My Invincible Defense: Traversing the Endless Worlds

Early the next morning, Finn came downstairs and had breakfast with Lambert Benson. There was oatmeal, rolled eggs, vegetable soup, swamp crab pies, and milk mixed with coarse raw sugar.

Lambert had wanted to wait for Sylvia so the three of them could eat together, but after a long while, she still had not come downstairs. At last, he shouted toward the upper floor, “Get up! Breakfast is ready! The sun’s already shining on your backside!”

A weak, lazy voice drifted down from above. “I can’t get out of bed!”

“Why can’t you get out of bed? Are you sick?” Lambert asked, worry creeping into his voice.

“Go ask that Tier 5 Vanguard,” Sylvia called back, sounding both exhausted and languid.

Lambert gave Finn a helpless look.

Finn’s face flushed red. He lowered his head, scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, and chewed slowly without saying a word.

Lambert sighed and went back to eating.

After breakfast, Finn returned upstairs to pack his few belongings.

Although he now had a vast storage space, he had bought a field backpack in Black Mountain. Taking things out of thin air in front of others would only invite shock and suspicion, so the backpack gave him a small cover for his abilities.

Lambert had already noticed that Finn’s nuclear rocket launcher and mountain bike had both vanished without a trace, almost as if they had simply disappeared. His stomach was full of questions, but he did not dare ask a single one.

Finn entered the bedroom. The room was a complete mess, the blankets dragged onto the floor as if silently recounting the fierce battle of the previous night. Sylvia still lay limp beneath the covers, her silky gray hair tangled across her face.

Finn bent down, brushed the hair away from her forehead, and kissed her gently. “Don’t argue with your dad anymore.”

“Mm.” Sylvia answered softly from under the blanket. She reached out, trying to catch Finn’s leg, but her hand closed on empty air.

Finn shouldered the field backpack and went downstairs.

He had spent the past few days eating and staying at Lambert’s place for free, and it left him feeling a little guilty. It was not as if he had no money. Back in Black Mountain, when he wiped out the Demon Gang, he had seized quite a few dollar coins.

Those coins were not very useful to Finn. Once he left this world, they would be little more than souvenirs. So he counted out four hundred dollars and handed them to Lambert as payment for food and lodging.

Lambert tried to refuse at first, but Finn shot him a glare. He immediately took the money with an ingratiating smile.

Seeing that nervous, overly cautious look on Lambert’s face, Finn felt more and more like a tyrannical bandit who had barged into a man’s home, eaten his food, and carried off his daughter.

Out on the asphalt road, Finn swung onto his mountain bike and rode through a dozen streets and overpasses toward the Cool Prophet Relic Exhibition Hall.

City Lord Congreve had promised that after convening a high-level meeting and passing the matter by vote, Finn would be allowed to view the black iron box today.

So far, everything had gone smoothly. Finn knew that was thanks to two highly respected elders: Darius Smith, who had written a personal letter on his behalf, and Congreve Murphy, who had generously offered his assistance.

When Finn arrived at the Cool Prophet Relic Exhibition Hall, the first thing he saw was a towering statue of Cool Prophet.

The entire statue had been forged from melted-down discarded guns. Its surface was rough and jagged, yet Cool Prophet’s imposing figure gleamed brightly in the sunlight.

Although Cool Prophet had done plenty of selfish things that caused trouble for others and for himself, the people of Ironatom still respected him and regarded him as a great man.

The older generation had buried his embarrassing stories deep in the past, leaving only his shining deeds for later generations to remember.

Beneath the statue, City Lord Congreve Murphy was already waiting for Finn. He wore a military coat and leaned on an iron cane, his expression solemn.

A row of officers stood beside him in green uniforms and black leather belts. Unique insignia marked their shoulder boards and chests.

Finn could not read their ranks, but judging from the intricate, colorful badges on their chests, they were all senior officers.

More than fifty military police stood in formation as well, wearing steel helmets and carrying rifles. The whole scene had a cold, battle-ready weight to it.

“Quite the display,” Finn muttered inwardly.

He stepped forward and shook hands with Congreve. The surrounding officers looked him up and down with cold eyes. Several of the younger ones stared at him with open hostility.

After a round of polite small talk, they went straight to the main business and entered the deepest section of the Cool Prophet Relic Exhibition Hall.

Four military police slowly wheeled forward a stainless steel cart. On it sat Cool Prophet’s black iron box.

The box looked ordinary from the outside. It was cast entirely from metal and was clearly unbreakable. Horizontal lines were etched across its surface, giving it a simple, cold, hard-edged style. One glance was enough to tell that it was not something produced in the wasteland.

On the lid of the black iron box, the most eye-catching feature was a raised combination lock with seven metal wheels. Each wheel was engraved with all twenty-six letters of the alphabet, meaning the password was a seven-letter sequence.

Before he disappeared, Cool Prophet had left a note stating that there were only thirty chances to enter the correct password.

If the password was entered incorrectly thirty times, the black iron box would trigger its self-destruct mechanism, shattering an acid vial and releasing concentrated sulfuric acid to corrode everything inside. Forcing the box open would activate the same self-destruct sequence.

Looking at this mysterious box left behind by someone from Earth, someone who in this world could almost be called a fellow townsman, Finn could not help stepping forward and reaching out to touch it.

A broad hand moved in and blocked him.

Finn looked up and saw a tall officer with a handlebar mustache. His leather boots were polished to a shine, and his expression was icy.

“Guest from Black Mountain.” The mustached officer stared at Finn and spoke each word with deliberate weight. “The black iron box is a precious relic of the great Cool Prophet. It is Ironatom’s most important treasure. I hope you will treat it with the proper respect.”

Another military policeman approached with a silver tray. On it rested a pair of thin rubber gloves.

Finn smiled, put on the gloves, and began considering how to open the black iron box. If he could not open it, he would have to think of another way to take it with him.

After thinking for a moment, he walked around the black iron box three times. In the end, he had to admit that he had no ideas at all.

“Have you seen enough?” Marian Kirk asked with a frown. She wore round spectacles and was Ironatom’s Minister of Technology, the second most powerful person after the city lord.

Before Finn could answer, she waved her hand, signaling the military police to wheel the black iron box away.

“Wait. I haven’t finished examining it,” Finn said, displeasure entering his voice.

“Ironatom’s sacred relic is not a sightseeing exhibit for tourists,” Marian said, pushing up her glasses. “Or do you think that because you are a Tier 5 Vanguard, you can simply force it open?”

“It’s fine. Let the young man look a little longer,” Congreve said with a smile. “He doesn’t have the password anyway. He won’t be able to open the black iron box.”

With the city lord’s approval, Marian Kirk suppressed her impatience, though her gaze remained cold as it rested on Finn.

Finn took note of the dozen or so officers and the squad of military police around him. Judging from their presence, at least ninety percent of them were mutants, including several rare Tier 4 Vanguards.

Everyone watched Finn warily. Beneath their dark green uniforms, their muscles were tense, ready to stop him the moment he tried to seize the box by force.

Unfortunately for them, they had judged the situation wrong.

If Finn truly decided to take the black iron box, even twice as many people would not be enough to stop him.

As he circled the box again, Finn studied the lines etched across its surface. The lines were simple, a mixture of long and short strokes. At first glance, they looked like ordinary decoration, but the pattern seemed too deliberate to be meaningless.

Short… short… long… short… short… short…

Finn’s heart gave a sudden jolt.

Could this be Morse code?