Chapter Seventy-Two: The Spherical Mechanical Guardian

Stepping out of the room, they followed a short corridor toward the next chamber, reporting their movements in real time.

Soon, an order came through on the comms:
“The next team will exit via the ventilation shaft. Everyone else, hold your positions.”

Ji Cheng opened the map on his wrist computer. Roughly a third of the rooms and corridors were already marked—this was the result of years of effort by Southport’s gifted individuals.

“We’ve got credentials for Section A. Take the left path and keep up,” Ji Cheng urged. His words were brisk, but his actions were far from hasty; his attention was instead finely attuned to his surroundings, searching for any clue he could find.

Clues about the mining district.

Now that the Hive Laboratory had begun transitioning to a mining operation, identifying the type of mine would greatly reduce the risks ahead.

“Our credentials are for Section C, but it looks like we’re headed in the same direction. Why don’t we go together for now?” Lei Junming suggested, catching up.

“Fine, let’s stick together for now. But keep your eyes open—gather any information you can,” Ji Cheng replied, moving at a steady pace, his gaze seldom lingering in one spot.

The metallic walls were scarred and battered, as though something had scraped against them repeatedly; it seemed they would crumble at the slightest touch. A faint scent of burning lingered in the air, while the ground was littered with scattered shards and dust. Aside from that, the corridor contained nothing of note.

“What are you getting at?” Lei Junming asked hesitantly.

“It’d be best if we could identify the type of mine. The degree of petrification here in the Hive is worse than I expected,” Ji Cheng murmured, pinching a fragment of dust between his fingers.

The two squads, numbering over ten people in total, advanced cautiously, observing their surroundings and inching toward their destination without encountering any obstacles.

They were still at the outermost periphery, not yet in the main research area. Most rooms were empty, and those with contents held only basic supplies.

After passing through the seventeenth room, they finally stopped.

Ahead was a heavy, seamless door; on the left, the electronic panel still flickered with light.

This was where team hierarchy became apparent. As Ji Cheng approached, the others instinctively made way.

“This door is marked on the map. Once we pass through, we’ll be in the research sector proper. Have your credentials ready,” Ji Cheng announced, taking out his gray-and-white identity card and presenting it to the panel. “Sister, come here.”

—Identity verified. Please proceed.
—Assistant Researcher Bai Jie.

The door opened. Ji Cheng quickly carried Luo Rao through.

The others followed suit, swiping their cards in turn.

It was clear that Southport had kept an ace up their sleeve. The members of Yao Lun’s squad, upon swiping their cards, were greeted with, “Please proceed, Researcher so-and-so.” But the gifted from Anxi City, like Ji Cheng, held only the white cards of assistant researchers.

Ji Cheng turned to Lei Junming. “We’ll split up here. We’re heading to Section A—just straight ahead. If you detour to Section C, it’ll take too long.”

“Stay in touch.”

With rhythmic footsteps echoing through the corridor, the two squads parted ways, leaving the spot behind.

Yao Lun’s squad moved straight on, toward Section A.

“Section A’s focus is energy shields. Do you think we might find a few defective ones lying around?” Zhang Lingfei chattered, unable to quiet her nerves without speaking.

“Even if there were, they’ve long been scavenged. The ability-users’ marketplace has a single-soldier shield listed at over seven billion. I bet someone found it here,” scoffed Zuo Hao.

Ji Cheng continued observing his surroundings, refraining from joining the conversation.

—

In the files Zhou Ze had given him, it was indeed mentioned that Section A’s focus was energy shields. As for the Hive Laboratory’s main research objectives, there was still no definitive conclusion.

He surmised they likely revolved around basic energy weapons, reactors, or detectors—technologies favored by minor lords and lesser nobles.

The reason was clear: after centuries of rule, the Galactic Empire’s technological prowess still seemed unrivaled on the surface, but within, it had decayed to the core, with knowledge strictly monopolized.

To maintain stability at court, the Lord of the Weiyang Star Palace had even instituted a graded knowledge system to protect the interests of the great nobles.

The “Galactic Empire Science and Technology Research Act” stipulated:
“Kings up to Level Nine, Marquises up to Level Six, Ministers up to Level Three, Commoners up to Level One.”

In other words, all technological knowledge within the Empire was divided into ten tiers. Dukes could access up to the ninth tier, no more—whether through research or purchase.

Marquises, in turn, were capped at tier six, and so on.

This strict hierarchy of knowledge both placated the high nobility and grievously disadvantaged the lesser aristocracy. After the law was enacted, many minor nobles exceeded their permitted levels and were forcibly stripped of their knowledge by the Empire—their data-ether bodies destroyed.

This also resulted in wildly uneven technological levels across the Empire. The Silver Crown Province, directly controlled by the Emperor, was already testing dark matter energy, while remote provinces like East Perseus struggled with basic planetary engineering.

As for Baishan Star, before its disconnection, its ruler barely qualified as a squire—let alone nobility.

For them, the rule was: commoners up to Level One.

No category of technical knowledge could exceed tier one. The fact that even now the Hive Laboratory relied on electricity was proof enough.

“But no matter how backward, it’s not something we can challenge right now.”

Ji Cheng quietly drew Luo Rao back a step.

He’d just noticed, tucked against the base of the wall not far ahead, a metallic sphere about thirty centimeters in diameter.

He recognized it at once. Before he’d crossed over, when he was still running alternate characters, he’d encountered these countless times.

The D-150 Spherical Mechanical Sentry.

A cheap robot favored by poorer civilians—its combat ability was low, but so was the price.

Click.

The instant Ji Cheng stepped back, the mechanical sentry rolled forward—a single movement that choked off everything he’d been about to say.

“Run,” Ji Cheng whispered urgently in Luo Rao’s ear.

Once discovered by a mechanical sentry, there was no detour—flight was the only option.

“Better a stranger suffers than me. Right now, keeping myself and my sister alive is all that matters—the others are on their own,” Ji Cheng calculated rapidly.

“The D-150 rarely carries energy weapons, but even its firearms are deadly. Best to avoid it if possible.”

In the blink of an eye, Ji Cheng had pulled Luo Rao to the back of the group.

Screech.

The sentry emitted a grating noise and unfolded into combat mode: the metal sphere split in two, a steel-framed upper body extended outward, its face a cluster of sensors, shoulders broad and bearing-like, each arm ending in a gun barrel.

Now everyone realized why Ji Cheng had suddenly withdrawn—this metal sphere was actually a sentry robot.

—

The mechanical sentry’s two lens-like eyes scanned the group—cold and merciless.

—Identity verification failed. Unknown life forms detected. Initiating purge protocol.

Zuo Hao immediately pressed his earpiece and reported on the squad channel, “Base, we’ve encountered a mechanical sentry.”

“Split up,” Yao Lun ordered over the comms.

Whenever one encountered an Imperial relic sentry, every regulation was clear: do not engage.

“Scatter!” Zuo Hao barked as he turned, his face twitching with tension.

He glanced back—only to see that the six behind him had already vanished.

He snorted and took a side passage himself, fleeing the scene.

Ji Cheng led Luo Rao down a narrow corridor.

Here, the map’s markings were sparse. Taking the main route risked running into restricted areas—if their white-level credentials were checked, it would mean trouble.

“This way, sister—let’s hide inside for now.”

They ducked into a small room and were about to close the door when they heard two more sets of footsteps in the corridor—it was Zhang Lingfei and Zhang Jing’e.

“That sentry didn’t come our way,” Zhang Lingfei panted as she entered.

Ji Cheng shot her a look. “Why did you follow us?”

The purpose of scattering was to reduce the chance of everyone getting caught. The more they split up, the safer it was. The Zhang sisters were decent people, but their presence increased the risk for him and Luo Rao—a reality Ji Cheng could hardly accept.

“I’m afraid of dying.”

“I trust you.”

The sisters answered in unison.

Ji Cheng sighed, but since the sentry hadn’t followed, he let it go.

“We’ll hide here for now.”

No sooner had he said it than he slapped his thigh, as if a thought had struck him, and exclaimed with excitement, “Wait here—I have to step out for a moment.”

“Ji Cheng, where are you going?”

“All right.”

“Cheng, can I come with you?”

This time, all three spoke at once.

Zhang Lingfei eyed him curiously. “Aren’t you afraid of being caught by the sentry?”

Ji Cheng chuckled without answering directly. He simply instructed the three women to stay put, then left the room.

He closed the door behind him and retraced his steps in the direction they’d come.

His footsteps soon faded into the distance.