Chapter 107: Mad Shrike (VIII)

Since the industrial chain of the new Kazdel was basically cobbled together by Tabo single-handedly, he suffered from the exact same bad habit as you—designing building exteriors on an absolute whim. And since absolutely no one in the organization possessed the courage to walk up to this ‘battlefield evil spirit’ and ask him to his face, “What kind of architectural garbage did you just draft?”, the final skyline of the new Kazdel could only be described as a grotesque amalgamation of everyone’s worst traits. It was a chaotic landscape born from his left brain declaring war on his right.

The munitions production area was styled exactly like Barbie’s Dreamhouse, painted in an aggressive shade of pink. The indicator lights lining the secret subterranean passages connecting the various sectors were tangled into a blinding mess that perfectly mirrored the gacha interface of FGO. The agricultural zone was carefully modeled after Jinzhou City from Wuthering Waves—a majestic cyber-xianxia aesthetic—yet its only actual high-tech function was an automated sprinkler that applied fertilizer every three days. The administrative district was laid out with the oppressive, claustrophobic dread of an anomaly containment zone from Lobotomy Corporation. Meanwhile, the research center was plastered top-to-bottom in ancient Sarkaz totems, exuding the stale, highly superstitious scent of a medieval Inquisition.

As for the light industrial zone… well, the light industrial zone had just been blown to pieces, so there was no need to dwell on it.

Yet, all of these were still somewhat within the world of acceptable eccentricity. The true abnormality was the central council building, a structure meant to symbolize the tripartite rule of Babel by Theresa, Kal’tsit, and himself. When he first drafted the blueprints, he had argued his case with absolute conviction, stating, “Theresa stands as the central pillar of our cause, while Kal’tsit and I should orbit the supreme authority of the Sarkaz King like loyal satellites.”

The final result of this grand vision was a massive, towering cylindrical shaft with two perfectly symmetrical, heavy spherical archives resting heavily at its base. From a distance, it looked suspiciously like a highly explicit, ancient Sarkaz fertility totem.

Kal’tsit’s face had turned a vivid shade of green the day she saw it. “Doctor, must I really conduct my daily administrative work inside the right… ah, the right side of this… work of art?”

It was precisely this historical incident that allowed you to discover that Kal’tsit’s initial personality settings actually came equipped with a hardcoded profanity censorship program.

Even Theresa eventually felt the design was entirely inappropriate for public morale. After racking her brains alongside you for half a month, she finally decided to add a thick, protective ring around the very tip of the tower. She claimed it symbolized the black crown of the Sarkaz race, and that the hollow space inside could conveniently be used to supply circulating hot water to the rest of the building.

On the day this architectural remedial measure was completed, Kal’tsit went in person to witness the aesthetic sensibilities of the Sarkaz King. In the end, she didn’t utter a single word. She simply turned on her heel and fled the plaza at terminal velocity, looking exactly like a cat that had just been startled by a cucumber.

According to the highly detailed report filed by the mole you had planted in Kal’tsit’s department, she suffered a minor breakdown in her office that very afternoon. She was heard muttering to herself that Tabo and Theresa were a pair of star-crossed menaces; one had designed such a massive, imposing… work of art, and the other had thoughtfully slapped a safety measure over the top of it, effectively forcing the entire Sarkaz population to stare at a giant prophylactic.

That particular mole possessed a terrifying amount of comedic talent, flawlessly reenacting Kal’tsit’s horrified expressions and frantic pacing. Tabo, who was already teetering on the edge of being mentally crushed by the sheer weight of this barren land, didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he just stared at the spy and asked in a chillingly gentle tone, “And then?”

That quiet question terrified the gifted Sarkaz operative so badly that his hair stood on end. He instantly forgot the rest of his routine, prematurely stifling a highly promising theatrical career. You, currently floating as a ghost and laughing until you were doubled over in the air, expressed deep regret over this. You firmly committed his name to memory, fully intending to check if he was still alive when you finally returned to your own timeline. If he had survived the war, you were absolutely transferring him to your department to be your personal assistant.

Why drag up such a ridiculous digression right now? Because you were currently so incredibly bored that you were dragging out the fragmented memories of the past few months just to whip them like a dead horse. You were beginning to seriously suspect that your past self wasn’t sitting in this dingy tavern to track down a suspect at all. Man, he was throwing back cups of watered-down Sarkaz spirits like it was his last day on Terra! Was he really just here to drown his sorrows?

Tabo, naturally, could not hear the cheerful, running mockery from his future self. He simply pulled down the collar of the worn, dust-stained mercenary scarf he was using as a disguise and downed another half-cup of cheap liquor in a single smooth motion.

You leaned in close. Relying entirely on your intangible ghost status, you shoved your face right through his scarf like a 3D game model clipping through geometry, getting a perfect look at his true state. From the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck, a heavy, flushed red had already spread.

‘Bro, if your tolerance is this trash, let’s just stop drinking…’you thought, shaking your head.’Are you seriously just slacking off on company time?’

You watched helplessly as he poured another cup. You were so bored you were genuinely considering imitating that one guy from Dragon Raja and counting your own past eyelashes just to pass the time.

Right at that moment, the man who looked like he was one shot away from a stupor quietly set his cup down. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, casting a sharp, perfectly sober glance out of the corner of his eye toward the heavy fabric curtain at the tavern’s entrance.

A three-person mercenary squad stepped out of the howling dust and into the dim light of the bar. The group consisted of a red-haired, surprisingly educated-looking Sarkaz man, a Caprini woman with deliberately filed-down horns, and a chaotic-looking mixed-blood Sarkaz girl who clearly hadn’t received much formal training.

The cheap alcohol hadn’t dulled his processing speed in the slightest. Tabo’s memory banks spun up rapidly, cross-referencing their faces. In a fraction of a second, he ‘saw’the combat records of the two older mercenaries flashing through the Babel intelligence archives.’We’ve worked on the same battlefields before… but they don’t possess the necessary clearance or the technical skills to infiltrate my industrial zone.’

He immediately mentally cleared them of suspicion and looked away.

Meanwhile, you were floating above him, practically vibrating with anxiety, screaming silently at your past self. ‘Damn it! A premium mercenary family of three! Two top-tier meta operators right in front of you! Hurry up and engage! Are you going to recruit them or not?!”I want this one! And I want that one!’

Unfortunately, Tabo—whose brain had not yet been thoroughly polluted by the capitalist, operator-hoarding tendencies of a certain Rabbit Head—had eyes only for his infrastructure projects. He possessed absolutely zero desire to collect top-tier SSR mercenaries.

As soon as Hoederer pulled out a chair and sat down, intending to order a round of drinks, his gaze swept the room. He spotted that distinct white hair and those chilling, dead gray eyes sitting alone at the opposite table.

His polite mercenary smile instantly froze into a rictus of sheer terror.

In the span of a single heartbeat, a terrifyingly long string of bloody, classified combat records flashed through his mind. The reputation of the man sitting across the room—a tactical monster who slaughtered entire companies wherever he went, a walking Terra-style Holy Grail of death—was already making Hoederer’s boots itch toward the exit.

As a mercenary, having this man on your side of the battlefield provided a sense of absolute, untouchable security. But running into this man in a random, neutral tavern? What was the difference between this and casually finding an active Originium explosive resting on your pillow in your own safe house?!

Hoederer desperately wanted to grab the two women and sprint out the door, but his tactical mind calculated that running would be far too conspicuous. If he bolted, he might be instantly finished off by whatever invisible sniper squad this madman had undoubtedly arranged outside. He also completely lacked the suicidal courage required to walk up and strike up a casual conversation. Trapped by his own paranoia, he had to sit there stiffly, frantically signaling Ines with his eyes.

Ines tilted her head a fraction of an inch. Her expression shifted into a mask of cold neutrality, and she communicated back through subtle eye movements, keeping her face hidden from the young ‘mercenary’ standing behind her.

How do we get out?

Hoederer twitched a brow, signaling back to reassure her: Let’s wait and see for now. It’s statistically impossible that a man of his caliber is here specifically for us.

Ines remained deeply uneasy. She subtly extended a finger beneath the table and traced a small, tight circle in the air, imitating the invisible threads of a puppet. But what if he has already calculated our movements into his grand plan beforehand? You’ve seen the after-action reports. You know what his mind is capable of.

Hoederer frowned heavily. He shot her a sharp look, then held up a single finger, indicating she needed to stop overthinking the situation. If he has already calculated us into his web, then there is absolutely no way we can avoid it. Since he has chosen to appear visibly before us, it means he already holds absolute certainty over the outcome. We might as well sit down and bet our lives that he doesn’t have the habit of throwing away useful pawns immediately after using them.

W, who had been lingering behind them, was currently holding a greasy plate of roasted potatoes. She stood there blinking, watching the two veteran mercenaries who had saved her life rolling their eyes around like maniacs with deadly serious expressions.

She watched closely as Ines stared at Hoederer with a grave face, secretly gesturing a “0” with her hand.

Then, she watched Hoederer frown in deep disapproval, his eyes practically glued in terror to the handsome, white-haired mercenary sitting alone at the opposite table, before he quietly gestured a “1” back at Ines.

W’s brain ground to a halt.

Wait. Was Hoederer a 0? Was his ideal type of man that cold, terrifyingly handsome guy sitting over there?

W stared at the potatoes, tried incredibly hard to process this complex adult dynamic, and then suddenly reached a deep realization.

While the other two veterans sat frozen, their eyes practically popping out of their sockets in sheer panic, W felt a surge of heroic loyalty. With the fearless spirit of a girl willing to walk through fire and water to support Hoederer’s tragic pursuit of true love, she confidently carried her plate of potatoes right up to the walking natural disaster.

She slammed the plate down on his table, popped her hip, and smirked. “Yo~ handsome. You sitting here all alone?”

Tabo:…?

[Rhodes’s Note:

– Super-sized cups (): A common Chinese gacha gaming slang term used to describe top-tier, highly overpowered units (SSRs). The ghost-Doctor is looking at Hoederer and Ines as premium meta units he wants to pull for his account.

– 0 and 1: Chinese internet slang used to denote roles in a same-sex relationship, where ‘0’refers to the bottom and’1′ refers to the top. W completely misinterprets Ines and Hoederer’s tactical hand signals, assuming Hoederer is a bottom who has a crush on the Doctor.]

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent! 🙇‍♂️):

Massive thanks for reading and supporting the operation!]