Chapter 233

A faint metallic scraping echoed intermittently down the corridor outside, sometimes drawing near, sometimes pausing, as if a patient hunter were carefully scenting the dark for its prey. Each approach made Lingna’s heart leap as if to burst from her chest, icy fear clutching her throat.

She pressed herself tightly against the cold, rough wall, nearly holding her breath, her left hand clamped over her mouth to stifle even the tiniest sound. Her intact left ear strained to catch any movement beyond the door, trying to identify what it was.

Not the uniform, mechanical footsteps of a scavenger unit. This sound was heavier, slower, even carrying a… rusty, sluggish resistance, occasionally punctuated by an almost imperceptible clicking, like a gear catching.

What was it? An ancient defense robot, activated by their intrusion and the earlier explosion? Or something… she had never imagined, living in these underground ruins?

The sound halted at the door.

Lingna could almost feel an invisible “gaze” sweeping across the open hatch, scanning the room’s chaos, then… seeming to settle on the corner where she hid!

Time seemed to freeze.

Every second stretched like a century.

No energy blast or violent breach came as expected. The thing outside simply stood there, motionless, making no further move.

Just as Lingna was about to crack under the crushing silence, the scraping resumed—this time, slowly receding.

It… left?

Lingna dared not relax, remaining utterly still, ears straining. The rusty, dragging footsteps were indeed fading, vanishing into the corridor’s darkness.

Only after hearing no further disturbance did she wait an endless time before slowly, barely moving, unclenching her hand from her mouth, gasping in huge, ragged breaths—her vision swimming from prolonged breath-holding.

Lucky… escaped?

But what was it? Why hadn’t it attacked? Had it not seen her? Or… something else?

With her nerves steadying, the fierce will to survive surged back. Whatever it was, she couldn’t stay here. She had to leave—quickly.

The “Sanctuary” and “Hall of Echoes” mentioned in the ancient terminal became her only goal, her only hope. If they had names, perhaps clues lay nearby?

She began moving again, painfully, this time with clear purpose—searching the small maintenance room for any map or data.

Her left hand groped over the cold, dusty floor, brushing mostly cold tool parts and shattered casings. Just as she was about to give up, her fingertip touched a hard, rectangular metal sheet, its edges slightly curled.

She carefully lifted it, wiping away thick dust. With the faint, sourceless ambient light seeping through the doorway—perhaps some phosphorescent moss?—she barely made out an old-style data storage plate, its interface archaic but seemingly intact.

A data plate! Maybe it held a map!

Her heartbeat quickened again. But how to read it? The ancient terminal was completely dead.

She scanned the room, her gaze finally settling on the dead terminal. Maybe… only the screen was broken? The internal reader might still work?

With a last-ditch hope, she dragged herself to the terminal, fumbling with her left hand along its side—yes, she found a hidden slot for external storage. She fumbled, tried, and finally aligned the plate’s interface with the slot, shoving it in with force.

Click.

A soft sound. Then, deep within the dead terminal’s screen, a faint flicker—just a few dim pulses. A barely visible line of ancient Elven script flashed across the display:

【External storage detected… Insufficient power… Attempting to read…】

There was hope!

Lingna held her breath. A faint, wheezing whirring came from within the terminal, like a dying breath. The screen’s glow flickered uncertainly, a candle in the wind.

Seconds passed. Just as she thought failure was inevitable, the screen flared bright for an instant—a fragmented, simple schematic projected out, blurry and unstable, but legible!

It was a partial map of this lower level!

The map’s scope was small, but clearly marked her current location: “Seventh Maintenance Corridor.” At one edge, a distinct symbol was labeled in ancient Elven script: 【Entrance to Hall of Echoes】.

A winding path stretched from her position toward that entrance!

Found it! Truly found it!

Ecstasy flooded her, momentarily overriding her physical agony. She stared at the map, memorizing the route—through this maintenance corridor, into an area marked “Old Power Conduit,” then down, past a place called “Root Hall,” to reach the Hall of Echoes’ entrance.

The map showed no further details about the “Sanctuary.” She’d need to reach the Hall of Echoes to find the next clue.

At that moment, the terminal screen flickered once more—and went dark forever. The data plate ceased responding. The last power was spent.

Darkness returned.

But the seed of hope had been planted. The route was etched into Lingna’s mind.

She had to leave—now!

After a brief rest, gathering meager strength, she began crawling along the remembered path toward the “Old Power Conduit.”

The “Seventh Maintenance Corridor” was longer and more ruined than she’d imagined; many sections required her to crawl over collapsed debris. The strange metallic scraping did not return, but Lingna dared not lower her guard.

After an indeterminate time, she reached the marked entrance to the “Old Power Conduit.” It was the shattered remains of a massive circular pipe—its walls thick, but torn open by some colossal force into a jagged maw, edges twisted and curled, revealing deeper darkness within. The inner walls were coated in thick, unknown chemical deposits, reeking of sharp, acrid fumes.

Down from here.

Lingna drew a deep breath of the cold, stinking air and, without hesitation, began descending the pipe’s slanted, rough interior. The descent was even more difficult and perilous—she nearly slipped several times.

Finally, her foot struck solid ground. She reached the pipe’s bottom. The space opened wider; the air grew damper, and distant dripping echoed faintly.

According to memory, this must be “Root Hall.” She groped forward, her fingers brushing against something massive, gnarled, and petrified-hard—the remnants of the ecological garden’s colossal roots, which had pierced metal structures and pipes, entwining here into a bizarre, forest-like tangle.

In the hall’s center, a dry pool seemed to lie. Across from it, she faintly made out the silhouette of a massive, ancient-looking arch, seemingly carved from white stone. Faint Elven carvings adorned its sides, now blurred; the doors stood closed, etched with intricate patterns.

The entrance to the Hall of Echoes!

Hope was within reach!

Lingna’s spirits lifted; she hastened toward the arch.

But as she neared the dry pool, about to cross it, her left hand touched something slimy, wet, and faintly wriggling along the pool’s edge!

The sensation… was like… a giant slug? Or…

She jerked her hand back—a chill crawled up her spine!

Simultaneously, the familiar rusty metallic scraping, accompanied by that faint gear-click, erupted suddenly from behind a cluster of massive, fossilized roots to her side!

Squeak—click—

That thing! It had been here all along?! Or… had it been waiting?

Lingna whirled around, her heart plummeting.

A tall, blurred silhouette was slowly emerging from the shadows of the roots.

With the faint, sourceless phosphorescent glow, she finally made out what it was—

It seemed to be… a humanoid construct? But its condition was dire. Its entire body was sheathed in thick, patchy, heavily rusted ancient armor, archaic in style—not the work of the Doctor. The armor was dented and cracked in places, revealing complex gearworks and piping beneath, long since stopped, partially corroded by dark red, moss-like growths. Its head was a sealed helmet with viewing slits—now utterly black, devoid of any light.

One arm was normal, armored in overlapping plates. But the other… replaced from the elbow with a massive, grotesque, slowly opening-and-closing rusted metal claw! The scraping sound came from this claw dragging along the ground!

It moved with unnatural clumsiness and slowness, as if ready to collapse at any moment—yet radiated an undeniable, stubborn sense of oppression, step by step, blocking Lingna’s path to the white arch.

What was it? An ancient guardian? Why hadn’t it attacked before, yet now stood in her way?

Lingna froze, her mind racing.

The construct’s black viewing slits “stared” at her—no movement, no sound—only standing there, immovable.

Just as Lingna thought it might silently depart again, its intact arm lifted—slowly, with rusty friction—and pointed… not at her, but behind her? Toward the way she’d come?

It… didn’t want her near the arch? It was stopping her?

Why?

Lingna followed its pointing hand. Beyond lay only the darkness she’d come from.

Seeing no response, the construct seemed to grow “impatient.” Its arm waved again, pointing insistently back the way she came, while the rusted claw opened and closed slightly, emitting a grating, teeth-on-edge sound.

It was signaling her to retreat?

Lingna stared at the white arch just ahead, then at the strange, dangerous ancient construct before her—her mind torn.

Retreat? Back into the dangerous, unknown darkness? She might never find this place again—or lack the strength to return.

Advance? The construct looked decrepit, but that massive claw could easily tear her wounded body apart.

What to do?

As she hesitated, the construct seemed to lose patience—or its internal logic reached a decision.

It stomped forward sharply, its heavy step shaking the ground! The massive rusted claw lifted high, whistling through the air—not toward Lingna, but crashing down onto the ground before her!

Boom!

Shards of stone flew! A shallow crater formed in the floor!

Warning! This was the final warning!

Retreat—or die?

Lingna stared at the rusted claw, inches from her face, then at the shallow crater it had just made…

Suddenly, her gaze locked.

Beneath the loosened dirt and rubble, something half-buried gleamed—a fragment of another ancient metal plate? Etched with markings?

The construct’s attention flickered toward the exposed plate, its motion pausing for the briefest instant.

Now!

Lingna didn’t know where her courage or strength came from—perhaps instinct, perhaps realizing the plate was key—she lunged forward, not at the construct, but at the crater, her left hand grasping desperately for the half-buried metal plate!

The construct, enraged, let out a low, bellows-like roar. The massive claw lifted again—this time, without hesitation, crashing down toward her back!

The shadow of death descended!