Just as he was about to step onto the unknown path of flight, a massive uproar erupted from the other end of the village. People surged outward like a herd driven by hunger, clutching laughable "weapons"—notched hoes, sharpened iron rods, even the freshly distributed mud cakes hard enough to kill.
"What's happening?" Zhongmie grabbed a neighbor with sunken eyes and a frenzied look.
"Uprising! Central City! A Gordan sheriff rebelled! Killed the governor, declared himself a warlord!" The neighbor's voice was hoarse, his face a mix of madness and empty hope. "He said it—follow him, and you'll eat! Real food! Synthetic grain cakes! Protein blocks! Maybe even clean water!"
Food. The word acted like a primal spell, igniting the last glimmer of light in the eyes of those on the brink of death. Zhongmie's heart leaped. Revenge required strength, and survival was the first step. Silently, almost instinctively, he merged into the blind, fanatical flow of bodies, moving toward Central City. His steps were unsteady, his stomach burning, but a cold determination sustained him.
Central City was even more dilapidated than his village—a giant wound of ruins. The warlord's recruitment point was set up in a half-collapsed square, swarming with people and reeking of sweat, despair, and a faint hint of blood. Zhongmie squeezed through the crowd, feeling like a dead leaf in a torrent. He listened to the recruiter standing on a broken crate, shouting through a megaphone: "Priority to those with mech experience or their own equipment! Premium benefits! Three meals a day!"
Every time someone with a mech or experience was chosen, it drew envious or even jealous growls from the crowd. It was a ticket to survival.
Finally, Zhongmie pushed to the front. The recruiter looked him up and down—a pale, emaciated, ragged boy who looked like a strong wind could blow him over. The disdain in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Name?"
"Zhongmie."
"Got a mech? Even an old trainer?"
"…No."
"Any driving experience? Even a simulator?"
"…No."
The recruiter didn't even bother to look at him properly, waving him away like a fly. "You think you can fight empty-handed? You think the Kingdom Army is a charity? We need iron-can drivers, not cannon fodder! Get lost!"
Zhongmie was shoved aside roughly by those eager to prove themselves, stumbling and nearly falling. Several younger, better-fed men pushed forward, boasting proudly: "Sir! We have our own mechs! 'Wild Dog' models, engine-modified!"
The recruiter's face instantly brightened. "Good! Good lads! Real men! Come register! Extra rations tonight!"
They strutted past, glancing at Zhongmie as if he were dirt beneath their feet.
Hope burst like a bubble once more. A overwhelming sense of powerlessness doused the tiny flame he had just ignited. Even selling his life required a ticket he couldn't afford.
He became a ghost in the chaotic city. By day, he wandered through ruins and garbage dumps like a keen hyena, searching for anything edible. He learned to identify edible mutated moss, knew which areas' water filtration systems occasionally leaked barely drinkable water. He cleverly built a simple trap from scrap metal and springs and even caught a skinny irradiated rat—the only taste of meat he'd had in days. By night, he hid in half-collapsed pipes or abandoned containers, wrapping himself in ragged cloth, alert to every sound outside. Robberies, fights, even murders were commonplace in this lawless land. He had seen an old man beaten to death for half a moldy synthetic cake. This was a truly dog-eat-dog world.
His intelligence was entirely devoted to "scraping by." He could judge a machine's condition by the subtlest sounds, finding discarded batteries with residual energy or machine carcasses with usable parts, then trading them with other scavengers for scraps of food or information. Like a weed stubbornly surviving in concrete cracks, he seized every tiny opportunity, struggling to breathe.
Fate seemed to enjoy opening a window for him at his most desperate moments, even if the view outside revealed a deeper abyss.
One day, deep in the ruins of what was once a military mechanical plant—partially collapsed and unstable—he relied on his understanding of structures and machinery (taught by his father and Old Ling) to navigate safely. In a storage room crushed by heavy equipment, he found a fully intact military crate stamped with the Old Empire's insignia! He broke the rusted lock with a stone, his heart almost stopping—inside was a full case of silver-wrapped high-energy compressed food bars! Enough to last him a month, or longer.
Overwhelming joy hit him. He clutched the cold metal case, pressing his face against it, almost crying. This was hope! Real, tangible assurance of survival!
But his luck seemed to run out. As he stepped out of the shadows clutching the heavy case, three burly, savage-looking thugs blocked his path. They had clearly been watching him, this lone "fat sheep."
"Kid, know the rules here? This is our turf," the leader snarled, revealing a mouth of radiation-stained rotten teeth, his eyes greedily fixed on the case. "What you're holding is ours. Drop it and scram! We'll let you live!"
How could Zhongmie let go? This was what he'd risked his life for, his only hope of survival! Clutching the case, adrenaline surging, he spotted a gap, turned, and ran with all his strength into the complex ruins!
"Dammit! He asked for it! After him!"
Shouts and vicious curses followed close behind. Zhongmie ran until his lungs burned like torn bellows and his legs felt like lead. The case grew heavier, but he refused to let go. Just as he felt them closing in, even hearing their heavy breathing, the ground gave way beneath him! The world spun—he and the precious case fell into a deep, dark pit!
Splash! Icy water engulfed him. Fortunately, it was a large reservoir, cushioning his fall. He struggled to the edge, coughing violently, but immediately felt for the case—still there. Relief washed over him.
Curses came from above.
"Shit! So deep!"
"The kid must be dead, right?"
"Forget it! Not worth dying over some food!"
The footsteps seemed to fade. Just as Zhongmie relaxed, he heard several more splashes! Three daring thugs had jumped down after him!
"Ugh! Freezing water!"
"Where is he? He's not dead! Find him! He's got the food!"
Zhongmie's heart leaped into his throat. He grabbed the case and retreated deeper into the cave. Faint emergency red lights barely illuminated the environment—this was no natural cavern, but a vast, forgotten underground space. Rusty giant mechanical arms reached out from the rock walls like prehistoric skeletons; broken conveyor belts were strewn with unrecognizable parts; all around lay half-dismantled mech wrecks, a cold graveyard of steel. The air reeked of metal rust and leaked coolant.
He stumbled backward until his back hit something cold and hard. He turned—and gasped.
It was no ordinary cockpit. A nearly five-meter-tall behemoth was half-embedded in the rock wall, most of its external armor stripped away, exposing thick cables and faintly glowing hydraulic pistons. Its design was fierce and ancient, unlike any Kingdom mech he'd ever seen. On one side, a partially corroded emblem was barely visible—an eagle encircled by stars, the symbol of the Old Earth Empire.
This was an abandoned Old Earth Empire mech!
Footsteps and curses drew closer. "Found you, you little brat!" The threeburly closed in, grinning viciously. "Hand over the case!"
Cornered. Zhongmie leaned against the cold, massive metal foot, looking on in despair as they approached. Then, his fingers brushed against a button nearly buried in grime—etched with the Imperial eagle.
Hiss—!
A dull sound, like something sighing after centuries of sleep, echoed. The cockpit door at the mech's chest slid downward, revealing a dark interior.
Survival instinct took over. He threw the food case inside and scrambled in after it!
The door shut behind him, cutting off theburly's shocked and angry curses.
The cockpit was cramped, the control panel dusty with strangely arranged buttons and levers. An inhuman, low hum reverberated within, as if the steel beast's heart was slowly awakening.
Zhongmie collapsed into the cracked pilot seat, his hands instinctively groping in the dark.
Suddenly, his fingers touched a bone-like, aged ignition lever half-buried in cables. An inexplicable impulse made him pull it down hard!
VOOOM—!!!!
A deep, savage engine roar exploded like that of a beast imprisoned for millennia! The entire cockpit lit up with frantic, flickering indicator lights, and piercing fault alarms blared. The main screen flickered to life, showing the three thugs' terrified faces through static.The violent shaking nearly threw Zhongmie from his seat. He instinctively grabbed the control sticks on either side.
"It's—it's moving!! A monster! An Empire monster!" Theburly outside panicked, turning to flee.
Zhongmie was even more terrified. He tentatively pulled back on the left stick.
BOOM! CRUNCH!
机甲的巨大右腿向后踢,但不平衡的躯干向前倾斜,其钢头猛撞到洞穴墙上.岩石跌倒了,驾驶舱猛烈摇晃,警报尖叫着.
"平衡!重心!"在混乱和极端的恐惧中,他的父亲智智的沉默人物和言语清楚地浮现在他的脑海中.从看着他小时候修理大型机械:"它越大,您需要找到它的中心,就像一个男人找到自己的立足点一样."
本能地,他在最近的左侧时稍微向前推了右棍子.凭借刺耳的金属尖叫声,机甲不稳定地摇摆不定,就像一个巨大的学习走路,但设法站立.
"Hydraulic pressure unstable! Listen—leak in the left leg's third circuit!" Old Ling's blustering image jumped into his mind, as if roaring in his ear: "Boy! Use your ears! Feel it! The machine will tell you where it hurts!"
Sweating and breathing heavily, Zhongmie couldn't understand the complex Imperial language alarms, but he could understand the machine's "complaints." He awkwardly tried coordinating the two sticks, pushing them.
机甲再次移动,仍然僵硬而笨拙,每个步骤都用雷声噪音打破地面,但不再失控.这并不像开车一样 - 就像在使用他所有的感官与这种沉睡的钢野兽交流, 这是一场危险而艰难的斗争.恐惧,愤怒和 利用其野蛮力量的原始兴奋 涌向了他的头.当庞大的钢结构从坑里出现了一半时,即将离开的伯利（Theburly）遭受了恐惧,立即散落.
站在机甲的驾驶舱中, 第一次从指挥高度看疤痕的土地,复仇的火焰在他的眼中燃烧着有形的光.
他尴尬地控制了机械,朝军阀的招募点前进,采取了沉重,笨拙但坚定的步骤.