The silence of the Long Night was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic clink... clink... clink of stone striking metal.
Inside the Granite Tunnel, the air had grown thick and hazy. The green fire, usually a roaring pillar of heat, was sputtering, casting long, erratic shadows against the soot-stained walls.
Ji Han stood in the center of his "smithy," arms held out like a scarecrow.
"Tighten the strap," he grunted.
Lin Qinghe, looking stronger after days of the heavy-metal stew, pulled the leather belt at his side tight.
"It fits," she said, stepping back to assess her work.
Ji Han looked down at himself. He was no longer wearing the rags of a Novice Lord. He was encased in a suit of nightmare engineering.
The chest piece was a single, curved plate of Heavy-Shell Isopod carapace, shimmering with an oil-slick iridescence. The shoulders were reinforced with Black Iron pauldrons, cold-forged into jagged, heavy slopes. His gauntlets were wrapped in centipede leather, with Isopod claws fused to the knuckles as improvised dusters.
He moved his arm. The armor groaned, heavy plates sliding over each other. It weighed at least fifty kilograms. To a normal human, it would be a coffin. To Ji Han, with his Bone Density +0.5 and reinforced musculature, it felt like a second skin.
[System Notification: Equipment Crafted.] [Item: Bastion Plate (Mortal-High).] [Attributes: High Physical Defense. Minor Heat Resistance. Weight: Heavy.]
"You look like a beetle," Lin Qinghe noted dryly.
"I am a beetle," Ji Han corrected, picking up his Frost-Iron War Pick. "I live in a hole. I eat bugs. I wear bugs."
He took a practice swing. The armor restricted his range of motion slightly, but the momentum was terrifying. He was a wrecking ball.
"The armor is done," Ji Han said, looking at the dying fire. "But something is wrong. The fire... it's choking."
He walked over to the pit. The "Root Charcoal" was glowing a dull red, struggling to catch flame. Smoke was pooling near the ceiling, forming a suffocating grey cloud that didn't drift away.
"The draft," Lin Qinghe realized, her eyes widening. "The smoke isn't venting."
She pointed to the upper end of the tunnel, where the gap in the granite door usually allowed fresh air to cycle in.
Ji Han climbed the ramp, his heavy boots thudding against the stone. He reached the door. The six-inch gap he usually left open for air was dark. Not the darkness of night—the darkness of solid matter.
He poked his War Pick into the gap. It hit dirt. Packed, frozen dirt.
"They didn't leave," Ji Han growled. "They buried us."
The Hive Mind hadn't retreated to heal. It had switched tactics. If it couldn't break the door, and it couldn't mind-control the guard, it would simply seal the tomb. It was suffocating them.
"Carbon monoxide," Ji Han said, looking back at Lin Qinghe. "If the fire goes out, we freeze. If the smoke stays in, we suffocate."
"We need to clear the vent," Lin Qinghe said. "But the moment you open that door..."
"They'll be waiting," Ji Han finished.
He adjusted his grip on the War Pick. He rolled his neck, feeling the heavy Isopod collar grind against his skin.
"Good," Ji Han said. "I wanted to test the armor."
He grabbed the iron wedges holding the slab.
"Get back to the lower level," he ordered. "This is going to get messy."
Lin Qinghe retreated down the spiral.
Ji Han took a breath of the smoky air, held it, and kicked the wedges out.
THUD.
He shoved the granite slab outward. It moved a foot, then stopped, blocked by the wall of piled earth and snow outside.
The enemy had done a thorough job. They had piled tons of debris against the trench entrance.
"Dig," Ji Han told himself.
He rammed the door with his shoulder. Strength surged. The armor plates crunched against the stone.
The slab groaned and slid back, pushing the earth mound outward.
Ji Han stepped out into the trench.
The cold was absolute. It hit his exposed face like a physical slap, instantly freezing his eyelashes. The wind howled over the lip of the trench.
But he wasn't alone.
The trench was filled with them. Yin-Swarm Beetles. Hundreds of them. They weren't attacking; they were working. They were carrying dirt, snow, and rocks, packing them tight against the door.
When Ji Han emerged, a hundred milky-white eyes turned toward him.
For a second, there was stillness. The drone workers seemed confused by the sudden appearance of a creature that looked exactly like one of their heavy shock troops.
Then, the Hive Mind screamed.
KILL.
The swarm surged.
Ji Han didn't retreat. He stepped forward, planting his boots in the frozen mud.
"Come on!"
A wave of beetles crashed into him. Claws raked against his chest plate. Mandibles snapped at his legs.
SCRAPE. CLANG.
The Isopod armor held. The beetle claws skittered harmlessly off the oil-slick shell. They couldn't find purchase.
Ji Han laughed. It was a muffled, savage sound inside his helmet-less collar.
He swung the War Pick.
CRUNCH.
The pick didn't just kill; it pulverized. He swept it in a wide arc, clearing three beetles at once. He wasn't fencing; he was landscaping.
He waded into the tide, ignoring the creatures biting at his greaves. He hacked at the wall of dirt blocking the vent. He smashed the beetles that tried to replace it.
He was a tank. He was the "Heavy Infantry" now.
He fought his way to the top of the trench. He cleared the debris. He felt the rush of fresh, freezing wind suck down into the tunnel, feeding the starving fire below.
Below him, the fire roared back to life, casting a flickering orange glow up the shaft.
Ji Han stood on the mound of dead beetles, silhouetted against the starlight of the Long Night. He looked out at the frozen wasteland.
The darkness was alive. He could feel the heavy gaze of the Hive Mind watching him from somewhere deep in the earth.
"I'm still here!" Ji Han roared at the empty night. "And I'm still hungry!"
He grabbed two dead beetles by their legs, turned, and marched back into his hole.
He slammed the granite door shut, jamming the wedges back in.
He walked down the ramp, the armor dripping with blue blood. The air was clearing. The fire was hot.
"Ventilation restored," Ji Han announced, dropping the fresh carcasses next to the cookfire.
Lin Qinghe looked at him—at the scratches on his armor, the blood on his boots, and the manic grin on his face.
"The armor works," she stated.
"It works," Ji Han agreed, sitting down heavily. "But they are getting smarter. They tried to smoke us out. Next time, they might try to flood us."
He patted the cold Black Iron plates on his chest.
"Let them try."