"Hold him! Don't let him move!"
Sarak screamed, hopping onto the operating table like a manic green monkey, waving a modified pneumatic rivet gun. "The neural link is closing! This is delicate work!"
On the table, the giant Ursine warrior Bjorn let out a low, agonizing roar. His massive frame was strapped down by four thick leather belts. Where his right arm used to be, a complex brass socket and a tangle of conduits were now connected to the stump.
Standing aside, Brad winced. Even for a meathead like him, this scene made him feel phantom pain.
"Bro, hang in there!" Brad grabbed Bjorn's intact left hand, shouting encouragement. "Once this thing is installed, your push strength will break a ton! You'll be the ultimate tank!"
Bjorn, covered in cold sweat, bit down on a wooden stick, squeezing out a slurred sentence through his teeth: "For... the Queen..."
I stood in front of the holographic blueprint, expression focused. Streams of data that I could only see were scrolling rapidly across my lenses.
"Sarak, dial back the hydraulic pump pressure by 10%."
I issued calm commands. "The transmission efficiency of the magic circuit is too high. If we don't depressurize, his nerve endings will be fried."
This was the first individual exoskeleton prosthesis from [Sky Dome Heavy Industries].
The materials came mainly from the wreckage of the Wolf siege vehicle (those S-grade Black Iron armors), and the power source was a secondary Storm Magic Core. I didn't attempt to create a precise bionic hand; that was beyond current craftsmanship.
I designed a limb of pure industrial violence.
"Now! Connect!"
As Sarak pulled the trigger, a crisp sound of metal biting into bone echoed.
A blue electric arc instantly flowed through the copper pipes across the massive metal arm. White steam erupted violently from the exhaust vents, emitting a shriek like a train whistle.
Bjorn's eyes widened abruptly, snapping the wooden stick in his mouth in half.
The originally dead metal object seemed to suddenly come alive. The giant claw cast from rough black iron slowly clenched and released amidst the clicking sound of gears engaging.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
Bjorn gasped for air, sitting up. He looked at his brand-new right arm; it was a full circle, thicker than his original bear arm, with the exposed hydraulic rods and brass gears, full of a steampunk aesthetic.
He tried swinging it.
The heavy sound of wind breaking made Brad subconsciously take a step back.
"It feels..."
A smile mixing fear and ecstasy appeared on Bjorn's honest face. "It feels like I can punch through this mountain."
A few days later, Mining Site 1.
The atmosphere wasn't as festive as in the workshop. Suppressed anger was spreading among the Wolf prisoners.
The initial awe did last for a while. When those pale "Artificial Suns" lit up for the first time, the Wolf prisoners worshiped them as miracles.
But soon, I taught them a cruel truth of physics:
Light doesn't always represent hope; in an industrial zone, it represents overtime.
With electric lighting and steam heating, I ruthlessly tore up their original sunrise-to-sunset schedule, initiating a crazy "three-shift" mode. Those tireless LED lights turned night into day, forcing these creatures used to the wilderness to continue swinging pickaxes deep into the night.
I could clearly feel that the initial awe of "miracles" was rapidly fading amidst endless fatigue and muscle soreness.
Replacing it were increasingly fierce glares in the shadows and resentment fermenting in the air.
"I quit."
I heard the Wolf Centurion named Vark roaring.
He slammed his pickaxe onto the ground. This man was lean, eyes sinister—a typical radical.
"Karg, that spineless coward, was bought by a piece of roast meat, but not me." Vark looked around at his companions, inciting loudly. "Look at us! We are Wolf Riders of the plains! Now we dig rocks like gophers? To build houses for these cats?"
Several Cat-kin warriors overseeing the work immediately surrounded him, spears pointed at Vark.
"Pick up your tools! That is an order!"
"Order?"
Vark let out a mocking roar, fangs bared. "In this world, only the voice of the strong is an order! That hairless 'Builder' only hides behind iron monsters. Without those glowing boxes, I could crush him with one hand!"
The commotion spread quickly.
Hundreds of Wolf prisoners stopped their work, slowly gathering. The awe in their eyes was fading, replaced by wild probing.
If the ruler is soft, then miracles are just tricks.
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Just as the situation was about to spiral out of control, I walked over.
Heavy footsteps came from the end of the passage. Every step was accompanied by a slight vibration of the ground and a strange, rhythmic mechanical exhaust sound.
The crowd parted automatically.
I walked in, hands in pockets, expressionless. Behind me followed Brad and the giant Ursine warrior draped in a black cloak like a small mountain—Bjorn.
"Heard someone wants to crush me?"
I pushed up my glasses, tone as flat as if discussing the weather.
Vark narrowed his eyes, looking at me, this scrawny human.
"I don't accept you, Builder."
Vark stepped forward, pointing at my nose. "Wolf Clan rules: the strongest is the Alpha. You trapped us with sorcery, but that doesn't mean you have the right to enslave us."
"You want a duel?" I smiled. "With me?"
"With you, or your dog."
Vark glanced contemptuously at the one-armed Bjorn beside me (the prosthesis was hidden by the cloak). "If you lose, unlock our shackles and let us return to the plains."
I sighed and shook my head.
"I'm really busy; I don't have time for these barbaric games."
I turned to Bjorn behind me.
"Big guy, teach him what 'diplomacy' means in the Industrial Age."
Bjorn nodded honestly and stepped forward. The old plate armor on him clattered.
Vark sneered. "A crippled bear?"
He wasted no words. The explosive power unique to the Wolf Clan launched instantly. Vark was like a grey lightning bolt, claws aiming straight for Bjorn's throat. Even without weapons, Wolf's claws were enough to tear open rock.
However, Bjorn didn't dodge.
He just took a deep breath, stomped his left foot, and the cloak on his right shoulder exploded instantly.
With an ear-piercing sound of high-pressure steam jetting out, the hideous brass mechanical arm was instantly exposed to the air. The hydraulic piston was compressed to the limit in a thousandth of a second, and then released.
[Skill Triggered: Steam Impact]
That giant iron fist, carrying a visible wave of white air, blasted towards Vark's claws.
It wasn't the sound of flesh colliding; it was the sound of a battering ram hitting a city gate.
Vark looked like he had been hit head-on by a speeding truck. His claws fractured the instant they touched the iron fist, followed by his entire arm, then his ribs.
He didn't even have time to scream before his body flew backward faster than he had charged.
Vark smashed heavily into a pile of rubble thirty meters away, kicking up a cloud of dust. For a long time, there was no movement, only the sound of a few loose stones rolling down.
Dead silence filled the field.
All Wolf prisoners stood with mouths agape, staring blankly at the Ursine warrior who still held the punching pose.
Bjorn slowly retracted his right arm. The exhaust valve at the joint spewed out a puff of white smoke again, emitting a long hiss. That sound was particularly harsh in the silent quarry.
"Anyone else?"
Bjorn asked in a muffled voice, the expression on his face still that chillingly honest look. "This hand still needs breaking in. Another one?"
Hundreds of Wolves took a synchronized step back.
That wasn't martial arts. That wasn't magic. That was pure, irresistible, absolute value of force.
I walked up to the dumbfounded Wolf pack, kicking the scattered tools on the ground with my toe.
"I said earlier, I don't want to play barbaric games."
My voice remained calm. "But I have many ways to make you understand that times have changed."
I pointed to Vark, who was still buried in the rubble, life or death unknown.
"Send him to the infirmary. The rest of you, today's quota is doubled. If you have complaints, feel free to chat with my 'Head of Security' anytime."
This time, no one dared to look me in the eye. The Wolves lowered their proud heads and silently picked up their pickaxes.
If before they only feared divine punishment, now, they feared this power that could turn a body of flesh and blood into a steel monster.
Dusk, on the Fortress Wall.
The setting sun dyed the entire rift blood red.
Zayla stood beside me, watching Bjorn below, easily moving giant rocks with his mechanical arm.
"Is this your 'reasoning'?" Zayla asked, eyes complex. "I thought you would use a more... clever way."
"At this stage, violence is the most universal language."
I leaned on the railing, looking into the distance. "The Wolf Clan worships strength, so I give them strength. Bjorn's hand is their totem of faith."
"But the prophecy didn't say that." Zayla said softly, the tip of her tail gently tapping the ground. "'The Builder guards with walls, not conquers with fists.'"
I turned my head to look at the Cat-kin Queen.
"Walls are to protect those inside."
I took off my glasses and wiped the dust off them. "But if I want to turn those outside the wall into those inside, sometimes I have to break their bones first, then attach an iron one for them."
Zayla was silent for a while.
Suddenly, she reached out and gently touched the sleeve of my dirty hoodie—an extremely subtle touch meant to comfort.
"As long as that iron bone is connected to you." She whispered. "I allow you to do this."
I froze for a moment. Before I could speak, Zayla had already turned and jumped off the wall.
"I'll go check on that stupid bear." Her words lingered in the air. "The mechanical arm is strong, but don't let him train his brain into iron too."
I put my glasses back on, watching the slowly rising [Territory Stability] on the system panel, a slight smile appearing on my lips.
"Don't worry. For brains, I am enough."
Steam Tank.
Violence isn't the answer, but it's a very good negotiation tactic when dealing with Wolves.
Question of the Day: What should be Bjorn's next upgrade?
(Click an option to install the mod)
?? A) A built-in Flamethrower.
Result: The BBQ Maker. Excellent for crowd control and instant toast. However, the smell of burnt fur is terrible, and Sarak might accidentally set himself on fire. Safety Rating: F-.
?? B) A Shield Generator.
Result: The Blue Wall. Protects the Queen efficiently. Drains Mana Crystals like a leaky faucet, but saves on medical bills. Tank Factor: S-Tier.
?? C) A Cup Holder (Vital).
Result: The Priority. Fighting thirst is as important as fighting wolves. Holds a gallon of Ale or Alex's coffee. Tactical Value: Infinite.
Follow and Rate. See you in the next chapter!