Apocalyptic Disaster: I Hoard Billions in Supplies and Kill the Saint

205: Chapter 205 The Gate of BloodZhao Wei squatted by the threshold, his gaze fixed on the floor in the bottom left corner.

He reached out and brushed away a thick layer of dust, revealing a jagged scratch—it cut diagonally across the metal floor, bearing charred burn marks, with a small tuft of scorched synthetic fiber remnants still clinging to the edge.

”Not seismic marks,” he said, his brows furrowed tightly. ”It’s... high-heat fusion.”

He scanned the perimeter of the door, pointing out multiple points of damage:

The bottom left edge of the door had cutting marks; the arc was shallow, but the path was precise, as if left by a high-frequency beam;

Directly above, a signal insertion point showed sudden deformation, with the internal metal warped from a flash combustion;

On the floor nearby lay a broken part from an ”old-model shoulder-mounted anti-energy rifle,” its core shattered, with light blue carbonization marks on the surface.

He said in a low voice:

”There was a fight.”

”And it happened... within the last seven days.”

”Someone beat us to it, trying to open this door.”

”Maybe they got in.”

”Maybe... they haven’t come out yet.”

Just as the joint squad approached within thirty meters of the dome gate, Ye Nanxing’s spatial terminal suddenly vibrated.

A translucent light screen appeared before her, bearing the signature blue-and-white border of an old system, with text laid out as orderly as military orders:

[Detected: Residual Core of Spatial Stability Module within the Fault × 1]

[Status: Semi-activated · Signal Strength Stable]

[Executor Compatibility: 8 Recommended Access]

[Note: This module is one of the ”Core Interlock Master Control Links” and possesses local control authority.]

Ye Nanxing raised an eyebrow slightly, her gaze sweeping over the authorization command interface at the bottom. She did not ask, she did not hesitate, as if this step—she had already rehearsed it a thousand times in her mind.

She raised her right hand, touched her fingertip to the air, and a streak of fiery patterns appeared beneath her skin. That was the [Spatial Anchor Core · Master Node Code], which belonged to her alone.

”Activate authorization.”

Her voice was as calm as an algorithmic statement.

”Link.”

The next moment—the light screen flared brightly.

Boom—!

The inscriptions on the metal dome gate, like a giant circuit that had been dormant for decades, lit up one by one from bottom to top.

A red ring of light emerged from the base of the door, expanding layer by layer, with ripples pulsating like breath, slowly encircling the entire dome gate.

From the originally rusted and silent door body, a low-frequency hum suddenly emanated. The sound was like a pulse from the depths of the earth’s core, piercing through the dust and steel beneath their feet—reaching directly into the deepest nerves of everyone’s eardrums.

[Identifying Executor—]

The spatial terminal displayed command feedback, the font vivid as if burning:

[Spatial Anchor Identification Signal Confirmed: Ye Nanxing]

[Checking Identity Compatibility...]

[Check Complete · Genetic Compatibility 86.14%]

[Temporary Authorization Command: Fault Core · Level 1 Release Channel]

[Execute Master Core Release Protocol?]

The surrounding squad members all stopped what they were doing and looked at her.

Even the air seemed to freeze.

Ye Nanxing softly uttered that one word:

”Release.”

As the authorization was finalized, a deep red halo appeared around the edge of the dome gate.

A low-frequency resonance emanated from the depths of the door, like the pulsating sound of an old-era mechanical heart waking up—boom... boom... boom...

Immediately after, the lower edge of the giant door lifted slightly, and the sound of internal gears meshing, like war drums, roared to life.

The two heavy metal door panels began to separate from the inside out, and high-temperature steam erupted from between the door hinges, as if releasing the heat and oppression locked away for decades.

A mixed airflow, carrying the scent of metal rust, coolant, and unknown gases, rushed out to greet them, bearing the ”scent of death” unique to an ancient industrial civilization.

As the gap slowly widened, a corner of the interior scene was finally revealed—

A corridor extending straight ahead, about four meters wide and seven meters high, with an equilateral hexagonal structure, was constructed entirely of dark gold memory metal, its surface covered in a frosted light film.

On the ground, embedded fiber optic patterns suddenly lit up—light blue pulsed beams raced along both sides of the corridor, as if neural pathways were being reawakened.

They flickered rhythmically, like a stream of telecommunication signals judging the presence of outsiders.

And at the end of the corridor, somewhere obscured by mist, an arc-shaped symbol faintly emerged, as if it were slowly ”opening its eye.”

This was no ordinary door.

This was the entrance to the old world’s central nervous system.

A ”machine heart” still pulsating at a low frequency had finally begun to respond to the new arrivals.

Everyone held their breath and gazed, stepping into the metal dome gate that had not been opened for thirty-seven years.

The inner walls glowed with a pale red radiance, like blood slowly flowing through pipes, and the temperature rose slightly, as if some kind of ”body temperature” was slowly returning.

The metal floor beneath their feet emitted a dull echo with every step, and the surrounding walls were embedded with long-depowered mechanical arms, connection ports, and cooling lines.

But some cables—were still faintly flickering.

This was the ruin of a technological collapse, the wreckage of the final ”Human God-Making” project.

However, Ye Nanxing did not stop.

She stood before the central control console, her fingertips brushing over a thick layer of dust to reveal the inlaid nameplate beneath:

[SERAPH-13 · Multi-Consciousness Calculation Core]

[Project Type: Closed-Loop Survival Simulation]

[Status: Pending Restart]

She breathed softly, as if conversing with the slumbering behemoth:

”You’re still running.”

And behind that core door, sealed for over thirty years—

What lay hidden was not merely abandoned energy channels, broken data skeletons, or half-dead intelligent residue.

What was hidden there might be humanity’s last—attempt to actively design the future.

The final core calculation model was still automatically constructing an ”ideal survival blueprint,” attempting to find a—

form of existence that ”would not be destroyed.”

Ye Nanxing’s gaze fell on a glass capsule core slowly rising from the center of the main console; inside it, a polyphase crystal core was sealed, pulsating slightly.

Its pulsation frequency was... gradually synchronizing with the spatial imprint in her palm.

The passage was long and narrow, winding deep into the structure like a serpent’s belly.

The walls were constructed of layered alloys and organic-like materials, the surface covered in long-solidified condensate and large patches of dark red oxidized deposits—not as simple as rust.

Shen Qingyan used a sampling pen to gently scrape off a small piece of the residue, sniffed it, and her expression changed abruptly: ”What flowed here was not liquid energy. It’s... blood samples.”

Zhao Chenwu said in a deep voice: ”Whose?”

She looked up and said slowly: ”Human.”

The air temperature was noticeably a few degrees higher than the outer area, and the walls occasionally trembled slightly, like a heartbeat, like breath.

Ye Nanxing stood before the half-open main passage, took a deep breath, and reached out her hands.

A rotating line of fire appeared in her palm; it was the ”guiding light pulse” generated when the psionic energy within her connected with the spatial system.

The light slowly unfurled, converging into a translucent circular interface, as if it were a key of light suspended in the air.

She focused, sinking her consciousness into it—connecting to that ancient system, dormant deep within the rift, almost forgotten.