Arknights: How Did I Actually Become the Doctor? — Chapter 44

Chapter 44: The Most Righteous Person in the Entire Story Has Appeared!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.

Just when the young man was still enjoying himself, spinning a grand yarn to his captive audience of cellmates, the ancient voice echoing in his skull finally hit its breaking point.

“Doctor, I know you won’t lose, but openly broadcasting your master plan to seize power in Victoria sets a terrible example.”

The Witch King was genuinely appalled. The entire reason the Doctor had been slapped with such a ridiculous prison sentence in the first place was because he had used his silver tongue to trick Verna into surrendering the Sword of Kings ahead of schedule. Even a tyrant like the Witch King—who had been a reasonably dignified ruler in his prime—couldn’t stomach this display. He simply couldn’t appreciate the Doctor’s brand of performance art, where any random convict pulled from the cell block could be treated to a masterclass in stand-up treason.

“Then turn into Paimon for me,” you retorted childishly, not missing a beat as you continued to chat happily with your cellmates. “I don’t want Kyubey anymore; I want to be the Traveler. If I can’t be the Traveler, I’m going AFK. I refuse to walk a single step.”

The Witch King fell dead silent. Of all the sacrifices he was willing to make for the grand future of Terra, donning bloomers and a frilly little skirt was absolutely not on the table.

Just as this magnificent, barely-functional prison break plan was about to run aground on the shores of sheer stupidity, a chorus of violent curses erupted outside the cell door. Something major had kicked off.

“I wonder what kind of madness the Infected block has gotten into this time. Another brawl?”

Armed with a fresh source of entertainment, you finally abandoned your cellmates—who were currently staring in mounting horror, desperately wishing they had punctured their own eardrums five minutes ago—and poked your head through the iron bars.

“Cricket fighting! Where’s the cricket fighting?!”

Infected versus Non-Infected. Fifty Wanderers versus ten Columbian Casters. Which side had the better DPS? Where should you place your bets?

This was the twisted, underlying ecosystem of the prison. Thanks to the deliberate negligence of the guards, the Infected inmates had grown increasingly eager to spark massive, bloody friction with the Non-Infected population. It was a bleak, laughable irony. The equal treatment they had bled for and failed to achieve in the outside world was finally granted to them here, through the brutal, unvarnished equity of hand-to-hand combat.

A few guards were already leaning against the railings, treating the riot like a spectator sport, passing LMD back and forth as they placed bets on the victors.

One glance at the chaotic melee was enough to tell you the Infected were going to wipe the floor with them. They fought without any fear of injury. They were purely intoxicated by the sheer, unadulterated joy of being able to trade punches on equal footing with the Non-Infected.

Through basic profiling alone, you could map out their entire tragic life stories. In this hyper-industrialized nation of Columbia, discrimination hadn’t vanished; it had merely evolved. It bound the Infected tightly to the absolute bottom of society through suffocating, convoluted legal statutes. Out there, they couldn’t even raise a hand to defend themselves when beaten half to death. Striking back meant forcing their attacker to bear the risk of contracting Oripathy, and the legal penalty for that risk alone was steeper than the cost of having their own arms chopped off.

Here, from the glittering upper echelons to the struggling commoners, down to the diseased Infected, exploitation trickled down every rung of the ladder. Everyone—except the Infected—was simultaneously an oppressor and a beneficiary. Under this sick system, the vast majority of people willingly became cogs in a ceaseless meat grinder, all just to protect their own pathetic scraps of privilege.

But this time, your tactical read was off. Not because the Infected lost the brawl, but because right as the melee reached its climax, an entirely unremarkable Prison Guard A intervened.

She was tall, her imposing figure tightly encased in heavy riot armor. Only a pair of cold, piercing orange-yellow eyes were visible beneath the visor, barely providing enough visual data to identify her as a woman. She parted the jeering crowd with casual ease, planted her heavy shield on the concrete, and silently wedged herself between the two bloodthirsty factions. With a physical force that looked entirely effortless but carried the kinetic impact of a charging Tyrannosaurus, she forcibly shoved the combatants apart.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.

‘Wait, isn’t that my employee?’

The exact second you recognized the burly woman, her sharp gaze locked onto you.

Saria. Originally dispatched by her former colleague, Muelsyse, she had infiltrated the prison to track the clandestine movements of the Energy Section. Yet, right in the middle of her covert op, she suddenly spotted her current boss chilling among a flock of hardened convicts.

‘Did the Boss finally get locked up for his lolicon tendencies?’

The very next second, Saria—a woman seemingly cursed by the universe to be the ultimate overworked employee—felt a headache coming on. She stared at her boss, who was currently watching her break up a riot while laughing like a heartless idiot.

On the day the Doctor had returned, she had attended the welcome banquet. She had witnessed firsthand the absurdly explosive growth Rhodes Island had undergone the moment he woke up. Without a shadow of a doubt, this man was the terrifying new brain of Rhodes Island.

Weighing the tactical pros and cons, Saria made her decision in a heartbeat. She raised a gauntleted hand to adjust her headset, slicing into an encrypted comms channel, and spoke in a low, measured tone.

“Muelsyse, our cooperation may have to be temporarily suspended.”

A crisp, airy female voice crackled through the earpiece. “What’s wrong? Are you trying to ditch me again, Saria?”

“I have to extract a high-value target first. Someone far more important.”

“Sigh… fine, whatever. You’re leaving me too. At this rate, our Ecology Section is really going to be swallowed whole by the Energy Section~” The young woman sighed softly, dramatically cutting the connection.

The grand spectacle of violence was forcibly shut down, and the disappointed prisoners grumbled as they dispersed back to their blocks. You only zoned out for a fraction of a second before realizing that Prison Guard A was marching in a straight, unstoppable line right toward your cell.

“Doctor. It’s me, Saria.” She took the initiative to pop her visor, revealing a stern, unyielding face radiating pure righteousness, and subtly shifted her broad shoulders to shield you from the security cameras and prying eyes. “The situation is highly volatile, and Rhodes Island still requires your command. Please step back. I am extracting you from this facility.”

“Huh? Wait—”

You were already being dragged halfway down the corridor by the collar before your brain finally caught up to the situation.

“Wait, no! Put me down! I went through so much trouble to sneak in here!”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.