Chapter 94
Wen Xin listened intently. The large factory had multiple sources of the hammering sound, but one, deep within, was constant and deafening.
As they moved closer, the ground seemed to tremble with each strike.
The little walrus attempted to sense any presence.
After several seconds, it hesitated and said, “I can’t detect any mutant’s aura inside.”
That only made the situation more unsettling.
Could it really be humans working inside?
It seemed implausible that anyone would remain in such a perilous pollution zone to forge steel.
Wen Xin continued his cautious inspection of the factory’s perimeter.
The back door’s lock had been violently damaged by some unknown creature, with the core jammed into the lock. The other eight windows were sealed with either iron plates or wire mesh, making a forced entry noisy and conspicuous.
Peering through a gap in the wire mesh, Wen Xin caught glimpses of busy figures moving inside, clad in protective suits identical to his own.
Were they the missing rodent workers? Or perhaps trainers from an earlier expedition?
Wen Xin didn’t linger on speculation.
He made a bold and efficient decision.
“We’re going through the front door.”
Ah Lü grinned, its eyes gleaming with latent ferocity. “Exactly what I hoped for.”
Knock, knock.
The sound of knocking reverberated against the factory door, halting the workers inside mid-task.
The knocking persisted. The workers exchanged a few words before the nearest one approached to undo the chain securing the door.
The moment the lock loosened, a thin, bony hand darted through the crack, grabbing the worker’s arm and twisting it behind their back.
“Apologies for the intrusion,” Wen Xin said briskly.
The workers stared at him in stunned silence, their dazed expressions betraying their slow comprehension.
The next second, they erupted into panicked screams, dropping their tools as they fled deeper into the factory in a chaotic stampede.
Ah Lü, who had been gearing up to unleash its full strength, was left speechless. “?”
It had terrified many enemies into fleeing before, but never had it seen anyone run so decisively without even witnessing its power.
The worker Wen Xin had restrained struggled against his grip. Sensing little resistance, Wen Xin let him go. The man bolted on all fours, scrambling away as fast as he could.
In the blink of an eye, every single one of the workers had vanished, leaving not a trace behind.
Ah Lü froze mid-motion, its claws raised in the air. Looking around aimlessly, it finally lowered them, its mouth twitching in disbelief. “What on earth were they even doing here?”
“Don’t let your guard down.”
Wen Xin remained alert, advancing deeper into the factory with his gun drawn as he methodically analyzed the situation. “They fled quickly and without hesitation, which suggests they believe there’s something inside this place that can protect them.”
“Ah Lü, under what circumstances would you be unable to sense a mutant’s presence?”
The scaly tree viper frowned. “Either the mutant has a high-level ability to conceal itself, or…”
Its voice trailed off abruptly.
Or the alternative—there was an S-class apex predator inside, one of their kind, capable of fully suppressing its aura!
The little walrus realized the significance of this as well. It looked at Wen Xin, who was walking ahead and frantically tugged at his pants.
“No, Wen Xin, come back! It’s too dangerous!”
The rhythmic clanging of hammer on steel from within the factory suddenly ceased. For several long seconds, an oppressive silence filled the air, so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
Lan Tuan’s warning came a moment too late. Before it could finish speaking, Wen Xin had already stepped into the inner chamber of the factory.
It wasn’t that Wen Xin was being reckless—he had glimpsed a small, purple figure.
That one look was enough to drive out all hesitation. He strode forward, urgency in his every step.
“It’s him!”
The workers who had fled into the corner cried out in panic, pointing at Wen Xin. “He’s the one! He attacked us the moment he showed up! He wants to kill us!”
The second half of their accusation was a complete fabrication.
But Wen Xin paid them no attention. His focus was entirely on the furry figure standing with its back to him.
Its body was small and fluffy, no taller than a drinking cup, easily fitting in one hand. Two pointy ears peeked out above a bushy tail, plush and thick like a stuffed toy. The distinct purple fur left no doubt.
Before Wen Xin had noticed it, the little squirrel had been busy hammering away, its small paws rhythmically swinging a hammer with surprising precision.
Wen Xin’s hands clenched into fists.
It was his Ah Zi.
The one and only in the entire world.
High-pitched screams erupted from the workers. “He’s getting closer! He’s coming for us!”
The small squirrel seemed to notice Wen Xin approaching and turned its head, revealing eyes tinged with a vivid crimson.
Wen Xin remembered well that one of the hallmarks of a mutant’s berserk state was a hormonal surge that caused bloodshot eyes, often depicted in movies.
Yet he didn’t stop.
The other cubs tried to block him, but he scooped them up in one arm without breaking his stride.
Ah Zi needed comfort. How could he stop now?
The workers, pale with terror, glanced between Wen Xin and the squirrel. “He’s here—why isn’t it…?”
Wen Xin could almost guess the rest of their unsaid words.
Why isn’t it attacking?
Why isn’t it protecting us from this enemy?
Wen Xin’s gaze, typically warm and serene, now carried a sharp, icy anger.
To the workers’ horror, he reached out and pulled the purple squirrel into his arms.
“Why does it have to attack?” Wen Xin’s voice was low and bitter.
The calloused palm resting on the back of the squirrel’s head radiated warmth, an unyielding protection that made the little creature feel immensely secure.
After staying motionless for so long, the squirrel blinked.
“Squeak.”
Wen Xin, his brows furrowed in tension, was suddenly caught off guard by tiny paws grabbing at his chin.
He looked down and locked eyes with a pair of flickering crimson pupils.
The squirrel carefully patted Wen Xin’s face, then squeaked excitedly, “Squeak! Squeak-squeak?”
Wen Xin was briefly stunned, unsure why the little creature seemed so exuberantly joyful.
The other bundles, however, understood. The purple squirrel was delightedly exclaiming, “So it wasn’t my imagination! You’re really here! But why are you here of all places?”
Something wasn’t adding up.
Ah Zi’s condition and emotions were extraordinarily stable, completely unlike the state of someone who had lost their self-control.
Ah Lü couldn’t resist reaching out a claw to poke the squirrel’s tail. “Wait, you’re not berserk?”
“Berserk? What’s that?” The purple squirrel tilted its head in confusion before it suddenly realized something. “And wait—you’re actually speaking human language now?”
Ah Lü bristled. “That was situational! I didn’t choose to learn it!”
At that moment, a commotion broke out outside the factory. A cacophony of hurried footsteps signaled the arrival of the security team, who charged into the inner chamber at full speed.
Seeing Wen Xin holding the purple squirrel with one arm, their minds went blank. The team leader’s voice cracked with panic as he shouted, “What are you doing?! Put the Director down! Whatever you want, we’ll give it to you!”
Director? What Director?
Was the factory’s director here?
For once, Wen Xin was too bewildered to process the situation immediately. Keeping his composure, he slowly looked down.
The three other bundles also turned their attention to the purple squirrel.
The squirrel adjusted itself in Wen Xin’s arms for a more comfortable position. Finally noticing the shocked gazes, it muttered sheepishly, “Did you all misunderstand something?”
Wen Xin raised his head.
The security personnel stood frozen, their faces twisted with anger. Their hands trembled as they gripped their guns tightly. If they were small, furry creatures, their fur would have puffed out like dandelion fluff by now.
Behind him, the workers scrambled to pick up their discarded tools—iron shovels and hammers. Ever since Wen Xin had scooped the purple squirrel into his arms, they had remained in this state of both fear and rage, as if Wen Xin had stolen something vital from them.
“…” Wen Xin spoke slowly, “Perhaps there’s been some misunderstanding.”
The misunderstanding, however, wasn’t difficult to clear up.
The purple squirrel lounged comfortably in Wen Xin’s embrace, its relaxed and even slightly indulgent demeanor proof enough that it wasn’t being coerced.
One of the security personnel knelt, his voice trembling with earnestness as he addressed the little squirrel nestled in Wen Xin’s arms. “We failed you during the incident involving the collaboration with Desire Market. It almost caused you harm, and we’ve been too ashamed to face you since.”
Another security guard chimed in apologetically, “Today, the situation was urgent. Along the way here, we saw the remains of several mutants that had been wiped out. We thought Desire Market had infiltrated the factory again, intending to harm you.”
It wasn’t hard to understand their perspective.
Ordinary people, no matter how well-equipped, couldn’t have dealt with so many mutants in such a short amount of time. Yet all those mutants had been eliminated within just a few hours.
As for the few mutants accompanying Wen Xin? The security personnel, lacking experience, couldn’t grasp their significance. Their hiring notice for trainers had been posted for over ten days, and it was only today that they happened to find someone claiming to be one. But the so-called trainers turned out to be complete frauds, offering no assistance whatsoever.
Under such circumstances, it was natural for the guards to suspect Desire Market. After suffering at their hands once, the guards assumed they were back to cause trouble again and to target their “director.”
The purple squirrel suddenly caught on and pointed to the workers nearby, who still hadn’t figured out what was happening. “Wait a minute—are you saying they weren’t sent here to help?”
Its understanding of the situation differed just slightly from the guards’ perspective.
Back when the squirrel was searching for a suitable place to evolve, it had stumbled upon the Aurora Armory on the southern border during a zombie horde attack.
The armory was in shambles. The concrete and steel walls, meant to hold off the undead, were crumbling. Falling debris had crushed one person, while a broken steel rod pierced through another’s chest, leaving blood pooling on the ground.
Dozens of zombies had breached the opening, pouncing on humans and tearing into them.
The air was filled with screams and growls, while the bone-chilling sound of chewing never ceased.
The purple squirrel had been doing good deeds along its journey—not out of altruism, but as a way to remind itself not to succumb to its natural instincts for violence.
So, when it saw that horrific scene, it charged in without hesitation.
An A-class mutant with near-S-class power, it easily cleared the zombies, which hadn’t evolved beyond their base forms.
In the process, it saved a middle-aged man, who introduced himself as the director of the armory—the last remaining member of its management team.
The director explained that after the apocalypse began, the noise generated by the armory’s equipment had attracted all the zombies in the city’s outskirts. While some employees had escaped with weapons, many never returned. Others, realizing something was amiss after successive zombie waves, took critical blueprints and supplies to defect to Desire Market.
With limited authority, the director had been powerless to stop them, leaving the armory on the brink of collapse.
The purple squirrel decided to stay. It found the act of forging metal strenuous enough to burn off its excess energy, preventing it from going berserk.
To put it plainly, exhausting itself to the brink meant it had no strength left to lose control.
At that time, many machines had stopped working due to a lack of electricity, forcing the remaining survivors to resort to manual labor to create weapons for their defense.
It was an almost unbelievable situation.
But, much like the historical figures who calculated nuclear yields with nothing more than abacuses, these survivors had no choice but to create conditions to ensure their survival.
The purple squirrel joined them in forging.
As it worked, the others stopped what they were doing to gape in astonishment at the small creature wielding its hammer like a spinning whirlwind. Their faces were painted with disbelief and awe.
Within two or three days, the director began respectfully addressing the purple squirrel as “Factory Director.”
The collaboration between the armory and Desire Market had been an accident—a forced decision.
While the machinery could operate once electricity was restored, humans still needed food, water, and spices to survive. Although they could grow crops, they lacked seeds.
Desire Market, backed by Base One, had monopolized almost all resources in the region. Vital supplies could only be obtained through them.
However, during that collaboration, the armory suffered a betrayal.
The purple squirrel’s existence was exposed.
Desire Market, eager to study how to control mutants, saw the squirrel as a prime target. Its rarity as a mutant friendly to humans only fueled their interest.
But they severely underestimated the squirrel’s combat capabilities.
Their ambush included seven medium-sized armored vehicles, one heavy armored vehicle, over a dozen fighter planes, and an entire company of armed personnel.
By the end, fighter planes had been hammered out of the sky, their wreckage crashing under its relentless strikes. The heavily armored vehicle, overwhelmed by the impact, exploded catastrophically, leaving its scorched frame a charcoal husk. The armored vehicles had their barrels twisted and split, their steel plating shredded like paper, while their interiors looked like gutted crabs, pitifully exposed to the world.
Not a single soldier from the company survived.
The small purple squirrel had only stretched its limbs and moved around a little, yet it brought them face-to-face with a fear so overwhelming it seemed capable of annihilating everything.
When the battle was over, the purple squirrel stood amidst the bloodstained ground, leisurely licking its paws.
Sensing it was nearing a critical point for evolution, it casually informed the dazed director to evacuate everyone and to avoid approaching its nest to prevent accidental injuries.
The director obeyed, and after that day, the purple squirrel saw no one else.
It entered a stable and secure evolution phase.
The only issue arose when it woke one day to find the air filled with strange red mist.
Its strength hadn’t fully stabilized yet.
After scouting around and confirming everyone had safely evacuated, the purple squirrel returned to its routine—hammering away at metal.
It believed in finishing what it started. There were several cannons left incomplete in the old factory, and it resolved to finish them before leaving.
Its focus became so intense that when it finally looked up, there were several trembling humans huddled in the factory’s corners.
Asking around, it discovered they were workers recruited by the armory.
The squirrel assumed they were its people.
Seeing them constantly following behind and unwilling to leave, it figured the director must have sent them over to help. Accepting their presence, it let them stay.
The reactions from the little cubs were mixed.
Ah Lü muttered, “That’s a level of carelessness I can’t even imagine.”
The little walrus grumbled, “Well, as long as everything’s fine.”
San San, the red panda, chirped, “You’re actually really nice, you know.”
The purple squirrel, suddenly given a “Good Squirrel” card, turned its attention to the new addition. After a few curious glances, its similar fur color made it feel a sense of kinship. “You’re still young, aren’t you? How old are you?”
The red panda, basking in rare elder-like attention, eagerly replied, “I’m not an adult yet, but I’m one year old!”
The purple squirrel patted its head. “Still just a little one.”
Wen Xin meticulously examined the purple squirrel’s body. Thankfully, it wasn’t injured like Ah Jiu had been, covered in scars.
Though he trusted his companions’ abilities, he couldn’t help but worry about potential mishaps. Even powerful creatures like the blue whale had come close to disaster.
Softly, he reminded the squirrel, “Next time, ask questions first. What if someone exploits the opportunity to ambush you again?”
The squirrel, having not heard the youth’s voice for so long, fell silent to savor the sound. After a moment, it admitted, “I didn’t realize the misunderstanding had gotten this bad. I was just too focused and overlooked everything else.”
Turning toward the workers, it asked suspiciously, “But why didn’t you explain who you were?”
The workers were the missing rodent workers.
Attacked by mutants, their group had been scattered. The survivors fled in desperation, stumbling upon the friendly purple squirrel by sheer chance.
Here, they found safety. By working hard, they had food, shelter, and the squirrel’s protection.
What more could they ask for?
The term “rodent workers” originated as slang in Desire Market, used to describe the lowest-tier laborers. Over time, people forgot the official term and stuck with “rodent workers,” dumping all menial, grueling, or life-risking tasks on them.
These workers were like rats living in the gutters. Even a glimmer of light was something they desperately clung to.
The security guards, however, erupted in anger. “So you intentionally hid the truth from the Director?!”
They had assumed the betrayal during the Desire Market incident had angered the Factory Director so much that it refused to see anyone, even issuing a death threat to those who approached.
“…” Wen Xin softly asked the purple squirrel, “Did you really say anyone who approached would die?”
The squirrel looked equally surprised. “What I said was, anyone who came near might die.”
After all, its emotions were unstable during evolution, and it could have gone berserk at any moment.
With that clarification, the situation finally began to resolve itself.
The security personnel stopped berating the workers and instead humbly pleaded, “Ultimately, it was our fault. We blamed ourselves so much we didn’t dare approach to ask for forgiveness.”
“And the director, too—he’s been blaming himself for failing to protect you. Lately, he’s been distrustful and erratic. If possible… could you see him? Just once?”
The purple squirrel sighed. “If it’s gotten this bad, how can I not go back?”
“Besides, I’ve just finished making a new weapon. He can help test it.”
Wen Xin had already noticed the colossal object at the center of the factory. Sitting atop a steel frame of dozens of columns, it was draped in a dust cover that partially revealed the outline of a cannon’s muzzle.
“Is it that?”
“Yep. I was worried Desire Market would bully the armory after I left, so I rushed to finish it.”
The purple squirrel leaped over and yanked the cover away with its paws.
Streams of dazzling silver light cascaded down, revealing the steel behemoth in all its majestic glory.
This… This was—!
Wen Xin stood stunned, overwhelmed by its grandeur.
He heard the purple squirrel’s voice, brimming with excitement. “I haven’t settled the score with Desire Market yet. Wen Xin, want to take it for a spin?”
