[Scene 1: Phantom Limbs and Scrap Metal]

  In the Hall of Mirrors, there was no sunrise, only an eternal pulse.

  The only reference for time was the "Chaos Engine" suspended in the center of the hall. Like a heart torn from the chest of a primordial beast, it thumped once every three seconds. Accompanied by a low hum that vibrated against the periosteum, it pumped purple-gold mana into the intricate network of crystal conduits lining the surrounding walls.

  But in the corner known as the "Scrap Iron Hotel"—Savage’s affectionate name for his small territory—a harsh clang of metal upon metal brutally tore through the sacred silence.

  "Damn it! Get in there! Bite into it!"

  Savage was drenched in sweat. Oil mixed with perspiration flowed into his eyes, stinging them. His remaining left hand tightly gripped a rusty screwdriver, trying to pry open an alchemy canister left over from some forgotten era. Inside was expired synthetic meat paste. Although it smelled like damp insoles, it was currently their only source of protein.

  But he failed. The laws of physics were not kind to the one-armed.

  Without a right hand to stabilize it, the round canister spun on the smooth metal table, slipping away as if mocking him. With a clang, it hit the floor. The seal burst open, and grey-green moldy meat paste splattered across the ground.

  "F***—!!"

  The dwarf’s rage detonated instantly. He kicked the empty canister away. It smashed against a distant mirror, creating a shrill echo. Then, he collapsed into a chair modified from a scrapped steam-chariot seat, his chest heaving violently.

  His right shoulder was wrapped in thick bandages. It was empty there, yet the sensation of pain was more vivid than a real limb.

  It was "Phantom Limb Pain."

  His cerebral cortex stubbornly continued to send commands to the non-existent right hand—"Hold that damn can," "Turn the wrist," "Apply pressure with fingers." However, the only feedback was empty air and a twitching sensation on the severed nerve endings that felt like erratic electrical currents.

  It was like a precision machine that had lost its core transmission shaft; the system core was still spinning madly in neutral, but the hardware was completely scrapped.

  "If I were you, I wouldn't waste precious calories on meaningless adrenaline secretion."

  Carlyle’s voice came coldly from the shadows, carrying a trace of metallic reverb.

  He was floating cross-legged on a slab of obsidian half a meter off the ground. Although he appeared to be resting with his eyes closed, the air around him was filled with dozens of virtual windows made of blue light particles, floating like snowflakes. Streams of code cascaded down, illuminating his pale face.

  He was compiling.

  Having attained the rank of [Inscriber], he was rewriting the security protocols of the underground ruin’s underlying logic.

  "Easy for you to say." Savage glared at him viciously, the muscles at the corner of his eyes twitching. "My hand is gone. For a mechanic, this is worse than castration! Even if you gave me a hammer right now, I couldn't even handle a tin can!"

  "That is because your algorithm has not been updated."

  Carlyle opened his eyes. The geometric arrays in his left pupil rotated slightly, emitting a faint sound of focus adjustment as he scanned the mess on the floor.

  "You are still trying to operate a one-handed body with two-handed logic. This is a compatibility error."

  He flicked his finger. A weak Mage Hand (though he preferred to call it a "Telekinetic Grasp Routine") picked up the canister and placed it back on the table.

  "Eat sparingly. This is the last bit of rations we found in the ruins."

  [Scene 2: Withered Perception]

  At the mention of "organic matter," the air became heavy.

  Light footsteps approached as Lyria walked over from the other end of the catwalk. Her condition looked even worse than Savage's. As a Forest Elf, being in these deep underground depths filled with the aura of necromancy, sulfur, and metallic radiation was tantamount to chronic poisoning for her.

  Her skin was pale to the point of transparency, and her green eyes, usually full of vitality, now looked dim and dull.

  "I tried," Lyria said weakly, pinching a shriveled seed in her hand. "The 'Field' here rejects life. I tried to accelerate the growth of some edible moss near the filter of the water circulation system, but the moment they sprouted... they carbonized."

  She opened her palm. The seed crumbled into black powder and drifted into the air.

  "The energy concentration here is shockingly high, but it is 'dead' energy." Lyria looked at the pulsing Chaos Engine in the center of the hall, fear visible in her eyes. "It is devouring the surrounding moisture and vitality. If we don't replenish with real food and water soon, my mana source will dry up within three days, followed by my life force."

  "In simple terms, we are starving to death."

  Savage dipped a rough finger into the meat paste in the can, closed his eyes, and shoved it into his mouth. His face instantly scrunched up. "Starving to death while guarding an Epic-grade power furnace capable of blowing up half of Black Tooth City... if a bard told this joke, it would definitely earn him a free drink."

  Carlyle sighed, stood up, and dusted off non-existent dust from his robes.

  At this moment, the Mirror Hall presented an absurd contrast of poverty and wealth, filled with dark humor.

  They sat upon a "Primordial Power Furnace" worth half the Imperial Capital, possessed the lost "Spatial Folding Technology" of the Second Era, and even controlled two intact "Axiom Guards" as defense towers.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  But they didn't even have a single clean piece of bread.

  "System Self-Check Report."

  Carlyle flipped his wrist. A crimson holographic window was pushed in front of the two, the data bars painfully red:

  [Base Status Overview]

  Energy Reserves: 100% (Critical Overflow, Venting Recommended)

  Defense Level: S-Class (Fully Charged)

  Material Reserves: 0% (Critical)

  Bio-Support System: Offline (Lacking Carbon-based Cycle Medium)

  Warning: The Chaos Engine is generating "Arcane Radiation Heat." Without a biological shield for neutralization, irreversible damage to carbon-based lifeforms will occur within 48 hours.

  "It’s not just starvation." Carlyle pointed to the last warning line, his voice terrifyingly calm. "This base was designed for constructs, not living people. It is 'baking' us dry."

  "The Order Alliance has blockaded all surface exits." Lyria leaned against a cold pillar, trying to absorb some coolness. "Although they can't get in, our procurement channels up there have been cut off. Val Goldtooth, that coward, has definitely packed up and run by now."

  "No, he will come."

  Carlyle's eyes sharpened, like a hunter catching a scent in the wind.

  "Why?" Savage asked.

  "Because compared to simple 'Hunger,' there is one thing that drives people to act even more—and that is 'Fear.'"

  [Scene 3: The Desperate Stray Dog]

  Just then, a giant mercury mirror at the edge of the hall suddenly rippled.

  It was an alarm triggered by external surveillance.

  "Someone is knocking." Shadow's figure emerged from the mirror like ink dropping into clear water. His voice was hoarse and lacked inflection. "It’s that goblin. But he has a tail."

  "A tail?" Carlyle raised an eyebrow.

  "Liquidators from the Order Alliance. Three of them. Already dealt with." Shadow spoke lightly, as if he had merely swatted three flies. There wasn't a drop of blood on him. "That goblin is terrified; he’s scratching at the door."

  Carlyle smiled and adjusted his collar. "It seems our guest has no choice. Let him in."

  Minutes later, accompanied by the heavy sound of gears interlocking, a concealed side door opened. Val Goldtooth practically tumbled in, scrambling on all fours.

  The goblin merchant, usually draped in gold and silver, was now in a wretched state. His expensive purple velvet suit was shredded by sharp weapons, covered in sewer sludge and someone else's blood. His ten fingers, usually adorned with gem rings, were now bare—clearly, he had spent his fortune to escape or bribe his way out.

  "Close it! Close the door! Quickly!!"

  The moment Val rushed in, he pushed desperately against the heavy pneumatic door. Only when he heard the lock click shut did he collapse on the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

  "Don't kill me... don't kill me! I'm not a spy!"

  Seeing the three people and one shadow surrounding him, Val instinctively hugged his head, trembling. "I didn't sell you out! I had nowhere else to go! Those white-robed lunatics... they seized my shop, burned my warehouse, and wanted to hang me from a lamppost!"

  "I know." Carlyle sat on the high obsidian steps, looking down at him with an indifferent expression. "The Order Alliance is purging 'Heretics.' You did business with us before; in their eyes, you are already tainted."

  "It’s all gone..." Val looked up, snot and tears streaming down his green face. "My goods, my money, my reputation... I am a complete pauper now. Master Carlyle, for the sake of the discounts I gave you before, don't kick me out! If I go out there, I'm dead!"

  Carlyle didn't speak; he just watched him quietly.

  This silence made Val feel even more terrified. His merchant instincts told him that simple begging was useless. He had to demonstrate value.

  "I... I have intel! I know the Order Alliance's movements!" Val stammered.

  "Shadow knows more than you do," Carlyle interrupted coldly.

  "I have... I have channels! I have..." Val looked around desperately. Suddenly, his gaze landed on the moldy can in Savage's hand and Lyria's cracked lips.

  The goblin's beady eyes instantly lit up.

  "Food! I have food!"

  Val scrambled up as if grabbing a lifeline. "Deep in the West Sector sewers... over in 'Rat Alley,' I have a secret dead-drop warehouse that even my mother doesn't know about! That is my doomsday reserve!"

  "Oh?" Carlyle leaned forward slightly.

  "There are three whole crates of unopened military hardtack! Two barrels of purified water! And... and half a crate of strong spirits and painkillers!" Val spoke rapidly, afraid that if he paused for a second, he would be thrown out. "But I can't move them alone, and that place is now occupied by a swarm of mutant giant rats. As long as you take me in, those things are all yours!"

  "Military hardtack and water." Savage swallowed, and his stomach let out a loud rumble in agreement.

  Carlyle stood up and walked over to Val. His shadow loomed over the goblin's small frame.

  "Val, we don't need everything. That is your property."

  Carlyle reached out and pulled the goblin up, wearing that signature, inscrutable smile.

  "The Mirror Hall is not just a shelter; it is a place of rules. You provide supplies; we provide protection. This is a transaction."

  "A transaction?" Val was stunned, then nodded frantically with wild joy. "Yes! A transaction! I am the... Logistics Director here! Right?"

  "Probationary period, for now." Carlyle turned, his robe creating a sharp arc. "Now, lead the way to your warehouse. We need to replenish our calories before this damn engine bakes us dry."

  [Scene 4: The Interface of Biology and Machinery]

  Having solved the imminent food crisis, Carlyle didn't let everyone set off immediately. He turned his gaze back to Savage's empty shoulder.

  "Before we go to haul supplies, we must determine our next strategic objective. This concerns the long-term survival of the base."

  He pointed to a blueprint on the workbench depicting a purely mechanical arm and shook his head.

  "Savage, your plan won't work. Your wound was pierced by a 'Void Bone Spike.' That residual power has left your nerve endings in a state of 'Semi-Etherealization.' Ordinary mechanical interfaces cannot heal, and metal cannot form a circuit with your nerves."

  "Then what do I do?" Savage touched his shoulder, his eyes dim. "Am I supposed to be a one-armed hero for the rest of my life? Unable to even tighten a screw?"

  "It’s not just your hand." Lyria suddenly interrupted, pointing around them. "It’s this base too. Carlyle is right; this place is too 'dead.' We need a medium, something to buffer the violent mana and connect life with machinery. Otherwise, even if we don't starve, we will wither away from arcane radiation."

  "That is where we are going."

  Carlyle raised his hand and pulled up a database from his [Sight of Truth]. Countless points of light converged to project a hologram of a strange plant in the center of the hall. It was a blood-red vine, flickering with lights resembling neurons.

  "[Neural Vine]. This is a symbiotic plant from the First Era. It can perfectly parasitize biological nerves and transmit electrical signals to metal with zero latency. It is the perfect bio-prosthetic interface and also an excellent mana filter."

  "A plant?" Lyria frowned. "Something like that only grows where life force is extremely concentrated, concentrated to the point of distortion. In a dead zone like Black Tooth City..."

  "There is one place that has it."

  Shadow, who had been standing silently in the shadows, spoke again. He stepped forward and lit up an area marked with a red skull deep in the sewer system on the void map.

  "[The Crimson Hothouse]."

  Hearing this name, Val, who had just relaxed, was so frightened he sat back down on the ground. "That... that is a forbidden zone!"

  "That’s a bio-lab created by a mad alchemist hundreds of years ago—the 'Flesh Gardener,'" Val said through chattering teeth. "They say it’s full of man-eating mutant plants and monsters! Even rats don't dare go near there! No scavenger who went in has ever come out!"

  "Man-eating?" Carlyle looked at the eerie red zone on the map. Instead of fear, a glint of sharpness flashed in his eyes. "If it can support man-eating plants, that means there are ample 'nutrients' there. That ecosystem is exactly the key to restoring the base's environment and reshaping Savage's arm."

  He looked around at the group, issuing the first official dungeon mission of Volume Two, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

  "First, go to Val's warehouse to get food. Fill our stomachs. Then, organize equipment."

  "We are going to that Hothouse."

  Carlyle's fingers passed through the red vine in the holographic projection, as if he had already grasped the authority of the future.

  "Not just to fix Savage's arm, but to retrieve a little 'Life' for our new home."