you."

  "There is only 'Noise' here." Lyria gritted her teeth, voice trembling slightly due to force. The hand holding the dagger was also shaking uncontrollably, but her eyes were unusually firm. "And you are the biggest Noise."

  "Noise?"

  Alastor raised his eyebrows as if hearing a huge joke, a cold arc curling on the corner of his mouth.

  "No, my dear. I am the Tuner—responsible for erasing all discordant noise."

  He reached out, making a "Grabbing" gesture at Lyria across the air.

  Zzzzt—

  The air around Lyria solidified instantly, as if turning into hard amber. Four golden halos floated out of thin air, precisely locking her wrists and ankles. The moment the halos tightened, an irresistible huge force came, nailing her directly to the crystal pillar beside her.

  The mithril dagger fell to the ground with a clang. She struggled to twist her body, but could only feel the severe pain of bones being squeezed, unable to move.

  "See, this is Order."

  Having dealt with all interferers, Alastor ignored the elf struggling on the wall and finally walked to Carlisle.

  Carlisle at this moment was like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.

  He lay on the obsidian slab, left arm charred, face pale, even breathing smelling of blood foam. But his intact right eye was still open, gaze terrifyingly calm, without any fear, only an indifference of insight into everything.

  Alastor squatted down. The hem of that dustless white robe hovered one centimeter above the ground, never staining filth.

  "Now, we can have a good talk."

  Alastor's breath-takingly perfect face leaned close to Carlisle. In those golden eyes without pupils, Carlisle's wretched appearance was reflected.

  "I don't care what your name is, nor do I care why you stole into this ruin."

  Alastor extended a slender finger, gently tapping on Carlisle's closed, bleeding left eyelid.

  "I only care about that Formula."

  His voice suddenly became fanatic. That greed for knowledge finally tore through the elegant disguise; nearly paranoid light flashed in the golden pupils:

  "Just now in that instant, I felt it clearly—you cut off that monster's law chain. You didn't use any known magic elements, didn't rely on any props; you directly modified its Definition of Existence."

  A slight tingling sensation came from his fingertips.

  "That is the Authority of God, child." Alastor's voice was low and hoarse, carrying a nearly devout obsession. "That is the language used by the Creator to weave the world only in the Mythological Age."

  Alastor whispered, "Give it to me. Tell me the structure of that True Script, or even just a syllable, a symbol..."

  His tone became coaxing, like a devil whispering in the ear:

  "I can cure your hand, I can give you endless wealth, even let you enter the Highest Council of the Order. As long as you give me that 'Primordial True Script.'"

  This was not just interrogation; this was the devil's temptation.

  Carlisle looked at this man close at hand, like a god. He could smell that cold, snow-like fragrance on Alastor.

  Suddenly, Carlisle smiled.

  That was an extremely ugly smile. The corner of his mouth pulled charred skin; mouthfuls of blood foam spilled out, yet it was full of undisguised mockery.

  "Cough cough... You want... Primordial True Script?"

  Carlisle's voice was hoarse and broken, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing.

  "Of course." A trace of expectation flashed in Alastor's eyes.

  "Come closer... I'll tell you."

  Alastor didn't doubt at all, really bending down. Those golden eyes revealed a mortal-like desire for the first time, staring closely at Carlisle's lips.

  "Primordial True Script is..."

  Carlisle took a deep breath, accumulating the last strength:

  "Fuck your Order."

  The air was dead silent for a second.

  The expression on Alastor's face froze. That originally flawless look carrying compassion for the world cracked completely in an instant, revealing the extremely cold, nearly hideous gloom underneath. Golden pupils constricted slightly; the air around seemed to become viscous due to this anger.

  "Disappointing."

  He straightened up, took out a new handkerchief, and wiped the cheek just sprayed by Carlisle's breath with disgust.

  "Since you refuse to say, I can only dig out your brain, slice it thinly, and read it bit by bit."

  Alastor raised his right hand, fingers spread.

  In his palm, a mass of high-density Golden Mandate Light Blade was forming rapidly. The edge of the light blade flashed with fine flowing light, buzzing, carrying sharpness enough to cut the soul. The surrounding space was slightly distorted by this force.

  "Goodbye, little rat."

  The light blade fell with a biting wind, only a few centimeters from Carlisle's neck.

  "If I were you, I wouldn't cut down."

  Carlisle's voice suddenly became unusually clear and calm, without the weakness and hoarseness just now, like a dagger quenched in ice, piercing the killing intent in the air.

  Alastor's hand stopped in mid-air, only three centimeters from Carlisle's neck. The heat of the light blade had even scorched Carlisle's collar.

  "Bluffing?" Alastor sneered.

  "Look at your feet."

  Carlisle lay on the ground, pointing at the ground with his chin.

  Alastor subconsciously looked down.

  He was surprised to find that those originally solidified blue crystals on the ground (the formatted monster remains) were glowing faintly at this moment.

  Countless tiny blue True Script streams, invisible if not looked at carefully, were connecting along the ground like blood vessels to the suspended "Primordial Power Furnace" in the center of the hall.

  And the source of these True Script streams was exactly Carlisle's charred left hand that looked useless.

  Although his fingers couldn't move, that implanted illegal interface had been inserted in the crystal cracks on the ground from beginning to end, never disconnected.

  "That Power Furnace is an 'Annihilation Core' left by the Second Epoch." Carlisle said calmly, as if discussing today's weather, without any ripple in his eyes. "Its core is extremely unstable, maintained only by a fragile cooling field. And now, I have taken over its cooling system with my neural network."

  Carlisle looked at Alastor's gradually constricting golden pupils, the smile on the corner of his mouth becoming crazy and dangerous:

  "I set a 'Life-Bound Pact.'"

  "As long as my heart stops, or my consciousness dissipates..." Carlisle paused, a determination to perish together flashing in his eyes: "The cooling field here will close instantly. This Power Furnace will overload and explode in 0.5 seconds."

  "The equivalent of that explosion is enough to flatten the entire Blackthorn Woods, along with half the urban area of Aethelgard above."

  "Even if you are 'Starflame,' even if you are a genius of the Order..." Carlisle glanced contemptuously at the light blade hanging over his neck, the mockery in his tone almost overflowing. "You can't withstand a miniature sun exploding in your face, can you?"

  He narrowed his eyes slightly, tone becoming cold and tough:

  "Now, move that glowing hand of yours away. It hurts my eyes."

  > **Holiday Protocol:** Completed.

  > **Current Objective:** Survive the "Post-Christmas Coma".

  **Question of the day:** Did you acquire any "Legendary Tier" loot (gifts) this Christmas? Or did you just gain a "Overeating Debuff"? Let me know in the comments!

  > ?? **Asset Name:** `MASTER_SAVICH` (The Dwarven Engineer).

  > **Description:** He smells of oil, ale, and gunpowder. He doesn't trust code he can't hit with a hammer.

  > **Visual Access:** I have uploaded the official character concept art for Savich. Check my **Patreon** (or the art thread) to see the master of the Scrap Iron Inn in all his rugged glory.

  > The forge needs fuel to keep burning.

  > ?? **Drop a Heart:** If you are ready for the New Year arc.

  > ?? **Rate/Review:** To help the system calibrate.

  > **Let's finish this year strong.**

  -Field Analyst Zimo ???