Chapter 96: Adding a Bit More Rhodes Island Daily Fun!

“0 points!”

“5 points…”

“1 point.”

The three judges held up their scorecards in rapid succession. Aside from the ever-kind Amiya, who offered a passing grade that would not shatter anyone’s pride, the other two delivered a swift and merciless death sentence before Thorns could even finish reading the introductory speech.

Veins throbbed faintly against Młynar’s forehead. He sat rigidly in his chair, wondering if he should be thankful that Elysium at least had the decency not to scratch his backside on stage this time.

The next contestant scheduled to appear was Skadi, but the stage was currently lacking an announcer.

The second contestant, having just been booted off the stage, finally realized who had tampered with his script. Elysium unleashed a spectacular flying seagull kick, launching himself directly at the announcer’s podium and dragging Thorns into a messy, rolling scuffle across the floorboards. Pinned to the ground and eating dust, Thorns still maintained his deadpan composure enough to offer a logical defense.

“You were never going to get first place anyway. We might as well take the bribe money, and I will split half of it with you later.”

Answering with a fist to the face, the infuriated Elysium doubled down on the assault. Thorns immediately retaliated, snatching up the heavy clipboard containing the event script and slamming it repeatedly against the Liberi’s head.

Behind the curtain, Skadi was actually feeling a rare flutter of nervousness. She had specially changed her entire aesthetic for today’s competition, clutching a few plush Deep Sea Hunter dolls to her chest for moral support. Her long, snow-white hair cascaded down both sides of her shoulders, framing the gorgeous, trailing hem of a deep crimson dress that swept across the floor. Bright red gloves covered her hands, and a delicate little crown rested upon her head. She maintained her usual expressionless face, but her heart was beating a fraction faster than normal.

Hoping to relieve the tension as she slowly walked out from the backstage shadows, she softly hummed the old, haunting melody her captain had once taught her.

In the center judge’s seat, the eyes of the rabbit-head mask instantly went dead and hollow.

‘How did Ishar-mla get in here?!’The Doctor nearly suffered a catastrophic heart attack on the spot.’Skadi, does your captain have any idea you are dressed up as the literal apocalypse right now?!’

“9 points!” Młynar was the first to raise his placard, his voice ringing with genuine approval. With Elysium’s public leg-scratching disaster fresh in his mind, the Kuranta knight did not even need to hear an introduction. He was already overflowing with goodwill toward this young lady who had actually bothered to wear a proper, professional evening gown that fully complied with standard Terran high-society etiquette.

To think that an Aegir actually knew how to dress for a formal occasion. What an incredibly rare and respectable sight!

She simply stood quietly on the stage. She did not cause a sudden chemical explosion. She did not pull out a camera to shove into the judges’ faces for a guerrilla interview. She did not squat down to frantically scratch her shins. And, most, she was not currently engaged in a physical brawl with the host!

Młynar was extremely satisfied.

“0 points!” The rabbit head slammed his hands violently onto the table, his voice cracking in absolute, unfiltered panic. “No Corrupting Heart! I do not want the Corrupting Heart!”

Młynar’s golden ears, which had been drooping listlessly against his scalp in his usual exhausted corporate-slave manner, suddenly perked up. They swiveled sharply, rotating a half-circle to lock onto the rabbit-head mask, as if he had just recognized a familiar tone of pure cowardice.

The rabbit head immediately froze, cutting off his shouting. He simply sat there in silence, frantically waving his zero-point card back and forth in the air.

Młynar stared at him.

The knight silently adjusted his posture, shifting his spine from the slouched, dejected posture of a tired salaryman into the high-spirited, imposing stance of the Młynar Knight.

He was sitting in the judges’ seat today, and he would uphold the dignity of the role.

Amiya looked back and forth between the Doctor, who was waving his hands like a madman, and Skadi, who stood on stage looking utterly blank, clearly not expecting such a visceral rejection. Overcome with a heavy conscience, the young Cautus slowly raised a placard showing a six.

‘I am so sorry, Skadi,’Amiya thought.’But since this outfit triggers the Doctor’s fight-or-flight response so badly, I have to give you a lower score.”Ah. The score is not high. The bonus prize money is gone.’ Skadi thought to herself, clutching her plush dolls tighter. Her face remained completely stoic.’Looking at the version of me who picked out this outfit… her taste in fashion is not very good after all.’Skadi offered a polite, practiced bow, remembering to gracefully lift the edges of her skirt, and departed the stage with elegant, measured steps.’It is an illusion. It has to be an illusion. Why do I feel like something is horribly wrong?’ The Doctor desperately comforted himself. He quickly mumbled an excuse about needing to use the restroom, slipped out of the noisy party room, and ducked into a quiet corridor. Flipping open his tactical terminal, he shamelessly activated the biometric monitoring function linked to Skadi’s operator bracelet.

He was not a control freak, he reasoned. It was just that highly intelligent tactical commanders tended to overthink things. He had simply installed a few harmless biometric surveillance trackers on all active operators, and whenever the crushing weight of anxiety threatened to overwhelm him, he pulled up the data to soothe his nerves. It was a highly effective method for relieving the stress of chronic overtime.

He also solemnly declared to the empty hallway that he was absolutely not a peeping tom. At night, he only ever opened the basic location-monitoring mode. He harbored absolutely zero lewd intentions regarding watching his operators change clothes. Working overtime every single day drained all the life out of him anyway; he had no ulterior motives toward his precious, heavily armed employees.

As a refined intellectual who had long since abandoned low-level desires in favor of lofty strategic ideals, he simply enjoyed the warm, comforting sense of security that came from knowing his operators were diligently following the exact work trajectories he had mapped out for them, without a single millimeter of deviation from his absolute control.

‘…Alright, phrasing it like that does sound incredibly perverted.’

The self-proclaimed perverted Doctor ruthlessly suppressed his own conscience. His fingers flew across the screen, simultaneously opening the audio feed, the biometric surveillance, and the terminal browsing history for Skadi. His multi-tasking operations were smooth and coherent to a genuinely absurd degree.

Through the camera feed, Skadi looked visibly disappointed as she walked silently down the corridor toward her dormitory. Her behavioral habits, gait, and micro-expressions deviated slightly from the baseline data he had previously recorded, but they still fell well within the acceptable fluctuation threshold. It was likely just a shift in her mood. Had he hurt her feelings by slamming down a zero just now?

Blood sample analysis… Normal.

Muscle fiber and bone density development… Good.

Terminal browsing history… A few old Iberian nursery rhymes and local folklore stories. No abnormalities detected.

Activity level of alienated Seaborn cells… Extremely low.

Post-war trauma recovery index… Excellent.

Daily work log… Completed exactly as planned.

Psychological state assessment… Good.

Skadi’s internal state was unexpectedly stable. There was absolutely no sign of her consciousness merging with the Hive. Aside from her monstrous, superhuman physical fitness, her readings were identical to those of an ordinary person. She did not even display the slightest hint of psychological instability.

‘It is almost like…’The Doctor paused, formulating a highly inappropriate analogy in his head.’It is almost like the Oripathy on Wis’adel being perfectly suppressed by Theresa, but replacing the rock cancer with Seaborn assimilation.”Wait, what am I thinking? It is just a metaphor. Calm down.’

He was not having a mental breakdown. Really, he was fine. First of all, a sudden Seaborn invasion inside the landship was statistically improbable today. Secondly, even if it did happen, he had already survived the sheer shock of dealing with the Lord of Fiends and the Aether-Phase Engine. What kind of threat was a depressed, sentient floor-cleaning Abyssal Hunter in comparison?

Unless, of course, she decided to launch a direct assault on his ‘No Pairing’ lifestyle tag. But how could that be possible? This was a Seaborn! This was Ishar-mla! She was far more likely to literally consume his flesh than try to romance him!

The Doctor wiped a thick layer of cold sweat from his forehead and made a firm mental note to install at least two more redundant GPS locators on Skadi’s gear the moment he got back to his office. He pulled the white rabbit-head mask back over his face and hurried back to the competition venue.

Regardless of the existential dread, he needed to finish watching the comedy show first. Even if the Seaborn really did come ashore right now, it would be fine. At worst, he would just treat it like playing Contingency Contract: Operation Deepness all over again, and he would deploy Blemishine to the stage to chain-sleep the entire ocean!

Just as he slid back into the center judge’s seat, he heard Thorns reciting the most explosive, career-ending introduction possible, delivered in the absolute calmest tone imaginable.

“Our next contestant is the melancholy parent who came to win glory for his great benefactor, Kal’tsit. Please welcome Passenger! He will now demonstrate the core values of Rhodes Island’s corporate culture by radiating his gentle, charming, and overwhelming maternal brilliance!”

‘What kind of corporate culture is that?!’The Doctor screamed internally.’The culture of stealing other people’s wives?!’

It was painfully obvious that Passenger had absolutely no idea the elegant introduction he had carefully drafted had been butchered into this monstrosity. The Liberi Caster froze at the edge of the stage, stunned into silence for a full three seconds. But as a man who had ruthlessly dominated the Sargon black market for years, he was not someone to be trifled with. After rapidly calculating exactly who in the room had the motive, the funds, and the sheer audacity to frame him like this, Passenger slowly turned his head. His eyes locked onto Logos, who was currently standing near the curtain, leisurely smoothing out the cuffs of his sleeves.

Logos adjusted his velvet cuffs without a single shift in his calm expression. Mr. Passenger rarely returned to the landship, so he naturally did not understand the true nature of the host running this competition. As long as a contestant had enough LMD to grease the wheels, the script could be rewritten a single second before stepping onto the stage. It was honestly a pity that Warfarin was not the host this year; if she had been, Logos would have had the confidence to sabotage fifteen competitors simultaneously.

He had already missed out on the “Who is the Doctor’s Favorite Operator” competition last time due to a mission. Carrying the heavy glory of the Banshee Royal Court on his shoulders, he absolutely could not afford to lose today!

Młynar did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. He slammed his placard down. “0 points!”

Utterly unreasonable. Trying to play these petty political tricks right in front of his eyes? And what was this nonsense about a “melancholy parent”? How could a ruthless black market master not die of sheer embarrassment introducing himself like that? Was this the pathetic method he usually employed to seduce the Doctor into letting him be the assistant of the day? A foul-smelling schemer who could not even walk onto the stage properly!

Before Młynar even lowered his zero-point sign, and before Thorns could finish reading the rest of Passenger’s ruined biography, Logos impatiently stepped out from the wings. He moved with light, impossibly elegant steps. At that exact moment, the sixteen massive overhead spotlights—relics that had not been powered on since the end of the Babel era and had gathered years of thick dust—ignited simultaneously. They carved a blinding, star-studded avenue of light directly across the floorboards, illuminating his path.

This was the hidden advantage of being one of the old Babel veterans. Even though the Rhodes Island landship had been drifting across the barren wastelands of Terra for years, most of the fixtures in this party room had been personally wired and decorated by the Doctor and Theresa during the golden days. Time had decayed much of the room, leaving the old spotlights with mottled, scratched lenses.

These ancient machines had been designed and assembled piece by piece by the Doctor himself, back when a certain little Sarkaz girl had thrown a tantrum and refused to study her tactical theory. After so many years, the young Banshee’s memories of that era had thinned out, fading like bubbles in soapy water. Only in these insignificant, warm little gaps did the ghosts of a past that could still create rainbows in the sunlight remain.

Logos wore a faint, confident smile at the corner of his mouth as he strolled calmly toward the center of the stage. With every step he took, the gold, silver, and gemstone Banshee-style ornaments woven into his attire caught the blinding light, flashing with an expensive, overwhelming radiance.

Thorns, whose voice had sounded as cold and dead as a fish freshly slaughtered in an Iberian market just a moment ago, suddenly erupted into roaring passion.

“Walking toward us now is the Lord of the Banshee Court! A vanishingly rare male Banshee of the river valley! A peerless, gifted master of incantations! One of Rhodes Island’s most devastatingly powerful Elite Operators! The Doctor’s most loyal follower and student, and the undisputed reigning champion of the Round Office Stool Sliding Competition… Mr. Logos!!!”

“His formal wear today is tailored from midnight blue velvet. The cut of the fabric undoubtedly adopts Victoria’s latest, most exclusive high-society style. As he moves, his cape flows like a fragment of the deep starry sky! Combining pure elegance with untouchable mystery, his very presence perfectly reflects the Doctor’s supreme aesthetic level and noble identity! Taking him out for diplomatic negotiations provides not only an invincible bodyguard, but a walking, breathing work of art…”

Before Thorns could finish screaming the gorgeous, disgustingly flattering introduction that Logos had paid a small fortune to insert, the “mysterious” and “elegant” Mr. Art Piece suddenly stumbled hard. His foot caught on an invisible snag, and he pitched forward, nearly planting his beautiful face directly into the wooden floorboards.

Standing in the shadows of the wings, Passenger smoothly withdrew his hand, the faint crackle of residual Originium lightning fading from his fingertips. He smiled with deep, genuine satisfaction.

‘Want to step on my head to climb the ranks?’Passenger thought coldly.’Keep dreaming.’

Młynar stared at the young Banshee stumbling on the stage, his expression growing deeply solemn. When exactly did this boy join Rhodes Island? And how did he know the exact operational codes to activate those ancient Babel spotlights?

The Kuranta knight scoured his memories. He had never seen this formidable rival back in the old Babel days when he was younger. It was strange. In his memory, the only little Banshee who matched that specific age bracket and had lived through the Babel era was a young girl, right?

Młynar fell into a spiral of deep confusion, genuinely beginning to doubt the integrity of his own aging memory. But the most serious problem right now was not his cognitive decline. The problem was how utterly scheming and venomous this Banshee was! This was no longer just an ordinary Sarkaz caster; this was a predator actively trying to seize Młynar’s specific ecological niche within the landship!

Młynar touched his own jawline with a trace of worry, starting to seriously ponder whether the Doctor preferred a mature, uncle-type knight, or a mysterious, crossdressing Banshee trap.

Of course, existential sorrow was one thing, but it did not stop his hands from moving. He ruthlessly slammed down a placard showing a pathetic three points for Logos.

He had never intended to give this flashy, arrogant Banshee a high score in the first place. And that was before the boy had nearly face-planted into the dirt!

Sitting beside him, the Doctor had witnessed the entire undercurrent of sabotage. He stared blankly ahead. ‘Passenger’s role in this competition is honestly no less critical than a heavy Defender holding the line in a high-risk operation! God does not forgive, and neither does the number one Caster!’

Eventually, trapped in an endless, petty battle of tripping, electrocuting, and sabotaging one another, several of the top male contestants were collectively eliminated from the running.

Logos, having racked his brilliant mind for every possible countermeasure, proudly secured fourth place from the very bottom.

It was also worth mentioning that Warfarin had actually attempted to participate alongside Duq’arael, the terrifying Sanguinarch. They had planned to play the roles of a charming vampire sibling duo. However, halfway through their walk, Warfarin completely lost control of her bloodlust, openly drooling all over the little Sarkaz girl’s clothes right there on the stage. Unable to bear the sheer indignity, Duq’arael beat the vampire medic into a pulp. Both were forcibly dragged off the stage and disqualified, their scores scrubbed from the final tally.

Finally, after a grueling process of elimination, the three judges reached a unanimous, obvious verdict. The contestant rated as the absolute most presentable operator to take out on official business was none other than Mon3tr, currently wearing a custom-tailored French maid outfit.

“It is both cold and sharp, yet it never loses its underlying tenderness!” The Doctor, still wearing his rabbit head, reached out and affectionately patted Mon3tr’s jagged, crystalline armor. “And it can deal massive true damage! Just standing quietly in the background, it projects an powerful aura of oppression. It is simply a flawless work of art!”

Mon3tr let out a series of excited, clicking roars, proudly spinning in a circle to show off the frills of its apron before lowering its massive, terrifying head to affectionately nuzzle the Doctor’s moronic rabbit mask.

Amiya smiled gently, holding up an eight. “Whatever the Doctor likes best is the right choice.”

Młynar stared at Mon3tr with a deeply tangled, conflicted expression. He sized up the towering crystalline spine-monster for a long time, eventually forcing himself to rationalize that this massive beast was incredibly dutiful as a personal guard. In a way, it shared certain core commonalities with the ancient spirit of chivalry. Defeated by his own logic, he sighed and raised a six.

Mon3tr’s final score had actually tied with Ascalon. However, after a brief, hushed discussion among the three judges, they concluded that the inner lining of Ascalon’s stealth cloak looked a bit too much like low-resolution game textures. Not only did this theoretically infringe on copyright laws, but it also made the usually noble and terrifying Ascalon look bizarrely two-dimensional. Using this completely outrageous, logic-defying reasoning, they deducted an extra 0.5 points from the assassin.

Ascalon, watching from the rafters, remained entirely silent.

“And so, the final winner is Mon3tr! Let us all congratulate it on becoming the absolute Super Big Cup! The Tier Zero Meta!”

The Doctor was only halfway through screaming his excited, gamer-slang-filled announcement when the overly excited Mon3tr lunged forward. Its jagged jaws snapped shut, accidentally biting the rabbit headgear right off the Doctor’s shoulders and tearing it away.

“The Doctor?!” The Liberi operators in the front row stared at the white-haired young man suddenly exposed beneath the mask, their eyes wide in total disbelief.

The rest of the operators in the room immediately played along, gasping and throwing their hands over their mouths, pretending to be utterly shocked by his masterful, impenetrable disguise technique.

Meanwhile, high up on the exterior observation deck, Kal’tsit sat completely alone on the metal railing. She let the freezing sea breeze wash over her for a long, long time, staring out into the barren wastelands. Finally, she turned her head.

Mon3tr had returned to her side at some point. The terrifying summon was currently wrapped in a chaotic mess of frilly ribbons, bound up in several inexplicable leather straps, and wore a massive, gold-foil-wrapped chocolate medal hanging proudly around its neck.

“First place in the Most Presentable Operator Competition: Mon3tr.” Kal’tsit read the inscription aloud. She reached out, unhooking the heavy chocolate medal from the beast’s neck. Turning it over, she found a second line carved into the back of the chocolate. The handwriting was crooked, clearly rushed, but the penmanship remained sharp and familiar.

Actually, there is also its owner, Kal’tsit.

Kal’tsit stared at the carved words in the dim light. She hesitated for a long moment, the sea breeze tugging at her green coat. Finally, she raised the medal to her lips and took a small, quiet bite from the edge. The rich sweetness melted instantly against her tongue.

‘Forget it. Let us not overthink that for now,’ she thought, looking back out at the horizon.

[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!]