Arknights: Soul Knights of Terra — Chapter 99

Chapter 99: If You’re Garbage, Practice More

“Hmm-hmm-hmm~”

Vane hummed a light, airy tune, his steps brisk as he led the way. Behind him, a suffocating silence hung over the remaining four, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension.

Ulpianus walked with a deep furrow carved into his brow.

The Fourth Disaster. That title alone implied the existence of at least three other entities of equal, world-breaking magnitude. The sheer weight of this revelation made the internal political strife of Aegir look like a petty squabble, even if this eccentric vampire had already casually snuffed out their worst-case apocalyptic future.

Glancing to his side, Ulpianus noted the grim expressions etched onto the faces of the two Inquisitors. They were clearly struggling to digest a reality that completely shattered their common sense.

And Skadi… she was simply staring off into space, her eyes vacant.

Ulpianus silently withdrew his gaze. He had not expected her to contribute any tactical insight anyway.

He looked back at Vane’s retreating figure. That seemingly defenseless, skipping gait now radiated an unfathomable, terrifying depth.

‘Finally shifted the attention!’

Vane was practically glowing with good cheer. The oppressive, heavy mood weighing down the quartet behind him was exactly the distraction he had engineered. When a person suffered complete social death, they usually wished for the world to end. But when a genuine world-ending crisis was placed on the table, a little social death suddenly became entirely insignificant.

Riding the high of his successful deflection, Vane abandoned his previous urge to settle scores with his Blood Kin and directly opened the mental group chat.

[Wain: @everyone, I have an announcement!]

[Gregor: What is it?]

[Vera: You had better really have something.]

[Gusi: I’m in class, can’t it wait?]

[Wain: Oh, never mind then.]

[Vera: Sarkaz swear word!]

[Gregor:…You’ve learned bad habits.]

[Wain: That’s called blending in, Second-in-Command. You want to say it, Big Brother, but you can’t.]

[Gregor: Are you itching for a beating?]

[Wain: Ahem! Big Brother, is your armor finished yet? Send a picture!]

[Gregor: Image.jpg]

The projected image displayed a ferocious, bulky suit of pitch-black armor. It was utterly devoid of any refined aesthetics, yet it possessed a brutal, jagged edge that many Sarkaz mercenaries would unironically call cool. The only glaring flaw was the completely out-of-place television set mounted where the head should be.

[Wain: Who made this! Look at this aesthetic! It’s simply…]

[Gregor: I did.]

[Wain: A perfect work of art!]

[Gusi: 6]

Wiping a bead of imaginary sweat from his forehead, Vane immediately pivoted the conversation.

[Wain: Big Brother, have you entered Kazimierz yet? Did you find any Wanderers or something to act as a compass?]

[Gregor: I’ve seen some, why?]

[Wain: Nothing, just catch one to guide you. If you keep getting lost, Second-in-Command will have unified Kazdel by the time you arrive.]

[Vera: I have not.]

[The Three:???]

[Gregor: Isn’t this a joke?]

[Vera:…I’m going to get back to work.]

Kazimierz, an unknown wasteland.

Reading the scrolling text in his vision, Gregor felt a dull ache throbbing behind his temples. Second-in-Command was taking her role a bit too seriously. Had she actually been assimilated by the local political climate?

“Big Brother, there’s another scammer ahead!”

Ifrit patted the top of Gregor’s television-head. Gregor let out a metallic sigh, reaching up to gently pluck her off his shoulders before looking ahead.

This was the fourth Wanderer they had encountered in this barren stretch of dirt.

In the distance, the Shapeshifter watched the towering armored figure and the fiery child approach. A wave of genuine emotion rippled through the ancient entity. Finally.

They had altered their biological form four consecutive times, and finally, they had presented a shape that captured the target’s attention.

The Shapeshifter felt a deep sense of exhaustion. They had been tailing this bizarre duo all the way from Columbia, tracking them across the continent to Kazimierz. During this grueling pursuit, they had attempted to initiate conversation multiple times, only to be reduced to ash by a wall of hellfire before they could even speak.

Initially, upon seeing the duo march toward Sami, the Shapeshifter assumed they were going to settle a grudge with the Cyclops. The Shapeshifter had even gone out of their way to warn the seers. However, the Cyclops had clearly glimpsed something horrifying in their visions; several of them instantly lost their minds, forcing the Shapeshifter to physically knock them unconscious to prevent further chaos.

As Gregor’s heavy metallic footsteps drew closer, the Shapeshifter rapidly calculated how to join their party. Though the Royal Court rarely intervened in worldly affairs, watching Kazdel be repeatedly razed to the ground was a tragedy they preferred to avoid. Assuming this Flame Demon was relatively approachable, they had prepared several specific personas.

The first attempt: A distressed noble girl. “Save me! I can give you a lot of money!” The towering armor had taken one look and walked right past.

The second attempt: An injured little boy. “Waa! Who can save me!” The armor did not even turn its screen.

The third attempt: A grandfather and grandchild besieged by bandits. This finally provoked a reaction. The Shapeshifter cluster acting as the bandit gang was entirely and honorably incinerated. Then, the duo walked away again.

Snapping back to the present, the Shapeshifter examined their current vessel. A young, fragile Sarkaz girl.

Looking up at Ifrit, the Shapeshifter felt a surge of confidence. This was the winning formula.

“Big Brother, is this one the same as the previous ones?” Ifrit asked loudly.

The Shapeshifter froze, internal alarm bells ringing. Previous? Same? Had they been recognized?

The collective consciousness of the cluster debated for a microsecond before unanimously rejecting the idea. They were the pinnacle of biological mimicry. Their simulation was flawless from the genetic sequence down to the micro-expressions. It was impossible to be seen through at a glance.

“Do you know the way?”

A flat, synthesized electronic voice cut through the cold air, accompanied by a strange audio glitch that sounded like a promotional advertisement.

The Shapeshifter immediately snapped into character, shrinking back with practiced timidity. “I-I know. I can lead the way. Please, take me with you…”

“Direction.”

“That…”

“Direction.”

Meeting the blank, unreadable stare of the television screen, the Shapeshifter decided against sacrificing another cluster. They honestly pointed out the coordinates of the nearest nomadic city.

Gregor turned on his heel and began to walk away. Unable to contain their centuries-old curiosity, the Shapeshifter called out.

“How did you see through it?”

Gregor paused. The massive black armor slowly turned back.

Through his system interface, the energy signature radiating from the fragile girl was a blinding beacon, far surpassing any elite power armor he had dismantled in the dungeon.

“Your disguise is indeed flawless. But my vision operates differently. Your energy concealment is garbage. Go refine it further.”

The electronic voice delivered the verdict with absolute, crushing apathy.

“If you’re garbage, practice more.”

The Shapeshifter stood frozen in the freezing wind.

Did they just get mocked by a walking television?

Ignoring the stunned ancient entity, Gregor secured his grip on Ifrit. Blazing energy gathered beneath his heavy boots.

Boom!

A shockwave of fire shattered the frozen earth, and the two of them launched into the sky like a ballistic missile, accompanied by Ifrit’s wild, echoing cheers.

The Shapeshifter let out a long, weary sigh, preparing to resume the chase.

“I clearly pointed out the correct direction. How are they still going the wrong way?”

The entity stared at the fiery contrail painting the sky.

“That direction… is a dead zone where even Wanderers go to die.”

“Enciodas, do you really have to take this road?”

Inside the violently swaying carriage, the black-haired Liberi gripped the leather handrail until his knuckles turned white, his complexion a sickly shade of green.

Opposite him, the Feline he addressed was enduring an equally punishing ordeal. Enciodas closed his eyes, forcing down the vertigo spinning in his skull, keeping his tone measured and steady.

“Endure it for now, Gnosis. Although this route is punishing, it allows us to bypass the bandit territories. Arriving safely with our capital intact is the priority.”

Gnosis let out a breathless, bitter laugh. He lacked the physical energy to properly express his anger, as the relentless nausea had drained his stamina.

“We clearly have enough funds to hire a competent guard syndicate and take the main commercial highway. Yet you insist on squeezing this pitiful budget to the breaking point, you… ugh!”

“Do you need me to open the window, Mr. Gnosis?”

The Courier sitting in the driver’s seat called back at the perfect moment, having already nimbly rolled down the heavy glass.

“Thanks…”

The biting, dry wind of the wasteland flooded the cabin. The freezing temperature acted as a shock to the system, and Gnosis’s pale complexion finally regained a fraction of its color.

Enciodas took the opportunity to lean closer to the draft, taking several deep, grounding breaths before continuing.

“Hold on a little longer. For the future of Kjerag, these physical hardships are a necessary investment. Besides,” he cast a rare, teasing glance at his disheveled companion, “aren’t I suffering right alongside you?”

“I never should have boarded this pirate ship of yours.” Gnosis huffed, unscrewing his canteen to take a cautious, measured sip of water.

Having recovered slightly, the Liberi shifted his sharp gaze toward the crates of goods stacked in the rear of the carriage. “Are you truly certain these furs will find a profitable market in Kazimierz?”

“Of course.”

At the mention of commerce, Enciodas’s posture straightened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “It is the dead of winter. The northern territories of Kazimierz are suffering through a brutal freeze.”

“The Commercial Union monopolizes the mainstream trade routes and looks down upon these scattered, independent goods. However, the demand from the lower-class citizens and independent vendors is a very real, untapped vein.”

“We possess high-quality sources, aggressive pricing, and absolutely no reason to fail. This is merely the opening move—establishing our logistical channels and building credit.”

Gnosis crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing critically at his oldest friend. “Enciodas, spare me the corporate rhetoric you picked up in Victoria.”

Enciodas fell silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried a quiet, absolute candor.

“My apologies. It has become a habit. I did not intend to deflect.”

He turned his gaze to the desolate, blurring landscape outside the window, his gray eyes darkening with ambition.

“Gnosis, do you know what we lack far more than funds?”

He did not wait for the Liberi to answer.

“It is power.”

“During my time in Victoria, I observed countless wealthy merchants. Their vast fortunes and sprawling industries—in the eyes of those who truly hold the reins of the empire—are nothing more than a fragile numbers game, ready to be seized and redistributed at a moment’s notice.”

“Without the absolute power to defend it, wealth is merely an invitation for disaster.”

“Kjerag must change. We cannot rely on economic use alone. We must forge our own reliable, overwhelming armed forces.”

“And how does this grand philosophy relate to a freezing trip to Kazimierz?” Gnosis pressed, his tone sharp. “If you seek to purchase modern weaponry, Columbia is the obvious destination.”

“We are not buying weapons. We are buying people.”

Enciodas turned back, a dangerous, calculating light flashing in his eyes. “You are familiar with the Knight-Arena in Kazimierz, are you not?”

“Of course.” Gnosis raised a brow. “Anyone with a passing interest in international affairs knows of that grand, bloody theater.”

“The Commercial Union treats those defeated, ‘valueless’, or ‘disobedient’knights as defective commodities, liquidating them on the open market.” Enciodas curled his lips into a cold smile. “However, their metric for’value’ is dictated entirely by corporate sponsorship and advertising revenue, completely ignoring the true martial strength and tactical potential of the knights themselves.”

“This presents us with a unique opportunity. We can acquire buried gems at a fraction of their true strategic worth.”

“Trading capital for combat assets?” Gnosis tracked the logic, though his skepticism remained thick. “The theory is sound. But how do you intend to guarantee that these proud, disgraced knights will pledge genuine loyalty to a foreign employer? To Kjerag?”

“By treating them with absolute sincerity. By offering them the respect their homeland denied them, a stage worthy of their talents, and… aligned interests,” Enciodas stated, his voice ringing with quiet conviction.

“Heh.” Gnosis scoffed, shaking his head. “‘Treating them with sincerity’? Enciodas, that is quite possibly the greatest joke I have heard all year.”

Enciodas opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp, panicked shout from the Courier cut him off.

A violent slam of the brakes sent the carriage lurching forward with bone-rattling force.

Gnosis and Enciodas were thrown from their seats, narrowly avoiding a collision in the center of the cabin.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Enciodas barked, instantly regaining his footing, his hand already dropping to the hilt of his cane-sword.

The Courier’s voice drifted back from the driver’s seat, trembling with absolute disbelief.

“Boss! Something just fell from the sky! No, it flew right over us! It’s completely on fire!”