Chapter 144: Don't You Dare Insult My 40,000-Damage Ambush Specialist!

I never thought the day would come where I would have to mediate a territorial dispute over the literal shadows cast upon the floorboards of Rhodes Island.

Phantom and Ascalon crouched on my left and right, their presences completely erased to anyone but me. I placed my terminal flat on the cold floor, tracing purple and black lines across the dimly lit corridors of the landship’s schematic, feeling exactly like I was laying power cables back in Endfield.

“These zones, these corners, and these vents belong to Phantom. The rest of the patrol routes are Ascalon’s territory. If either of you needs to borrow the other’s airspace, don’t start a bloodbath over it, alright?”

Phantom stared down at his noticeably sparser network of black lines. His gaze then shifted to the most critical piece of real estate on the board—the pitch-black shadow trailing directly behind the little digital avatar representing me. He gave a slow, aggrieved nod, his Feline ears twitching in silent protest.

Ascalon’s expression was far from pleasant. Sure, she basically had free rein to roam the entire landship, but the Doctor’s personal shadow had been partitioned! Who did this Feline think he was? He had just arrived, swaggering through the halls, leaving faint traces of his Originium Arts everywhere the Doctor walked. Did no one teach him basic assassin etiquette?

Neither of them was particularly thrilled with this geopolitical division, but out of sheer respect for my authority, they kept their murderous intent perfectly concealed.

I, on the other hand, was incredibly satisfied. Averting a turf war was a massive tactical victory. Under the unique culture of love and forgiveness that permeated our world, I was certain these two would soon become steadfast comrades, ready to entrust their lives to one another!

Phantom’s internal thoughts: ‘I need to find a suitable excuse to let my Originium Arts run wild. If I accidentally eradicate her during a manic episode, the Doctor won’t be too angry, right?’Ascalon’s internal thoughts:’I must fabricate irrefutable evidence of treason. Once the Doctor believes he is a traitor to Rhodes Island, I can dispose of him cleanly.’

The synchronization rate between these two Specialist operators was high enough to pilot an Evangelion. Behind my back, they were practically gnashing their teeth, plotting the gruesome demise of their sudden rival, all while maintaining a flawless veneer of professional harmony.

“Understood, Doctor,” Ascalon said, her voice a smooth, deadly whisper. “I will personally instruct him on the rules of Rhodes Island.”

“Although I do not believe I have committed any infractions…” Phantom murmured, his tone laced with a dark, theatrical edge. “If you require it of me, I can perform my duties far better than she ever could.”

See? Our landship was just a bastion of harmony, humility, and eager students!

Having successfully cultivated this beautiful new friendship, I watched as Ascalon let out a soft sigh. She cast one final, deeply wary glare at the shadow pooling at my feet before turning to melt into the darkness of the corridor.

Standing right behind me, Phantom raised his hands in a mocking gesture, pantomiming the act of laying cables, before retreating backward and vanishing into the abyss.

What more was there to say? The official Rhodes Island team-building retreat was still a month away. After briefly drafting a proposal to take Kal’tsit on a relaxing vacation to Dosoles, I dove right back into the grueling grind of managing the landship’s infrastructure.

I lost track of time, forgetting when I started and when I was supposed to stop. But honestly, who wouldn’t want to grind frantically for six straight hours just to scrape together enough resources for a ten-pull on a limited banner?

The only agonizing difference was that the Orundum I slaved over now could not actually be used to pull operators out of thin air. If I wanted a new operator, I had to physically track them down and catch them like Pokémon, using the personnel index as my guide.

The concept of a gacha pool from the game interface existed in this reality, but in a much crueler, infinitely more depressing form: the Medical Department’s budget. To maintain an Infected operator’s physical condition so they could survive the battlefield without their Oripathy deteriorating required far more than just popping a few emergency pills. It demanded elite medical professionals, specialized equipment, and agonizing major maintenance surgeries.

Take Suzuran, for example. Despite being a child, her Oripathy was relatively stable and controllable. The medical team could safely test new treatment plans on her at any time. In my gamer system, her situation was categorized as the permanent banner.

Rosmontis, however, was a completely different nightmare. She had undergone horrific experimental modifications, and her Originium lesions were embedded directly in her brain, maintaining a terrifyingly fragile balance. Her major maintenance surgeries had to be handled with absolute precision. If her physical condition dropped below a certain threshold, those high-risk procedures were strictly off the table. This was the limited banner.

Applying that exact same twisted logic, I had to worry about Wis’adel, the inevitably desolate future of Lappland, the apocalyptic threat of Skadi the Corrupting Heart succumbing to Ishar-mla, and the constantly worsening condition of our core healers…

Damn it all. Who the hell designed this PRTS system? The more I thought about the mechanics of this world, the more hellish it became!

While drowning in unpaid overtime, I stamped my approval on an emergency treatment plan for Nightingale. Tucked inside the medical file was a hastily scribbled note.

[Doctor, I’ve finished all the homework Silence assigned to me! When are you going to take me out to play? — Ifrit]

I picked up my pen and wrote my official administrative reply: [Good children should be honest.]

If that little pyromaniac had actually finished her homework, she would have already unlocked the Sword of Kings of Victoria!

Setting the files aside, I realized the Intelligence Room had not been improved in a while. Let’s see what we have here…

Wait… who is this guy again?

I stared blankly at the screen, my eyes locked onto a stack of three Clue 7s. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that this was the handiwork of that so-called 40,000-damage ambush specialist.

I didn’t care what kind of legendary feats he pulled off back in Kazimierz, or how much he supposedly contributed to the grand scheme of things. The moment his DPS dropped below the meta threshold, he was dead to me.

Could I just kick him off my landship? He was actively dragging down the average combat level of my entire roster!

Filled with righteous gamer fury, I shoved all three useless Clue 7s directly into SilverAsh’s digital mailbox. Whatever. Aside from Rhodes Island, Karlan Trade actively lost money doing business with literally anyone else, so it hardly mattered if the warlord actually looked at the intelligence or not.

Out of pure reflex, I clicked open Roy’s personnel file to review his base skills.

[Talent 1 – Keen Perception: When stationed in the Reception Room, it is easier to collect clues from Rhodes Island Pharmaceutical.]

Trash. Absolute, irredeemable trash. I couldn’t even fathom how to salvage a pathetic operator cursed with such a spectacularly useless talent. Was the developer’s left brain actively brawling with their right brain when they coded this guy?

I scrolled down, my eyes skimming the screen.

[Talent 2 – Locked: When stationed in the Trading Post, selling Originium Shards increases order income by 30%.]

Mediocre. Isn’t this just a budget version of Shamare… wait. Selling what?

In an instant, I felt the wrinkles on my cerebral cortex violently smooth themselves out. I even briefly suspected I had inhaled some toxic Originium dust and fallen into a severe hallucination.

It made sense. Suddenly, everything made perfect sense. What ambush specialist? What tactical rotation? Did the universe seriously expect me to deploy my dear, beloved Uncle Roy to a filthy battlefield?

I practically lunged for my terminal, my fingers flying across the screen. “Someone get the HR department on the line! I want to see Roy officially promoted to a Senior Elite Operator of Rhodes Island by this time tomorrow!”

I needed that base talent. I needed it now. Immediately. Right this very second!

And so, at exactly two in the morning, Młynar stood in the doorway of his dormitory, watching helplessly as his Kazimierz acquaintance from the neighboring room—a man who had lived in total obscurity until this very moment—was ceremoniously hog-tied and hauled out into the corridor. A swarm of highly efficient, dead-eyed young operators scrambled around the struggling assassin, forcefully dressing him in an exquisite, custom-tailored Rhodes Island uniform that rivaled Młynar’s own. To top it all off, they aggressively pinned a gleaming Elite 2 badge—personally authorized and polished by the Doctor—right onto his chest.

…Wait a minute. Didn’t that guy claim he was a 40,000-damage ambush specialist?

Just what exactly did the Doctor see in him?!

Młynar stared down the empty, echoing corridor, listening to Roy’s fading protests, and felt a deep, inexplicable sense of betrayal.

[Rhodes’s Note: Clue 7 is notorious in the Arknights player community for being the most common and useless clue generated in the Reception Room, often leading to players having an overflow of them while missing other crucial clues.]

[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!]