274: Chapter 274 Zhang Dabiao's Safe Retreat

Zhang Dabiao used his right hand to prop the mecha up from the pit.

When standing up, his knees staggered, and he had to kneel for a moment before steadying himself.

The entire mecha's center of gravity was pulled sideways by that dead left arm, causing it to limp as it walked.

He turned his head to glance at the heavenly meteor warblade—stuck in the gravel more than a hundred meters away, with its hilt facing the sky.

In his current state, it would be a struggle even to go over and pull out the blade.

Forget it.

The flight thrusters were jammed; he couldn't fly.

It was about twelve hundred kilometers from here to the Forward Base; walking back would probably take a month.

He said in the communication channel, "I'm fine. The mecha's left arm is wrecked, and I can't fly. I can only walk back."

Su Mingyuan's voice intermittently drilled through the static: "...Received... Sending someone... to pick you up..."

About three minutes later, Zhang Dabiao's optical sensors captured movement ahead.

Ten green light spots rapidly approached from the direction of the Forward Base, arranged in an arrowhead formation.

Those were ten mechas in flight mode, their back thrusters dragging blue-white exhaust flames, looking like ten moving stars under the gray canopy of heaven.

Su Mingyuan's voice came through the communicator, clear this time: "Zhang Dabiao, stay put. Ten mechas are coming to pick you up; two will support you as you walk, and eight will guard the perimeter."

"Ten?" Zhang Dabiao felt it was a bit too much. "There's no need to make such a big fuss."

"That old man is still standing outside the protective shield," Su Mingyuan said. "If he gets a whim and hits you again, a lame mecha like yours won't even be able to run."

Zhang Dabiao didn't say anything more.

He stood in place waiting, while sweeping a glance toward the north through his sensors.

The Spirit-Controlling Daoist outside the protective shield was still standing in place, with no intention of attacking him again.

The ten mechas arrived quickly.

The team leader was the pilot of S-07, surnamed Liu, with A-grade Root Bone and a First-Order Martial Artist. His piloting skills were considered top-tier among ordinary pilots.

"Captain Zhang, we're here." Liu's voice came over the channel. "The one on your right is S-12, and the left is S-04. The two of them will support you as you walk. The other eight mechas will prepare to cover the rear."

S-12 and S-04 landed on either side of Zhang Dabiao. One extended its arm from the right to rest on S-01's right shoulder, while the other supported the sagging left arm from the left, lifting it slightly to avoid dragging on the ground.

The three mechas walked forward side by side, their paces gradually synchronizing after a few steps of adjustment.

The remaining eight dispersed around them, four in front and four in the rear. Their heavenly meteor warblades had all been drawn and held in their hands, with the tips pointing outward.

After walking for about two minutes, Zhang Dabiao suddenly said, "Don't forget to bring my blade."

Liu of S-07 acknowledged and sent one mecha over to pull out the blade.

That mecha walked up to the heavenly meteor warblade and bent down to pull it out—the blade was stuck quite deep, inserted nearly half a meter in, and a lot of gravel came out with it when pulled.

After pulling it out, it carried it horizontally in its hand, ran a few steps to catch up with the team, and handed the blade to S-01.

Zhang Dabiao took the blade with his right hand, weighed it in his hand, and hung it back onto the clasp on his back.

When the hilt snapped into place, it produced a muffled sound of metal hitting metal, which made people feel a little more at ease.

The team marched at a steady speed toward the Forward Base.

After walking for about five or six minutes, the communication channel suddenly fell quiet for a moment, and then Su Mingyuan's voice came in.

"Zhang Dabiao."

"Present."

"When you had contact with him in front earlier, how did your body feel?"

Zhang Dabiao thought about it.

"Cold sweat," he said. "I was in the cockpit with the air conditioning on at twenty-two degrees Celsius, but a layer of sweat seeped out of my back. It wasn't from the heat; the body just secreted it on its own. It was just like encountering a poisonous snake in the mountains when I was a kid—before even seeing the thing, my hairs stood on end."

Su Mingyuan did not speak again.

The team continued traveling for more than ten minutes, and the outline of the Forward Base emerged from the gray horizon.

Concrete walls, guard towers, searchlights, and rows of mecha figures on the tarmac.

The northern gate of the base opened, and three side-by-side mechas squeezed in sideways, followed by the eight guard mechas.

Technicians in the maintenance area were already waiting. The lifting platforms unfolded, and hydraulic wrenches and welding tools were scattered all over the ground.

S-01 walked to the parking spot and squatted down. The cockpit cover popped open, and Zhang Dabiao tumbled out from inside.

There was no special expression on his face, but his legs felt a bit weak when he walked down—not from an injury, but because the oppressive feeling from earlier had lasted too long, and the taut string in his body went limp the moment it relaxed.

The tactile sensation of the ground changed from the mecha's metal to concrete and gravel, feeling hard beneath his military boots. This sensation confirmed one thing to his brain: he had returned alive.

A medic ran over to check on him, and he waved his hand to say he was fine, but he was still dragged over to sit for five minutes. His blood pressure was measured, and his papillary reflexes were checked to confirm there was no concussion.

The red mark left by the seatbelt on his neck had already begun to turn purple.

Su Mingyuan walked out of the Command Center, standing at the doorway and looking at S-01 in the maintenance area.

Several technicians were measuring back and forth around the sunken large pit on the chest armor, shaking their heads.

The depression depth was twelve centimeters. The skyfall steel armor plate had been forcibly pressed in by external force without cracks on the edges; it was an overall deformation—meaning that force was not concentrated on a single point, but evenly pushed across a surface, pushing forward flatly like a wall.

Su Mingyuan looked at the dent for about ten seconds, then turned around and returned to the Command Center.

When Zhang Dabiao finished his checkup and walked in, Su Mingyuan had already returned to his seat, with both screens in front of him turned on.

On the left was the real-time monitoring footage of the protective shield, and on the right was Tao Zhe's face.

"Sit," Su Mingyuan pointed to the chair opposite him.

Zhang Dabiao walked over, sat down, groped for his thermos cup from beside his feet, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip.

"Tell me the details," Su Mingyuan said. "From when you approached to within two hundred meters, to when you were blown away, what happened in between? Don't miss a single detail."

Zhang Dabiao placed the thermos on his knees and recalled.

"When I stopped at two hundred meters, he started talking. Not with his mouth, but stuffing it straight into my brain. That feeling was very uncomfortable, like someone poked their fingers into the back of your head and flicked something. What he spoke was neither Mandarin nor English, but I could understand every word, and the meaning was directly in my brain."

"After he finished speaking, I transferred the content to you. Then you said those words using the loudspeaker. After he heard it, there was a slightly surprised expression on his face for about two seconds, and then he directly made a move on me."

Zhang Dabiao's speaking speed slowed down.

"No anomalies were detected. He just raised his hand and pushed forward slightly. His wrist hardly moved, like pushing a door. I pressed emergency evasion when I saw him raise his hand, but it was useless. That force arrived too fast; my reaction time is about zero point two seconds, but that thing took less than zero point one seconds to reach me."

"There was no pain when I was hit by the push," he added. "It was just that my whole body was pressed against the seat, the seatbelt embedded into my chest, and then the whole mecha flew away."

Su Mingyuan didn't speak; he was looking at Tao Zhe.

Tao Zhe's face wore a rare expression—both excited and troubled.

Excited because of the data, and troubled also because of the data.

"I've pulled up and repeatedly reviewed all the energy records from the exact moment Zhang Dabiao was blown away four times," Tao Zhe said. "There is a very important discovery."

Su Mingyuan said, "Speak."