The People Who Changed the World

It felt like falling into the deep Ice Sea, where endless cold and darkness enveloped a warm body. No matter how you struggled, reaching your hands upward, you could never touch the fading glimmer above. A heavy sense of suffocation gripped your throat; all you could do was continue to sink until you reached the bottom of this abyss.

In the end, nothing remained. Beyond the cold, you were left only with thoughts pondering in the darkness. Gradually, you no longer knew how much time had passed, until even that last shred of consciousness sank into the void.

"Initiating willpower assessment."

"Electrodes energized... recording values..."

Someone whispered in the darkness. It seemed it was not yet time to die, so eyes opened, returning to this insane world.

Galahad coughed violently, spitting out a bit of blood beneath his translucent respirator. He gasped for air as the machine hummed, pumping a mist containing painkillers into his mask.

His weary gaze swept back and forth, seeing only steel walls and the snakes carved into the steel dome. They were intertwined, biting each other's tails, their black scales like the pitch-black night, forming an eternal ring.

That was the Ouroboros, a religious symbol of sorts. Some said it represented the cycle of life and death, or perhaps reincarnation. In mysterious alchemy, it was described as the crystallization of the soul, but Galahad knew clearly that in his mind, it meant only one thing.

Infinite, perpetual operation.

It was a concept proposed by the first Director of the Mechanical Institute, the man who invented the great steam engine. Based on that, he believed there should be a machine in the world that, once started, would work forever without needing any further energy. He cited the Ouroboros symbol and named that machine the Perpetual Motion Pump.

Galahad's knowledge of mechanics was poor, but even he knew this violated the conservation of energy; such a thing could not possibly exist. Yet, like the insane delusions of humanity, that Director insisted the machine must exist, so he established the Perpetual Motion Pump above the Mechanical Institute to pursue his ideal machine, right up to this day.

"I thought you would be unconscious for at least a week. I didn't expect you to wake up so soon."

The voice sounded from the side. Nikolai walked over slowly, holding a cup. His pale face was marked by dark circles, and his gait was so light it felt as if he might drop dead at any second.

"How do you feel?"

As Galahad sat up, he realized he was being held in a translucent tank. A pale green liquid covered him, and leather and steel straps held him firmly in place. His fatal wounds were slowly healing while submerged, but on the other side, cables exposing raw metal were also soaked in the fluid.

"Like a nightmare..."

Galahad said weakly.

Seeming to notice his gaze, Nikolai continued.

"Please forgive me. You were eroded by the Original Sin Armor. If you lose control a second time, we scientists won't be able to contain you."

Nikolai smiled as he looked around. It was a group of people in the same uniform as him, yet they were like ghosts. They walked without making a sound, with no idle chatter—only the sound of keys clicking and pens scratching out calculation formulas.

There were young people and old, and some even pushed massive external circulation machines to sustain their lives while they worked diligently. Everyone here was a titan in their field; it could be said that they were the ones who had pushed the boundaries of human understanding of the world to its current state.

If the Mechanical Institute pushed mortal technology, then the Perpetual Motion Pump, which stood above it, pursued the power of gods.

This was the center of world technology, the intellectual hub of all Inverwig. If these people died, Inverwig's technology would stagnate for at least a decade.

"So this is your insurance?"

Galahad mustered some strength to look at the cables soaking in the liquid.

"Of course. Directly above us is the Pillar of the Furnace. According to the Queen's approval, we have the highest priority for power supply. As long as you lose control, I only need to pull the switch, and you can experience what it feels like to be struck by Odin's lightning."

Nikolai pulled a grimace that passed for a smile.

"Though the feeling should be quite brief, less than a second. Without the Original Sin Armor, your brain would be scorched instantly, and your entire body would carbonize into a pile of ash. Then, just press this drain button, and you can embrace the Thames River."

Galahad did not like this joke. He said, "Nikolai, you weren't this full of nonsense before."

"One must have some solace for a terminal patient, don't you think?"

"You think those damn cold jokes are comforting me?"

These lunatics had stayed underground for too long; their mental state was truly not normal.

"Fine, let us skip this unpleasant segment."

Nikolai's eyes darkened, his face like stagnant water. He picked up the report on the side, walked to the edge of the container, and said to Galahad.

"Galahad, your willpower assessment results are very poor. You have been contaminated by the Original Sin Armor."

"Give me the result directly. I am the Knight Commander; I know what the Original Sin Armor is made of."

Galahad said indifferently, unconcerned by the so-called "terminal illness."

After a brief silence, Nikolai slowly read the data on the report.

"Your nerves have been eroded by the Original Sin Armor by 47%. Although you haven't broken through the critical threshold, your nerve damage is too deep. After treatment, the erosion level should drop a little, but only a little."

"In other words, this erosion is irreversible, isn't it?"

Galahad's expression changed for the first time, but it was only for an instant before he returned to his cold, detached self.

The Original Sin Armor was a classified weapon of the Perpetual Motion Pump. No one knew how these lunatics had created it; it possessed the characteristics of a demon, but unlike a demon, it could be controlled by humans.

Yet, like a double-edged sword, while humans used it, they were essentially fighting a demon, enduring its erosion.

"Yes. Contact with demons leads to contamination, and then that strange pollution erodes us. The level of erosion gradually stabilizes after getting rid of the source, but for those who have been in contact for too long—like you—the erosion level can only be lowered slowly, or even rise. And once you break the critical threshold... you will begin to demonize. Once you reach 100%, you will become a demon."

This was something everyone in the Purification Agency knew, but hearing it now felt uniquely cruel. Those who fought demons eventually became demons themselves.

"But don't worry. I will suggest to Arthur that you be transferred. You are no longer fit for frontline work, Galahad."

Seeming to recall his long-lost hometown, Nikolai continued.

"Do you need me to organize your retirement life? You could go to my hometown. Although it's a bit far from Inverwig, the weather is sunny there; it's a pretty good place to spend your twilight years."

Hometown?

Galahad was slightly stunned. Having known Nikola for so long, he had never heard him mention his hometown. The guy was an international student from some small place who, in his first semester at the Royal Mechanical Engineering Academy, had caused a campus-wide blackout while tinkering with an invention.

He hadn't been disciplined; a researcher at the Mechanical Institute who was moonlighting as a department head there had discovered Nikola's talent and brought him into the Mechanical Institute.

A madman had stepped into a madman's paradise, rising through the ranks ever since. In Galahad's view, Nikola's life consisted of nothing but inventions and explosions.

"Right, my hometown. If I hadn't heard that Old Dunling was the most advanced place in the world, I wouldn't have wanted to leave it."

"Leaving home... that sounds heavy. Why did you come here?"

"For science."

"Science?"

"Yes, science. Galahad, you're just a brute. I've seen your university transcripts; your mechanics grades were abysmal."

Geniuses were always like this, mocking mortals in casual conversation.

"Whether it's political regimes or exquisite swordsmanship, their impact on the world is minuscule—they only influence a few generations. Science is different."

"Every person in the world directly or indirectly enjoys the conveniences brought by technology. That's not something mere ideas or brute force can achieve. So, it's not politicians or warriors who truly change the world; it's science."

The eyes that had been dull from lack of sleep suddenly lit up. It was hard to believe, but Galahad actually saw something akin to an ideal in the eyes of this madman.

"So, Galahad, no matter what decision Arthur makes, do not resist. If you continue down this path, you will only become a monster, and your impact on changing this world will be negligible."

It sounded almost like a plea.

"...What did I do after I lost consciousness?"

Ignoring Nikola's words, Galahad lowered his head slightly after a brief moment of daze, looking at his body submerged in the pale green liquid. He had lost control, yet he was still alive. Galahad remembered the immense power he felt after donning the armor; logically, he should have been eroded to death by it, but he had survived... Someone had subdued him.

"You nearly killed Robin and Shrike, and then, while weathering smoothbore cannon fire and high-voltage electricity, you nearly killed me."

Nikola analyzed the battle, his sickly face devoid of expression—perhaps his facial nerves had been deadened by long-term sleep deprivation.

"A thirty-kilogram warhead could only make you pause for a moment. Even lethal mercury vapor couldn't subdue you. I should thank you for losing control, though; aside from Lancelot's Original Sin Armor, the others need recalibration. I certainly don't want to have to recover you all a second time."

Lancelot.

The familiar name echoed once more, leaving Galahad with an indescribable feeling.

"That guy can control the armor?"

It was a nightmarish experience. Even for a familiar colleague, the thought of someone enduring that terror made Galahad feel a sense of estrangement.

"That guy was practically born for the armor. You Knight Commanders have all undergone neural specialization; compared to ordinary people, you can withstand the erosion of a monster's will for longer, or even ignore most of it. And Lancelot is the best among you."

Nikola recalled the first experiment. As the test pilot, Lancelot hadn't lost control after being completely enveloped by the Original Sin Armor; he hadn't even shown any emotional fluctuation. He was absolute reason, like a cold machine.

Following Nikola's instructions, he had completed every high-difficulty maneuver—cold, efficient, and absolutely obedient. For this, Arthur had arranged a special individual test for him, which Lancelot passed with a perfect score.

"You know the unique nature of the Original Sin Armor. It took us years of using the Perpetual Motion Pump to create the first batch of finished products. Every deployment requires Arthur's consent, yet Lancelot has been personally authorized by Arthur to carry the Original Sin Armor autonomously."

"Alright, don't think about it so much. You need rest, and the residue of the Original Sin Armor in your body needs to be purged. Go to sleep."

Seeming tired of the conversation, Nikola didn't give Galahad a chance to speak further. He pressed a switch on the side, and new gas flowed through the respirator into Galahad's trachea. Within seconds, Galahad's consciousness plunged back into darkness, and he drifted into a deep sleep, submerged in the container.

Watching the sleeping face, Nikola's expression grew serious. He walked to the back of the container, where Galahad's body could be seen through the translucent wall.

His back was an eerie gray, with most of the flesh appearing necrotic, gradually decomposing under the pale green liquid. Fine, dense tumors were sloughing off; the trauma was even worse than Nikola had let on.

"The parts assimilated by the Original Sin Armor have been excised. Based on the neural fluctuations during our conversation, I can confirm Galahad's erosion level is stable."

An assistant walked over, having been recording data from the dark corner since Galahad woke up.

"It's truly severe..."

Nikola knew exactly what the Original Sin Armor was made of. Being assimilated by such a thing was essentially partial monsterization, but fortunately, they had saved Galahad. Otherwise, the only thing waiting for him would have been the Perpetual Motion Pump's incinerator.

"Hand the report to Arthur. He will decide how to handle Galahad from here."

As Nikola spoke, he signed his name on the report. Having finished the first half, he seemed to have forgotten something; he stopped his pen and rummaged through his pockets for a long time before finally finding his name tag. No wonder Shrike said this place was full of madmen—these madmen were so happy they couldn't even remember their own names.

He raised his pen but paused in mid-air. Nikola froze in place like a statue, staring at the figure in the container.

After being removed from the front lines, Galahad would inevitably never be able to return to the battlefield. Although most of his emotional intelligence had been traded for raw intellect, Nikola knew well that this would be a blow to Galahad, and he bore some responsibility for it. If not for his experiments, perhaps Galahad would have been fine.

As if to comfort himself as much as Galahad, he whispered.

"So, one person cannot change anything about the world. But I am different, Galahad."

"I am a scientist. I am the one destined to change the world."

As the words fell, lightning several meters thick streaked across the steel dome. The light illuminated the dark corner, casting Nikola's face in a deathly pallor.

Thousands of cables were arranged in a circle, like a mysterious ritual. Lightning and thunder flashed from time to time, as if a god had descended.

The staff members had all stopped—not to rest, but to wait for Nikola. All preparations for the experiment were complete; now, they were just waiting for Nikola to initiate it all.

Taking one last look at the sleeping Galahad in the container, Nikola handed the signed report to the assistant. Beneath the dense rows of data, there was a line of crooked handwriting.

Nikola Tesla.