Arknights, but the Family Has Fallen into Decline Again, Again, Again — Part 8

The adults on the bridge wore strange smiles.

For some reason, Amiya's little face had turned red. After finishing her final report, she said, "The Doctor seemed to have been frightened not long ago. Coupled with his earlier battle command... he's somewhat mentally exhausted, so he's already gone back to his room to sleep."

He had most likely remembered those scenes.

"Mm." Kal'tsit neither confirmed nor denied it, but immediately asked, "Then where is his bedroom currently arranged?"

Ace held back his laughter. Only after coughing lightly a few times did he manage to stop himself. With a straight face, he said, "For Doc Otter's safety, his room is arranged beside yours, same as before."

Scout nudged him with an elbow, then gave him a thumbs-up.

Kal'tsit nodded, still expressionless. "Where were we just now?"

Expressionless, huh? Then why had she forgotten where the report had gotten to the moment she heard where the Doctor slept?

An eerie silence fell over the bridge again, while everyone's shoulders seemed to tremble.

"Ha..." Scout failed to hold it in. Thinking quickly, he changed the subject. "There's one more thing..."

Kal'tsit crossed her arms again.

Go ahead and say it. Let's see whether Kal'tsit believes you.

"What is it?"

Nearl seemed entirely unaware of what was going on. With a serious expression, she said, "Due to Chernobog's fall, large numbers of refugees and Infected are flooding toward Lungmen."

Scout shot her a grateful look.

"It is foreseeable that Lungmen cannot accommodate all of them."

"Should we deploy operators to participate in rescue efforts?"

The topic immediately turned serious.

"What does Doc Otter... Doctor Oute think?" The familiar form of address slipped from Kal'tsit's mouth before she noticed.

Amiya reminded her, "Doc Otter has probably fallen asleep already. Should we notify him?"

Though she said that, Amiya had absolutely no intention of disturbing Oute's sleep.

"..."

"Deploy logistics operators and the medical department to form several rescue teams. Beginning tomorrow, they will participate in rescue operations around Chernobog's outskirts." After pausing for quite some time, Kal'tsit said without changing expression, "Given the difficulty of this mission, I appoint Warfarin as the overall commander of this operation. She will coordinate and plan rescue work at the front lines."

The key was the front lines, right?

Everyone except Nearl and Amiya had trembling shoulders.

Nearl the horse girl was completely out of the loop, but Amiya... did she also find this deeply satisfying?

"Any objections?"

It was Nearl again. Still entirely serious, she said, "Considering the Reunion Movement's activities, it is necessary to strictly define the rescue teams' operational range."

"..."

After an "awkward" pause, Kal'tsit finally spoke. "Judging from the operation briefings, the Reunion Movement indeed poses a considerable threat to rescue teams."

"The rescue operation is important, but the vast majority of medical and logistics operators have not signed relevant contracts. They should not be involved in combat missions."

"Other than Warfarin, no rescue team may approach Chernobog's outskirts or enter Chernobog."

"Taking Rhodes Island's and Lungmen's capacity into account, focus on taking in vulnerable groups such as the elderly, the weak, the sick, and the disabled! Depending on the circumstances, persuade able-bodied young Infected to join the logistics ranks. Evacuate all others to other mobile cities."

"At the same time, taking language barriers into consideration, evacuate ordinary refugees into Ursus territory whenever possible."

Here, Kal'tsit did not mention Infected refugees.

Given Ursus's policy toward the Infected, it could not exactly be called Buddha-like compassion. It was more like skinning them alive and picking their bones clean...

The Infected were the northern giant bear's winter rations.

After the Reunion Movement and Catastrophes had struck Chernobog in succession, it was foreseeable that a considerable number of survivors would contract Originium Infection.

And the evacuation direction Kal'tsit emphasized at the end was, for the Infected, practically equivalent to not existing at all.

Within Ursus, they were no different from talking livestock.

Across the boundless wilderness, before the Infected starved or died of thirst, their only path to survival... was Lungmen.

If Rhodes Island was willing to lend a hand, a small number of Infected could rest temporarily aboard this landship, perhaps even join it.

But how many could it carry?

Besides, how could those refugees, fleeing hell in terror and confusion, know that a group of idealists was coming to rescue them?

Even if it was destined to be little more than a drop in the ocean?

Tracing the path of those ant-like, fragile refugees back toward where they had come from, a group of Sarkaz mercenaries lounged on guard around Chernobog's outskirts.

They had built a bonfire and were engaging in Sarkaz-style "camping" on this patch of Ursus territory.

"...Love your soldiers like your children, use your soldiers like mud." The woman whose black horns bore signs of grinding curled her lip and tossed another handful of wood into the fire. Then she said to the tall demonlike man across from her, "The love of Babel's evil spirit... tch! I've never felt anything like that!"

"Right? Right?" W stood up and kneaded her ears as though trying to pull words out of them. "All that talk about the essentials of large-scale military operations! He clearly doesn't even fight that way himself!"

As one of the rare cultured people among the Sarkaz, Hedley rubbed the stubble that had grown back on his face.

Watching the flickering fire, he said meaningfully, "Love... does not necessarily have to come from the commander himself."

"Theresa loved her soldiers like children, while the evil spirit used his soldiers like mud..."

The bonfire shivering in the cold wind seemed to carry him back several years.

W abruptly shoved him, pushing the great historian out of the shadows of time.

"Were you just comparing that bastard Otter to Theresa!?"

"Ah..." Hedley said unhappily, "I just had an inspiration!"

Ines smiled. "Who exactly are you going to show what you write to? Other than us Sarkaz, not many people care about Sarkaz wars."

As always, she referred to them as "us Sarkaz."

"And how many Sarkaz are even literate?"

"Someone will read it eventually." Hedley took out a notebook and used charcoal to jot down several lines. Then he asked, "W, your plan went bankrupt at the first step. What do you intend to do now?"

W tossed an Originium bomb from her left hand to her right, then from her right hand back to her left.

A cruel smile appeared on W's delicate face. "I'm wondering... how many Sarkaz have received Garson's love, and how many have been used by him as mud."

Mutiny.

W seemed to have developed a strange interpretation of Oute's maxim...

Ines smiled. "So you accepted that idea pretty quickly too, huh?"

Like an old father, Hedley simply burst into laughter. "Hahaha! After all, this time, the amnesiac evil spirit mistook her for his own disciple!"

"Unlike mud like us, W has already received the evil spirit's love!"

"You two!"

The result was simply that the two of them laughed even harder.

The other Sarkaz were somewhat baffled. "What, did Garson finally pay us?"

"No."

"Then why are the bosses laughing so happily?"

"Probably because of what Hedley wrote."

"Then yeah, that is pretty funny."

Doc Otter, a Nun, a Bounty Hunter, and a Deer Woman

Somewhere in the wilderness near Iberia.

Amid the crackling of the bonfire, the novice bounty hunter in a pointed hat hung her head low. Her greatsword stood firmly embedded in the ground, supporting her as she slept. The strap wound around the hilt crossed over her shoulder, held tightly in the Abyssal Hunter's hand.

A piece of charcoal had already burned ash-white and was about to collapse.

In her daze, she seemed to hear someone calling.

Some strange power invaded her dream.

"You will arrive by following the old road..."

The wheels spun faster and faster, the spokes turning without end. Then, in a blur, they suddenly reversed before her eyes!

With violent jolting, the carriage sped deep into the forest along an old cobblestone road, dragged by frenzied horses.

The carriage suddenly jolted even more violently. Perhaps a wheel had struck a hard stone, perhaps the axle could no longer endure the long journey, or perhaps the carriage had rolled into some trap laid by roadside bandits—there might have been many causes, but the result was ultimately the same.

It overturned.

"...Master of All Things... hehehe..."

A familiar voice abruptly woke the lonely bounty hunter.

"Shark!"

Without time to think, she crawled out from the wreckage of the carriage.

Skadi instinctively wanted to investigate where the voice had come from, but her professional instincts quickly returned to her mind.

The bounty hunter found her weapon in the carriage wreckage.

During this, a strange crest caught her attention.

A shield emblem somewhere between an eagle and a crow lay quietly amid the wreckage.

Skadi slung the greatsword over her back. Tugging on the strap around its hilt, she headed toward the source of the sound in a stance that allowed her to draw at any moment.

"...Merciful messenger, please guard my lord's dreams..."

This was an untamed forest.

Aside from the cobblestone road, only gaps in the woods that might have been animal trails or footpaths could accommodate Skadi's passage.

The red sun hung low in the sky, as though it might set at any moment.