[HOST INTEGRITY: 25%]
[LOCATION: THE LAST STOP FACTORY - REN'S OFFICE]
[TIME: 06:30 AM]
The silence in the office was heavy.
Ren Wu sat in his chair, a tissue pressed to his left ear. When he pulled it away, the paper was stained black.
[WARNING: INTEGRITY DAMAGE SUSTAINED]
[CURRENT STATUS: 25%]
[RECOVERY TIME: UNKNOWN]
The "Heavy Hand" was a miracle. It was a weapon that could erase reality. But miracles were expensive.
"You can't do that again," Jian said.
The boy was pacing the room, his laptop tucked under his arm. He looked frantic.
"I ran the numbers, Ren. That stamp cost you 5% of your total existence. You have, what? Twenty-five percent left? That means you have exactly five slaps before you dissolve into cosmic dust."
Ren didn't answer. He looked out the shattered window.
Below, in the factory courtyard, the Red Bandana Gang was celebrating.
Five hundred low-tier ghosts were cheering, chugging cheap spirit-wine, and smoking the free Dragon-Tooth Ash. They were dancing around the massive palm print in the mud like it was a tourist attraction. They were loud. They were chaotic.
They were useless.
"The Consortium has thousands of soldiers," Jian continued, his voice rising in panic. "They have Tier-2 hit squads. They have Warlocks. They have money. You just killed five of them. Zhao isn't going to send five next time. He's going to send five hundred."
Ren stood up.
He walked to the window. He looked down at the mob.
"You are right," Ren said softly. "I cannot fight a war alone. The 'Heavy Hand' is a gavel, not a shield."
He watched a Red Bandana thug trip over his own feet and spill his drink. The others laughed.
"They are soft," Ren whispered. "They are street rats playing at being gangsters. If the Consortium attacks now, they will break in ten seconds."
Ye Lingshan stepped forward. She was cleaning her sword, her face grim.
"They are undisciplined, Sir. But they are loyal."
"Loyalty is not enough," Ren said. "Loyalty is a feeling. I need Structure."
Ren turned away from the window.
The lingering warmth of the golden light vanished from his irises. His face smoothed out, losing all traces of humanity, replaced by the cold, flat calculation of a Warlord checking his inventory.
"Jian. Dr. Zhu."
"Y-Yeah?" Jian stopped pacing.
"Drain the mixing vat," Ren ordered. "Flush the remaining Ash."
Dr. Zhu floated up, his sensors blinking in confusion. "Flush it? But Boss, that's valuable product! Why would we—"
Ren cut him off.
"Because we aren't making incense anymore, Doctor."
Ren walked to the door.
"We are making Iron."
The Assembly
[LOCATION: FACTORY FLOOR - THE CRUCIBLE]
Ten minutes later, the factory floor was packed.
Five hundred ghosts stood in the main hall. The air didn't smell like a factory; it smelled like a riot. The sharp tang of ozone, spilled spirit-wine, and the heavy, metallic residue of the Dragon-Tooth Ash hung in the air like fog.
They were a motley crew. Some wore ripped jeans; others wore ancient robes. They held rusted knives, baseball bats, and broken bottles. They looked like what they were: the trash of the Underworld.
"Oi! The Boss is here!"
Red Dog, the gang leader, shouted from the front.
The crowd cheered.
"Minister! Minister! Minister!"
Ren Wu walked onto the raised catwalk. He was flanked by Lingshan on his right and Dr. Zhu on his left.
He didn't smile. He didn't wave.
He raised his hand.
[PASSIVE ART: SOVEREIGN'S AURA]
[EFFECT: SILENCE]
The pressure hit the room like a physical weight.
The cheering died instantly. Five hundred throats clamped shut. The ghosts felt a cold hand grip their spines. They looked up, and for the first time, they didn't see a generous benefactor.
They saw a King looking at his subjects. And the King looked... disappointed.
"You enjoyed the free sample?" Ren's voice echoed through the hall, amplified by the factory's acoustics.
"Y-Yes, Boss!" Red Dog stammered. "Best stuff we ever had! We feel strong!"
"You feel strong," Ren repeated. "But you are not strong."
Ren pointed to the massive window overlooking the courtyard.
"The Alchemist Consortium sent five assassins here tonight. I killed them."
The crowd murmured in awe.
"But tomorrow," Ren continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "they will send an army. And when they come... you will not fight."
Ren leaned over the railing.
"You will run. You will break. You will die."
The crowd shifted uncomfortably. They knew he was right. They were thugs. They bullied shopkeepers; they didn't fight armies.
"I do not need cowards," Ren said. "And I do not need 'Gangsters.' I need a Wall."
Ren pointed to the center of the factory floor.
The massive steel Mixing Vat—the one that had birthed the Dragon-Tooth Ash—was bubbling.
Dr. Zhu had followed orders. He had changed the recipe.
The vat wasn't filled with incense paste.
It was filled with Molten Iron.
Tons of Old Man Gu's tortured scrap metal had been melted down, mixed with the concentrated liquid essence of the Dragon-Tooth Ash. It was a thick, silver-black sludge that radiated enough heat to singe the eyebrows of the ghosts in the front row.
"This is the Baptism," Ren announced.
The crowd stared at the boiling metal. Fear rippled through them.
"The Ash you smoked gave you a taste of power," Ren said. "But it was temporary. This... this is permanent."
"Jump in," Ren commanded.
Silence. Absolute, terrified silence.
"If your will is weak," Ren said coldly, "the iron will consume you. You will dissolve into slag. You will cease to exist."
"But," Ren paused. His eyes glowed faintly. "If your loyalty is true... if your soul is dense enough to bear the weight... you will not dissolve."
"You will be Forged."
Ren stepped back.
"Who wants to be the first to die? Or the first to be Reborn?"
No one moved.
The ghosts looked at the boiling vat. It hissed and popped, spitting drops of silver fire onto the concrete. It looked like a torture device.
"This is crazy," a ghost in the back whispered. "He wants to cook us?"
"I'm out," another muttered. "I signed up for free drugs, not suicide."
Red Dog stood at the front.
He was shaking.
He looked at the vat. He could feel the heat on his face. He remembered the stories of the Iron Tree Hell, where sinners were impaled on spikes.
I should run, Red Dog thought. I have a stash of coins. I can flee to Sector 8.
He looked up at the catwalk.
He saw Ren Wu.
Ren wasn't looking at the crowd. He was looking at Red Dog. His expression wasn't angry. It was... waiting.
Red Dog remembered his life before this week.
He had been a rat. He had scrapped for copper wire. He had paid taxes to the Consortium like a good little slave. He had spent forty years being afraid.
Then he met Ren.
And for the first time in forty years, Red Dog felt like he mattered.
If I run now, Red Dog realized, I will be a rat forever.
He clenched his fists. The Dragon-Tooth Ash in his system pulsed, urging him forward.
"I..." Red Dog's voice cracked.
He stepped forward.
"I will do it."
The crowd parted.
Red Dog walked to the edge of the vat. He took off his red bandana—the symbol of his old life—and dropped it on the floor.
He looked up at Ren.
"For the Minister," Red Dog whispered.
He closed his eyes.
He jumped.
SPLASH.
"AAAAAGGGHHHHH!"
The scream wasn't human. It was the sound of a soul being ripped apart.
Steam exploded from the vat. The smell of burning ectoplasm filled the air.
"Oh god," Jian gagged, covering his mouth. "He's melting! Ren, stop it! He's dying!"
Ren didn't blink. He gripped the railing.
"Hold," Ren ordered.
The screaming stopped.
The vat bubbled.
Then... a hand grabbed the rim.
It wasn't a hand. It was a gauntlet.
The fingers were thick, black iron. The skin wasn't flesh; it was Matte Metal.
CLANG.
A figure pulled itself out of the sludge.
He stood up. He was a foot taller than before. His shoulders were twice as wide. The "Red Dog" tattoos were gone, burned away by the baptism. In their place, his skin was a seamless, armored shell of dark iron.
He opened his eyes.
They didn't have whites. They were solid, burning gold.
He didn't breathe. He didn't shiver.
He stood like a statue.
"Jian," Ren said. "Scan him."
Jian's hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped the scanner.
[TARGET: UNKNOWN ENTITY]
[AUTHORITY: TIER-2 (HEAVY INFANTRY)]
[ATTRIBUTES: PAIN IMMUNITY, HIGH DENSITY, HIVE MIND LINK]
"Holy..." Jian whispered. "He... he isn't a ghost anymore. He's a Tank. He's a walking Tank."
Dr. Zhu floated down, his mechanical eyes spinning with manic glee. "Fascinating! The iron didn't coat him; it fused with his cellular matrix! He's an Iron-Husked Myrmidon!"
The creature that used to be Red Dog looked up at Ren.
He didn't shout. He didn't cheer.
He slammed his right fist against his chest.
CLANG.
The sound rang through the factory like a temple bell.
The Legion Rises
The crowd stared.
They saw the power. They saw the armor. They saw the gold in his eyes.
Fear vanished.
It was replaced by Envy.
"Me!" A ghost shouted, running forward. "Me next!"
"I want it! I want the Iron!"
"Glory to the Minister!"
They surged forward. It wasn't a line; it was a stampede.
SPLASH. SCREAM. THUD.
SPLASH. SCREAM. THUD.
One by one, they jumped into the boiling metal. The screams were terrible, but brief. And every time a scream ended, a heavy, metallic CLANG followed.
Ren watched from the catwalk.
By dawn, the screaming had stopped.
Five hundred figures stood in the factory courtyard.
They were identical. Massive, black-iron soldiers with golden eyes. They stood in perfect rows. They didn't fidget. They didn't talk. They didn't blink.
The "Red Bandana Gang" was dead.
The Iron-Ash Legion was born.
Ren turned to Ye Lingshan.
"They are strong," Ren said. "But they are raw. They have power, but no skill."
Ren gestured to the army below.
"Lingshan."
"Sir?" Lingshan straightened up. She looked at the army, and for the first time, she didn't look like a bodyguard. She looked like a predator finding a new pack.
"Train them," Ren ordered. "Drill them until they move as one. If they twitch, break them. If they hesitate, melt them down."
Lingshan smiled. It was a terrifying, beautiful smile.
"With pleasure, Sir."
She vaulted over the railing, landing in the center of the iron formation with a heavy impact.
"ATTENTION!" Lingshan roared.
Five hundred iron heels slammed together.
BOOM.
The factory shook.
The Escalation
[LOCATION: ALCHEMIST CONSORTIUM HQ - SECTOR 9 BRANCH]
[OFFICE OF SECTION CHIEF ZHAO]
Section Chief Zhao was staring at his monitor.
The "Palm Print" photo was still on one screen. But now, a new alert was flashing on the other.
"He's building an army," Zhao whispered. "He's not just a powerful cultivator. He's a Warlord. He's mass-producing Tier-2 soldiers."
Zhao stood up. He walked to the window. He could see the golden smog rising from the factory in the distance.
"Fine," Zhao hissed. "You want to play with monsters, Ren Wu? Let's play."
He picked up the red phone.
"Get me the R&D Department," Zhao commanded.
"Sir?" the voice on the other end answered.
"The Prototype," Zhao said, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and rage. "The Chem-Mutant. The Level 40 subject."
"But Sir... it's unstable. It eats everything it sees. We can't control it."
"I don't need you to control it," Zhao said, watching the golden smoke.
"I just need you to point it at that factory."
"Wake it up."
[AUTHOR NOTE]
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Red Bandana Thug: "I want to be a gangster!"
Ren Wu: "Request denied. You are now a Tank."
The Legion: Sad clanking noises.
Next Chapter: The Declaration.
Ren Wu doesn't wait for the attack. He broadcasts his voice to the entire sector.
"The Alchemist Consortium is hereby evicted."
The Army is built! Drop a Power Stone to join the ranks! (Warning: May contain traces of molten iron). ⚔️🔥
[END OF CHAPTER 67]