The doll slowly sat up. In the reflection of the shattered glass before him, his appearance was that of an Eastern Continent youth, seemingly no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, with chopped black hair and handsome, well-defined features. Perhaps due to the influx of internal energy, though his eyes lacked emotion, they appeared cold, sharp, and spirited.
The older doll models produced by the Progenitor Company still utilized human biological materials, fundamentally re-engineered from human bodies. Back then, in order to crush its competitors, the company had introduced a biological protective membrane along with dormant self-repair technology, endowing its dolls with a lifespan and durability that far surpassed rival products.
Later, once those competitors had been swallowed up, the company gradually phased out this technology from its low- and mid-tier product lines. Thanks to that early design, however, this entire model line could remain intact for years or even decades while dormant.
This had allowed the mutated tissue entrenched within his body to thoroughly take over and repair it.
He slowly stood up. At first, his movements seemed somewhat stiff, and many damaged sections creaked under the strain. Yet in the span of a single breath, he adjusted to his balance and coordinated his limbs, and his movements gradually turned natural.
He glanced down at himself. He was dressed in a simple shirt beneath a black attendant's livery, tattered in many places.
This was a combat doll. Judging by the circumstances, it had likely suffered an unexpected attack and collapsed here, while the master it was meant to protect had vanished without a trace.
On his neck was a prominent mark—a human figure with outstretched arms.
The Progenitor Company?
He seemed to retain some memory of this company, along with an intuitive sense that he needed to keep as far away from it as possible. But as long as this body was usable, it would suffice. He stretched his limbs slightly.
"Need to replenish energy."
He did not know who he was, nor where he had come from, but a primal survival instinct urged him on, telling him what he needed to do.
He was clearly aware that the life energy he currently possessed could sustain this body for only three days of activity. If the mutated tissue failed to obtain external nutritional replenishment within three days, he would perish.
Even so, not the slightest trace of impatience, anxiety, or fear arose within him.
He searched the house and found an abandoned suitcase containing an assortment of clothes and a spare combat suit that matched his measurements. It was evidently tailored for his build.
Such a combat suit was capable of withstanding high-intensity combat and was exceptionally valuable. Its master might have left it behind in a frantic escape or died before they could retrieve it, but why had no one come afterward to salvage such valuable items?
He did not dwell on the thought. Brain activity consumed substantial energy, and he had no desire to waste it on idle speculation.
Right at that moment, singing drifted in from outside—like a nursery rhyme, or a little girl singing.
Taking the suitcase in hand, he walked out of the house. His boots scuffed against the gravel and broken glass on the road, producing a harsh rasp.
Yet the moment he stepped outside, the sound abruptly ceased, as though it had been nothing more than an illusion.
He looked down both sides of the street. This was a deserted town. Rows of three-story wooden cabins were scattered around the perimeter, most of their roofs caved in and their interiors choked with windblown sand. In the distance stood a small white church, the holy cross atop its spire leaning at a sharp tilt.
Judging by the signs, no one had set foot here for at least three years. Wild weeds covered the ground, and only the wind stirring through them brought any movement.
An ordinary person here, recalling the singing from just moments ago, would certainly have felt a chill of dread. Yet his mind remained entirely untroubled. His sole focus was to find external nutrients as quickly as possible to replenish and repair himself. To conserve energy, he would not even form an unnecessary facial expression.
Walking over to a well, he inspected it and found that the hand pump still worked. Gripping the handle, he pumped it repeatedly. Before long, water flowed from the spout—dark brown and murky at first, followed by a clean stream.
He filled a bucket and washed his body and hair in a sheltered spot out of the wind. Then he took out the form-fitting combat suit from the suitcase, changed into it, and pulled his original clothes on over it.
Once finished, his gaze suddenly caught on something: a discarded wooden cane. He walked over, picked it up, wiped it clean, and held it in his hand as he began searching the town.
The place was not large, and he finished combing through it in two hours. For food, he found only a few compressed biscuits. The items of real value were a dagger and an undamaged metal canteen. After filling the canteen with water, he decided to leave the town.
As he was heading back, however, he suddenly spotted a woman walking ahead with her back to him. She wore a high-waisted gown from over a century ago with a voluminous skirt, paired with a high-collared corset, and carried a parasol. Her figure flashed past and vanished around a corner in an instant.
A bizarre anomaly?
He had no intention of investigating. Without looking back, he continued on his way. An anomaly could provide him with no energy; it was utterly worthless.
Passing a notice board, he paused and tore away the missing person and pet posters, revealing a town map underneath along with the location of an exterior depot.
He studied it for a moment, left the town, and found the depot a kilometer away.
Constructed of reinforced concrete, the depot was exceptionally solid. The billboard on the front bore the emblem of a mining company, while the reverse featured a large regional map.
He committed every marked location to memory. Just then, the cane in his hand whipped through the air with a sharp crack—an insect covered in long spines was blasted apart midair by the shaft, its visceral fluids and gore splattering across the ground.
Checking the position of the sun, he set off along the highway. After walking across the wilderness for half a day, dust billowed ahead as an armed convoy—evidently modified—approached from the distance.
Those in the convoy had clearly spotted him as well. A few gunshots rang out, bullets striking the ground near him and kicking up plumes of dust.
As the convoy sped toward him, he gripped his cane and walked forward to meet it.
Two minutes later, he sat atop one of the off-road vehicles, devouring the nutrition paste carried by the convoy, surrounded by overturned vehicles.
The bodies of the wilderness bandits lay strewn haphazardly across the ground, every single one slain with a single blow delivered without an ounce of wasted force.
After consuming all the nutrition paste, the mutated tissue within his body grew a fraction more. He also diverted a small amount of energy to repair essential mutated structures, ensuring smoother force exertion and swifter movement from then on.
The remaining energy was stored within his body, enough to sustain him for an additional four to five days beyond the initial baseline. Of course, any combat would shorten that duration, so every action had to be guarded jealously, ideally guaranteeing a return.
He rummaged through several vehicles and found a relatively new map covered with numerous markings. After reviewing it, he gathered the firearms and ammunition from the scene, stowed them in the trunk of an intact off-road vehicle, and climbed into the driver's seat. Glancing aside, he picked up a pair of sunglasses, put them on, started the engine, and took to the road once more.
Ahead lay a town built around a mining district; that would be his next destination.
***
Meanwhile, after a journey of nearly two days, the train Chen Chuan rode pulled into a station in Atahorca State.
Gao Ming, Wei Chang'an, and the others had handled all the paperwork and formalities in advance, and were waiting at the station with an entourage to receive them.
Among the group stood several First Folk from the tribes—including the one-eyed elder, Awan, and Tahu—who would accompany them to the Throat of the Star Spirit this time.
Although bringing them added an element of danger, it was, after all, a sacred site of the First Folk. Without First Folk accompanying and entering with them, complications would likely arise in many places.
When Chen Chuan and Gui Zihan stepped down, Gao Ming came forward to meet them. "Cousin, the transit documents and procedures have all been settled."
Chen Chuan asked, "No unexpected hitches?"
Gao Ming smiled. "The official in charge this time is someone in the state government who frequently deals with Great Shun. The whole process went very smoothly."
Chen Chuan nodded. The Federation's East Coast placed great emphasis on order, whereas the West Coast was rife with biological laboratories, cults, gangs, and bandits—practically a paradise for adventurers, anarchists, and cultists. At the national level, the leadership was more inclined to negotiate with the East Coast Faction; at least they were willing to talk and possessed the ability to enforce agreements.
At the local level, however, the West Coast Faction was actually easier to deal with. Sometimes, the absence of uniform rules worked to their advantage when carrying out operations.
Gao Ming said, "We've already booked the hotel. Cousin, how do you want to arrange the itinerary?"
Chen Chuan checked his watch and saw that it was already three in the afternoon. "Let's head to the hotel to rest and regroup first. We set out for our destination tomorrow."
Once he made the decision, the group boarded vehicles arranged by the local Great Shun company and drove together toward a luxury hotel outside the center city.
At that very moment, several kilometers away, all of their movements were captured by temporary bio-surveillance equipment.
A team from the Covert Operations Directorate was deployed here, tasked with monitoring every move made by Chen Chuan and his companions.
The Operations Directorate had obtained detailed intelligence days ago and knew their destination. The treasures in the sacred sites of the First Folk had always been points of fierce contention, and the Throat of the Star Spirit was once one of their greatest sanctuaries; its value was immense enough to make all factions covet it with burning envy. Therefore, the directorate's headquarters placed extraordinary importance on this operation.
For this mission, an agent codenamed "Iron Raven," originally dispatched to Serranocha State, had already been secretly rerouted to Atahorca State. At the same time, two mercenary hunting bands backed by the directorate, originally slated to participate in the assault on Kawatua, had begun heading south from the north.
Yet the Covert Operations Directorate also knew that with such a massive operation underway, the Strategic Affairs Department on the East Coast would surely detect the anomalies and might take action as well. Thus, they had to seize the objective before the department could react!
Chapter 1075