Chapter 41 · The First Crack Between Fires
Section 1 · A Fist of Rage, No Target in Sight
Inside the edge outpost of West Iron Mine No.7, a metal tea cup slammed onto the table with a clang, oil-scented steam rising like battlefield smoke.
"Who was it?" Erlus frowned, his calloused hands trembling slightly.
A young sentry hesitated. "I… don't know. They said they were neutral freighters. Left right after."
"What did they say?"
"They said…" the youth lowered his eyes. "…they heard someone called us 'Fire'."
"And he didn't believe them."
Erlus remained silent for half a second before smashing the oil lamp on the desk.
"So what if he believes or not?!" he growled through gritted teeth. "This isn't a provocation — it's a pinprick!"
He was the leader of Steel Gate's Second Frontline, commander of defensive machinery, an axe-wielding killer who had taken eight lives — yet now, his scarred fists found nothing to strike.
"Why didn't you arrest them?"
They weren't armed. They Didn't enter the restricted area. And…"
"And you were scared," Erlus said flatly, without anger — and somehow heavier than rage.
The boy said nothing.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the creaking chain of a hanging mine light.
Erlus slowly rose and walked to the side door, its edges sealed with shockproof cloth. He cracked it open just enough to see the distant wasteland road fading into fog.
Then he asked softly:
"Do you remember why we joined Steel Gate?"
"To survive," the boy replied.
"Wrong."
"To let others see that we survived."
He placed a hand gently on the iron door:
"And now, they say we are Fire — meaning, we might be more than alive."
"We might have the power to decide who lives and dies."
—
That night, the Steel Gate council chamber never dimmed its lights.
Thirteen mid-level commanders sat in silence as Erlus stood at the front, not seated — like a slab of iron forged in flame.
"Our current position is not 'being suspected.' It is being preset as the enemy."
A tall, gaunt man spoke up:
"If we issue a statement—"
"That would make it worse," Erlus cut in. "Even the Empire won't send troops against the Twin Fires. How can we possibly clear ourselves by speaking?"
Another voice chimed in nervously:
"But we can't just sit here waiting for accusations."
Erlus smiled coldly.
"Then we strike first."
He reached down, pulling a battered metal badge from his belt — three blurred letters etched into its surface:
FSA
"We go to Fogfight Arena," he said slowly.
"Not to explain."
"We pick a fight."
—
Far away, Jason watched the ARGUS replay of the scene unfold on his terminal.
He didn't smile. Just murmured:
"Steel Gate has made their move."
Zhao Mingxuan noted down the data point:
"Preparing to crash the arena?"
"Yes," Jason replied calmly.
"But not our arena."
He shifted his gaze eastward, tapping a new map.
"They're going after Fogfight."
"And we…"
His finger traced a path.
"We're heading to Lianyuan Commune."
Fuxi whispered softly:
[䷵ Mountain Over Fire: Ornament covers fire; truth hides beneath. When true flame arrives, it burns belief first.]
Jason muttered:
"It's not that our fire is too strong."
"It's that they're too afraid — of being lit by us."
Section 2 · Not the Furnace Is Burning — But the Circuit of Minds
"Have you ever seen a pipeline — iron, solid — bleed at night?"
In Lianyuan Commune, South Block 2, an old technician sat beside a broken control panel, bloodshot eyes staring at the blinking console.
Across from him sat Jason, disguised as a "resource exchange officer," Zhao Mingxuan and Maria standing nearby.
"I saw it yesterday," the man rasped, pointing at a burn mark on his arm. "Our fusion machines started self-shutting down — before any command. Like something inside wanted to break out."
Jason said nothing. He handed over a bottle labeled "Neutral Logistics Aid - New Calming Agent."
The technician hesitated, took it, but didn't drink.
"Who are you people?"
Zhao answered evenly:
"We're those who deal with technical panic."
"Panic?" the man scoffed. "Have you seen a pipe explode three times without killing anyone — then heard the same hum in every dormitory at night?"
"That's not panic."
"That's…"
He paused, lowering his head.
"That's some kind of fire… warming up."
—
Above the platform, ARGUS activated.
[Keyword Capture: "Self-shutdown" × "Technical Anomaly" × "Fire Warming Up" — Meme correlation 34%]
[Emotional Trend: Confusion → Avoidance → Fear × Interpersonal distrust rate increased 17%]
Maria whispered:
"You think they actually believe these rumors about 'revolting pipelines'?"
Jason shook his head.
"They don't believe."
"They fear — what if it's true, and they picked the wrong side."
He turned to the old technician, voice calm yet sharp:
"We're not here to plant fire."
"We're here to ask one question."
He leaned forward.
"Tell me — what makes you wake up every day, still fixing machines that could blow up anytime?"
The man froze.
"Orders? Contracts? Factory brand?"
"No."
Jason stood, eyes locking onto his.
"It's the fear of not knowing who's watching you — and not daring to stop."
Maria silently passed him a folded piece of paper.
"If one day you decide — you won't fix anymore."
"Stick this on your wall."
"No one will blame you."
"No one will save you."
"Whether you are fire — is up to you."
—
Two hours later, the team left South Block 2.
Zhao asked quietly:
"Aren't we hitting the supply core yet?"
"If we do, we break everything," Jason replied. "But this isn't the time to cut the line."
He looked toward the smoldering chimneys, heat waves pulsing like the city's slow heartbeat.
"We need them to admit the heat is rising — before the fire even arrives."
Fuxi whispered:
[䷣ Earth Conceals Fire: Injured within, healed from outside. Break form first — melt heart next.]
Jason murmured:
"This isn't a war."
"This is the last sweat before the fever."
—
Endnote Foreshadowing:
Late at night, on the outer wall of a dormitory in South Block 2, a scrap of old paper appeared.
Written crookedly in black ink:
"Non-Fire — Do Not Disturb"
But someone had slashed a single line across the corner — turning it into:
"Non-Fire — Also Disturbs."
Section 3 · Who Strikes First — Between Gamblers and Miners
"Is this a threat?"
Inside the main hall of Fogfight Arena, the air was sharp as a blade pressed to the throat.
Erlus stood at the entrance, behind him a row of silent Steel Gate soldiers, their grey miner uniforms stained with rust and oil. Across the table, three gambling house officers fidgeted uneasily, ledgers untouched.
"We're just asking," Erlus said coolly, though his eyes burned with fury. "Why have all crystal-currency withdrawal routes avoided us for the past two weeks?"
"The system decides distribution," one officer replied cautiously. "It's not under our control."
"The system?" Erlus stepped forward, slamming his fist onto the wooden table. "Which system?"
"Yours — your own 'Golden Eye' rumor network? Or someone manipulating emotional data to pin us as Fire?"
He stared them down:
"Are you saying no one is subtly suggesting — we are Fire?"
Silence gripped the room.
Another officer dared speak:
"If you aren't, why so tense?"
Erlus smiled faintly, straightening up.
"It's not that we're scared of being called Fire."
"It's that we're scared — of you rushing to TRACE headquarters afterward, reporting that we are."
—
Meanwhile, Jason's team had already moved to the outskirts of Shadowstone Street, near the western edge of the old data port connected to Fogfight Arena.
"This place isn't officially controlled by Fogfight," Zhao explained, flipping through his tablet. "But their transaction logs run through the Gray Transmission Layer."
Maria added coldly:
"Some of these names appear on the 'Fire Seed Translation List' — listed as independent gamblers, but they're actually Shadowstone peripheral engineers.
Jason nodded.
"We're not going in."
"We're just sending one message: 'An outsider is forwarding Fogfight's internal account list… and TRACE has begun intercepting data flows.'"
Lisa raised an eyebrow.
"You want them to clean house themselves?"
"No," Jason corrected.
"I want them to fear — that if they don't, it'll blow up in their face."
—
Inside the corridor of Fogfight Arena's upper floors.
"We can't let Steel Gate push us around!" a deputy slammed his fist on the table.
"But we can't openly purge our own people either — that'd be admitting we have Fire," another argued.
At that moment, an anonymous encrypted signal flashed across the projection screen:
TRACE South Listening Officer Alert: Suspicious overlap detected between your transaction chain and a 'Data Faith Organization'. Recommend immediate cleansing to avoid fire contamination.
Their faces paled.
"What exactly do they want?" the deputy muttered.
From a distant alleyway, Jason murmured:
"We didn't do anything."
"We just gave them one more reason… to doubt each other."
Fuxi whispered:
[䷯ Wind Over Water: Rise from depth not by force, but by drawing. Poison in the well needs no poisoner — just stirring.]
Jason added softly:
"To break the game — you don't need fire."
"You just need poison in the water."
—
Endnote Foreshadowing:
A Steel Gate logistics officer reported quietly to Erlus:
"There's word Fogfight is contacting external data engineering groups to root out 'internal spies'."
Erlus smiled, tossing his shoulder plate onto the table.
"Did you hear that?"
"They've already started."
Section 4 · Escape Is Impossible — From Your Own Data
North Street, post-rain, bricks steaming like infected wounds.
He ran fast.
Ertis — former Shadowstone peripheral data analyst, now dressed as a junior bookkeeper for Fogfight Arena — clutched an encrypted chip and fake ID as he slipped through the third cross-alley, glancing back constantly.
He wasn't fleeing death.
He was fleeing knowledge.
Last night, Fogfight began internal checks. Their deputy had spoken calmly:
"Just clearing redundant system entries."
But Ertis knew better. Redundant data wasn't code.
It was people. Especially those who knew how betting profiles linked to external routing.
And he was one of those who knew too much.
—
As he entered the elevator shaft of an abandoned warehouse, a figure stood waiting.
Not a guard. Not a colleague.
Jason.
—
"Are you here to capture me?" Ertis gasped, fingers sliding toward a pulse emitter hidden in his sleeve.
"No," Jason said simply. "I'm here to tell you — you ran the right way."
He handed him a bottle of water, casually pressing his wrist — the emitter went dark.
"They're coming for you tonight," Jason said softly. "Who am I?"
"A person… also afraid of being called Fire."
Jason crouched, eye level with him, unyielding.
"I'm not here to make you betray anyone."
"I'm here to ask one question — when did you first suspect that what you transmitted… wasn't data?"
"That it was fire?"
Ertis blinked.
Jason continued:
"You routed Fogfight's internal betting lists. You saw certain accounts erased, then restored."
"You thought it was system error?"
"No."
"It was fear — inside your own system."
"Fear that one day, you yourselves might become the very thing you reported."
—
Ertis slowly sat down, throat bobbing.
"What do you want me to do?"
Jason handed him a slip of paper — only three digits:
42.3
"What is this?"
"A Shadowstone test protocol: When node cognition begins judging information validity not by access rights, but by 'fire/non-fire' logic — data flame index exceeds 42.3%."
Jason paused.
"Your system's current cognitive index… is 45.6."
Ertis's breath caught.
Jason softened his tone.
"You haven't been turned."
"You've just been convinced — by yourself, while transferring data."
Fuxi whispered:
[䷷ Fire Over Earth: Gentle in place, firm in purpose. Truth awakens through sincerity; fire reveals shadows.]
Jason added:
"We won't force you to choose."
"But remember — the next time someone calls you back, ask them:
'Are you sure I'm Fire… or are you just afraid of it?'"
Ertis laughed weakly, eyes glistening with something unfamiliar — relief.
"I understand."
—
Ten minutes later, Ertis disappeared into the crowd, like a drop merging with gray mist.
Maria emerged from the shadows:
"Can we trust him?"
Jason nodded.
"He won't be our soldier."
"But he's already become the meme… that makes the enemy doubt itself."
ARGUS updated:
[Ertis behavior trace lost × Entered non-structured data zone]
[Estimated Fire Seed meme infection success rate: 71%]
—
Inside the Fogfight executive meeting room, a report arrived:
"Ertis missing."
"He's not coming back."
"He vanished… into the very transmission net we trusted most."
Section 5 · The First Gun Between Fires
Night pressed heavy as slag.
At Steel Gate's temporary west-line rally point, over a dozen armed members checked arc hammers, steel-tipped spears, and sonic disruptors — blunt tools, no tactical elegance, only raw survival instinct.
Ertis tightened the bindings on his arm, eyes lingering on the map — marked red at Fogfight's southwest storage sector.
What he didn't say was:
This wasn't about winning.
It was about making others believe — we have already ignited.
—
Elsewhere, Jason's team set up a miniature sonic reverser inside a collapsed three-story building. A module designed to simulate internal conflict signals was plugged into the ARGUS node.
Lisa embedded a playback sequence into the sub-frequency:
"This is a recorded command from Fogfight's inner circle. Simulated interference success rate: 67%."
Zhao nodded:
"Broadcast their internal audit logs again — target Steel Gate's frequency."
Jason stood in the shattered window frame, watching the distant gathering of Steel Gate fighters.
"We're not helping either side win."
"We're just ensuring — after the battle, people ask:
Who was Fire?"
Maria stood beside him, her usual analytical tone:
"Will Steel Gate regret this?"
"No," Jason replied.
"They'll only be more convinced — Fogfight struck first."
Fuxi whispered:
[䷶ Thunder Over Fire: Act with clarity, clarify through suspicion. In chaos, the first to speak — loses. ]
—
At 02:00 AM.
The first explosion tore through Fogfight's western supply warehouse — Steel Gate's iron fists smashed the gates.
But instead of guards —
several sonic disruptors activated, playing a distorted voice:
"Drop your weapons within five minutes — or we open fire."
It sounded like Fogfight's deputy commander.
Steel Gate froze.
"They knew we were coming?!"
"It's a fake!" Ertis roared. "Keep moving!"
Gunfire erupted. Flames burst.
But in the chaos, two Fogfight perimeter guards really did retreat in panic.
They had heard the recording.
And believed —
"Someone inside our own ranks ordered the attack."
—
Thirty minutes later, sirens pierced the battlefield.
TRACE Level II listening nodes captured abnormal energy exchanges — no confirmed source, but alert levels rose.
ARGUS update synchronized:
[Steel Gate Cognitive Model Updated: Believes Fogfight has internal traitors × Active bait strategy]
[Fogfight Sentiment Curve: Rising belief in "Steel Gate manipulated" ↑ 19%]
Jason watched the flames flicker over the confused crowd — silent as stone.
"We didn't set the trap."
"We just played a sound — at the right time."
He turned from the ruins:
"In two days, they'll start saying…"
"That night — was Fire fighting Fire."
Fuxi responded:
[䷅ Heaven Over Water: Litigation with words, crossing great rivers. You need not win — only let them argue endlessly.]
Jason murmured:
"We made them argue — until they dare not fight again."
Section 6 · Not That They Won — But That You Can't See Who Lost
"We shouldn't have gone in," Deputy Carl spat, staring at the damage report in Fogfight's west command center.
"But you voted yes last night," Commander Norsen replied coldly.
The tension in the room was suffocating. Three tactical screens showed losses: 14 injured, 2 critically, Southwest warehouse destroyed, 24% crystal reserves lost.
But the most glaring item — an anonymous audio loop:
"We didn't start it — they did."
Reportedly from a Steel Gate officer — but no evidence, no source.
Carl muttered:
"We didn't lose in weapons."
"We lost because… no one can say who fired first."
A data analyst coughed:
"TRACE released three 'uncertain origin' reports this morning."
He looked up:
"Even they don't know."
—
Inside the TRACE South Command Center.
A junior officer's voice was tight with frustration:
"Tell me — was this clash between Fire factions?"
A soldier replied via comms:
"According to ARGUS public-band analysis, both sides encountered 'meme messages' prior to conflict."
"Uncoded, but semantically close to 'Fire Carrier Recognition Phrases' — possible external induction."
The officer fell silent, then pressed the comm key:
"Downgrade TRACE intervention to Level 2. Standby."
"If they want to tear each other apart — let them."
—
In a ruined alley.
Zhao glanced back:
"No TRACE follow-up."
Jason sat under a leaning billboard, tracing a crude diagram in dust:
"They won't define 'Fire Source' rashly — afraid of backlash if they hit the wrong target."
He pointed to a spot:
"This is where we stand — the blank space between fires."
"We don't claim Fire identity. But our actions… look exactly like what they fear most."
Lisa powered down the ARGUS terminal:
"So next step — name them directly?"
"No." Jason shook his head.
"Next step — let both sides keep telling the world:
'They framed us.'"
He paused, eyes steady:
"We're just observers. Acting like it doesn't mean becoming it."
Then, softly:
"We didn't win."
"They just… all lost."
—
In a corner of a black-market diner in West District.
Two men in grey coats whispered.
"You heard? Last night wasn't about territory — it was about calling each other Fire."
"Which side accused whom?"
"Both."
"…So which do you believe?"
"I don't believe."
The man smiled.
"I just know — no one dares to admit they're not."
Fuxi whispered:
[䷼ Wind Over Marsh: Trust returns to trust, void fills the void. Whoever defends first — loses control. ]
Jason replied quietly:
"We didn't create victory."
"We created a world — where there are no winners. Yet."