Chapter 64: Twelve Guardian Construct Thrones

When Felin Lisa and the others arrived, they saw only the little zombie straining to dig with a hoe, while An Ge used a wind tornado to fling the excavated sand and soil far away.

But the structure beneath was too massive; even with An Ge and his few companions, it was like ants digging on a beach—digging, then collapsing.

“Huh? My lord, have you dug up the Throne of the Gods?” Felin exclaimed.

“Throne of the Gods? Lord, do you know what’s beneath this?” Aske asked in shock—he’d visited this basin many times and never imagined anything lay below.

“Throne of the Gods?” Negrilis asked, surprised: “What throne? What kind of throne?”

Except for Lisa, everyone turned curious eyes toward Felin.

“The Twelve Guardian Thrones—the sentinels of the World Transit Station. I haven’t seen them in ages. The thrones are still intact; the Empire’s construction quality truly was exceptional,” Felin sighed with genuine admiration.

Negrilis wore an expression of “I knew it”: “So it really is a Guardian Throne. Are the Guardians still here?”

Felin said: “They should all be here. After the Wind of Rest began to blow, it took only thirty to forty years for the dust to bury the entire World Transit Station. The people living inside had to evacuate—most went to Ice City, a few followed me to build the Lich City. When I left, the dust had reached the Guardians’ knees; when I returned decades later, even the thrones were invisible.”

Negrilis was about to speak, but Aske cut him off: “Stop chatting among yourselves—tell us what a Guardian Throne is! We’re dying to know!”

Lina and Craig nodded frantically, their faces filled with anxiety; Lightning also leaned in, listening intently.

Only An Ge showed no interest—or rather, he had no interest in stories; he wanted to dig out the object and continue digging with the little zombie and the angel skeleton.

Negrilis looked at Felin, hoping he’d answer—he himself understood only fragments about the Guardian Thrones and feared he couldn’t explain clearly. But Felin didn’t reply; instead, he turned his gaze toward Lisa.

Lisa paused, then said: “The Twelve Guardian Thrones are the protectors of the World Transit Station. They are powerful soul constructs—steel bodies, immortal souls, immense power, invincible resistances. With them guarding the World Transit Station, no enemy dared invade.”

“They are beings strong enough to fight dragons and titans alone, divine artifacts that protect entire nations, one of the most feared war machines of the Undying Empire. When I was still the Holy Maiden of Light, I observed them up close and studied them deeply—but I could never conceive of a way to breach the World Transit Station while they guarded it.”

“With them present, even the most brutal demons of the Abyss had to pay their transit fees and stay far away. Even the craftiest goblin merchants dared only obey the law and pay taxes. Even the most arrogant noble sons—well, they got crushed. Once, a noble son tried to flirt with me here, and Guardian Patsy Dorov crushed him flat.”

“And the thrones? They are the Guardians’ seats. The Guardians cannot stray far from their thrones—they must return within minutes. That is their greatest flaw. Otherwise, the Twelve Guardians would become the terror of all worlds. They are too powerful—each weighs over twenty tons. A swordsage like Lu Se couldn’t withstand even one punch.”

Before Lisa finished, some were trembling. Lina whispered: “So terrifying? Maybe… maybe we should tell An Ge to stop digging. Let’s leave.”

Felin said: “Don’t fear. As long as you follow the rules, the Twelve Guardians won’t harm anything. They have no emotions—they only faithfully execute the orders of the King and the Watcher. Hmm, except Patsy. But they can’t move anymore. A thousand years have passed—who knows if their souls still exist?”

Theoretically, souls are eternal. But before the dust buried them, they’d been battered by the Wind of Rest for decades.

When Felin mentioned the Watcher, he unconsciously glanced at An Ge—and froze. A tornado was slowly forming before An Ge.

An Ge kept using wind tornadoes to fling away the dirt the little zombie dug up—but he cast them too fast: two or three per second, unceasing, strung together. The wind elements became so dense they formed a vortex—and spawned a tornado.

A tornado is a sixth-tier wind spell. An Ge had forcibly created one from first-tier wind tornadoes.

The tornado sucked away all the sand around the throne, revealing a steel sculpture atop it.

It was a stout steel construct: a barrel-shaped body topped with a round head, two long, slender arms with concentric telescoping joints—as if the arms could extend.

Four meters tall, its surface bore intricate magical runes, giving the impression of no waist—the barrel body sat directly on the throne.

The so-called throne truly resembled an enlarged high-backed chair, and it was also the main structural element of the building. A long walkway extended from the seat toward the basin’s center, and the Guardian construct stood upon the ‘seat.’

Felin pointed to the walkway and continued: “This is the walkway to the teleportation array’s center. Normally, it and the throne rise up—about to this height, level with the basin’s edge—so goods can directly leave via the walkway or transfer below to the residential-commercial zone. When attacked or threatened, the walkway lowers, cutting off enemy advances.”

“But I worked here for decades, then as a lich for another few decades—I never saw the walkway lower until the World Transit Station shut down. Think about it: this desolate world, who would attack from outside? Any threat would come through the teleportation array.”

“When the walkway lowers, the World Transit Station halts. These Guardian constructs become immobile. I once tried moving them underground for safekeeping, but couldn’t budge them. After decades of Wind of Rest, when I first returned, Patsy still chatted with me. Later visits brought no response—I don’t know if it slept or perished.”

“This is Patsy Dorov—the only Guardian with a name. We usually call it by its nickname—‘Spring Hand.’ Its fist can extend over ten meters, with force rivaling a siege hammer…”

Felin rambled on at length. Everyone understood: these were powerful constructs, bound to fixed locations, now powerless and possibly soulless due to the teleportation array’s shutdown—just rusted iron statues.

“Lord, besides these Guardian constructs, what else lies beneath?” Aske asked. “Food, perhaps?”

“What are you thinking? Aside from immovable buildings, even the door panels were stripped away. The Wind of Rest buried this place after decades. My ancestor—well, skip the generations—anyway, a thousand years ago, my ancestor fought over food here. Now, his descendant—some fifty generations down—is already a swordsage. Ah, time flies too fast.”

Aske’s forehead darkened: You call a thousand years “too fast”?

Hearing Felin, everyone’s faces fell. No matter how mighty the Twelve Guardians or how prosperous the World Transit Station once was, they were buried under a thousand-year-old dust—solving none of their current problems.

If the residential-commercial zone below still held food, this place had value. If not, they had no reason to stay. Who wants to listen to stories with an empty stomach?

Even if the Guardians still lived and could move, what good would it do? No matter how powerful, strength cannot feed hunger.

Felin realized this too. He was about to discuss food with An Ge—but honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He’d already begged for food once, and still hadn’t repaid it.

But Felin didn’t know: An Ge never considered the last food “borrowed.” That food had brought An Ge over ten thousand soul flames—and over ten thousand casual believers, no fewer than a thousand of whom were steadfast, each day offering him one or two thousand soul flames.

Before Felin could speak, An Ge placed his hand on the barrel-shaped body of the Guardian construct. The Interdimensional Hand, fused with the leather bracelet, trembled—and the towering Guardian suddenly moved.

“Your Most Loyal Guardian, Patsy Dorov, humbly serve… serve… serve…” The construct moved once. A faint soul ripple emerged, the sentence unfinished, then silence returned.

“Lord Patsy? Lord Patsy, are you alive? Are you still alive?” Felin rushed to the construct, his soul trembling with excitement.

In the decades since the teleportation array halted, Felin had returned many times, but Patsy’s responses faded—so he assumed the soul within had perished. He never imagined it still lived.

A faint soul ripple came from the construct: “Huh… little Felin… alive? I’ve been dead a long time… this is just an indestructible soul… so weak… how long have I slept? Any food? Oh! Where’s this energy? So powerful! My soul is full again!!”

As soon as Patsy asked about food, An Ge poured soul energy into the construct. An Ge had more soul energy than he could use, with daily replenishment—all refined and stored in his left hand.

The massive soul energy quickly revived Patsy. His entire soul perked up. His huge body creaked and groaned as it slowly rose, revealing beneath the barrel torso two… two short little legs.

Compared to his ultra-long spring arms, his supporting legs were thick and stubby. Even at full height, they lifted the barrel torso only fifty centimeters.

His small head, like a half-sphere cap on the barrel, clicked twice as it rotated. Behind the grating, pale blue flames ignited, locking onto An Ge.

“Ah, it is the Watcher! Patsy Dorov, humbly serve you!” Patsy braced his hands on the ground, leaning his entire body forward.

Lisa couldn’t help whispering to Felin: “Is that a bow? Is An Ge’s status in the Undying Empire so high? Could he really be a King’s projection?”

Felin didn’t know what to say. Patsy’s legs were too short to tell if it was a bow—but An Ge’s higher status was certain. His suspicion about An Ge’s identity was now officially confirmed: he truly was the Watcher.

An Ge tilted his head, puzzled: “What is a Watcher?”

“Watcher” was not an official title, but a colloquial term. No one had ever said it directly to An Ge. When he overheard whispers, he never connected it to himself.

This was the first time someone had called him “Watcher” to his face.

Patsy shuddered, perhaps misunderstanding. It pointed a finger at Felin—its ultra-long arm snapped out, nearly touching Felin’s nose: “Humans named you. They call the World Transit Station’s controller the Watcher. We only know you as ‘My Lord.’”

With such a massive fist pointing at him, Felin didn’t dare move—but inside, he cursed: Fine, humans named you! Why point at me?!

Lisa leaned in, whispering with a chuckle: “Doesn’t this look like an employee being caught by the boss and blaming someone else? Our Lord An Ge—could you truly be the Supreme Master of Souls and Immortality?”

Felin knew his wife’s nature best. He instantly grew wary: “What are you planning? Even if he is the King, he’s now the Watcher. Haven’t you seen he never uses any extraordinary power? Don’t cause him trouble.”

“No way! No way! Do I look like that kind of person?”

“Yes.”

“Do I?!”

“No. Not at all.”

“What do you think of the title ‘Pope Lisa August of the Undying Faith’? Sounds good, right?”

After fifteen minutes, Patsy stopped moving. The soul energy An Ge had poured in lasted only fifteen minutes—the Guardian construct’s greatest flaw: excessive energy drain. If it didn’t return to its throne in time, another Guardian had to drag it back.

An Ge chatted with it for fifteen minutes, learned nothing—because they weren’t on the same wavelength.

An Ge wanted to know what a Watcher was. Patsy thought he was angry about being given a name. An Ge wanted to know what happened to the World Transit Station. Patsy thought An Ge blamed them for failing to protect it. An Ge asked why the station stopped. Patsy said it wasn’t his doing.

An Ge felt communicating with it was terribly hard.

Negrilis laughed so hard his soul nearly spilled from his nostrils: Ha ha ha! This was exactly how he felt talking to An Ge every day.

Finally, when An Ge was idle, Felin hurried forward: “My lord, the underground city and Ice City are out of food. Could we borrow more?”

Borrow food? An Ge immediately recalled the surging tide of soul flames from the last time he’d borrowed food—and then remembered something. He flipped onto Negrilis, then was pushed off and mounted Lightning instead.

He led everyone out of the basin to the buried food pit. He dug it open, pointed at the food inside, then pointed to the nearby basin, and said: “People. Dig. Food.”

People. Dig the ground. Get food. He and his few companions couldn’t possibly dig out the World Transit Station—but combined, the people of Ice City and Lich City could.

Lina whispered softly to Craig: “All those traces we saw on the way—could they be the marks An Ge left while planting food?”

Two chapters combined