Chapter Twenty-Seven: Computer?

After sealing the entrance, Sun Licheng finally had the chance to take in the interior of the warship. From the outside, the vessel looked like a fossil, but inside, it was remarkably well preserved—despite the ages that had passed, everything seemed almost as if it had been left only yesterday. The space was infused with a strong steampunk atmosphere: thick pipes snaked along the walls, massive cargo containers were stacked around, and mechanical soldier parts were scattered across the floor.

Sun Licheng was absorbed in the view when the iron crate blocking the entrance began to screech loudly—those monsters outside had started tearing at it, preparing to break in. He quickly snapped back to attention, scrambling over the wreckage and climbing desperately upward.

When the airship crashed all those years ago, it had plummeted straight into the ground, leaving the contents inside in utter disarray. Nearly all the onboard systems were destroyed; even the doors between compartments were bent and twisted, like crooked teeth, which now served Sun Licheng well as climbing holds. With no sealed doors to hinder him, he only needed to shove aside the debris in his way and managed to ascend dozens of meters with relative ease. Although the monsters below were still hammering against the crate with thunderous force, the most perilous moment seemed to have passed. Sun Licheng’s spirits gradually calmed, and his movements became increasingly nimble.

He hooked his hand over a doorframe, pulled himself inside, and was suddenly confronted by a field of corpses. It was the remains of a group of warriors, sprawled in every direction—their flesh had long since weathered away, their bones crumbled to dust, and only their armor and gear remained, faintly hinting at the horror of their final moments. Even after so much time, Sun Licheng could clearly imagine the terror etched on their faces during the crash: severed limbs, flying debris, and blood everywhere—a nightmare incarnate.

Thus, these valiant warriors, along with their once-glorious empire, became nothing more than a forgotten relic on this plane. Though Sun Licheng had once been human, as a goblin in this new era, he bowed his head in silent tribute to his fallen kin. Moving on, he realized he was nearing the ship’s central section, where a vast array of machinery awaited.

Throughout history, the strength of a nation or civilization has always been marked by steel and heavy equipment, and Sun Licheng now stood before precisely such a trove. Judging by their forms, he could distinguish vehicles, self-propelled cranes, and even giant mechanical warriors. The cataclysmic impact had crumpled everything into a tangled heap, most of it scorched and battered, with the walls on either side bearing the scars of destruction. From the signs of damage, Sun Licheng could well imagine the inferno that must have raged here.

Despite knowing that after countless years these machines would be little more than ruins, curiosity gnawed at him—he longed to explore them in detail. But the colossal crashes below snapped him back to reality. Frustrated but undeterred, Sun Licheng continued to climb upward, entering a labyrinthine corridor where the ship’s layout changed dramatically.

It seemed his luck had finally run dry. Turning a corner, he found a closed hatch before him. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, “looks like it’s locked. This must be the control section of the warship.” Sure enough, the door wouldn’t budge—it was locked from within.

In this world painted red, Sun Licheng spotted a small console next to the hatch, bristling with buttons. Though he couldn’t read the inscriptions, he guessed it was a mechanical combination lock. “Just my luck!” Sun Licheng groaned in despair.

At that very moment, a deafening rumble rose from below, followed by the telltale chittering of the centipede monsters—they had broken into the ship.

Cold sweat beaded at Sun Licheng’s temples. He tried kicking the door while suspended upside down, but the awkward angle made it impossible to use his strength; the hatch didn’t budge. He summoned his power over flame and unleashed a torrent of fire at the door, but nothing happened—not even a hint of red glow.

“Useless!” Sun Licheng cursed to the heavens.

He could hear the centipede creatures drawing ever closer.

Desperate, Sun Licheng shouted, “Grant me strength, power of the stars!” and slammed his fist against the hatch—nothing happened.

With nowhere left to run, he dejectedly placed his hand on the combination lock’s console. A faint, almost imperceptible sensation pricked at his mind. Inspiration struck: he remembered his elemental guidance ability—perhaps he could perceive the lock’s inner workings.

As he poured his will into the console, a three-dimensional diagram of lines and shapes unfolded in his mind. He tried pressing a button; a small cylinder dropped inside, but nothing else happened. Guiding his focus deeper, he saw a complex mechanism of gears, springs, and unknown parts within the projection.

Step by step, he experimented. Some columns triggered the internal mechanisms—gears began to turn with a “click-clack” of metal on metal. Sun Licheng realized he was at a critical juncture. Ignoring the mounting roars of the approaching monsters, he pressed button after button, using the rods to turn dials and tension springs, all while probing the lock’s changes with elemental guidance.

He was nearly there—just one more button, and the lock would yield. Excited, he pressed it, but the rod failed to depress the spring fully; the lock’s metal had aged and stiffened.

“What now? What now?” Panic thundered in his mind.

Suddenly, he felt an inner voice whisper, “Don’t panic, there’s still a chance!”

Drawing on over forty years of life’s experience, Sun Licheng poured more will into the lock, subtly manipulating the spring’s metal composition. Bit by bit, the spring compressed.

Just then, a shrill screech rang out behind him—a one-eyed centipede head appeared around the corner. It was a crisis beyond compare.

With a shout, Sun Licheng smashed his fist onto the stubborn button. The spring finally yielded, triggering a cascade of bearings and chains within. The hatch swung open.

Without pausing to celebrate, Sun Licheng whirled around and shot a blazing arrow from his hand. It struck the lunging centipede monster in the forehead, less than a meter away. The creature’s fierce eyes glazed over, then its head exploded—so close that the fiery arrow acted as a bomb.

The headless monster crashed to the floor, sending several of its companions tumbling.

Before Sun Licheng could even catch his breath, a hulking monster emerged—a head three times larger than the rest, clearly a formidable foe. It moved with terrifying speed and strength, swatting aside its fallen brethren as it charged, jaws wide.

The instant Sun Licheng saw that massive head, he grabbed the door frame, shoved the hatch open, and dove inside. As the beast lunged after him, he slammed the door shut; a dull boom sounded, followed by furious roars—it was a close call.

He spun the dial to lock the hatch and shook it for good measure. Satisfied that it was secure, he dragged over a few heavy objects for extra insurance, then collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath.

The relentless chase, battle, and use of magic had nearly drained Sun Licheng’s reserves; both mind and body were pushed to their limits. The monsters, unwilling to give up, rammed the door a few more times, making the walls shake, but after careful inspection, Sun Licheng saw no sign of weakness and finally relaxed.

Once he had recovered, he realized he was in a control room—though it, too, was a mess.

Two robots lay sprawled on the floor, their metal bodies dented and twisted, arms bent out of shape, their mechanical eyes shattered into deep, dark holes. Several goblin corpses were scattered about, their clothing distinctly different from the combat uniforms outside—Sun Licheng guessed they were administrative staff.

On the floor lay a few books—made from some unknown material, they had survived the ages intact. Sun Licheng flipped through them but couldn’t make sense of the pictographic script.

What intrigued him most were several crystal spheres atop the metal desks. One corpse’s hand still rested on a sphere, though the hand itself had crumbled to dust. “What are these things?” Sun Licheng muttered, examining the spheres. Most were shattered, revealing tiny metal plates etched with intricate patterns; he managed to find only two intact spheres.

He tried placing his hand on them, but nothing happened. Though puzzled, he was certain something was amiss here. With the monsters stymied for the moment, he searched the room.

Sure enough, next to a cabinet, he discovered a tiny hole in the wall—almost invisible to the naked eye. Under normal light, it would have been shrouded in shadow, but in the darkness, with his red-tinted vision, Sun Licheng saw it clearly.

Inside the uncovered hole lay a grayish-white stone, which looked very much like a magic crystal.

“It’s worth a try—what if dreams really do come true?” he murmured, buoyed by optimism. From his pack, he took out a twin-headed wolf magic crystal—it was about the same size as the stone in the hole.

No sooner had he replaced the stone with his own crystal than the hole filled with light—a black magic crystal enveloped in a radiant glow. Shielding his eyes, Sun Licheng stepped back as one by one, the control room’s lights flickered on, flooding the room with a dazzling brilliance—an almost dreamlike transformation.

His eyes adjusted from darkness to light. The two remaining crystal spheres now shimmered with a faint blue glow.

He approached and placed his hand on one. Instantly, a blue-hued screen appeared before his eyes, leaving him wide-eyed in astonishment. A blurred figure materialized in the light, with shifting scenes behind him—distant deserts, aerial vistas, as if revealing another world altogether.

But what shocked Sun Licheng most was that the text from those ancient books on the floor began to scroll across the screen, line after line, like status messages on a computer back on Earth.

“Is this really the system starting up?”