338: Vulnerability Detection

The hope was stuck in an ice pit; the rear right wheel couldn't move, and the front left wheel had just managed to break free a sliver.

The roof was scorched black, the Shield was broken, and only a few wires remained, sparking with electricity.

Inside the cockpit, the blood on Chen Wang's forehead had already dried, forming a dark red line that ran from his eyebrow to the side of his nose.

He didn't wipe it away; his left hand gripped the control stick, while his right hand hovered over the control panel, just three centimeters away from the switch.

The mech was twenty meters away, half-kneeling in the snow with both hands braced on the ground.

The light in its chest flickered on and off, its heat sinks opened and closed, and it emitted a low buzzing sound.

After that purplish-black beam was fired, the air was still trembling.

Chen Wang stared at it, unblinking, his breathing light.

He knew the next strike wouldn't be a random sweep or a ground smash.

That previous strike had consumed too much energy; now, the mech needed to cool down.

And during cooling, it was at its weakest.

He raised his right hand and swiped across the screen.

The screen flickered, and a [Main Circuit Current Disturbance] warning popped up.

The impact when the Shield exploded had nearly fried the system, and two fuses had blown.

He didn't wait for the automatic repair; he used his fingernails to pry open the small cover under the panel, revealing three copper wires.

The middle one was blackened, and the edges were slightly scorched.

He took out insulating tape from his tool kit, tore off a piece, wrapped it around the connection, and then used a wrench to tighten the screws.

His movements were slow, afraid that a shake would cause a short circuit.

It was fixed.

The screen returned to normal, displaying the vehicle's status: Life Support System at 37%, thrusters available for one use (countdown 28 seconds), weapons on standby, and the electromagnetic cannon charged to 41%.

He didn't look at these, but instead pulled up the recording of the past thirty seconds.

The footage played in reverse, starting from when the Shield shattered: the mech gathering energy in its hands, firing the beam, the shockwave spreading, the vehicle shaking, the system disconnecting...

He slowed the speed down, watching it frame by frame.

At frame 37, a ball of light appeared in the mech's palm, and all the heat sinks on its back opened fully.

At frame 41, the beam was fired, and the heat sinks closed immediately.

At frame 59, the attack ended, and core power dropped to 62%, but the middle row of heat sinks didn't open again until frame 73—0.8 seconds too late.

He zoomed in on the image, staring at that middle vent.

Most people wouldn't notice this slight delay, but he did.

It was like an old machine hitching because it was spinning too fast.

He had seen this kind of thing at a repair shop when he was a child: modified motors sacrificed heat protection for speed, forcing them to pause to cool down whenever they were pushed hard.

This wasn't a malfunction; it was a design choice—prioritizing explosive power over stability.

He looked down at his hands.

His palms were still oily, and his fingernails were cracked.

When he was twelve, his father taught him to listen to the sound of engines.

A truck that had run four hundred thousand kilometers would always sound like it was coughing when idling.

His father had said, "It's not a bearing issue; the oil pipe connector is loose, and the vibration has synced up with the crankshaft."

He hadn't believed it, but when he took it apart, it was true.

The current mech was the same.

Energy was sent from the core to the arms, power was maxed out, and the cooling couldn't keep up.

The middle heat vent opening late meant that heat was trapped inside for that instant, causing pressure to rise.

If a strike came from the outside at that moment, even a small one, it could cause the hot metal to crack, just like cold water dripping onto burning iron.

He immediately switched to thermal imaging to look at the mech's temperature map.

The chest was deep red, the shoulders were orange-yellow, and among the three rows of heat sinks on its back, the sides were normal, but the middle row was extremely hot, with the edges already starting to turn white.

He circled three points on the screen: first was the middle vent on the back, second was the energy pipe interface on the left shoulder, and third was the connection between the chest core and the body.

These three places were connected; break any one of them, and the entire system would collapse.

But he couldn't do it himself.

The electromagnetic cannon needed stability, and since the vehicle was tilted, he couldn't aim accurately.

The thrusters could only fire once; once used, there would be no way back.

He had to rely on others for help.

He pressed the communication key, and the system popped up the [Formation Terminal Connection Test] interface.

Five signals were listed on the screen, representing five vehicles they had fought alongside.

He sent encrypted signals to each one, waiting for a response.

The first didn't respond, the second was disconnected, and the third flashed a green light before going out—perhaps its antenna was broken, or the crew was incapacitated.

The fourth remained grey.

The fifth had a weak response after three seconds, with a 12% signal, located north-northwest, fourteen hundred meters away.

After seven seconds, the third signal lit up again, its strength rising to 19%.

Two were still usable; their positions were different, but both were within range.

He immediately assigned tasks: first, hit the back heat vent to make the heat unbalanced; then hit the left shoulder pipe to cut off power to the left arm; and finally, hit the core connection to completely shut down the power.

The order couldn't be wrong; if it was, it would be useless.

He opened the map, marked the positions of the two vehicles, and calculated the shooting angles.

The one to the northwest was at the side-rear, best suited for hitting the back; the other was due north, the angle was a bit off, but it could hit the left shoulder.

He bundled the targets and order into data, preparing for a mass broadcast.

At this moment, the mech moved.

It slowly raised its body, knees bent, center of gravity shifting backward, as if it were about to jump.

The heat sinks on its back were still moving, but faster now, and the light in its chest brightened, reaching 78%.

It was recharging, and faster than before.

Chen Wang knew the opponent was also adjusting settings, trying to shorten the cooling time.

He couldn't wait any longer.

He canceled the mass broadcast and switched to sending them manually, one by one.

First, he sent a message to the vehicle in the northwest: "The target is the middle heat vent on the back; prepare to fire together."

After confirming receipt, he sent to the vehicle due north: "Lock onto the left shoulder pipe; wait for my command."

Both replied; the signals were stable.

He took a deep breath; it felt like ice shards were pricking his lungs.

The wind and snow hit the glass, blurring his vision for a moment.

He wiped it with the back of his glove and continued to stare at the screen.

The mech's sound changed, shifting from low-pitched to sharp—this was a signal that it was reaching its limit.

He put on his headphones, turned the volume to the max, and pressed his ears close to listen.

When he was a child, his father had made him close his eyes and listen to the engine.

He had said, "Parts don't lie; the sound is the most truthful."

Now, it was the same for him.

The sound of this mech was exposing its weakness.

The sound grew sharper and sharper, then suddenly there was a "click," like gears not meshing properly.

Now was the time.

He pressed the talk button, his voice neither shaking nor loud, and simply said, "Target the mech's middle back heat vent; prepare to concentrate fire—three, two, one, fire!"

As the words left his lips, he pulled the control stick, activating the wheel hub motor for one final short burst.

The hope's body lurched sharply to the right, the chassis scraping against the ice with a piercing sound, exposing the secondary cannon port on the right side.

He didn't fire; he just opened up the angle to help create a better shooting opportunity for those in the distance.

He stared at the screen, waiting for the result.

The signal from the northwest was vibrating, energy surging sharply.

The vehicle due north was also ready.

The mech was still holding its power-up posture, heat sinks fully open, core brightness reaching 89%.

It was about to strike in the next second.

Chen Wang's finger hovered over the manual button for the electromagnetic cannon.

If the long-range shots missed, he would have to fire the first shot himself.

Even if he missed, he had to force it to stop charging.

Amidst the wind and snow, a soft sound came from the distance, like a wrench dropping on the ground.

Immediately after, the system popped up a prompt: [External high-energy fluctuation detected, source direction 32 degrees northwest].

He didn't turn around, nor did he let go, just watching that row of heat sinks in the middle of the mech's back.

One second.

Two seconds.

The third second, sparks burst from the edge of the heat sink, followed by a thin crack extending outward from the center.

On the temperature map, that spot instantly turned from white to black—the material had failed.

It worked.