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墨書 Inktalez
Yan Kong suddenly awoke from his unconsciousness, a searing pain striking his consciousness like a raging fire. His upper body shot up, heart racing uncontrollably, fingers instinctively gripping the edge of the tatami mat. Breathing was rapid and chaotic, the air in the room thick enough to crush him.
The surroundings were completely unfamiliar. A soft light emanated from the paper lantern above, illuminating the elegant wooden walls and neat traditional decor, a stark contrast to any battlefield he recognized. The tranquility and calmness of this place felt eerie. Was this enemy territory, or a neutral ground where someone had saved his life? Regardless of which it was, his nerves instantly tightened, ready to retaliate like a beast sensing danger.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot up from the back of his head, like a rusty blade stirring wildly in his brain. His brain-computer had not fully booted up; the screen flickered like an old projector, unable to stabilize the images. Fragments of chaotic data floated in his vision—bright red error codes danced before him like an out-of-control digital storm.
“Damn it, not again…” Yan Kong gritted his teeth, his voice low yet tinged with unmistakable fatigue. His hand instinctively pressed against his temple, trying to suppress the agony that felt as if it would tear his nerves apart. The brain-computer's registers were clearly overloaded; the cooling system might have malfunctioned as well—an outcome he had long anticipated. Prolonged battles and excessive reliance on cybernetic enhancements had pushed his system to its limits. Now, the collapse of his system seemed to mock his greed for power.
He attempted to regulate his breathing, but each inhalation felt like swallowing flames. His chest heaved rapidly, cold sweat trickling down his cheeks. He lifted his gaze, palm braced against his knee in an effort to steady himself. Yet those erratically flickering garbles swirled in his vision, threatening to drive him insane. He gasped harder, a wave of nausea rising in his throat; he pressed a hand over his mouth to force back the dry heaves.
“Calm down, calm down…” he murmured softly, as if soothing himself or cursing the brain-computer in helpless frustration. He knew this wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last. But he had to hold on. For survival or for his unyielding ambition, he could not fall here. Yan Kong lowered his head, sweat dripping onto the tatami mat as he temporarily faced off against the chaos in his mind until he could devise a plan for action.
He could only wait—wait for the system to reboot, wait for that damned garble to disappear, wait for the inevitable pain to return.
Curled up, Yan Kong clutched his head with both hands in an attempt to resist the needle-like pain from the brain-computer. Just then, the door of the tatami room was gently pulled open; a sliding sound broke through the silence with startling abruptness. His nerves instantly tensed; eyes half-squinted, he quickly scanned the surroundings but found no decent weapon nearby. His hand instinctively reached for his waist—nothing but emptiness. Cold sweat trickled down from his brow as his breathing grew even more frantic.
“Who’s there?” His voice was hoarse and low but carried an unmistakable warning.
Shadows moved outside the door, and what entered was surprisingly a small recycling robot. Its round metallic body reflected glimmers under the soft light as two small mechanical arms waved in front of it as if conveying some message. “Beep beep, beep—beep beep beep.” The robot emitted a shrill binary sound and circled around Yan Kong as if scanning him.
“Damn…” Yan Kong squinted, trying to get the brain-computer to translate that infernal machine language; however, garbles still danced chaotically in his vision, making it impossible to discern what the robot was doing. The cacophonous beeping now sounded like echoes from a distant abyss, tightening his nerves even further.
The robot halted and stepped back a few paces before a figure appeared at the doorway. It was a person—or perhaps something resembling one. The individual moved gracefully and rhythmically before slowly kneeling on the tatami mat and bowing their head towards Yan Kong. His gaze quickly caught sight of her features: she wore a simple dark kimono with a thin veil covering her face, obscuring her outline. Her palms gently pressed against the ground with careful movements as if facing an injured beast.
"Please forgive my intrusion," her voice was soft and steady, carrying an undeniable sense of professionalism. "I am the Brain Mechanic; you can call me Lian."
Yan Kong did not respond immediately, his body remaining in a defensive posture, hands half-pressed against the Tatami, ready to strike at any moment. His gaze was cold as he scrutinized her every movement, searching for any potential threat.
"If not addressed immediately, your Brain-Computer may suffer permanent damage." She slowly moved closer, holding a small device in her hand, her movements deliberate as if soothing a startled beast. "Please cooperate; otherwise, the consequences could be dire."
Yan Kong's brow furrowed tighter, a low growl escaping his throat, but he ultimately did not stop her. The Garble continued to flicker wildly in his vision, and the pain in his head made it difficult to think clearly. He knew that this woman might be his only option, even though her intentions and identity remained a mystery. His hands gradually relaxed, but his body remained tense, like a knife poised to strike, quietly waiting for the next move.
Lian approached slowly, her footsteps light as if she feared disturbing a cornered predator. She knelt partially before Yan Kong and said softly, "Please lie down; I need to check your condition." Her tone was gentle yet firm, leaving no room for refusal.
Yan Kong's gaze remained icy, his muscles taut like a drawn bowstring. He trusted no one, especially not in such a vulnerable moment. But the excruciating pain in his head forced him to suppress his anger. His body was rigid, like an immovable block of iron until Lian reached out and gently placed her hands on his shoulders.
"Take it slow; relax," Lian's voice was like a gentle breeze. Her hands were steady and precise as she guided him down. Yan Kong's movements were stiff and filled with resistance, yet he gradually succumbed to her pressure and slowly lay back on the Tatami. He clenched his teeth tightly as if battling against the humiliation of yielding.
The moment he lay down, his gaze shifted upward; the soft light patterns on the ceiling pierced into his eyes like knives. He gasped for breath and finally could not hold back any longer, his voice low and laced with barely contained anger. "Where exactly is this?"
Lian did not answer immediately; her actions spoke louder than words. She raised her hands and slightly rotated her wrists with fluid grace. Yan Kong's attention was instantly captured—those seemingly delicate wrists suddenly emitted faint mechanical sounds and began to rotate in an impossible 360-degree motion. The seams of the metal joints glimmered with a soft light, resembling some kind of intricate machinery.
"What the hell..." Yan Kong's voice slipped out lowly as he stared at the bizarre sight before him, his brow furrowing deeper.
Lian's movements did not cease. As her wrists twisted at an odd angle, her five fingers suddenly split apart into ten slender metallic digits that moved with uncanny agility, writhing like living snakes.
"This is the border of Wu Jing, Broken Moon Fortress," she finally spoke up, her tone still gentle yet imbued with an irresistible calmness. The agile metal fingers danced lightly before her as if performing some ritualistic preparatory motion.
"You seem to have sustained serious injuries in the duel," she continued, her tone calm and measured, as if stating a known fact. "Strategist Feng Huo brought you back here."
"Feng Huo?" Yan Kong's gaze turned colder, his clenched teeth loosening slightly, yet the anger in his eyes remained. His thoughts were torn apart, pain and confusion intertwining. Although the name was not unfamiliar, its presence here filled him with more questions and wariness.
Lian's movements were unceasing as her ten metallic fingers began to reassemble, returning to the ordinary shape of five fingers, as if everything that had just happened was merely an illusion. She lowered her head, intently placing the instruments aside, seemingly in no hurry to explain Yan Kong's doubts, or perhaps intentionally avoiding certain details.
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