[Scene 1: The Shattered Totem]

  The dust in the arena settled.

  Goron’s massive foot still pressed down on the old Shaman’s chest. This spiritual leader, once arrogant beyond measure and representing the supreme authority of the tribe, now trembled in the mud like a plucked old chicken.

  In the surrounding stands, hundreds of Blood Chanters were silent. They looked at the mixed-blood Orc, bathed in blood yet with eyes as clear as iron. The fanaticism in their gaze gradually cooled, replaced by a deep awe—and confusion.

  Their faith had collapsed. The totem pole had fallen, the pressure of the ancestors had failed, and even their spokesperson was being trampled underfoot.

  "Kill me..." The old Shaman squeezed a hoarse voice from his throat, his eyes full of venom. "You blood-defiling... mongrel... The ancestors will curse you..."

  "The ancestors are dead."

  Goron’s voice was light, but in the deathly silence of the arena, everyone could hear it.

  He slowly lifted his foot. Instead of crushing the Shaman’s sternum, he kicked him aside like a stone blocking the road.

  "I am not killing you out of mercy." Goron looked around, his gaze sweeping over every face, whether fearful or numb. "It is because your death has no value. Just like those old rules you believe in, you are just a pile of moldy rotten meat."

  He raised his fist, stained with the blood of the giant bear, and pointed to the dome overhead, obscured by red mist.

  "You have hidden in the darkness for too long. Hiding in this greenhouse, surviving on carrion and killing each other to maintain so-called 'Glory.' Look at yourselves! Your claws are dull, your eyes are blind, you have forgotten what true power is!"

  "Power is not madness, not a mindless roar."

  Goron suddenly hammered his own chest, making a muffled sound like metal striking metal.

  "Power is control. In my name, I command the beast!"

  A commotion began in the crowd. Several young Orc warriors looked at each other, a strange light flickering in their eyes. They had had enough of the Shaman’s mystical fatalism, enough of meaningless sacrifices. The "precise and tyrannical" combat style Goron had just displayed deeply shook them.

  [Scene 2: The New Contract]

  Carlyle stood in the shadows, watching this scene, the corner of his mouth curving into a satisfied arc.

  "He is a natural leader."

  "But he is also dangerous." Lyria sheathed her dagger, her gaze still wary. "He broke the old faith; he must give these people a new one. Otherwise, this pack of beasts will lose control."

  "Correct." Carlyle adjusted his robes and walked out of the shadows.

  He walked straight to the center of the arena. Although his physique appeared small compared to the Orcs, the cold pressure radiating from him—that of a high-ranking mage—lowered the surrounding air temperature by several degrees.

  Savage and Shadow followed closely behind him, one on the left and one on the right, like two guardians.

  "Goron," Carlyle spoke.

  Goron turned around. Before this human, he restrained the arrogance he had just shown and bowed his head slightly in respect—an acknowledgment of the "Architect" who had given him new life.

  "You won." Carlyle pointed around. "This place belongs to you now. But you should know clearly that fists alone cannot fill stomachs, nor can they stop the enemies outside."

  "I know," Goron said in a deep voice. "We need resources, we need weapons, we need... direction."

  "The Mirror Hall can provide all of this."

  Carlyle raised his voice a few notches so that all the Orcs present could hear:

  "I will provide you with alloy equipment you have never seen, healing potions, and enough food to feed the entire tribe. Even... I will teach you how to be like Goron, to control the bloodline within you, no longer reduced to madmen."

  These words were like a bomb thrown into the crowd. The deathly silent stands instantly boiled over.

  "In exchange," Carlyle extended a finger, "You will become the 'Shield' of the Mirror Hall. You will fight for me, and in this chaotic underground world, establish a new order."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "I join!"

  A young Orc jumped down from the stands. He bore wounds, remnants of his resistance against the Shaman’s rule. He walked up to Goron, knelt on one knee, touched his forehead to the back of Goron’s hand, and then gave a clumsy military salute to Carlyle.

  "I join too!"

  "Count me in!"

  More and more young warriors stepped forward. They were mostly the marginalized of the tribe, mixed-bloods, or radicals dissatisfied with the old system.

  Eventually, about twenty of the strongest and most potential-filled Orcs stood behind Goron.

  As for the remaining old, weak, sick, and the stubborn diehards loyal to the Shaman, they huddled in the corners in fear, trembling.

  "What about these people?" Goron pointed to those who hadn't stepped forward.

  "Let them stay here," Carlyle said coldly. "This is a greenhouse; someone needs to tend to those plants, someone needs to gather resources. From today on, they are the 'Farmers' here."

  Turning bloodthirsty Orcs into farmers was simply the greatest irony, and the cruelest punishment.

  [Scene 3: Harvest Time]

  With dominion established, the true "Harvest" began.

  For Carlyle and Savage, the value here was not just the population, but those rare biological materials from the First Era.

  "Found it!"

  Deep in the greenhouse, in a jungle known as the "Forbidden Zone," Savage let out a cry of surprise.

  Wrapped around a massive rotting ancient tree were several dark red, slowly pulsating vines. They looked like skinned blood vessels, and one could even see the faint glimmer of neural electrical signals flowing on the surface.

  [High-Activity Neural Vines].

  This was a masterpiece used by the bio-chemical civilization of the First Era to replace metal wires, capable of perfectly making biological bodies compatible with mechanical devices, achieving zero-latency signal transmission.

  "Be careful; this thing not only sucks blood but also discharges electricity."

  Carlyle activated his [Sight of Truth], guiding Savage in the collection.

  "Cut three inches below the root; that is the ganglion. Move fast. Once it senses the host's death, it will wither immediately."

  Savage used a pair of specially made insulated tongs to clamp the vine, wielding an alchemy cutter in his other hand.

  Sizzle—!

  The moment the vine was cut, it twisted violently like a startled snake, spraying a stream of electrified acid. Fortunately, Lyria was prepared, and a green natural barrier blocked the splashing liquid.

  "A perfect specimen."

  Carlyle quickly stuffed the still-twitching vine into a glass jar filled with nutrient solution. Watching the red tentacles unfurl in the pale green liquid, a trace of fanaticism flashed in his eyes.

  "With this, plus the Black-Star Steel we got from the black market earlier, I can solve the rejection reaction of your arm. Savage, your new arm will no longer be a cold tool; it will become a part of your body."

  "Ha! I can't wait to crush something." Savage looked at the jar. Although the sight was disgusting, the greed in his eyes couldn't be hidden.

  Besides the Neural Vines, they also "looted" other areas of the greenhouse.

  Goron’s tribesmen demonstrated their value as natives. They knew where the "Clotting Moss" that stops bleeding grew, and where the "Ironwood Resin" that hardens metal was hidden.

  In just two hours, the Mirror Hall’s transport team had filled three entire hovering mine carts.

  [Scene 4: Echoes of History]

  Before leaving, Carlyle came alone to a buried ruin.

  It was a collapsed ancient stone stele covered with First Era text that resembled helical DNA. Although most of it was weathered, Carlyle still parsed part of the content through his [Sight of Truth].

  [...Project ID: Eden...]

  [...Objective: Create perfect life adapted to Void environment...]

  [...Failure... Specimen out of control... Lockdown...]

  "So that's it." Carlyle stroked the stele, whispering to himself. "This isn't a greenhouse built for survival; this is an arsenal built for war."

  The humans of the First Era tried to modify themselves to fight some threat (perhaps the Void, perhaps an even older fear), but ended up creating uncontrollable monsters, ultimately leading to their own destruction.

  "What are you looking at?" Lyria walked over. She still felt uncomfortable with the aura here, but her expression was much calmer.

  "Looking at the corpses of predecessors." Carlyle dusted off his hands. "They ran wild on the wrong path and finally fell into the abyss. This reminds us not to take steps that are too big."

  "But what is the difference between what you are doing and them?" Lyria looked at the crates filled with biological materials. "Planting plants into bodies, turning Orcs into machines... Carlyle, you are playing with fire."

  "The difference is," Carlyle turned his head, absolute rationality shining in his heterochromatic eyes, "I know what I am doing. I am not creating perfect life; I am just... utilizing all available resources to survive."

  He looked at Goron directing his tribesmen to move supplies, at Savage debugging equipment, and at Shadow lurking in the shadows.

  "The essence of civilization is 'Modification.' Modifying the environment, modifying tools, and ultimately... modifying oneself."

  [Scene 5: A New Journey]

  The team was ready to depart.

  Goron did not look back once at the arena that had imprisoned him for months. Carrying a newly captured heavy battle axe and wearing makeshift armor, he walked at the forefront of the team.

  Behind him, twenty selected Orc warriors marched in two columns. Although their equipment was crude, that aura of killing intent had begun to take shape.

  Val Goldtooth looked at these fierce bodyguards, grinning from ear to ear. "We're rich! We're really rich this time! With these big guys, who would dare charge us tolls in the future?"

  "Don't celebrate too early." Carlyle poured cold water on him. "Have you calculated how much grain these twenty mouths will eat every day?"

  The goblin's face instantly collapsed. "This... we'd have to double the sales of 'Thermostatic Cores' to afford that!"

  "Then go sell." Carlyle ordered coldly. "After returning, expand the production line immediately. I want every corner of Black Tooth City to be inseparable from our products. Money, resources, manpower—I want it all."

  The group marched mightily through the mirror passage, returning to the Mirror Hall.

  As the spatial ripples closed, the suffocating humid air of the Crimson Hothouse was isolated in another dimension.

  Inside the Mirror Hall, the purple light of the Chaos Engine remained constant.

  Savage walked straight to his operating table, slammed down the jar containing the Neural Vine, and then tore off the tattered clothes on his body, revealing the ugly stump of his limb.

  He turned to look at Carlyle, a fire of madness burning in his eyes.

  "Come on, Doctor. Shove that damn plant into my body. I want this hand... to be reborn."

  (End of Chapter 36)

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