The underground air beneath the ruined Scripture Pavilion was cool, silent, and smelling of damp dark rock.
The giant copper pipes that once carried the stolen lifespans of eight hundred thousand fighters had been dismantled.
In their place, wide drainage under-road drains of carved granite carried clean mountain spring water, cooling the underground foundations of the newly reconstructed logistics archives.
Lin Ke walked slowly down the dark rock hall. His refined iron cane tapped rhythmically against the dry stone.
His right shoulder was still bound in stiff leather splints. But the throbbing ache had dulled to a stiff, healing stiffness. His Ashen Iron skeleton felt dense, grounded, and integrated. A rock-steady internal chassis that carried his glassy waveguides without a hint of ringing shaking.
Behind him walked Meng Shan and Shen Yue. She carried a pair of brass lanterns that cast warm, steady pools of yellow light against the dark rock.
“The ley-line re-routing is complete, Lin Ke,” Shen Yue said softly. She held up a parchment blueprint. “All seven outer peaks are now configured in an extra ring topology. If any single peak’s formation is cut, the leftover six shard the load within three split seconds.”
“No single point of failure,” Lin Ke nodded. “Good building.”
