Chapter 176: The Lost Buoys
The scout rotation operated on a three-shift system. After completing an external mission, Lin Yan was granted a full two days of rest and recuperation.
He didn't stay in his dorm to rest. His mind was preoccupied with the youths at the academy who had previously been infected by the anchor point's whispers. Changing into a clean training uniform, he walked alone toward the war preparation high school. Order within the bastion had largely returned to normal; pedestrians came and went on the streets, and supply convoys shuttled in an orderly fashion. The tension brought by the bloody battle at the southern outpost the previous night was slowly diluted by the routine of daily life. Yet, a closer look revealed that spiritual monitoring points had been added at almost every intersection, and the frequency of military police patrols was significantly higher than usual.
The academy's practical training ground was in the midst of its afternoon training session.
The blazing sun pierced through the light-transmitting dome above the bastion, shining down on the flat concrete playground. The youths were divided into small teams, practicing the fortification of their Seas of Consciousness under the guidance of instructors. Pale white barriers rose and fell; some were stable and enduring, while others collapsed with a resounding crash after only a few breaths, drawing stern corrections from the instructors.
Lin Yan's gaze quickly locked onto the short-haired boy. He was the one who had suffered the most severe illusion infection back then. At this moment, he sat cross-legged on the ground, focusing on his breathing. A thin but stable Sea of Consciousness barrier steadily enveloped his body, and his face no longer held the terrified and fragile look from before.
"Comrade Lin Yan!"
Catching sight of him from the corner of his eye, the boy's eyes lit up. He quickly retracted his barrier and ran over, followed by the other three youths who had been affected at the same time. The children still bore the youthful innocence of adolescence, but their eyes now held a layer of tranquility tempered by the fires of war.
"We've been repeatedly practicing the method you taught us that day—guarding our core selves and not chasing after illusions," the short-haired boy said, looking up with a hint of eagerness in his tone. "The instructor says that our current ability to resist whispers now ranks among the top of our cohort."
"It's not my method; it's because you yourselves withstood the fear," Lin Yan said, bending down slightly as his gaze swept over the four of them. "You will encounter illusions again in the future. The tactics of the priests and the Ancient Progeny are endless. Being able to hold steady today doesn't mean you can let your guard down next time."
"We know," a girl beside him nodded gently, her voice earnest. "The instructors told us that the fighting outside the walls will never stop, and there are invisible enemies hidden inside the bastion. We will cultivate well, so that in the future, we can also go to the outposts and the defense lines, guarding the bastion just like you."
Looking into the bright and resolute eyes of these youths, the taut strings in Lin Yan's heart relaxed for a brief moment.
The endless bloody battles, the bone-chilling glimpse into the abyss, and the silent gaze of the supreme Ancient Progeny deep underground had pressed down on him until he could barely breathe. Having been immersed in slaughter, conspiracy, and death for so long, he had grown accustomed to the darkness. But here, he could see continuation; he could see hope. This long resistance of humanity was not merely sustained by a few cultivators and soldiers holding the line at the front. Generation after generation was slowly taking over the defense.
He stood by the edge of the training ground with the youths, quietly watching their practical combat exercises for a while. The youths released low-intensity psychic interference on each other to simulate the Ancient Progeny's whispers, practicing how to distinguish illusions and gather their minds. When mistakes occurred, they merely reminded each other, with no panic or breakdowns.
This brief tranquility was a rare and precious thing.
But this peace did not last long.
A communications soldier from the research institute hurriedly crossed the playground, looking around. Spotting Lin Yan, he ran over quickly, his expression anxious: "Comrade Lin Yan, Scholar Su is looking for you. Please come back to the research institute with me immediately. It's urgent."
Lin Yan's heart sank. He bid farewell to the youths and quickly left the academy with the communications soldier.
He rushed all the way to the underground monitoring hall of the research institute. The lights here were always on. The massive main screen was filled with a monitoring map of the wasteland and the rifts. Dense points of light represented the psychic buoys deployed around Rift No. 79. At this moment, over a dozen points of light on the screen had turned a dull gray, indicating a loss of signal.
Scholar Su stood in front of the large screen, his brow furrowed in a tight knot, his fingertip tapping heavily on the area around the entrance of Rift No. 79.
"Of the twenty-seven deep-level monitoring buoys deployed at dawn, thirteen have lost contact so far," Scholar Su said, his voice carrying a suppressed heaviness. "We originally planned to deploy the buoys in a staggered formation along the edge of the rift's channel, recording the rhythm of that ancient psychic flow rising layer by layer. Now, half of them have lost their signals."
"Were they destroyed by scaled beasts?" Lin Yan asked.
"It doesn't seem so," a researcher in charge of the instruments beside him pulled up the records. "The buoy shells are made of specially crafted vibration-pattern alloy, which ordinary scaled beasts can hardly damage. Moreover, the loss of contact is highly regular. They weren't randomly destroyed; they went dark one by one from bottom to top, following the upward path of that ancient psychic flow. There was no explosive energy impact, no spectrum alarm. The signals simply dissolved silently."
It wasn't violent destruction; it was "devouring."
Lin Yan's brow tingled slightly, and the old fissure in his Sea of Consciousness emanated a familiar chill. He instantly thought of that indifferent consciousness in the abyss. It didn't need to smash the instruments; it only needed to release a wisp of psychic power, gently wrap around the buoy, erase the signal-recording circuits inside, and shield the perception modules, causing the instrument to fall silent from within. Silent and soundless, leaving no trace of a fight.
It knew these buoys were the eyes humanity used to spy on it. So, it plucked them out one by one.
"We tried sending wake-up commands to the lost buoys, but they all fell on deaf ears," the young researcher added. "The data transmitted by the remaining online buoys is very bizarre. The speed of that slowly rising ancient psychic flow has accelerated. Previously, it seeped up bit by bit; now, the permeation rate has increased by nearly three times."
On the large screen, a pale purple curve slowly rose, gentle yet unwavering, spreading toward the surface of the wasteland.
"It doesn't intend to launch a beast tide offensive immediately," Scholar Su pondered slowly. "If it wanted a direct assault, it could completely mobilize the priests and scaled beast clusters to冲击 (charge) the blockade array directly. Accelerating the permeation is more like spreading a wider perception net. Those buoys were blocking its line of sight. After clearing them, it can see more clearly."
Lin Yan fell silent for a moment before stating his judgment: "It is surveying all our deployments. The blockade pillars, patrol routes, troop assembly points, and scout entry/exit routes—all this information will be transmitted back to the deep underground along this psychic flow. All our deployments are becoming increasingly transparent in its eyes."
The atmosphere in the conference room grew oppressive.
A frontline officer proposed: "Should we deploy another batch of encrypted buoys and switch to a hidden signal frequency band?"
Scholar Su shook his head slightly: "It's of little significance. Since it could silently devour the first batch, the second batch wouldn't fare any better. As long as the buoys emit any form of psychic detection waves, it can pinpoint them accurately. To it, our detection methods are themselves conspicuous markers."
"So we can only guess blindly and let it seep outward?"
"There is still a way," Scholar Su said, looking at the map. "Stop deploying active detection buoys and switch to passive recording devices. Passive devices do not emit any signals outward; they only passively record the surrounding psychic spectrum. We wait for the scout squads to retrieve them periodically and then read the stored data. The downside is that the risk is higher. The retrieval squads must get close to the edge of the rift. Furthermore, if it discovers the device, it will self-destruct directly, and all data will be lost."
With the plan finalized, the new round of scout missions was quickly issued. It was still the rotation squad's turn to approach the edge of the rift to deploy the passive recorders and retrieve them on schedule.
Scholar Su looked at Lin Yan, his tone cautious: "For the next external mission of the Third Squad, it will still be your team. But this time, the mission's risk level is upgraded. The moment you perceive the fluctuation of that ancient consciousness approaching, do not wait for the instrument alarm. Immediately abandon the recorder and evacuate everyone at once. Do not attempt to retrieve it."
"I understand," Lin Yan nodded and accepted the order.
By the time he left the monitoring hall, dusk was approaching.
Walking alone through the bastion's corridors, two images alternated in his mind: the youths at the academy erecting their barriers, and the extinguished, gray buoy lights on the large screen.
On one side was the hope that humanity was desperately trying to sustain; on the other was the gaze quietly extending from the abyss deep underground.
The Ancient Progeny was in no rush to destroy. It was merely clearing humanity's eyes and ears bit by bit, spreading its own perception network, patiently incorporating this wasteland and this bastion into its field of observation. In this long war of attrition, the initiative was quietly tilting toward the abyss.
Lin Yan raised his hand and pressed against his brow. The fissure transmitted a lingering, dull ache.
He was still a distance away from the fourth tier. Every step of cultivation required trading with life and death, and the hidden injuries in his Sea of Consciousness followed him like a shadow. But he knew clearly that he could not stop.
He was one of the few who could catch a glimpse of that existence in the abyss.
At the end of the corridor, the light of dusk slanted in, stretching his shadow long. And the next scout mission would be arriving soon.
End of Chapter.
He didn't stay in his dorm to rest. His mind was preoccupied with the youths at the academy who had previously been infected by the anchor point's whispers. Changing into a clean training uniform, he walked alone toward the war preparation high school. Order within the bastion had largely returned to normal; pedestrians came and went on the streets, and supply convoys shuttled in an orderly fashion. The tension brought by the bloody battle at the southern outpost the previous night was slowly diluted by the routine of daily life. Yet, a closer look revealed that spiritual monitoring points had been added at almost every intersection, and the frequency of military police patrols was significantly higher than usual.
The academy's practical training ground was in the midst of its afternoon training session.
The blazing sun pierced through the light-transmitting dome above the bastion, shining down on the flat concrete playground. The youths were divided into small teams, practicing the fortification of their Seas of Consciousness under the guidance of instructors. Pale white barriers rose and fell; some were stable and enduring, while others collapsed with a resounding crash after only a few breaths, drawing stern corrections from the instructors.
Lin Yan's gaze quickly locked onto the short-haired boy. He was the one who had suffered the most severe illusion infection back then. At this moment, he sat cross-legged on the ground, focusing on his breathing. A thin but stable Sea of Consciousness barrier steadily enveloped his body, and his face no longer held the terrified and fragile look from before.
"Comrade Lin Yan!"
Catching sight of him from the corner of his eye, the boy's eyes lit up. He quickly retracted his barrier and ran over, followed by the other three youths who had been affected at the same time. The children still bore the youthful innocence of adolescence, but their eyes now held a layer of tranquility tempered by the fires of war.
"We've been repeatedly practicing the method you taught us that day—guarding our core selves and not chasing after illusions," the short-haired boy said, looking up with a hint of eagerness in his tone. "The instructor says that our current ability to resist whispers now ranks among the top of our cohort."
"It's not my method; it's because you yourselves withstood the fear," Lin Yan said, bending down slightly as his gaze swept over the four of them. "You will encounter illusions again in the future. The tactics of the priests and the Ancient Progeny are endless. Being able to hold steady today doesn't mean you can let your guard down next time."
"We know," a girl beside him nodded gently, her voice earnest. "The instructors told us that the fighting outside the walls will never stop, and there are invisible enemies hidden inside the bastion. We will cultivate well, so that in the future, we can also go to the outposts and the defense lines, guarding the bastion just like you."
Looking into the bright and resolute eyes of these youths, the taut strings in Lin Yan's heart relaxed for a brief moment.
The endless bloody battles, the bone-chilling glimpse into the abyss, and the silent gaze of the supreme Ancient Progeny deep underground had pressed down on him until he could barely breathe. Having been immersed in slaughter, conspiracy, and death for so long, he had grown accustomed to the darkness. But here, he could see continuation; he could see hope. This long resistance of humanity was not merely sustained by a few cultivators and soldiers holding the line at the front. Generation after generation was slowly taking over the defense.
He stood by the edge of the training ground with the youths, quietly watching their practical combat exercises for a while. The youths released low-intensity psychic interference on each other to simulate the Ancient Progeny's whispers, practicing how to distinguish illusions and gather their minds. When mistakes occurred, they merely reminded each other, with no panic or breakdowns.
This brief tranquility was a rare and precious thing.
But this peace did not last long.
A communications soldier from the research institute hurriedly crossed the playground, looking around. Spotting Lin Yan, he ran over quickly, his expression anxious: "Comrade Lin Yan, Scholar Su is looking for you. Please come back to the research institute with me immediately. It's urgent."
Lin Yan's heart sank. He bid farewell to the youths and quickly left the academy with the communications soldier.
He rushed all the way to the underground monitoring hall of the research institute. The lights here were always on. The massive main screen was filled with a monitoring map of the wasteland and the rifts. Dense points of light represented the psychic buoys deployed around Rift No. 79. At this moment, over a dozen points of light on the screen had turned a dull gray, indicating a loss of signal.
Scholar Su stood in front of the large screen, his brow furrowed in a tight knot, his fingertip tapping heavily on the area around the entrance of Rift No. 79.
"Of the twenty-seven deep-level monitoring buoys deployed at dawn, thirteen have lost contact so far," Scholar Su said, his voice carrying a suppressed heaviness. "We originally planned to deploy the buoys in a staggered formation along the edge of the rift's channel, recording the rhythm of that ancient psychic flow rising layer by layer. Now, half of them have lost their signals."
"Were they destroyed by scaled beasts?" Lin Yan asked.
"It doesn't seem so," a researcher in charge of the instruments beside him pulled up the records. "The buoy shells are made of specially crafted vibration-pattern alloy, which ordinary scaled beasts can hardly damage. Moreover, the loss of contact is highly regular. They weren't randomly destroyed; they went dark one by one from bottom to top, following the upward path of that ancient psychic flow. There was no explosive energy impact, no spectrum alarm. The signals simply dissolved silently."
It wasn't violent destruction; it was "devouring."
Lin Yan's brow tingled slightly, and the old fissure in his Sea of Consciousness emanated a familiar chill. He instantly thought of that indifferent consciousness in the abyss. It didn't need to smash the instruments; it only needed to release a wisp of psychic power, gently wrap around the buoy, erase the signal-recording circuits inside, and shield the perception modules, causing the instrument to fall silent from within. Silent and soundless, leaving no trace of a fight.
It knew these buoys were the eyes humanity used to spy on it. So, it plucked them out one by one.
"We tried sending wake-up commands to the lost buoys, but they all fell on deaf ears," the young researcher added. "The data transmitted by the remaining online buoys is very bizarre. The speed of that slowly rising ancient psychic flow has accelerated. Previously, it seeped up bit by bit; now, the permeation rate has increased by nearly three times."
On the large screen, a pale purple curve slowly rose, gentle yet unwavering, spreading toward the surface of the wasteland.
"It doesn't intend to launch a beast tide offensive immediately," Scholar Su pondered slowly. "If it wanted a direct assault, it could completely mobilize the priests and scaled beast clusters to冲击 (charge) the blockade array directly. Accelerating the permeation is more like spreading a wider perception net. Those buoys were blocking its line of sight. After clearing them, it can see more clearly."
Lin Yan fell silent for a moment before stating his judgment: "It is surveying all our deployments. The blockade pillars, patrol routes, troop assembly points, and scout entry/exit routes—all this information will be transmitted back to the deep underground along this psychic flow. All our deployments are becoming increasingly transparent in its eyes."
The atmosphere in the conference room grew oppressive.
A frontline officer proposed: "Should we deploy another batch of encrypted buoys and switch to a hidden signal frequency band?"
Scholar Su shook his head slightly: "It's of little significance. Since it could silently devour the first batch, the second batch wouldn't fare any better. As long as the buoys emit any form of psychic detection waves, it can pinpoint them accurately. To it, our detection methods are themselves conspicuous markers."
"So we can only guess blindly and let it seep outward?"
"There is still a way," Scholar Su said, looking at the map. "Stop deploying active detection buoys and switch to passive recording devices. Passive devices do not emit any signals outward; they only passively record the surrounding psychic spectrum. We wait for the scout squads to retrieve them periodically and then read the stored data. The downside is that the risk is higher. The retrieval squads must get close to the edge of the rift. Furthermore, if it discovers the device, it will self-destruct directly, and all data will be lost."
With the plan finalized, the new round of scout missions was quickly issued. It was still the rotation squad's turn to approach the edge of the rift to deploy the passive recorders and retrieve them on schedule.
Scholar Su looked at Lin Yan, his tone cautious: "For the next external mission of the Third Squad, it will still be your team. But this time, the mission's risk level is upgraded. The moment you perceive the fluctuation of that ancient consciousness approaching, do not wait for the instrument alarm. Immediately abandon the recorder and evacuate everyone at once. Do not attempt to retrieve it."
"I understand," Lin Yan nodded and accepted the order.
By the time he left the monitoring hall, dusk was approaching.
Walking alone through the bastion's corridors, two images alternated in his mind: the youths at the academy erecting their barriers, and the extinguished, gray buoy lights on the large screen.
On one side was the hope that humanity was desperately trying to sustain; on the other was the gaze quietly extending from the abyss deep underground.
The Ancient Progeny was in no rush to destroy. It was merely clearing humanity's eyes and ears bit by bit, spreading its own perception network, patiently incorporating this wasteland and this bastion into its field of observation. In this long war of attrition, the initiative was quietly tilting toward the abyss.
Lin Yan raised his hand and pressed against his brow. The fissure transmitted a lingering, dull ache.
He was still a distance away from the fourth tier. Every step of cultivation required trading with life and death, and the hidden injuries in his Sea of Consciousness followed him like a shadow. But he knew clearly that he could not stop.
He was one of the few who could catch a glimpse of that existence in the abyss.
At the end of the corridor, the light of dusk slanted in, stretching his shadow long. And the next scout mission would be arriving soon.
End of Chapter.