The Northwest night was silent, as if the earth itself held its breath. On the black sky, no helicopters, no cannons only the chill of the mountains, and the ashes of the Yên Bái battle not yet cold. No one knew where Trung was.
Only ruins remained: a scorched trail across the ground, and a crater like a meteor strike.
But in the darkness of Mount Tản Viên the ancient land of Sơn Tinh a faint flame flickered.
A cave. An oil lamp. A motionless man.
Professor Nguyễn Văn An knelt beside him, hands trembling from fatigue and worry. Trung lay there not man, not machine. His body cracked with glowing azure lines, like a broken statue of a god, yet still… breathing.
"Trung…", the professor rasped, "You must stop. They fear you. They hunt you. And yet you still throw yourself into danger for them?"
Trung opened his eyes. The blue light within was not cold… but sorrowful.
"They fear because they do not understand. But if I do not act… who will protect them?"
Professor An clenched his fist.
"You do not owe this country enough to die again!"
"I still owe," Trung whispered, gazing at the cave ceiling. "I owe my mother. I owe Mai. I owe those who fell at Hoa Lac."
Silence. A pebble dropped, echoing like water in the night. The professor switched on a lamp. In the corner, a metal table. Upon it lay an unfinished sword. Its body carved with dragons, waves, Đông Sơn circles. The blade unlit, yet trembling as if awaiting a call.
"I call it… Việt Linh," the professor exhaled. "Not a weapon. But memory. The soul of this land."
He opened a sealed wooden box. Inside, a green crystal, small as a palm, yet radiating the aura of ancient forests and primordial earth.
"This crystal," he said softly, "was taken from beneath Nghĩa Lĩnh, where our ancestors raised the pillar of heaven. It will only resonate with a heart that still remembers the name of its homeland."
Trung slowly reached out to touch Việt Linh.
The moment his finger brushed the blade, it sang. Not the sound of machines. Not of metal.
But of bronze drums. Bamboo flutes. The marching feet of Lam Sơn soldiers. The sacred sword of An Dương Vương drawn from its sheath. An ancient song rose.
The professor gasped: "Do you hear it?"
"No…", Trung closed his eyes. "Not sound… but a call."
The green crystal from Nghĩa Lĩnh was set into the hilt. Trung placed both hands upon the blade.
CRACK!
A bolt of azure lightning tore the sky. The professor shielded his eyes. The sword shook violently… then exploded. But not into shards. It dissolved into billions of luminous particles, like stardust, rushing into Trung's body. Blue light surged, merging with the green aura of Việt's spirit.
His heartbeat thundered thump… thump…like the Đồng Cổ drum echoing from the earth. The professor cried out: "Trung! Let go! You'll die again!"
Trung gripped the vanished hilt tighter:
"If I must die… then let this sword be born."
The earth quaked.
On Mount Tản Viên's peak, gray clouds split apart. A storm dragon spiraled down into the cave.
BOOOOOOM!
The ground cracked. Stone shattered. Light erupted like a sun within the mountain. The professor was hurled outside, collapsing, tears streaming under the weight of the force.
At the heart of the storm, Trung stood tall.
The Lac Hồn Armor summoned itself but this time, transformed.
Bronze drum motifs not only glowed, but spun like wheels of time. Twin dragons along his spine breathed. His eyes shifted blue mingled with gold the hue of arc lightning and the sun upon Đông Sơn drums.
From his chest, a new sword of condensed light emerged: VIỆT LINH.
"For the people… if needed, I will unsheathe."
"For the nation… if needed, I will fight."
Mount Tản Viên roared with resonance. Clouds coiled into a colossal dragon encircling the peak, its head turned toward the Red River. A bolt carved a sword-shape upon the cliff face.
Military Command Center, Hanoi.
Red alert.
"Report! Energy surge from Ba Vì! Twelve times above B672 threshold!"
"Electromagnetic waves disrupting radar! Our satellites jammed!"
"This is not an attack… it is an awakening?"
Major General Lộc rose, breathing softly:
"It is… him."
General Phạm Huy Tín stood frozen, eyes no longer wary but reverent.
"No… this is no longer him. This is… the spirit of a nation."
Behind them, an international advisor from the Energy Alliance smirked, whispering in English
:
"So… this is the soul of Vietnam? Let's see… if a soul can stand against capital and machines."
Van Sinh's dark chamber. Tử Nhãn watched the screen, Trung standing amidst mountain winds. His lips curled:
"Việt Linh… you have finally awakened it."
"Good. The more he becomes a symbol… the easier to topple that statue."
He turned to three awakening tanks:
B944 Fire God Awakened
B786 Steel Cactus
B252 Spirit Devourer
"Release Phase Three. Seize Việt's soul. Steal what they call the 'Soul of the Nation.'"
Dawn Trung stepped onto Ba Vì's summit. Wind tore at his scorched armor. Far below, Hanoi shimmered like the dream he once lived with Mai, Tùng, and Lan. He drew Việt Linh. The blade shone like a galaxy.
"If this land still has people to protect… then I whether steel or blood remain Vietnamese."
Professor An stood behind him, silent. His eyes glistened with tears.