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ArabicArknights: How Did I Actually Become the Doctor? — Chapter 31
Chapter 31: Why Does the End of a Great War Have to Be a Fistfight?
“The larger the coordinated formation, the easier it is to break.”
Inopportunely, right at this critical juncture of the battlefield, Wis’adel recalled the past.
It was a rare, clear afternoon back in the old days. The Doctor was idly toying with a sniper scope dismantled from Scout’s rifle, turning his head to complain to Her Highness.
“Oh my,” he had sighed, adjusting the lens against the light. “How is it that the more the Sarkaz improve these defensive formations, the more fragile they become? They’re full of fatal openings at a single glance.”
“The larger the scale, the more fragile each connection point becomes,” he had explained, tracing a diagram in the dust. “The more complex the reinforcement structure, the larger the scale. So, the more reinforcement there is, the less actual protection remains.”
He had laughed then, a dry, arrogant sound, claiming that relying on something so bloated to deal with him was simply a joke.
Wis’adel had thought about it for a moment, her mind naturally gravitating toward a vulgar metaphor. “So, is it like going from streaking to wearing a bikini?”
The Doctor had laughed so hard he bent double, clutching his stomach. Only after catching his breath did he slowly correct her, “No, it’s going from streaking to wearing socks.”
Perhaps the three of them back then were simply too presumptuous, or perhaps the sunlight that afternoon had just been too blinding. Now, standing in the frozen, desolate landscape of the Ursus tundra, she actually dazedly heard Her Highness’s gentle laughter, arriving many years late on the biting wind.
Boom—!
In the sudden eruption of scorching flames, she almost thought she saw the silhouette of the deceased dancing in the embers.
Her movements faltered.
“Don’t space out, catch up to the center of that formation!” The oblivious, commanding voice urged sharply through her earpiece. “I want that white Cautus!”
In an instant, the fragile illusion of the past shattered into ice dust.
“Got it, you bastard!” Wis’adel ground her teeth, her finger twitching over her detonator. “Didn’t you just wake up from amnesia not long ago? What kind of Operator are you trying to stuff into your Rhodes Island this time?”
On the other end of the comms, the Doctor’s train of thought derailed completely. “Huh? What do you mean? What did I stuff onto the landship before?”
In the damn Babel era, what else could I have possibly kidnapped and stuffed in there? Why didn’t Kal’tsit tell me about this?!
Wis’adel sneered, her boots crunching heavily into the snow as she resumed her pursuit. “Go back and see for yourself in the archives. What, shouldn’t the great mastermind know his own tastes quite well?”
It’s precisely because I know myself that I’m terrified! The Doctor’s expression twisted behind his visor. I really don’t want Rhodes Island to be classified as an international terrorist organization!
Far in the distance, FrostNova was sprinting through the blinding whiteout.
The enemy was coming specifically for her. This was painfully obvious from the methodical order in which her various Yeti Squads lost contact the moment her low-temperature field was forcefully broken. There was no hesitation in their tactical advance, no wasted movements—just clear, ruthless objectives pointing directly to her coordinates.
Combined with the strange rumors she had heard from her father, she realized that this “Doctor” was very likely interested in her.
On their way to secure a retreat route, Patriot had once paused, his massive frame turning to look at her. “The Doctor,” he had rumbled, his voice grating through his ruined vocal cords. “Cold. Warlike. But, not, a bad person.”
“I, too, have, some understanding, of him.”
FrostNova’s expression had been entirely serious, listening intently to the ancient Wendigo’s wisdom.
“He, likes, to collect, opponents.”
Huh? FrostNova’s stoic expression had stiffened a fraction.
Patriot had explained, his stilted, heavy breaths punctuating the bizarre assessment: “You. White-haired. Cautus. Tragic background. Beautiful, young girl. On clothes, tied ribbons, many.”
FrostNova had seriously suspected her father’s Oripathy was finally making him talk nonsense. Just as she was about to get up and leave the campfire, she was pulled back by the towering Wendigo, who admonished her repeatedly.
“This time. Regardless of stance. You can, surrender.”
FrostNova was just slightly antisocial, not completely disconnected from the reality of the world. She stared flatly at the giant armored man and asked, “Dad, then are you going to surrender?”
“You are a dad-type inhuman, beautiful-strong-tragic, steady old man, formerly a general, who is also tied with many ribbons.”
Patriot had frozen entirely. He looked down at his own massive, ribbon-draped armor as if he had just realized something horrifying. “I… am also, on the list?”
Once those words were spoken, even the hardened Shieldguards standing behind Patriot shrank back, looking at their own bulky equipment with deep insecurity. Among them, a white-haired, heterochromatic-eyed mature female guard’s expression had changed drastically.
She had only remembered to worry about their young master, completely forgetting that the infamous Evil Spirit of Babel possessed a pair of eyes highly adept at discovering beauty!
And right now, feeling the heat at her back, FrostNova had to believe it.
The scorching breath of explosives behind her was closing the distance rapidly. The mad dog belonging to the once-infamous Doctor was about to catch her.
“Hahahaha! Who told you that I count down before every explosion?!”
A blazing, compressed Originium spell grazed FrostNova’s cheek, detonating just a few meters ahead of her and violently blocking her only route of retreat.
FrostNova turned back, her boots sliding to a halt in the slush. The howling wind gradually weakened. A white-haired, red-horned Sarkaz walked leisurely toward her through the falling snow, six mysterious mechanical objects resembling wings floating menacingly behind her back.
“Hahahaha, you can really run, little rabbit!” Wis’adel made a dramatic throat-slitting gesture, flashing a victor’s unhinged smile.
FrostNova stared at her. This Sarkaz clearly carried the same deep traces of wandering as she did. That instinctive, aggressive posture was exactly like a stray dog that had finally found a home to protect.
Their relationship must be very good, right? FrostNova thought quietly. Just like me and Dad.
Just as this Sarkaz would not betray the Doctor, FrostNova would never betray her own family.
She would not surrender.
“I lost? That’s not necessarily true.”
FrostNova stopped retreating. Instead, she suddenly lunged forward, closing the gap in a heartbeat, and snapped a brutal kick wrapped in a freezing current straight toward Wis’adel’s arrogantly grinning face!
Even without her blizzard Arts, she still knew how to fight in the trenches!
“I— [Sarkaz profanity]!” Wis’adel, completely caught off guard by the sudden physical assault, only had time to raise her forearm to protect her face. The heavy kick sent her stumbling back several steps. “Crazy woman, what the hell are you resisting for?!”
She steadied her footing, so infuriated by the sheer audacity of a caster using melee that she momentarily forgot to cast her Originium Arts. Instead, she swung a vicious backhand punch right at the Cautus. “You want to fight like this, huh?!”
Back when she was a lowly mercenary crawling through the mud, she had seen plenty of this kind of desperate, bare-knuckle brawling!
FrostNova had been holding the absolute intention of fighting for her life from the very start. She didn’t dodge or weave. She let the heavy punch land directly on her shoulder blade, absorbing the sickening impact to step into Wis’adel’s guard. With a sharp twist of her hips, she drove a devastating elbow strike straight into Wis’adel’s chest.
The Sarkaz stumbled, the breath knocked out of her lungs in a gasp of pain. Using the rotational momentum, Wis’adel spun around and swung the heavy stock of her sniper rifle like a baseball bat, smashing it heavily against the side of FrostNova’s head!
FrostNova’s head snapped to the side from the brutal blow. Tasting blood, she backhanded the rifle barrel with her nearly broken casting unit, pinning the weapon in place. Then, gripping Wis’adel’s collar, she lowered her head and delivered a vicious headbutt, slamming her skull directly into Wis’adel’s arrogant face with a loud, sickening crack of colliding bone!
Meanwhile, the Doctor, who couldn’t run fast enough in the snow and had been left behind:?
Why is there an elbow-strike segment in a tactical caster battle?
Wow, it’s a real-life punch-to-flesh brawl. It actually looks incredibly exciting and intense…
The next moment, a brand new, highly classified communication channel popped up on the tactical visors of every Rhodes Island squad member present:
[Terra Fistfighting Championship (Wis’adel is not in this group)]
Therefore, when FrostNova finally used a desperate straight kick to separate herself from this crazy Sarkaz—who was entirely willing to trade injury for injury—she suddenly froze.
Looking around, she discovered that the rest of the Rhodes Island operators had quietly arrived at some point. They had formed a neat, perfectly circular perimeter around the two bleeding women, excitedly watching them beat each other senseless. Somewhere in the crowd, someone couldn’t help but shout, “Good hit!” in a low, appreciative voice.
FrostNova:?