Chapter 177: Spiral Marks Everywhere
Night once again enveloped the buffer zone of the wasteland.
Taking advantage of the thickest gray fog, the Third Scout Squad set out. The truck drove with its headlights off, relying solely on low-infrared night vision goggles to glide at low speed along the safe route inside the blockade array. No one spoke in the carriage; everyone was silently checking their equipment.
Old Zhou repeatedly inventoried the passive recorders. They were palm-sized alloy blocks, their shells etched with damping patterns to isolate psychic waves. They emitted no detection signals outward, silently recording the surrounding spectrum. Only when the squad reached a safe zone and activated the decryption key would the data be unlocked and read.
"Remember the rules: we only bury them. We don't dig deep, and we don't linger," Old Zhou instructed in a hushed voice. "After burying the recorders, camouflage the ground, mark the coordinates, and leave immediately. If Lin Yan senses that deep-level ancient fluctuation approaching, don't report it; just retreat. All equipment can be abandoned."
Leaning against the side wall of the carriage with his eyes closed, Lin Yan kept the fissure in his Sea of Consciousness at its minimum level of alertness. After two days of rest, the dull ache of the wound had stabilized considerably, but he dared not take any chances. The aura of that abyssal consciousness was now etched into his perceptual instincts; the moment it surfaced, he would detect it immediately.
The truck stopped at a concealed dirt slope one kilometer from the predetermined deployment point. The five squad members disembarked one by one, stepping onto the soft, black humus soil. Using the undulating ravines for cover, they dispersed and advanced forward.
The wasteland was unusually quiet tonight.
Usually at this hour, one could hear the occasional low roars of distant scaled beasts and the faint friction sounds from deep within the rock strata. But now, there was only the wind carrying gray sand, a silence that felt profoundly abnormal.
"Something's wrong," an assault specialist muttered, gripping his oscillation baton tightly as he scanned the surroundings. "It's too quiet. It's as if everything is hiding."
"Its aura is pressing down," Lin Yan said softly, his brow tingling slightly. "It's not an attack; it's a form of suppression. The shallow-level alien beasts are instinctively lying dormant, not daring to move."
Everyone's heart sank, and their footsteps grew even lighter.
There were four predetermined deployment points in total, scattered in an arc along the outer perimeter of the rift. The squad split into two groups: Old Zhou and the maintenance operator were responsible for placing the equipment, while Lin Yan and the two assault specialists provided cover, forming a mutually supporting formation.
The first recorder was successfully buried, concealed with gravel and gray dirt, and its coordinates marked. The second point went just as smoothly. But as they approached the third coordinate, the maintenance operator's foot suddenly kicked against something cold and hard.
He looked down, and the image in his night vision goggles made his breath catch.
It was the alloy shell of a buoy.
It was one of the monitoring buoys that had previously lost contact. The shell hadn't exploded, nor had it been torn apart by claws. Its surface was completely intact, but the originally精密 (precision) sensor window had completely melted. The internal circuit boards had turned into a pile of gray-black powder, slowly spilling out from the seams of the shell.
"Found it, the buoy wreckage," the maintenance operator said, squatting down. Not daring to touch it, he only turned on his macro lens to take photos.
Lin Yan slowly approached, his gaze falling on the surface of the wreckage's shell.
Familiar spiral patterns were deeply etched into the alloy shell. Three arcs intertwined end-to-end, exactly identical to the markers they had seen in the soil last time.
This wasn't a temporary trace left in the mud; this mark was carved directly onto the hard vibration-pattern alloy.
The spiral mark of the Ancient Progeny had been placed upon the wreckage of human instruments.
"It didn't simply destroy the buoy," Lin Yan said, his voice tight. "It's marking it. It's like leaving a note for us, telling us—it has taken our eyes."
Old Zhou's face turned solemn. He immediately signaled everyone to expand their search area.
Groping forward along this arc, they found four more buoy wrecks in just a few dozen meters. Each shell bore the exact same spiral mark, with even depth and smooth lines. It didn't look like it had been scratched by brute force; it was more as if some psychic power had directly condensed an etching effect onto the metal surface.
The scattered route of the wreckage perfectly matched the upward path of that ancient psychic flow.
It was clearing the buoys along the way, leaving its mark as it went.
"Is this a warning?" a young assault specialist asked, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice kept extremely low.
"Perhaps it doesn't even count as a warning," Lin Yan shook his head, recalling that indifferent, emotionless consciousness in the abyss. "A warning is a deterrent with a purpose; it's meant to make us retreat. But its posture is more like recording, like marking the objects left behind by intruders in its own territory."
In its eyes, this area beneath the rift, the entire wasteland, was inherently its domain. Humanity deploying buoys to investigate was like a bug wandering into a nest. It plucked off the bug's antennae and then stamped its own seal on the remains.
The maintenance operator quickly finished photographing all the wreckage and collected a trace powder sample to seal away. Not daring to stay any longer, he said, "Captain, should we still bury the third recorder? The point is right next to this pile of wreckage."
Old Zhou looked at Lin Yan.
Lin Yan focused his perception toward the depths of the rift for a moment. That long, gentle psychic flow was still slowly rising. It was still some distance away, and there were no signs of it turning toward them for now.
"The fluctuation is still far, and the window of opportunity is very short. Bury it, but hurry. Leave immediately after burying it; do not linger in the wreckage area."
The maintenance operator acted swiftly. He dug a shallow pit, placed the passive recorder inside, covered it with soil, and camouflaged it with gravel. His movements were clean and sharp.
The instant he pressed the last stone into place, the fissure in Lin Yan's Sea of Consciousness violently trembled!
It was here.
That vast, icy residual wave of consciousness, which had originally been seeping up along the main channel, now split off a branch. It slowly changed direction, drifting toward their position. It didn't accelerate, nor did it carry a frenzied oppressive force. It remained leisurely, like a stroll, but its target was clear: their small squad.
"It's turning toward us! Retreat!" Lin Yan hissed.
No further explanation was needed. Everyone instantly retracted their weapons and turned around, abandoning the fourth planned deployment point. They sprinted at full speed along the pre-planned retreat route.
No one looked back, but everyone could feel that wisp of residual consciousness following behind them, neither too close nor too far.
It didn't attack, and it didn't speed up. It simply followed quietly at a distance.
It was like seeing them off, or perhaps, identifying them.
A layer of cold sweat seeped from Lin Yan's back. He knew clearly that this time, it had perceived him.
Last time in the healing pod had been merely an accidental glimpse. But this time, amidst the spiral marks and buoy wreckage, it had caught that familiar Sea of Consciousness aura bearing the fissure. That silent judgment, [The fissure is a very good vessel], echoed once again deep within his consciousness.
It had remembered him. It was no longer a vague perceptual impression; it could now precisely lock onto his location.
The squad fled with all their might, rushing through ravines and gray sand until they plunged into the resonance barrier formed by the blockade array's pillars.
The continuous resonance field of the oscillation pillars acted like a filter. That trailing branch of consciousness reached the edge of the barrier and slowly stopped, advancing no further.
Separated by a faint ripple of resonance, it halted.
Lin Yan looked back toward the black fog deep in the wasteland. He felt as if he could see that invisible gaze, falling through layers of gray fog, resting upon the barrier, and upon him.
A moment later, that branch of residual consciousness slowly turned around, returning to the main rift channel to continue its slow, upward seepage.
The crisis temporarily receded, but everyone in the squad was completely drained, panting heavily.
"What... what was that thing just now?" the young assault specialist asked, his voice trembling. "I've seen priests and Elders, but I've never felt anything like this. It clearly didn't do anything, yet I feel like my entire being was seen through."
"It is a supreme ruler of the deep-level Ancient Progeny," Old Zhou said in a low voice after a long silence. "Scholar Su's speculation has come true. We are not facing a general within a species; we are facing the source that sits deep beneath the earth."
The squad returned to the blockade array construction site's outpost and immediately handed over the wreckage images and powder samples, simultaneously reporting the entire process of being tailed.
The news was urgently transmitted back to the West Bastion Research Institute.
Late at night, the monitoring hall lit up once again. Scholar Su stared at the photos of the buoy wreckage on the screen, at the neat, cold spiral patterns on the metal surfaces, and remained silent for a long time.
"It is drawing a boundary," Scholar Su finally said, his voice exhausted. "The resonance blockade array is the wall we have built. And the spiral marks are the boundary stones it has carved. If we cross its boundary stones, it won't immediately kill us, but it will watch our every move."
"Then should we continue the subsequent passive deployment missions?" someone asked.
"We must continue, but all routes must be completely changed. Avoid this main permeation channel and switch to remote side paths. Increase the rotation frequency and reduce the squad size," Scholar Su said, rubbing his brow. "We cannot give up observation, but we must accept a reality: our窥探 (prying) has always been under its gaze."
Lin Yan stood to the side, not interrupting.
He harbored a hidden danger in his heart that only he knew about.
That existence had locked onto him. From now on, whenever he approached the outer perimeter of the rift, the probability of being perceived would only increase. The fissure was his talent, a sharp tool for early warning, but it was also the most conspicuous mark on him, the vessel that the abyss had its eyes on.
After the meeting adjourned, the night was already deep.
Lin Yan walked out of the outpost bunker alone and gazed toward the wasteland. The gray fog was endless, and Rift No. 79 was hidden in the darkness. Spiral marks were scattered along the edge of the rift, silently conveying the will of the subterranean existence.
Humanity's blockade was continuing, the scouts' exploration was continuing, and the youths at the academy were still cultivating their Seas of Consciousness day after day. The war of attrition had not yet reached its endgame, but the scales were slowly tilting toward the abyss.
He raised his hand and pressed against the eternal scar on his brow, feeling the familiar dull ache.
There was still a long road to the fourth tier, and every breakthrough required gambling with the risk of his Sea of Consciousness shattering. But he had no way back.
If one day, the existence in the abyss decided to step out from the rock strata, the bastion, the academy, and the millions of ordinary people would need someone who could witness its arrival.
End of Chapter.
Taking advantage of the thickest gray fog, the Third Scout Squad set out. The truck drove with its headlights off, relying solely on low-infrared night vision goggles to glide at low speed along the safe route inside the blockade array. No one spoke in the carriage; everyone was silently checking their equipment.
Old Zhou repeatedly inventoried the passive recorders. They were palm-sized alloy blocks, their shells etched with damping patterns to isolate psychic waves. They emitted no detection signals outward, silently recording the surrounding spectrum. Only when the squad reached a safe zone and activated the decryption key would the data be unlocked and read.
"Remember the rules: we only bury them. We don't dig deep, and we don't linger," Old Zhou instructed in a hushed voice. "After burying the recorders, camouflage the ground, mark the coordinates, and leave immediately. If Lin Yan senses that deep-level ancient fluctuation approaching, don't report it; just retreat. All equipment can be abandoned."
Leaning against the side wall of the carriage with his eyes closed, Lin Yan kept the fissure in his Sea of Consciousness at its minimum level of alertness. After two days of rest, the dull ache of the wound had stabilized considerably, but he dared not take any chances. The aura of that abyssal consciousness was now etched into his perceptual instincts; the moment it surfaced, he would detect it immediately.
The truck stopped at a concealed dirt slope one kilometer from the predetermined deployment point. The five squad members disembarked one by one, stepping onto the soft, black humus soil. Using the undulating ravines for cover, they dispersed and advanced forward.
The wasteland was unusually quiet tonight.
Usually at this hour, one could hear the occasional low roars of distant scaled beasts and the faint friction sounds from deep within the rock strata. But now, there was only the wind carrying gray sand, a silence that felt profoundly abnormal.
"Something's wrong," an assault specialist muttered, gripping his oscillation baton tightly as he scanned the surroundings. "It's too quiet. It's as if everything is hiding."
"Its aura is pressing down," Lin Yan said softly, his brow tingling slightly. "It's not an attack; it's a form of suppression. The shallow-level alien beasts are instinctively lying dormant, not daring to move."
Everyone's heart sank, and their footsteps grew even lighter.
There were four predetermined deployment points in total, scattered in an arc along the outer perimeter of the rift. The squad split into two groups: Old Zhou and the maintenance operator were responsible for placing the equipment, while Lin Yan and the two assault specialists provided cover, forming a mutually supporting formation.
The first recorder was successfully buried, concealed with gravel and gray dirt, and its coordinates marked. The second point went just as smoothly. But as they approached the third coordinate, the maintenance operator's foot suddenly kicked against something cold and hard.
He looked down, and the image in his night vision goggles made his breath catch.
It was the alloy shell of a buoy.
It was one of the monitoring buoys that had previously lost contact. The shell hadn't exploded, nor had it been torn apart by claws. Its surface was completely intact, but the originally精密 (precision) sensor window had completely melted. The internal circuit boards had turned into a pile of gray-black powder, slowly spilling out from the seams of the shell.
"Found it, the buoy wreckage," the maintenance operator said, squatting down. Not daring to touch it, he only turned on his macro lens to take photos.
Lin Yan slowly approached, his gaze falling on the surface of the wreckage's shell.
Familiar spiral patterns were deeply etched into the alloy shell. Three arcs intertwined end-to-end, exactly identical to the markers they had seen in the soil last time.
This wasn't a temporary trace left in the mud; this mark was carved directly onto the hard vibration-pattern alloy.
The spiral mark of the Ancient Progeny had been placed upon the wreckage of human instruments.
"It didn't simply destroy the buoy," Lin Yan said, his voice tight. "It's marking it. It's like leaving a note for us, telling us—it has taken our eyes."
Old Zhou's face turned solemn. He immediately signaled everyone to expand their search area.
Groping forward along this arc, they found four more buoy wrecks in just a few dozen meters. Each shell bore the exact same spiral mark, with even depth and smooth lines. It didn't look like it had been scratched by brute force; it was more as if some psychic power had directly condensed an etching effect onto the metal surface.
The scattered route of the wreckage perfectly matched the upward path of that ancient psychic flow.
It was clearing the buoys along the way, leaving its mark as it went.
"Is this a warning?" a young assault specialist asked, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice kept extremely low.
"Perhaps it doesn't even count as a warning," Lin Yan shook his head, recalling that indifferent, emotionless consciousness in the abyss. "A warning is a deterrent with a purpose; it's meant to make us retreat. But its posture is more like recording, like marking the objects left behind by intruders in its own territory."
In its eyes, this area beneath the rift, the entire wasteland, was inherently its domain. Humanity deploying buoys to investigate was like a bug wandering into a nest. It plucked off the bug's antennae and then stamped its own seal on the remains.
The maintenance operator quickly finished photographing all the wreckage and collected a trace powder sample to seal away. Not daring to stay any longer, he said, "Captain, should we still bury the third recorder? The point is right next to this pile of wreckage."
Old Zhou looked at Lin Yan.
Lin Yan focused his perception toward the depths of the rift for a moment. That long, gentle psychic flow was still slowly rising. It was still some distance away, and there were no signs of it turning toward them for now.
"The fluctuation is still far, and the window of opportunity is very short. Bury it, but hurry. Leave immediately after burying it; do not linger in the wreckage area."
The maintenance operator acted swiftly. He dug a shallow pit, placed the passive recorder inside, covered it with soil, and camouflaged it with gravel. His movements were clean and sharp.
The instant he pressed the last stone into place, the fissure in Lin Yan's Sea of Consciousness violently trembled!
It was here.
That vast, icy residual wave of consciousness, which had originally been seeping up along the main channel, now split off a branch. It slowly changed direction, drifting toward their position. It didn't accelerate, nor did it carry a frenzied oppressive force. It remained leisurely, like a stroll, but its target was clear: their small squad.
"It's turning toward us! Retreat!" Lin Yan hissed.
No further explanation was needed. Everyone instantly retracted their weapons and turned around, abandoning the fourth planned deployment point. They sprinted at full speed along the pre-planned retreat route.
No one looked back, but everyone could feel that wisp of residual consciousness following behind them, neither too close nor too far.
It didn't attack, and it didn't speed up. It simply followed quietly at a distance.
It was like seeing them off, or perhaps, identifying them.
A layer of cold sweat seeped from Lin Yan's back. He knew clearly that this time, it had perceived him.
Last time in the healing pod had been merely an accidental glimpse. But this time, amidst the spiral marks and buoy wreckage, it had caught that familiar Sea of Consciousness aura bearing the fissure. That silent judgment, [The fissure is a very good vessel], echoed once again deep within his consciousness.
It had remembered him. It was no longer a vague perceptual impression; it could now precisely lock onto his location.
The squad fled with all their might, rushing through ravines and gray sand until they plunged into the resonance barrier formed by the blockade array's pillars.
The continuous resonance field of the oscillation pillars acted like a filter. That trailing branch of consciousness reached the edge of the barrier and slowly stopped, advancing no further.
Separated by a faint ripple of resonance, it halted.
Lin Yan looked back toward the black fog deep in the wasteland. He felt as if he could see that invisible gaze, falling through layers of gray fog, resting upon the barrier, and upon him.
A moment later, that branch of residual consciousness slowly turned around, returning to the main rift channel to continue its slow, upward seepage.
The crisis temporarily receded, but everyone in the squad was completely drained, panting heavily.
"What... what was that thing just now?" the young assault specialist asked, his voice trembling. "I've seen priests and Elders, but I've never felt anything like this. It clearly didn't do anything, yet I feel like my entire being was seen through."
"It is a supreme ruler of the deep-level Ancient Progeny," Old Zhou said in a low voice after a long silence. "Scholar Su's speculation has come true. We are not facing a general within a species; we are facing the source that sits deep beneath the earth."
The squad returned to the blockade array construction site's outpost and immediately handed over the wreckage images and powder samples, simultaneously reporting the entire process of being tailed.
The news was urgently transmitted back to the West Bastion Research Institute.
Late at night, the monitoring hall lit up once again. Scholar Su stared at the photos of the buoy wreckage on the screen, at the neat, cold spiral patterns on the metal surfaces, and remained silent for a long time.
"It is drawing a boundary," Scholar Su finally said, his voice exhausted. "The resonance blockade array is the wall we have built. And the spiral marks are the boundary stones it has carved. If we cross its boundary stones, it won't immediately kill us, but it will watch our every move."
"Then should we continue the subsequent passive deployment missions?" someone asked.
"We must continue, but all routes must be completely changed. Avoid this main permeation channel and switch to remote side paths. Increase the rotation frequency and reduce the squad size," Scholar Su said, rubbing his brow. "We cannot give up observation, but we must accept a reality: our窥探 (prying) has always been under its gaze."
Lin Yan stood to the side, not interrupting.
He harbored a hidden danger in his heart that only he knew about.
That existence had locked onto him. From now on, whenever he approached the outer perimeter of the rift, the probability of being perceived would only increase. The fissure was his talent, a sharp tool for early warning, but it was also the most conspicuous mark on him, the vessel that the abyss had its eyes on.
After the meeting adjourned, the night was already deep.
Lin Yan walked out of the outpost bunker alone and gazed toward the wasteland. The gray fog was endless, and Rift No. 79 was hidden in the darkness. Spiral marks were scattered along the edge of the rift, silently conveying the will of the subterranean existence.
Humanity's blockade was continuing, the scouts' exploration was continuing, and the youths at the academy were still cultivating their Seas of Consciousness day after day. The war of attrition had not yet reached its endgame, but the scales were slowly tilting toward the abyss.
He raised his hand and pressed against the eternal scar on his brow, feeling the familiar dull ache.
There was still a long road to the fourth tier, and every breakthrough required gambling with the risk of his Sea of Consciousness shattering. But he had no way back.
If one day, the existence in the abyss decided to step out from the rock strata, the bastion, the academy, and the millions of ordinary people would need someone who could witness its arrival.
End of Chapter.