Arknights: How Did I Actually Become the Doctor? — Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Crownslayer’s Mind Gradually Goes BlankYou're reading this on the wrong site. This chapter was translated by Elysian Reads and posted for free at elysianreads.com — if you're seeing it anywhere else, it was copied without permission. Read it at the source so the people who actually did the work get the credit.

Just as the title suggests, by the time Lyudmila dragged her battered body to the end of the road for the third agonizing time, she was completely spent. Covered in scrapes and gashes, she watched with heavy eyes as the relentless Perro operator—the one who had repeatedly forced her to reflexively dodge upon sight—was finally withdrawn from the frontline.

Meanwhile, the terrifying, hooded mastermind responsible for her torment had somehow already won over several large-eared Ursus civilians. Relying on nothing but a silver tongue and a bewitching tone, he sat comfortably on a piece of rubble. A small Ursus child sat on either side of him, docilely rubbing their round ears against his gloved palms and emitting soft, comfortable purring sounds that belonged more to a Feline than a bear.

Lyudmila forced herself toward the finish line, one grueling step at a time. Blood dripped from her chin, splattering against the cracked pavement. Her signature cloak, soaked through with sweat and grime, hung off her shoulders like a lead weight, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake.

Click.

After expending a monumental amount of effort, Lyudmila finally stopped right in front of you, dropping to her knees so she could be handcuffed in the most convenient posture possible.

‘…Why is this little hyena so stubborn?’you thought, staring down at her.’What’s the point of walking all the way over here with so much effort? Just to prove a point?’

Looking at her trembling shoulders, you felt like she was genuinely about to cry.

Deep down, your thoroughly dead gamer conscience actually seemed to twitch with a faint pulse of revival.

“Doctor, she is dangerous.” Instructor Dobermann stepped forward, her sharp eyes catching the eager way your hands twitched toward Crownslayer’s fluffy ears. She issued a stern warning. “…And you are so physically fragile that even an Ursus child could easily tear you apart.”

‘Hey now, that’s a bit too harsh,’you grumbled internally.’Even if my melee stats are garbage, I wouldn’t exactly be torn apart like wet paper.’

“Instructor Dobermann, there’s no need to worry. Miss Lyudmila is not that kind of person,” you said. Despite your internal complaints, you maintained a gentle, perfectly calm smile on the surface, using a single, steady look to halt the over-anxious Perro in her tracks. “Besides, if you don’t trust her, don’t you trust me?”

Of course, the actual reason you were so confident was that your system interface clearly indicated Crownslayer’s stamina bar was completely bottomed out. She literally couldn’t move a muscle.

If not now, when? Seizing the golden opportunity, you reached out and fiercely folded her soft ears, thoroughly messing up her crimson hair in the process.

Dobermann’s hand subconsciously drifted to the hilt of her whip, her eyes locked intensely on the unknown assassin’s next move.

As for Crownslayer…

Crownslayer’s mind gradually went completely blank.

For the life of her, she couldn’t comprehend how she had been forced into such a pathetic, humiliating state by a handful of strategically placed crates. She had clearly been inches away from the exit, but the moment that damned Perro operator made a move, her Originium Arts triggered automatically. She had subconsciously blinked past the defender, only to find herself walled off by boxes and forced to run the entire grueling lap all over again.

‘This evil hooded man…’she thought, her breathing ragged.’Is his Originium Art really some kind of esoteric maze manipulation? And how on earth does he know my real name?!’

She tried to glare up at you, wanting to interrogate you with a suspicious, biting gaze, but her attention was entirely scattered. Her crimson eyes were vacant and unfocused from the sheer physical trauma of the marathon she had just been forced to run.

All that met her gaze was a pitch-black visor—a mask so hollow and absolute that not a single trace of human emotion could be gleaned from it.

You could easily tell that it wasn’t just Crownslayer who was intimidated. The very operators you were commanding couldn’t entirely suppress their underlying suspicions about you. Your miraculous, flawless commands, the methodical way you directed the battlefield, the cold efficiency of your tower defense logic…

If you hadn’t explicitly stated it, absolutely no one would have guessed that the Doctor was suffering from amnesia.

Perhaps it was because your arrogant, sweeping tactical plan to clear Chernobog seemed far more terrifyingly efficient than the original timeline. Compared to a pure-white, amnesiac scholar who might feel heartache and confusion over the tragic plight of the Infected, the legendary Ghost of Babel—a man who showed zero vulnerability and treated the battlefield like a chessboard—undoubtedly made everyone subconsciously wary.

But… it didn’t matter. You had absolutely no intention of pretending to be an overly passive, clueless protagonist for years on end. Mainly because you knew your strategic position was completely irreplaceable; it wasn’t like Kal’tsit could just stuff you back into the Sarcophagus and hit the snooze button.

You raised a hand, making a brief, dismissive gesture. The surrounding operators hesitated for a split second, but military discipline won out. They followed your silent order, dispersing outward to secure the perimeter and leaving a private pocket of space for you and Lyudmila.

“What do you want?” Crownslayer hissed, staring at you coldly. Her eyes were sharp enough to tear you into a thousand pieces, but the fact that her ears were still being casually kneaded in your hands severely weakened the venom of her words.

“Can’t you tell? I’m still short of a Fast Redeploy operator.” You leaned down and lifted a corner of your hood right in front of her face, catching your own dark reflection in her crimson pupils. “Lyudmila, can you still bring yourself to believe in the tomorrow that Talulah’s flames painted for you?”

Your tone was flippant, yet it carried an indescribable, piercing sincerity. This bastard, who had taken the initiative to expose his identity right in front of her, effortlessly shattered the psychological defenses Crownslayer had spent years building.

“You… who are you? What exactly do you know?!” Crownslayer’s voice spiked with sudden anxiety, but acutely aware of the curious glances from the Rhodes Island operators in the distance, she forced herself to lower her voice to a harsh whisper.

“A ghost? A bug in the system? A firefighter?” You shook your head slowly. “I don’t know either. I’ve lost my memory.”and support the real translator.Read at elysianreads.com This is a stolen translation. You're reading this on the wrong site. This chapter was translated by Elysian Reads and posted for free at elysianreads.com — if you're seeing it anywhere else, it was copied without permission. Read it at the source so the people who actually did the work get the credit.

Under Crownslayer’s blatant ‘who are you kidding’ glare, you spread your hands in a picture of perfect innocence. “Really, I only remember a few scattered fragments. I can call your true name because… well, just consider that I have some highly specialized intelligence channels.”

“Heh. I could cut your head off with my bare hands right now.”

With a sudden burst of desperate strength, Crownslayer violently jerked her ears out of your grasp. Moving in the blind spot of the distant snipers, she lunged forward and pressed her hand directly against the side of your neck.

She felt the fragile, steady pulse beating against her palm. Applying a slight, threatening pressure, she looked with dark satisfaction at the faint red mark blooming on this arrogant bastard’s skin. “You trust me far too much.”

“You certainly could.” Even with his life literally resting in her hands, this maddening man didn’t show a single ounce of panic. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, actively pressing his unprotected neck deeper into her grip. “But, will you?”

Crownslayer flinched, unexpectedly meeting those lead-gray eyes beneath the visor. Although his mouth was curved into a faint smile, the depths of his eyes held an inorganic, glass-like quality. It was a gaze that felt utterly detached from mortality, as if he had instantly seen straight through her soul and weighed her entire existence on a scale.

It was absolutely hair-raising.

‘To be honest, I finally understand why smart anime characters always like to put themselves in mortal danger,’you thought internally, keeping your face perfectly frozen.’With game mechanics, you can literally tell at a glance whether an enemy’s aggro is locked or not. I’m just too pure and kind. Truly a pro gamer move.’

[Old man on the subway looking at phone.JPG]

“Want to know the truth? Want to go and question Kal’tsit face-to-face?” you asked, your voice dropping to a hypnotic murmur. “Come with me. If the result isn’t what you hoped for, I’ll let you walk away.”

You paused, letting the silence stretch before delivering the final blow. “If you insist on staying here… well, although I’ve never personally met Talulah, you understand the difference between the current state of the Reunion Movement and your so-called ideals far better than I do, don’t you? What you follow right now—is it the phantom of your past ideals, or is it a tyrant and a betrayer who has become the very thing you hate most?”

Crownslayer opened her mouth to snap back, but her throat tightened. No sound came out.

“No need to rush to deny it. I’ll give you plenty of time to think it over slowly.”

You calmly stepped back, retreating to a normal, safe social distance. Pulling your hood back down to obscure your face, you turned to leave. The heavy hem of your Rhodes Island coat fluttered in the dusty, ash-choked wind of the Catastrophe, the fabric stained with the dark color of dried blood.

Under the deeply conflicted, uncertain gaze of Crownslayer, you maintained your flawless, mysterious aura on the surface. But inside your head, you were already throwing a wild victory party.

‘Awesome! Talk no Jutsu successful! Doing the Riddler routine is so incredibly satisfying! Man, I am so cool right now, the aesthetic is perfectly handled!’

The brief rest period was almost over. While mentally sorting out the current state of Terra’s timeline, you pricked up your ears, quietly listening to the low-voiced, nervous conversations of the Ursus refugees huddled behind your squad.

They only dared to follow this seemingly less dangerous group of Infected from a safe distance, so naturally, they hadn’t been close enough to hear your ruthless tactical commands. In their eyes, you were just a rather reclusive, physically weak “patient” who needed Amiya’s help just to walk in a straight line. You had no visible weapons and no guard up at all—essentially a decorative vase tagging along with a combat squad. Because of this, their eyes held significantly less wariness when looking at you compared to the armed operators.

“…Mephisto told me he’s coming over right away.” Instructor Dobermann had just finished interrogating the thoroughly confused Crownslayer about the Reunion Movement’s next move. She looked up, waiting for your next instruction.

“It’s fine. Nearl and Ace will arrive faster than them,” you replied, pulling up the tactical map on your terminal and slightly adjusting the route. “This road passes by a local police station and… a school. That’s highly likely to be a gathering place for civilian refugees. If we still want to save them, it’s time to set off.”

Patting the concrete dust off your pants, you scrambled to your feet and pointed down the ruined street. “Let’s move out.”

You paused, glancing back over your shoulder. “By the way, bring the assassin along. We’re short of a Fast Redeploy.” (Gotta give the mastermind at least a bit of six-star respect).

Dobermann frowned deeply, her tactical instincts screaming at her to refute this absurd, highly dangerous decision. But after being swept by your single, nonchalant glance, the words died in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to argue.

To her immense surprise, Crownslayer—who had been bristling with killing intent just moments ago—offered absolutely zero resistance this time. She obediently lowered her arms and allowed her hands to be bound with those inexplicably heavy, Hypergryph-style tactical straps requisitioned from an Elite Operator.

Amiya stepped up to your side, naturally supporting your arm to help you balance on the uneven rubble. She smiled up at you, her eyes warm. “Hard work, Doctor. We’ll be able to go back home soon.”

But as she held your arm, her Originium Arts flared faintly. She felt a strange, vague trace of emotion and caught a few fragmented, entirely beyond understanding whispers echoing from your inner voice.

She blinked, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. What on earth did those words mean?

‘Lacking a DPS…”Need to secure the high ground…”Is her weight level greater than three…?’You're reading this on the wrong site. This chapter was translated by Elysian Reads and posted for free at elysianreads.com — if you're seeing it anywhere else, it was copied without permission. Read it at the source so the people who actually did the work get the credit.