80: Chapter 80: The Players Discover the Iron Teeth Gang

The reconnaissance mission was triggered outside the coverage area of their daily patrols.

While Iron Wall Rebirth was organizing the topographical maps around the Outpost, he noticed a branch path in the eastern tunnels that extended beyond their current exploration range. There were obvious drag marks on the ground of this branch—not from Giant Rats or Blind Eels, but a heavier, more regular footprint. The tread patterns of boots were clearly visible as diagonal grids in the accumulated dust. He posted the coordinates in the channel, labeling them as "Suspected Humanoid Activity Traces," and then submitted a brief application for peripheral reconnaissance to Lin Qiming.

Lin Qiming approved it. He only added a four-word remark: "No combat unless necessary."

The reconnaissance squad set out at the darkest hour. Iron Wall Rebirth led the team, Grey Mist Walker was responsible for flank observation, Rookie One brought up the rear, and Iron Stomach acted as the point man—this arrangement had caused some controversy because Iron Stomach's method of scouting was usually "I'll jump down first and see what's there." But Iron Wall Rebirth insisted on using him, reasoning that Iron Stomach was currently the only person in the entire server who could find a safe passage in complete darkness without relying on any lighting equipment, purely by touch and intuition. This was a skill forged from falling down wells thirty-eight times.

Iron Stomach himself didn't mind. Carrying the reinforced rope Nightsong had lent him, with a short blade and two glow sticks hanging from his waist, he walked at the very front of the team, muttering to himself, "I used to think labyrinths were the hardest terrain to navigate, but then I realized there isn't a single place in the Hive Bottom that isn't a labyrinth."

After walking for about half an hour, Grey Mist Walker raised her fist at a fork in the road. Stop. Sounds were coming from ahead. It wasn't the screeching of Giant Rats or the friction of Blind Eel slime; it was human voices—crude, slurred, and carrying a certain drunken mumble. There was also the light clatter of metal clashing, as if someone was rummaging through a trash heap.

Iron Wall Rebirth leaned against the rock wall and raised two fingers, signaling the team to be silent. Iron Stomach crouched beside him, pointing out the details he observed with his fingers: about thirty meters ahead of the fork, there was a small clearing shielded by a half-collapsed wall. In the center of the clearing was a faint firelight, casting two human shadows. One person was crouching on the ground rummaging through things, while the other stood against the wall with some kind of long-barreled weapon slung over his shoulder. Their clothes were patched canvas work uniforms, with a faded gear-and-fang pattern crudely embroidered on the chest.

"Iron Tooth Gang," Iron Wall Rebirth whispered.

Everyone heard the name in the channel. Lin Qiming had mentioned them before they arrived—one of the local powers in the Hive Bottom, controlling the Old Pump Station and the surrounding scrap recovery passages. They had a ruthless style, possessed crude firearms, and had clashed with the Hammer of Dawn. Later, Lin Qiming had crippled their main force using a series of ambushes, traps, and a large-scale erasure that no one could explain to this day; even their leader, Grail, had died in the caverns of the Deep Rock Workshop. But the gang hadn't completely disappeared. The remaining members had retreated to more remote corners, still struggling to survive.

"Didn't they say the Iron Tooth Gang was crippled by Lin Qiming?" Iron Stomach asked in a low voice.

"Crippled doesn't mean eliminated." Iron Wall Rebirth stared at the movements of the two sentries by the fire. The crouching one pulled a rusted metal valve from the trash, weighed it in his hand, and tossed it into a nearby burlap sack. The standing one shifted his posture against the wall, and the long weapon slid from his shoulder—it was an Autogun with a stock that was falling apart, a Cadia imitation. It wasn't well-maintained, but the muzzle could still fire bullets. "The main force is gone, but remnants remain. These two are probably out scavenging. But Lin Qiming said they control several passages near the Old Pump Station; their remaining strongholds are likely deeper in."

"So what do we do?" Rookie One's muzzle remained pointed forward, his finger resting on the safety.

"Reconnaissance. No combat." Iron Wall Rebirth pulled a charcoal pencil and a flattened piece of metal skin from his waist pouch and began recording rapidly. Sentry positions, numbers, equipment, patrol frequency—it was all blank and needed to be filled in from scratch. Iron Stomach was sent to the flank, crawling up a section of broken ventilation pipe along the shadows of the rock wall to look down from above. Grey Mist Walker was responsible for recording the surrounding environment: passage structures, possible cover positions, and retreat routes. Rookie One continued to stand guard.

Iron Stomach lay prone at the high point for about fifteen minutes. He saw the crouching man stand up, and another companion take his place to continue rummaging through the trash. He saw the man by the wall yawn, pull half a piece of low-grade tobacco from his pocket, light it with the embers from the fire pit, take a puff, and blow a cloud of grey smoke into the darkness. He saw that beyond the firelight, there was an even narrower passage leading deeper, where he could faintly hear more human voices and occasional metallic clinking.

He drew what he saw on the metal skin—a vertical line for the fork, a circle for the clearing, two Xs for the sentry positions, and an arrow pointing to the deeper passage. When he finished, he folded the metal skin, quietly slid down from the ventilation pipe, and pressed it into Iron Wall Rebirth's hand.

"Two people on guard. There's another one sleeping in the clearing on a tattered blanket; I couldn't see his equipment clearly. In the passage further in, I could faintly hear clinking; there are probably more people in the deeper areas." He paused, then added, "I don't think it's just two. There might be three or four, or even more."

"This isn't a scavenging party," Grey Mist Walker put down her recording board, her gaze darkening. "It's an outer sentry post. They're guarding something, or acting as lookouts for those deeper inside." She looked at Iron Wall Rebirth's metal skin sketch and pointed to the direction the arrow indicated. "There might be more people in there."

Rookie One's muzzle didn't waver. Crouching on the ground, he shifted his gaze from the sights for a moment, looked at Iron Wall Rebirth's profile, and said, "We need to take the location of this sentry post back to the Outpost. But we can't just bring back the location. We need to know how many people they have, how many guns, and their shift times. Otherwise, Lord Lin Qiming won't approve a combat mission."

Grey Mist Walker added, "We also need to know what that clinking sound further in is—if it's not just noise, but some kind of signal, or something else we don't know about." She paused, her voice dropping even lower. "The leader of the Iron Tooth Gang, Grail, was a Chaos Mutant. Although he's dead, there might still be corrupted individuals among his remaining members."

Iron Stomach placed his hand on the short blade at his waist. He didn't speak, just looked at Iron Wall Rebirth, waiting for him to make a decision. Iron Wall Rebirth replayed the reconnaissance squad's formation in his mind, then wrote down a preliminary plan for follow-up reconnaissance. One copy would be taken back to the Outpost for Lin Qiming, and another encrypted copy would be sent to Dark Blade and Grey Mist Walker each. "Next, we need to map out their sentry positions, numbers, and firepower. After returning, we'll submit a reconnaissance report to Lord Lin Qiming and apply for further scouting or a tentative contact. Remember the order he approved—no combat unless necessary. We're not here to fight; we're here to scout the way."

They quietly retreated the way they came. Their heels stepped into the old grime at the entrance of the ancient pipes without disturbing any torches. Behind them, the Iron Tooth Gang sentry yawned again and tossed his cigarette butt into the fire pit, the charcoal embers collapsing into a few sparks. The Old Pump Station still slept within its own heavy sound of ventilation, unaware that this long-silent ruin was about to face a subversive battle.