Arknights, I'm going to beat Kal'tsit, really?

Page 13

"If I were like Ama-10, having lived for tens of thousands of years, I would have nothing to say! But I'm only—"

"Don't rush," the doctor calmly interrupted, slowly extending two fingers.

"It's not absolutely unsolvable. There are two directions."

“First, it’s about propelling Terran technology to new heights. I can provide a list of the key technologies needed, many of which are sealed within pre-civilization facilities. Twenty years… that’s plenty of time.” Kane nodded slightly. This was part of the reason he chose to focus his efforts on Columbia, the most advanced place on land for the development of pre-civilization sites.

"Secondly, we should learn from the key success factors of Ama-10." The doctor's voice became low.

"The twin cycle system is incompatible with your original architecture and requires external life support devices for modification. This method can transplant her twin system to you... and you will then be able to obtain the same immortality mechanism as her."

But the twin cycle system is unique to Ama10. What would happen if this twin system were taken away from her?

“In theory, as long as the original neural interface is maintained, she can still reclaim the twin system when necessary. If you can reach an agreement to assist each other in completing the cycle when each other’s lives are nearing their end…” The doctor’s tone carried a hint of almost illusory idealism.

"Then you can walk side by side into the future."

Walking side by side into the future…exploring the meaning of life? Kane sneered inwardly. How naive this idea was, filled with the romantic fantasies of an idealist. Him and Kal'tsit, this "sibling" pair, helping each other? It might have been possible if the Doctor and Prismus hadn't broken ties, but these two creators had already parted ways. Could two creations that inherited their will have any chance of peaceful coexistence?

[This is pointless; Project Originium will eventually overshadow everything—they will be no exception.]

The meaning of life lies in the process, not the result. The doctor's dominant personality refutes this in pain.

They were born because of our plan, and we are responsible for them—even if the end goal is Project Originium; but I still hope that they can find their own meaning before that.

Kane was unaware of the confrontation; his mind raced as he plotted how to seize Kal'tsit's half. The Doctor's mind was made up; Theresa was doomed. Kal'tsit considered Theresa a confidante and close friend, and this feud would surely tear their relationship apart. Kane didn't believe that this mysterious "Ama-9" could clear his name amidst Kal'tsit's rage and suspicion.

Perhaps… we should immediately control the Doctor? Use him as leverage in a deal with Kal'tsit? An even crazier thought flashed through my mind: Or betray Project Originium and save Theresa? Use this favor to force Kal'tsit to hand over the Twin System?

“Oh, by the way. I named Ama-10 Kal'tsit. What about you? Are you still operating as Ama-9? Or… do you need me to come up with a name for you?” The Doctor’s voice broke the brief silence, and the topic suddenly turned light, as he tried to ease the atmosphere.

“Kane Mordred, that’s the name I use most of the time.”

“Kane…” the Doctor repeated softly, his gaze seemingly piercing through the mask beneath his hood.

"...It was a pleasure to meet you." His tone carried a sense of farewell—"Well then, goodbye."

"Varied--?!"

Before he could finish speaking, the doctor quickly tapped the portable control panel with his finger!

Without any fluctuation of Originium Arts, Kane only felt the scenery before him instantly distort and shift! The next instant, he was thrown into a completely unfamiliar, enclosed space deep within Rhodes Island! He was surrounded by cold, thick alloy walls, the only lighting coming from the frantically spinning and flashing red alarm lights on the ceiling, staining the oppressive space a blood-red hue. He was completely isolated.

"*A string of rapid and impatient Colombian profanities*" Kane's roar echoed in the confined space.

After successfully "shaking off" Kane, the Doctor breathed a long sigh of relief. What he had just used was an extremely advanced and precious space displacement unit within Rhodes Island's defense system. It was originally intended as an emergency escape route for critical personnel on board in the event of a surprise attack, instantly relocating the target to a pre-designated safe zone. Now, however, it was being used for defensive exile. The energy consumption of such an operation was unimaginable; given Rhodes Island's current state, this was practically its only chance to use it.

“Originally… it was meant to be Theresia’s trump card to save her life…” the Doctor whispered to the air, his voice filled with exhaustion and guilt.

"Now... it's no longer needed. Kane, I'm sorry."

Just a minute ago, the PRTS alarms flashed silently—the shadowy "Dead Men" assassin squad had appeared as expected on the outer perimeter of the Rhodes Island.

The trading time has arrived.

[Disable all ship defense systems?] [Confirm] [Cancel]

The Doctor's gaze revealed determination, but behind that determination lay emptiness—his finger swiftly pressed the "Confirm" button, rendering all the defensive weapons that were poised to be deployed ineffective; and the assassin squad that had been blocked by the access control was immediately welcomed into Rhodes Island. They marched straight in, their target the Sarkaz Demon King in the command hall, who was dressed in a pure white dress and as serene as moonlight.

"Forgive me... Theresa." The doctor's murmured words faded into the empty archive room.

Chapter 37 The Demon King's Sigh

Theresa stood alone before the enormous holographic tactical sandbox. The blue dots symbolizing the Tower of Babel were rapidly devouring the red areas representing the Kazdel defenders. Real-time battle reports streamed across the side screen, each victory, each advance, perfectly matching the incredibly detailed contingency plan the Doctor had devised before the final assault.

This is nothing short of a miracle of the art of war. In the nations of Terra, even the most renowned generals and commanders can only outline the general direction of a war in their pre-battle plans. Once war begins, the ever-changing situation inevitably demands that commanders make on-the-spot decisions. But the Doctor… he seems to have foreseen every possible outcome.

Although he himself had left his command post, the battle situation continued to advance flawlessly along the path he had laid out. Theresa was stationed here to take over immediately should the Doctor make a "mistake," but at this moment, her role was more like... a symbolic totem, enough to let the soldiers on the front lines know that "His Majesty is watching them."

The Doctor accomplished this incredible feat. He had already left, but the tide of battle was still turning in Babel's favor—all of this was under his control. Theresa stood in front of the command system, waiting for a so-called command error so she could immediately take over command. But at this moment, her role was no different from that of a mascot; all she needed to do was let the soldiers on the front lines know was that "His Majesty is watching them."

"Beep beep beep—! Warning! Unauthorized life signal intrusion detected! Location: B7 passage! Threat level: High!"

The piercing alarm suddenly shattered the tranquility of the hall.

A decapitation strike.

Theresa's gaze swept over the swift, silent, deathly-looking figures on the surveillance screen. Instead of panicking, a bitter yet knowing smile appeared on her lips.

"As expected... the same old thinking, brother." She murmured to herself, her thoughts instantly drawn back to the desperate war of national defense in Kazdel years ago. Faced with the overwhelming force of the six-nation alliance, it was she and Theresis who jointly proposed that daring "decapitation plan"—to use an absolute elite force to directly take the head of the alliance commander!

The operation was ultimately successful, turning the tide of the battle. Time has passed, and the world has changed; the siblings have become mortal enemies. Yet, their tactical thinking remains remarkably consistent, as if they had never been separated.

She silently turned to face the alloy door that death was about to knock on, awaiting her inevitable end. Her white skirt stood out starkly and tragically in the red glow of the alarm.

"Ms. Theresa?"

A childish voice broke the silence of the command hall. Instead of the expected assassin, a sleepy-eyed girl from Carter's. She wore a white nightgown, her long brown ears drooping softly from just waking up, and her smooth hair looked somewhat disheveled—she was Amiya.

“Amiya?” Theresa turned around, a genuine surprise and tenderness flashing in her pink eyes.

"Why did you wake up so early today?"

“Because… it’s too quiet.” Amiya rubbed her eyes, her voice filled with childlike confusion.

"The usual jingling and clanging sounds of Sister Kroos are gone. It's so quiet, I'm a little scared."

This child, nurtured with love by everyone in Babel, appeared so innocent and pure at that moment. She was like a faint yet warm ray of light, precisely shining into the softest corner of Theresa's heart—a place that held all her hopes for the future of Sarkaz and was overflowing with tenderness for the child before her.

“Come here, Amiya.” Theresa’s voice was as gentle as a breeze brushing against flower petals, carrying a magic that could soothe all restlessness. She gestured for the girl to come closer.

"Let me comb your hair... and while I'm at it, let me finish the story we didn't finish last night, okay?"

"Mmm!" Amiya immediately perked up, running over to snuggle up to Theresa, as if this was the safest haven in the cold command area.

The merciful demon picked up a comb and gently smoothed the girl's slightly disheveled hair. She slowly recounted the fable about the "little cloth man," her tone peaceful and melodious, as if she possessed the power to make even the most mischievous child listen attentively.

"...In the end, the little cloth man could only leap into the swift river, trying to swim across on his own. But he forgot that he was made of cloth after all—once soaked in the river water, he would become incredibly heavy, until...he sank to the bottom of the river and could no longer float up."

"Your Highness Theresa!" Amiya suddenly grabbed her sleeve, her eyes welling up with anxious tears.

"Can we save it? It must be so scared..."

Theresa stopped combing her hair and looked down into the girl's hopeful eyes: "Amiya...you want to save it?"

"Yes!" The answer was unwavering, brimming with the pure kindness of a child.

"Is that so..." Theresa's sigh was so soft it was almost inaudible, containing a hint of indescribable sorrow. She raised her hand, and a soft pink halo gathered at her fingertips, gently brushing it across Amiya's forehead.

"Let's stop our story here for now. Good boy... go to sleep."

A transparent bubble made of pure energy gently enveloped Amiya. The young Katarus was utterly powerless against this soothing spell originating from the Demon King's bloodline; his eyelids quickly grew heavy, and he nestled in Theresa's arms, drifting into a dreamless slumber.

At this moment——

The heavy alloy doors of the command center slid open silently.

Wrapped in old shrouds and exuding an aura of death, the Sarkaz assassins silently surged in like shadows crawling out of a tomb. A chilling atmosphere instantly replaced the previous warmth.

"Your Highness Theresa...we will prove to you with our lives the future the General seeks."

"Sigh..." Theresa slowly rose, carefully shielding the sleeping Amiya behind her. Her gaze swept over the deliberately mutilated faces, covered in scars and burns, her voice calm yet carrying a power that pierced the soul:

"Sigh... Cole, I remember you. The last time we met was before that battle, and you were outstanding."

She accurately called out the name of each assassin, pointing out their long-forgotten achievements and past.

Even if they disfigured themselves in the cruelest way, cutting off the horns that symbolized their glory, in an attempt to let their identities perish with death, it all meant nothing to her—she never forgot any of her people who had shed blood for the Sarkaz, their images forever etched in her heart.

However, this remembrance and mercy became the sharpest blade, cutting through the assassins' already unwavering will. They did not come to conceal their identities, but to ensure that their names were never worthy of being recorded in the history of Sarkaz alongside "Kingslayers"—their fate should only be the least memorable dust in the fact that "the Demon King was assassinated."

"Do it!" The roar, trembling with despair, suppressed the almost collapsing lament.

They all came with a will, and Theresa's mercy could not reverse it.

The Originium Arts, honed over a century, erupted with a deafening roar, tearing through the air; the killing techniques, forged across countless battles, transformed into deadly cold light; the blade, crafted by the most skilled artisans and born solely to end the king, pierced straight into that pure white!

Theresa did not sit idly by. With a flick of her wrists, the pink magical energy, no longer gentle, instantly condensed into countless incomparably sharp soul blades, each graceful dance precisely reaping a life.

Her high-heeled steps moved nimbly among the blood and corpses, like dancing a deathly symphony, narrowly avoiding each deadly encirclement. However, the curse, originating from the oldest Sarkaz sorcery, which had long been planted within the assassins, began to take effect.

The fallen corpses emitted a thick, almost tangible black mist of curses. This mist spread and piled up like living things, gradually compressing the space in which Theresa could move and turning the battlefield into a shrinking cage of death.

As the last assassin was pierced through the throat by the light emanating from her fingertips, Theresa was finally driven to the brink of despair. Leaning against the cold command platform, her pristine white dress was already soaked in glaring crimson, and blood gushed from multiple deep, bone-revealing wounds on her body. The death knell tolled clearly in her ears.

"Theresa..."

Theresa raised her head and looked at the former strategist, now the traitor. There was no anger, no resentment, not even questioning in her eyes, only a bottomless, pure sorrow—for the inescapable cycle of fate that the Sarkaz could not escape, for this unavoidable end, and for the weight that the soul of the person before her carried.

“Doctor…” Her voice was as soft as a sigh, as if she were calling out to a lost old friend.

--split line--

boom--! ! !

Enveloped in raging Originium energy, Kane slammed his foot into the severely warped alloy door of the command center! The mechanical door, already damaged by the fierce battle inside, groaned under the strain before finally twisting and jamming shut. He forced a gap open and squeezed into the space, thick with the stench of blood.

The scene that came into view was a concrete manifestation of despair: countless corpses of Sarkaz assassins were scattered everywhere, and the flowing blood almost gathered into dark red streams.

At the heart of the assassins' encirclement lay three figures: Theresa lay in the most vivid pool of blood. Even in death, her pale face remained serene and holy, like a pure white flower withering in the filth of war; even death could not destroy her dignity and allure as the "Demon King."

She held the sleeping Amiya tightly in her arms. Half of the girl's white nightgown was stained a glaring scarlet with Theresa's blood, while the other half was corroded by a strange, ever-spreading black geometric crack, as if some kind of curse was spreading across her young body.

A short distance away from them, the Doctor, dressed in a gray Babel Tower uniform, lay unconscious on the ground. His hand reached out in vain toward Theresa, the fingertips of his blood-stained glove barely touching the scabs forming at the edge of the Demon King's skirt.

The Doctor's plan was precise and flawless—he banished Kane to the most remote corner of Rhodes Island. Although Kane swiftly and violently breached the safe house's defenses, by the time he arrived, everything was already over. This unexpected guest had no impact on this premeditated assassination—the situation remained firmly in the Doctor's hands.

"Damn it...!" Kane suppressed the surging, almost boiling rage within him and rushed to the Doctor's side. He roughly shook the unconscious man, knowing full well that the Doctor's memories had been erased by Theresa—he didn't care whether his actions would damage the Doctor's personality or soul. He absolutely could not allow the Doctor's memories to be completely wiped away!

However, the doctor's coma was like death, just as Theresa said—his soul would be reborn.

Faced with the unresponsive Doctor, Kane's gaze caught sight of the other's other hand, which was clenched into a fist. He pried open the other's palm—and a small data storage unit rolled out.

Is this part about the arrangements for Babel after the fact? The Doctor had already discussed all the plans with Theresis, and that king wouldn't break his promise. Babel would be able to retain the maximum strength to withdraw from Kazdel.

So, this is for Kane. It's the "technology list" the doctor mentioned a dozen minutes ago. He actually prepared this "gift" for Kane amidst the betrayal and murder.

But Kane wasn't the groveling Perot. He was a ravenous wolf driven by the instinct for survival. The Sarkaz's royal lineage? Theresa's long-cherished wish? They were worthless in his eyes! All he cared about was his own survival!

Without the slightest hesitation, Kane's cold gaze locked onto the young survivor in Theresa's arms—Amiya.

The Demon King's crown... resides within her. Forcibly removing it might destroy her, destroy the last hope of the Tower of Babel... but I have no other choice!

All of this was done to increase his chances of survival.

His blood-stained hand, indifferent to life, resolutely reached out towards the sleeping girl from Carter's, his fingertips almost touching the nightgown stained with blood and darkness—

“Mon3tr——!!!”

A roar, filled with boundless rage, profound grief, and chilling killing intent, erupted suddenly from the shattered entrance of the command hall, like a judgment from hell!

Immediately afterwards, a torrent of dark green, destructive energy that tore through space—with the force to annihilate everything—stormed violently toward Kane!

Chapter 38 Kal'tsit vs. Kane 1.0

Almost instinctively, Kane instantly covered his entire body with hardened calcified crystals. It was this last-minute action that saved his life.

Theresa, the Doctor, and Amiya—these three were right beside Kane, Kal'tsit's explosive rage forcibly suppressed by her rationality. Under her precise command, Mon3tr's energy breath, powerful enough to pierce steel plates, rose several inches higher at the last moment. The scorching torrent melted a huge hole through the ceiling of the command hall, while the three unconscious figures on the ground remained unharmed—Kal'tsit's calculations were flawless; the annihilation range of the energy beam only covered Kane's upper body.

Calcification—originating from Saria's Originium Arts, a power Saria had demonstrated to Kane several times due to their relationship. The upper limit of the power of this type of technique is often closely linked to the depth of the caster's scientific understanding, and Saria's Originium Arts were exceptionally well-developed. Kane unceremoniously "copied" this power and intensively studied all the properties of calcium and its compounds.

At this moment, the calcium layer covering his body withstood Mon3tr's breath. Although large areas of his skin were burned by the terrifying heat, causing excruciating pain, Kane was still alive and perfectly conscious.

The disguised Originium Arts cannot be disabled.

Kane prioritized maintaining his Sarkaz appearance. He didn't want to spend all his time on guard against assassins from the remnants of Babel, especially Ascalon, the Shadow Blade who had honed his assassination skills to perfection. Besides, maintaining the "integrity" of his appearance was itself a form of intangible deterrence. Taking a hit from Mon3tr and appearing "unharmed" was enough to cause his opponent to seriously misjudge his strength.

"Roar--!!!"

Kal'tsit would not give the enemy a chance to breathe. At the very least, she had to force him away from the three of them! The dark green crystalline behemoth let out a deafening roar. Its structure was covered with sharp, knife-like claws and spikes. It had no conventional limbs or wings, yet it could hover and charge forward with a physics-defying agility, rushing towards Kane with pure killing intent.

Two enormous, jet-black scythes tore through the air, slashing down! Kane knew perfectly well that with his current strength and condition, he had no chance against this ferocious beast. He retreated swiftly, using his extraordinary agility to roll and dodge, each movement precisely creating distance. Mon3tr's attacks were relentless, its movements perfectly synchronized with Kal'tsit's emotions—at this moment, it carried its master's cold, absolute killing intent directed at Kane. Of course, Kal'tsit's ultimate goal wasn't to kill; she wanted survivors, she wanted the truth behind this disaster!

Why did Rhodes Island's defense system fail? What exactly happened between the Doctor, Theresa, and Amiya?! Countless questions choked her mind, making it hard to breathe. Therefore, Kane, who knew the truth, had to be captured alive! Her orders were clear and ruthless: Deprive him of his mobility and capture him alive!

Mon3tr's attacks were like a storm, his two giant scythes becoming afterimages as he frantically slashed and swept. An ordinary shieldbearer would likely be torn to pieces in an instant. Kane could only rely on his speed advantage to barely manage to stay afloat, each dodge teetering on the edge of life and death.

The monster before him was one of the means to keep him alive—should he try to seize control?

After narrowly dodging a cunning tail spike, Kane's eyes flashed, and his right hand shot out like lightning, precisely striking the cold, hard shell of Mon3tr, which resembled a mixture of alloy and crystal. He didn't possess any permissions related to the Ama series; he directly attempted to access it using Originium Level 1 access.

However, Mon3tr's massive body showed no hesitation, its attack rhythm remained unchanged, and it stubbornly continued to carry out Kal'tsit's prisoner command, forcing Kane to retreat once again.

While Kane's attempt had no effect on Mon3tr, it did have an effect on Kal'tsit, who was connected to it. Through countless cycles and changes over the long years, she had long since shed most of her inhuman form and chosen to walk the world in the appearance of a Terran.

Therefore, she couldn't "read" the information flow about the "hacking attack" directly at the core level like Kane could. But something more primal and profound was touched—an instinct etched deep within the origin of life, like the trembling and fear a creature feels when facing a predator.

"Mon3tr! Come back!"