Laila's Mechanical Prosthetic Eye reflected the brilliant glow of the galactic core. It was not the burning of stars, but a giant web woven from countless streams of silver data, each grid precise to the nanometer, looking precisely like the Observer Formula on Chen Mo's Mother's silver ring. She gripped the Scorch Gear in her hand, the burrs along its edge stinging her palm—this was the tactile sensation of the real world, a warmth that the torrent of data could never simulate.
"The resonance frequency between the Spectrum Crystal and the Scorch Gear is synchronizing." Ice Drip's voice was unusually soft, as if afraid to disturb this space governed by Perfect Order, "The root system of the Sacred Tree in the Primitive Tribe detects that the quantum field here has been adjusted to absolute zero. Any Hundun frequency will be instantly frozen."
The moment the fleet crossed the silver web, Laila's mechanical joints suddenly locked up. She saw countless "civilization Cocoons" floating in the starry sky, each cocoon sealing a perfect data replica of a civilization: the gears of the Mechanical Swarm rotated at an absolute constant speed inside the Cocoon, yet leaving a microscopic melt mark on the edge of the gear—that was the solder point left behind by Chen Mo five hundred years ago when he first met Laila while repairing the wreckage of the Mechanical Swarm; the warriors of the Primitive Tribe maintained an eternally unchanging War Cry posture; and the Spectrum of the Energy S…
Chapter 120