The air solidified.

  That golden light blade, sharp enough to sever steel, hovered merely three centimeters from Carlisle's carotid artery. The extreme high temperature roasted the skin of his neck sizzingly; a scorching smell quietly permeated, drilling into the nasal cavity—that was the smell of death.

  But Carlisle didn't even twitch an eyelash. His right eye stared dead at Alastor; there was no fear in his pupil, only the madness and calmness of a gambler at the moment of All-In.

  Alastor said nothing.

  This Order First-Class Executor narrowed his eyes slightly. In those golden eyes without pupils, the slowly rotating rune circles suddenly accelerated; the light was so blazing it almost pierced the air.

  He was "Reading"—reading the invisible True Script streams in the air. His sight penetrated the floor, penetrated the crystal, reaching directly to that pulsating "Primordial Power Furnace."

  He saw it.

  Around that annihilation core enough to destroy half the imperial capital, a tiny but lethally tough blue spiritual thread was wrapped. It was like a slender spider silk, precisely tied to the "Vital Point" of this sleeping Tyrannosaurus. Every slight tremble pulled the cooling valve of the Power Furnace, making a dangerous hum.

  The other end of the thread connected to Carlisle's weak heartbeat.

  Thump... Thump...

  With every heartbeat, that thread tightened once, pulling the cooling valve of the Power Furnace to emit a dangerous tremor. The light of the Power Furnace also alternated between bright and dark, as if it would lose control and run wild in the next second.

  "Truly... spectacular."

  After a long time, Alastor finally spoke.

  He didn't show the slightest panic or anger, not even retracting the light blade. On the contrary, a nearly morbid appreciation appeared on his face, like a Go grandmaster seeing a Divine Move played by his opponent in a dead game.

  "Hooking neural signals to the underlying logic of the cooling system. Using the 'Negative Feedback Mechanism' of the annihilation core as a detonator."

  Alastor analyzed softly, tone as calm as solving a math problem:

  "As long as I cut your neck, the moment the neural signal is interrupted, a 'Null Pointer Exception' will be generated. The system will misjudge it as a coolant leak, thereby automatically activating maximum heat rejection—which is an explosion."

  He lowered his head; those golden eyes were less than ten centimeters from Carlisle's face, clearly seeing the bloodstains and cold sweat on Carlisle's pale skin:

  "You turned yourself into a human fuze. How crazy, and how... elegant a design."

  "You flatter me."

  Carlisle's face was pale as paper. Cold sweat on his forehead mixed with bloody water flowed into his eyes, stinging him so much he could hardly open them. He was gambling. He was using his rotten life to gamble on the "Rationality" of this genius before him.

  "So, Executor. Do you plan to bet on whether your shield can withstand a nuclear explosion, or plan to move that glowing hand away?"

  Alastor was silent.

  The surrounding air pressure increased sharply, heavy enough to make people breathless; even floating dust seemed static in mid-air. Lyria, nailed to the wall, dared not breathe loudly, amber eyes staring dead at that deadly light blade, fingernails digging deep into her palms.

  Suddenly, Alastor smiled.

  That was the first time he showed a real smile—not the mask-like hypocritical smile before, but a smile with a trace of regret yet completely relieved, like finally meeting an opponent worth taking seriously.

  Hummmm—

  The golden light blade in his palm dissipated instantly, turning into dots of golden light merging into the air. That suffocating oppression also loosened a bit.

  "I don't gamble."

  Alastor straightened up, took out a brand-new silk handkerchief from his bosom, and carefully wiped his already spotless fingers. The movement was so elegant as if he had just finished afternoon tea, not a life-and-death confrontation.

  "In this world, geniuses are too few. To kill a rat and destroy such an exquisite 'Annihilation Reactor,' it is mathematically uneconomical."

  He took a step back, leaving breathing space for the three:

  "You won, child. At least for today."

  Carlisle didn't relax his vigilance because of the other's concession. His left hand was still stuck dead in the crystal crack on the floor, mind highly tense, daring not slack off at all.

  "Release her." Carlisle pointed at Lyria nailed to the wall with his chin, voice cold. "And that unconscious dwarf. We are leaving here safely."

  "Of course."

  Alastor snapped his fingers crisply.

  Snap.

  The golden halos locking Lyria's hands and feet shattered into countless light dots instantly. The elf slid to the ground like a kite with cut strings, clutching wrists marked red by the halos, gasping for air, looking up at Alastor with eyes full of resentment and vigilance.

  "You can go."

  Alastor, hands behind his back, paced slowly in the hall like a master inspecting his territory. The hem of his white robe fluttered gently one centimeter above the ground, never staining a bit of filth: "But I have a condition."

  "You have no qualification to bargain—"

  "No, I do." Alastor interrupted Carlisle abruptly. He turned around, cold light flashing in his golden pupils, tone carrying unquestionable oppression. "Although I can't kill you, I can cut off that dwarf's limbs or dig out that elf's eyes in one second. Your 'Life-Bound Pact' can only save your own life, can't it?"

  Carlisle's heart shrank sharply—seen through. His trump card could only threaten Alastor's safety but couldn't protect his companions.

  "What do you want?" Carlisle asked through gritted teeth.

  "Tell me that Formula." Alastor pointed at that crystallized monster. "Tell me how you turned that 'Chaos' into 'Crystal.' As long as you give me this logic core, I will let you leave intact."

  Carlisle was silent.

  That "Formatting" True Script was what he realized from the underlying logic of the fragment. That was his trump card, containing his unique understanding of "Order" and "Definition." But looking at the unconscious Savage whose life was uncertain, and Lyria too weak to even stand steadily, he had no choice.

  "Deal."

  Carlisle closed his eyes, packaging a segment of mental ripples—that was an underlying algorithm about "Geometric Reconstruction," but he kept an eye out, hiding the most critical "Primordial Fragment" part as the driving energy. What he gave was just an empty shell formula.

  He flicked this ripple toward Alastor.

  Alastor reached out, steadily grabbing that ripple in the void, closing his eyes to savor it carefully. A few seconds later, the expression on his face changed unpredictably, from initial shock to confusion, then to uncontrollable ecstasy; golden pupils shone brightly.

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  "So that's it... not suppression, but Re-definition..."

  Alastor opened his eyes, the look toward Carlisle changed completely—no longer looking at an insignificant rat, but at an extremely dangerous yet valuable peer.

  "You are dangerous, Carlisle."

  He adjusted his collar, regaining that lofty elegance. "On the Order's wanted list, your danger level was originally D-Class. But after I return, I will suggest the Council promote you to S-Class—on the same level as those ancient aberrations."

  "That is truly my honor." Carlisle sneered, tone full of mockery.

  "Don't be happy too soon."

  Alastor walked to the edge of the trestle bridge, which was the only exit to the surface. He stopped, back facing the three, leaving a meaningful sentence, voice cold as a curse:

  "You think you used that fragment? No, child. It is also using you."

  "When you gaze into the abyss of code, the abyss is also quietly rewriting your soul." He paused, tone carrying a trace of expectation and a trace of pity. "I look forward to our next meeting, whether you still belong to the category of 'Human.'"

  Whoosh—

  A dazzling golden teleportation column suddenly lit up, wrapping Alastor's figure inside. As the light dispersed, the white-robed mage vanished out of thin air, leaving only a faint smell of ozone and those lingering words echoing repeatedly in the empty hall.

  The empty underground hall returned to dead silence.

  Only the huge Power Furnace in the center was still emitting a dull buzzing sound; gloom-blue light illuminated the mess all over the ground.

  "He... really left?"

  Lyria slowly stood up supporting herself against the wall, voice still trembling uncontrollably. The life-and-death confrontation just now almost exhausted all her courage.

  "Gone."

  Carlisle still maintained that posture, left hand inserted in the ground, motionless.

  "Carlisle, pull your left hand out quickly! That Power Furnace is too dangerous!" Lyria reacted, rushing over hurriedly to pull him.

  "Don't touch me!"

  Carlisle suddenly growled low.

  Lyria was startled, stopping on the spot subconsciously.

  She saw Carlisle take a deep breath, as if using all his strength, to slowly pull that charred carbonized left hand out of the floor inch by inch.

  No expected alarm sound, nor earth-shattering explosion.

  The moment his hand completely left the ground, those "Blue Threads" wrapped around the Power Furnace dissipated instantly, as if never existed.

  "What's going on?" Lyria was stunned, face full of confusion. "Didn't you say... you took over the cooling system?"

  "I lied to him."

  Carlisle couldn't support himself anymore, collapsing on the ground, soaked in cold sweat as if just fished out of water, face pale as a dead person. He raised that trembling, charred, cracked left hand, pulling a smile uglier than crying, voice full of lingering fear:

  "My mental power dried up long ago. That computing power collision just now, plus the backlash of high voltage, I couldn't even break through the outer protection of the Power Furnace, let alone take over the cooling system."

  He pointed at the faint blue lights on the ground: "I just connected to the external status rune group of the Power Furnace, simulating the illusion of 'Connection Successful' with the last mental power."

  "Just now... just now if his blade cut down one more millimeter, or if he really spent one second checking the flow of True Script..." Carlisle's stomach spasmed, retching a few times, eyes full of gratitude for survival and fear. "We would really be dead."

  This was the true zero-sum game—he had no trump card in hand, just using a blank sheet of paper to scare off the God of Gamblers holding a Royal Flush.

  "You... lunatic."

  Lyria looked at this weak, cunning man who reversed the situation single-handedly, not knowing whether to cry or laugh, eyes turning red involuntarily.

  "Lunatics usually live longer."

  Carlisle struggled to crawl toward the unconscious Savage; every move brought piercing pain from the wounds on his body: "Quick, wake this dwarf up. That white-haired monster might react anytime; we have to run fast. We can't stay here for one more second."

  Carlisle endured the pain of his whole body falling apart, turning to look at Savage groaning on the ground, voice hoarse but carrying unquestionable penetration: "Old stuff, stop playing dead. I know you are awake. That 'Broken Gyroscope' console you mentioned before, where is it?"

  Savage twisted twice on the ground, pointing at an operation console in the corner of the hall with his only remaining left hand laboriously, tone full of panic: "Over there... under the hydraulic valve, that rusty lump! What are you doing? That thing can't be touched! The mine disaster back then was caused by it; once moved, gravity in the whole area will go haywire, and we will be flung into meat sauce!"

  "Haywire is exactly what we want. Alastor has no reason not to leave the coordinates here."

  Carlisle left this sentence, staggering toward the console. He knew the Order's methods too well—their airships and teleportation spells all relied on the "Absolute Coordinate System," that is, fixed spatial values locked by X, Y, Z axes. As long as the physical coordinates of this underground hall remained unchanged, Alastor could teleport back with a whole law enforcement team anytime to catch them all.

  The only way to survive was to make this coordinate completely "Invalid."

  Carlisle threw himself on the dusty console, fingertips sliding over a row of rusty levers and blurred dashboards. Behind the console, a metal sphere as tall as a person was shaking irregularly; the pipelines wrapped on the surface had long aged and cracked. This was the "Reality Stabilization Gyroscope." In the Truth Vision of his left eye, a line of red parameters emerged clearly:

  [Precession Cycle: 14s (Unstable)]

  [Spatial Folding Rate: 15%]

  "Since it can't be fixed..."

  A crazy arc curled on the corner of Carlisle's mouth; eyes flashed with the light of a desperate gamble. He extended his uncontrollably trembling right hand, grabbing the main control lever on the far right of the console—that iron handle covered in oil and almost rusted to death.

  "Lyria! If you don't want to be flung to the ceiling, grab anything you can grab!"

  Before the elf could react, Carlisle pushed the lever to the bottom fiercely—that was the "Forbidden Spin" mode disabled for a long time.

  Hummmm—Rumble!

  The entire underground cavity emitted a heart-tearing metal groan, as if invisible dimensional bones were forcibly broken. That giant gyroscope, originally only shaking slightly, suddenly began to accelerate madly. Friction between the metal shell and air produced a low-frequency roar that was no longer sound but vibrated the eyeballs directly.

  Immediately after, a breathtaking visual spectacle was staged.

  The texture of reality changed.

  Air was no longer transparent gas but instantly became viscous and heavy, presenting a weird liquid silver color. Centered on the madly spinning gyroscope, waves of visible "Mercury Ripples" spread to the surroundings.

  That was the concrete manifestation of spatial structure being rewritten.

  Lyria watched in horror as that silver ripple swept across the obsidian trestle bridge leading to the outside world; hard rocks softened and flowed like wax melted by high temperature.

  At the end of the trestle bridge, the exit originally leading to the surface didn't collapse but was "Smoothed" in a violent mercury fluctuation.

  Immediately after, ripples subsided, and the picture froze.

  The original exit disappeared, replaced by a nearly perfect "Mirror Surface" composed of space itself. Through this solidified air, one could clearly see another identical trestle bridge connecting to another identical hall.

  And at the end of that "New Hall," there was another ripple, another layer of space...

  This wasn't an illusion; this was the physical unfolding of ancient spatial technology.

  The originally straight road was now infinitely copied and extended on the retina, collapsing madly in both forward and backward directions, finally converging into two bottomless gloom-blue light dots. Countless "Mirror Halls" were nested together layer by layer, falling infinitely into the void like Russian nesting dolls.

  Even more terrifying, Lyria saw countless backs as small as ants in the depth of that infinitely extending trestle bridge—those were exactly themselves.

  "Don't look into the depths!"

  Carlisle roared. His voice agitated in the infinite space, forming thousands of echoes, like a grand chorus:

  "That is the Recursive Abyss! Looking too long will suck your consciousness in!"

  The entrance of space was completely sealed by "Infinity" itself.

  This was no longer a loop, but a bottomless logical deep well biting its own tail.

  The entrance of space was completely "Folded" and hidden.

  A series of red warnings popped up on Carlisle's left eye interface, but made him reveal a smile of relief:

  [Warning: Spatial Coordinate System Dissociated]

  [Current Status: Isolated Phase]

  [External Positioning Result: Spatial Phase Lost]

  "Done."

  Looking at the "Coordinate Lost" prompt, Carlisle finally let go of the lever, sliding to sit on the ground weakly. He gasped for air heavily; cold sweat mixed with blood slid down his cheeks, soaking the ragged clothes on his chest.

  "I changed the coordinate parameters of this space to a 'Random Variable.'" He looked up at the dumbfounded Savage and Lyria, voice carrying the hoarseness of surviving a disaster. "The current Mirror Hall is like a Ghost Island drifting in the cosmic ocean, with no fixed coordinates and no traceable trajectory."

  "The old coordinates in Alastor's hand have completely failed." Carlisle wiped the stains off his face, a trace of slyness flashing in his eyes. "If he dares to teleport in forcibly now, he will likely be stuck in spatial cracks and torn to pieces, or fall directly into the mantle layer for a free magma bath."

  "This is our moat—an infinitely looping Logical Labyrinth."

  The aftermath of spatial overclocking was still oscillating in the hall. Invisible energy ripples swept over the tired bodies of the three, becoming the last straw that broke the camel's back.

  Carlisle's tense nerves relaxed abruptly. Extreme physical exhaustion, severe pain from burns all over his body, plus complete depletion of mental power drowned him like a tide. He let go of the lever, body going soft, crashing heavily onto the cold floor, eyes losing focus instantly, falling into a coma.

  Beside him, Savage, already tottering due to limb loss, blood loss, and severe pain, felt his blood surging due to the spatial shock just now. Seeing the crisis lifted at this moment, the last trace of support also collapsed with a bang. His vision went black; with a grunt, he fell to the ground, only remaining left hand drooping weakly, black engine oil and blood spreading a dark stain on the ground.

  Lyria leaned against the rock wall. Long-term tension, fatigue from mana exhaustion, plus vertigo brought by spatial fluctuation made her eyelids heavy as lead. She watched two companions fall one after another, unable to hold on anymore herself. Her head nodded, sliding down along the rock wall to sit, falling into a deep coma.

  In the empty underground hall, only the dull hum of the Primordial Power Furnace and the sleeping figures of three scarred exiles remained. This "Ghost Island" was completely isolated from the dangers of the outside world, winning them a moment of peaceful respite.

  Author's Note