Chapter 58: Kazimierz Field Inspection Report

‘Goodbye!

You two!

This one is being shipped off to Sami as a scientific researcher, and this one is going to Columbia to follow the Director into the sky!

Get lost!

Don’t even think about crossing paths with me again until Terra is destroyed, especially you!’

That was what the Doctor’s internal monologue was screaming.

He was a mastermind, a ruthless tactician, a man who banished annoying operators to the most desolate trading posts and factories in his base without a second thought.

Yet, here he was, doing the exact opposite.

The pale gold solution in the syringe was a miracle in a vial.

It was more effective than any back-alley medicine the little girl had ever seen in her short, miserable life.

As the fluid entered her companion’s bloodstream, she could clearly see the jagged, terrifying Originium crystals on the boy’s skin actually beginning to lose their ominous luster, the dark marks fading right before her eyes.

She fidgeted nervously, the desperate bluntness she had shown when they first met completely evaporating.

“I…

you should give it to him first.

I don’t have any money.”

In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to say, “We both can’t afford it.”

She had to be careful.

Just in case—just in case this terrifyingly clean young man didn’t understand the slums and thought her best friend could somehow pay for the treatment.

She was completely illiterate, but she had met plenty of “smart” people while trying to sell scraps on the streets.

Most of them would just kick her into the gutter.

One rare, kindly soul had once explained the brutal logic of this city to her: if she didn’t provide equal value and caused a wealthy person a loss of time, she deserved the beating she got.

Now, this strange young man was not only losing his precious time, but he was also wasting medicine that looked incredibly expensive on them.

Yet, he hadn’t beaten her.

He hadn’t even raised his voice.

She suddenly felt a bitter pang of regret for trying to scam him earlier.

Children grown in the fertile soil of suffering were always like this; they valued their own lives so cheaply that they were easily overwhelmed by even the slightest drop of genuine kindness.

The young man—the Doctor—huffed irritably, his voice dripping with cold authority.

“No need.

You couldn’t afford this even if you sold this entire slum and everyone in it.

Stay still.”

Both children instantly froze, obediently stopping all movement.

Their dark, hollow eyes stared unblinkingly at him, carrying a heavy, silent weight that almost made him feel pressured.

Internally, the Doctor was sweating.

As a notorious ‘min-maxing completionist’ player on the land of Terra, his intentional wrong bet on the local cricket fight earlier was just for fun—a little side-quest amusement.

If a slum kid whose ear fur hadn’t even fully grown in could hide their true thoughts right under his nose, it would be a massive insult to his legendary moniker as the Evil Spirit of Babel!

This is the Doctor: Terra is too big, and my AP is limited; I can only protect those I actively care about.

This is also the Doctor: I’m saying I’ve decided to care right now, are you deaf?!

Beside him, Gravel was holding the two children down with one gloved hand.

She was smiling, but her eyes remained fixed on the syringe in the Doctor’s hand, a strange, unreadable light shining in her gaze.

“If you want to run off and tell the lapdogs from the Commerce Union, go right ahead.” The Doctor deliberately shook the vial of pale gold solution in front of her, his tone perfectly flat.

He knew full well that the upper management of Kazimierz would never trust the words of a slave-born knight.

No one in their right mind would cross Rhodes Island over a mere “possibility” mentioned by someone of her status.

But instead of looking intimidated, Gravel’s smile only deepened, looking even happier.

“Of course not.

I’m still much more interested in you.”

???

Wait, this isn’t right!

the Doctor panicked internally.

Shouldn’t this be the part where we reminisce about your childhood trauma and our current dire situation?

Shouldn’t you start acting wary and using heavy, cryptic philosophical jargon to elevate the narrative theme of the chapter?!

Why are you focusing on your personal waifu preferences in the middle of a slum clinic scene?!

His future operator was actively attacking his ‘No Romance’ tag, and it was terrifying!

“Ahem…

so, what are your names?” The Doctor awkwardly cleared his throat, forcefully changing the subject to interrogate the two children.

“Our names?” The little boy was still visibly weak, leaning against the rusted wall, but he spoke with absolute seriousness.

“We don’t have names.”

“Then what do people usually call you?”

“This…

she’s called Little Brat, and I’m called Sickly Ghost.” The boy looked deeply ashamed as he spoke, his ears drooping.

“That’s what everyone calls us.”

…Great.

A hellish naming convention with true Terra characteristics!

The Doctor took a deep, steadying breath.

“…Those aren’t names, and PRTS wouldn’t let such titles pass the censorship review.

Now, pick new ones.

Pick them yourselves; don’t ask me to do it for you.” He paused, adjusting his coat to look as intimidating as possible.

“Until you’ve paid back the value of this medicine, you two belong to me.”

The little girl spoke up first, her voice trembling.

“Then…

then can I be called Tiran?”

That way, she reasoned, whenever this big brother saw her name, he would remember she was the little girl who owed him an impossible amount of money, and he wouldn’t accidentally give her food by mistake.

The boy furrowed his brow, thinking hard for a moment.

“…Then, can I be called Tiran’s Dog?”

“Pfft—cough, cough, cough—!!!”

The Doctor nearly choked on his own spit, his mastermind facade shattering for a split second as he looked up in absolute disbelief.

“You’re illiterate!

Who the hell did you learn that from?!”

The boy explained, looking oddly proud of himself: “When I sneaked out to watch the arena matches before, only the big shots who stood closest to the VIP section were qualified to call themselves ‘The Radiant Knight’s dog’!

Right now, I’m the one standing closest to Tiran, so it makes sense!”

…Could this kid be a genius?!

The Doctor slapped a hand over his face, groaning.

“…You’re absolutely not allowed to use that!”

“Why, sir?”

“Because you can’t handle the weight of that name!

Save it for when I need to pick my own forum ID!”

The boy’s face suddenly turned chalk-white with realization.

“Sor—sorry, my lord!

I forgot you also—”

“Stop, stop, stop!”

The more he tried to explain, the worse it got!

The Doctor quickly nuked the topic before his reputation was ruined forever.

“Anyway, a name is a very important thing.

If you can’t think of a good one, listen to this thing’s suggestions and think about it as we walk.”

He switched PRTS to voice-input mode, shoved the device into the boy’s hands, and finally began his actual field inspection of the lower levels of Kazimierz, accompanied by these two completely unplanned NPC interludes.

After walking only a dozen steps into the gloom, the Doctor could feel countless malicious gazes piercing them from the shadows.

The local thugs were greedily eyeing his clean Rhodes Island uniform and the shiny metal ornaments on his chest.

However, the moment Gravel intentionally shifted her cloak to reveal her concealed weapon and the glint of her knight’s medal, those predatory gazes vanished without a trace, scurrying back into the dark like roaches.

Just another bored big shot coming down to the slums to play…

The Doctor could easily read the atmosphere.

If he showed even a single frame of weakness, these people wouldn’t mind at all making a quick profit off his freshly stripped corpse.

Kazimierz was exactly like a long-dead giant beast.

Its outer skin—the neon signs and towering stadiums—still looked glamorous and vibrant, but its core had completely rotted and fermented, emitting suffocating waves of stench.

To maintain the brilliant, blinding lights of the Grand Arena above, the city couldn’t even afford to give the people down here basic kerosene lamps.

Harsh environment?

Go watch the arena!

Polluted air?

Go to the arena!

Homeless?

Sleep outside the arena!

More and more Kazimierzian citizens were being forced into the slums, wandering aimlessly in the shadows of the stadiums.

They relied entirely on that tiny, manufactured fantasy of the beauty and glory inside the arena to support their broken minds through one miserable day after another.

Simultaneously, they overtaxed their own blood, sweat, and lives to continuously supply the very fantasy that kept them trapped.

The knight competition culture was like a potent narcotic, numbing the agonizing pain of this entire nation while happily leading it by the hand toward a prosperous, highly-televised chronic death.

Crack!

A crisp sound echoed from beneath the Doctor’s boots.

Stopping, he looked down and saw a Kuranta limb—so thoroughly decayed and skeletal that its outline was barely visible—stuck to a scrap of rotten newspaper on a cracked floor tile.

He leaned down, brushing away the grime, and barely managed to make out a few blurry, faded words printed on the scrap:

…Knight…

Return…

Beneath his mask, the Doctor’s lips curled into a sharp smile.

Good.

Now he had a bit more use for the upcoming negotiations.

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!

to use the links!)