The rust-stained walls were corroded, and water gushed incessantly, flowing through the dimly lit, austere square-shaped rooms. Devoid of advanced appliances, the place was bleak and barren.
A mother sat cradling her child at the doorway, her gaze occasionally shifting toward the large elevator passage in the distance, waiting for her family to return from the festival.
This was the deep underground of Thousand Towers City. The Star Network signal here was poor, and most residents couldn’t afford personal terminals of decent quality. Many hadn’t even been formally registered in the Federation’s archives.
Though the surface was a wasteland, it still retained traces of the city’s former splendor, evoking memories of its glory days. But the subterranean residential area represented the harsh reality of life for the majority of Thousand Towers City’s inhabitants.
Gone were the auxiliary AI units ubiquitous in Federation households; here, people had to handle everything themselves. Daily life was consumed by laborious chores that yielded little satisfaction. No matter how clean the dishes, they were the same dishes. Hours spent sweeping and cooking brought no added joy.
When something becomes inescapable, even the most enjoyable task eventually becomes burdensome.
For the residents of the underground, much of their time was spent on menial tasks. With no convenient supermarkets or reliable logistics networks, they were often forced to make things by hand. While this led to the creation of unique handicrafts, these items held little value. Without magical properties, they were easily replicated and mass-produced, fetching low prices within the Federation.
Hestia stepped through puddles of murky water, the edges of which were flecked with coal residue. She paused on an overpass, gazing down at this world of rust and grime.
“What is it?” Feng Jianxue turned back, noticing her abrupt halt.
The two had donned traditional attire of Thousand Towers City for their journey: simple, wide-sleeved garments that weren’t glamorous but were practical and stain-resistant. When worn to the point of fading, they evoked a sense of life in harsher times.
“Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head and continuing forward.
Was this the place where her mother had grown up? She had imagined something more quaint and culturally rich. Instead, the underground residential area was marked by stagnant pools, coal dust, and lingering stains. The air was stifling, tinged with a faint unpleasant odor. With few cleaning AI units, even basic water supply was barely adequate.
The buildings were not the wooden structures she had envisioned but rather makeshift constructions of gray iron, their thin walls hastily assembled. Vehicles on the underground streets were scarce, consisting mostly of outdated models long discarded by the Federation, incapable of levitation or flight.
Without the industrial base to support it, the romanticized notion of “antiquity” resembled a scratched and greasy wooden table—appealing from a distance but repellent up close.
Life in ancient times had not been as idyllic as imagined. The modern fascination with “vintage aesthetics” stripped away the toil, leaving behind only fleeting beauty.
Even so, these “ancient people” still relied on selling this “romantic fantasy” to make a living.
Once-solemn rituals had been transformed into performances to attract tourists. Exaggerated masks, colorful costumes, and reimagined “traditions” created a sense of novelty and wonder for visitors, who were finally willing to pay for this “romantic fantasy.” After the festival, all that remained was a mess for the locals to clean up as they prepared for the next celebration.
It was as if their entire year revolved around a few days of festivities, with only those days deserving of dignity.
As they moved through the streets and alleys of Thousand Towers City’s underground, Hestia’s keen senses picked up the sounds of life from the surrounding residential buildings.
The hum of fans, the cries of babies, the clatter of pots and pans, the arguments of couples—these were the myriad facets of human life.
The underground dome lacked sufficient lighting, leaving the streets perpetually dim and oppressive.
After nearly an hour of brisk walking, the two arrived at a large, sealed gate. Several Divine Guardians stood watch on either side, accompanied by laser cameras and inactive gun turrets.
The gate was recessed into a reinforced concrete structure, with no way to bypass it from the sides. Explosives were unlikely to work either.
“This is the first checkpoint, and it’s also the most troublesome one,” Feng Jianxue said as he led Hestia to a street corner, where they could observe the passage from a safe distance.
“To bypass it, we’d need to use brute force and blast our way through from the level above. That method was already demonstrated by the people from Burning Sun City earlier. While they did manage to get in, the commotion gave them away instantly.”
“If we don’t want to rely on violence, we’ll need a more subtle way to infiltrate,” he continued, fanning himself as he analyzed the situation for Hestia.
“Typically, who can pass through freely?” Hestia asked after some thought.
“Well, those directly affiliated with Thousand Towers City’s guards, the Divine Guardians, or its workers. But those people rarely act alone, and the two of us approaching together would look suspicious,” Feng Jianxue replied, rubbing his chin.
“Do you have the necessary credentials?” she inquired.
“Not yet,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was planning to get them, but today’s unexpected events forced a change in plans. Since Burning Sun City’s people are already making a move, it would be a waste not to capitalize on this opportunity.”
“Unbelievable,” Hestia muttered, shaking her head. She was beginning to question whether partnering with Feng Jianxue was a wise choice.
If it were just her, she could easily blink past the checkpoint or use her innate abilities to carve a discreet passage through the concrete on an unguarded side.
“Mr. Feng Jianxue is really disappointing,” the girl said bluntly, voicing her thoughts.
The remark hit a nerve, and Feng Jianxue couldn’t keep his composure. He clenched his teeth and sighed.
“Fine, I did make a bold claim today.” He pulled out an exquisitely crafted chip and inserted it into his personal terminal.
Moments later, the silver terminal floated up and began scanning the surroundings. Feng Jianxue’s fingers danced across the projected keyboard, inputting data rapidly, adjusting parameters, and selecting targets.
“Luckily, they’re using an old model that hasn’t had a system update. This should work,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. If the hacker chip failed, he really didn’t have any other backup plan.
These chips, produced in underground black markets, were intentionally designed with limited usage time and self-destruct mechanisms to preserve profits. Using one cost him over 100,000 federal credits. While Feng Jianxue wasn’t strapped for cash, the expense still stung.
“Done. Now we just need to find a vehicle to blend in and say we’re delivering goods underground,” he said, removing the chip after a few minutes.
“Alright,” Hestia replied, glancing toward the passage ahead. She could hear faint explosions coming from within, indicating that a battle was already underway.
Riding in a hastily arranged small truck, Feng Jianxue took the driver’s seat and headed for the checkpoint.
“We’re delivering fruits,” he said, having found a record in the database of fruit deliveries with a matching schedule.
“What kind of fruit?” asked one of the guards.
“Yellow-fleshed watermelons from the Withered Tree Garden. Would you like to try some?” Feng Jianxue offered.
“Forget it, you can go in,” the guard replied. Under normal circumstances, they might have accepted, but given the ongoing skirmishes and the arrival of high-ranking officials, they were in no mood to risk being caught indulging.
The gate slowly opened. Sitting curled up in the truck’s cargo hold, Hestia gently petted a large spider in front of her, feeding it chunks of watermelon.
“Finish eating now, you’ll need to fight later,” she whispered.
As they descended a massive incline stretching nearly 2,000 meters, a hidden subterranean world gradually unfolded before them.
The cavern ceiling was adorned with countless red banners swaying in the air, their faint illumination casting a reddish hue across the underground expanse. Palaces and pavilions sprawled throughout, but at the forefront of the main avenue stood a majestic underground Forbidden City. Its crimson watchtower and towering walls were imposing, and at the city gate, two ten-meter-tall Titan Guardians were locked in combat with the invading forces.
Explosions and gunfire battered the Titan Guardians’ armor, but only sparks flew—no real damage was inflicted. These Titan Guardians, forged during Thousand Towers City’s peak, were constructed entirely from Condensed Pearl-Grade Violet Chromium Alloy. Despite centuries of wear, they remained virtually indestructible, impervious to ordinary means of attack.
However, the black-clad priests assaulting them came prepared. They wielded searing black-flame lightsabers, cutting-edge weapons developed by the Dragon’s Eye megacorporation forty years ago. Renowned for their armor-piercing capabilities, these weapons could even breach starship hulls.
Like all surge-type lightsabers, though, they consumed immense energy. Even a Sequence 5 transcendent could only swing such a blade for 1-2 minutes before depleting their magic reserves.
On the periphery, a dozen priests wielding firearms and heavy weaponry held off the approaching autonomous units. Despite casualties, they bought precious time for the ten inner-circle members equipped with black-flame lightsabers.
“When the blazing sun is half-shrouded and half-dark, a messenger of black wings descends from the heavens. Silent in sight and voice, he wields a sword in one hand and a book in the other. On its pages are inscribed the names of 104,721 sinners. When the sword falls, black flames ignite, burning the guilty to ashes, purging the world clean.”
Reciting ancient prayers, the ten priests formed a circle. Within it, a black emblem materialized, depicting a winged angel clad in tattered robes. Chains bound its wrists, ankles, and neck, and a headpiece resembling a crown of nails adorned its head—a depiction of the Angel of Torment, Meredith, revered by the penitents of Burning Sun City.
Black, magical wings unfurled behind the priests as they leaped into the fray, charging the colossal Titan Guardians. The clash was intense, the searing flames of the lightsabers scorched the violet chromium alloy, producing bursts of hissing steam. Molten metal splattered across the priests, branding them with smoking scars. Yet they pressed on, driving their blades into the Titans’ joint crevices with frenzied resolve.
Unyielding in their faith, these priests derived strength from their agony, feeding on pain as devout followers of the Angel of Torment.
Amidst the chaos at the city gate, a solitary vehicle approached from afar. Inside the city, warning bells tolled, and a pillar of light shot skyward from the Forbidden City, piercing through the layered clouds above like a beacon.