Arknights: How Did I Actually Become the Doctor? — Chapter 73

Chapter 73: Silverlance Pegasi? Let’s See How They Clash!

“Almost there. As long as I bring back this chip with the intel, the Supervisory Council will fulfill their promise…”

Sona wiped away the viscous trail of blood threatening to blind her left eye. She forced her breathing into a steady rhythm, desperately trying to block out the image of Wild Mane staying behind alone in the alleyways, or Ashlock breaking off to execute her solitary objective.

None of that mattered right now. To hesitate or drown in regret would only desecrate their sacrifices. She had to deliver the chip first. Once the Supervisory Council mobilized, there would still be time to salvage everything.

There is still time.

Suddenly, the Zalak’s sensitive ears twitched, catching the deadly, whistling tear of an arrow parting the night air.

She whipped her head around and threw her body into a frantic, chaotic roll across the concrete. A row of heavy, armor-piercing arrowheads materialized exactly where her torso had been a fraction of a second prior, the kinetic force burying the shafts deep into the reinforced steel plating of the street.

Her innate combat reflexes had triggered—eight seconds of near-absolute physical evasion.

As Sona scrambled to her feet, her despairing eyes locked onto the figure slowly stepping out from the shadows. It was the Lazurite, Roy.

“Hand it over, Zalak,” he said, his voice carrying a lazy, almost conversational lilt. “That registry of the Armorless Union.”

Strong. I can’t win this. Run!

Sona’s survival instincts screamed at a deafening pitch. Her fingers clamped down on the data chip until her knuckles turned white.

Roy simply offered a relaxed, open-handed gesture. “Why bother making this difficult? All we want is the Union’s roster. We want to escape the suffocating control of the General Chamber of Commerce just as much as you do.”

“Roy, are you still wasting your breath on this rat?”

A second figure emerged from the gloom. It was a blue-haired woman with a permanently acerbic twist to her features. Monique stood there, arms impatiently crossed over her chest, the hem of her tactical coat still glistening with fresh, wet bloodstains.

Wild Mane… what did they do to Wild Mane?

Sona’s gaze locked onto that crimson stain. The memory of her comrade’s resolute back, standing tall to cover the retreat, flashed through her mind. Sona’s eyes instantly burned red with unshed tears.

Monique did not bother with pleasantries. “Hand over the chip, and there is a slim chance your little Kuranta friend is still breathing. Keep being stubborn, and you will be buried right here alongside her.”

“We are all just people struggling to survive under the Chamber’s boot,” Roy added smoothly from the side. “We want a chance at life too. A smart girl like you should be able to understand that.”

Sona’s hand trembled violently. She instinctively reached out, extending the chip toward them, before violently yanking her arm back.

No… that makes no sense!

She forced her racing mind to process the logic. If the Lazurites were pursuing her with this level of relentless aggression, it meant the data chip was their absolute priority. Which meant absolutely no one back there had any tactical reason to waste time torturing Wild Mane. Her comrade’s fate, whether life or death, had already been sealed the moment they separated.

They were using fabricated psychological warfare to break her guard!

Sona feigned a throwing motion, tossing a piece of metallic debris into the darkness, and instantly pivoted, sprinting away with every ounce of strength left in her legs.

She would never again harbor a shred of illusion about these executioners. Their hands were permanently stained with the blood of the Infected.

A heavy, sickening thud echoed through the alley. An arrow, fired a fraction of a second after she moved, tore through the air with terrifying velocity. It pierced straight through the sprinting Zalak’s shoulder, the sheer kinetic force lifting her off her feet and pinning her brutally against the brick wall.

“I knew you wouldn’t play nice,” Monique sneered, lowering her heavy bow. She glanced sideways at her partner. “Hurry up and retrieve it. That troublesome VIP from Rhodes Island has been making waves in the city recently, even managing to take a massive bite out of the Chamber of Commerce. If we dawdle, the variables will multiply.”

“Indeed, variables tend to multiply,” a cold, commanding female voice echoed from the shadows behind them. “And it becomes quite easy for those who aid the wicked to find themselves exposed.”

Both Lazurites flinched, spinning around in unison. A tall Caprini woman, gripping dual maces, was slowly walking toward them, her footsteps echoing with measured, terrifying precision.

“The Armorless Union. Knight Assassins?”

The blonde Caprini radiated absolutely zero Originium Arts fluctuations. She simply analyzed her surroundings with dead, predatory eyes and slowly crossed her heavy maces into an X-shape before her chest. In that single motion, the atmospheric pressure in the alley seemed to crush inward. Her entire presence underwent a world-shaking transformation, shifting from a mere bystander to an apex predator.

“Then, the Black Knight, Degenbrecher. Please, show me exactly what you are capable of.”

The faces of both Lazurites drained of color.

Far across the city, Ashlock encountered zero resistance. She successfully infiltrated the primary circuit breaker facility governing the entirety of Kawalerielki. With a single, beautiful, devastating strike of her weapon, the central grid shattered.

The Great Knight Territory plunged into absolute darkness.

“The structural connection between the various districts of Kazimierz has always relied heavily on electric bridges and instantaneous communication networks. Following a total power outage, physical travel between the mobile city blocks becomes utterly impossible for a short window of time. In other words, for a brief, chaotic period, the flow of information between districts is completely severed. The locals call this ‘The Grand Partition’.”

You happily flicked on a portable emergency light and shifted your weight, making yourself comfortable while sitting directly on Patriot’s massive, armored shoulder. There was really no other option; not only was the old Wendigo toweringly tall, but his thick, layered armor made him functionally identical to a very sturdy, heavily militarized park bench. You simply could not resist the sheer tactical advantage of sitting up there to survey the sprawling urban battlefield below.

“A blackout of this scale is not merely a convenient cover for our own operations, but a necessary smokescreen for the Supervisory Council. The Armorless Union operates under the delusion that they can suppress the Chamber of Commerce through public opinion and blackmail, but they fail to realize that the Council’s appetite is vastly larger than a simple political reshuffle.”

Heavy, rhythmic, and terrifyingly synchronized metallic clashing echoed from the darkened streets below. It was the sound of a highly disciplined army marching swiftly through the night. Under normal circumstances, such heavy footfalls would trigger every alarm in the city, but amidst the blinding chaos and deafening confusion brought by The Grand Partition, they were entirely masked.

“The Council engineered this blackout specifically to create an insertion window for the Silverlance Pegasi to breach the city limits. Since the factions cannot reach a civilized agreement at the negotiating table, the military is simply going to flip the table over entirely. Are you taking notes on this macro-level aggro management, Amiya?”

During this rare, highly educational moment, you took full advantage of Rhodes Island’s vastly superior, Terra-wide wireless communication technology, making sure to squeeze in a live-fire tactical lesson for the little rabbit back at headquarters.

“Doctor! Please focus on your own physical safety first!”

Hearing the frantic, worried tone of the little Cautus—who was undoubtedly stomping her feet in anxiety on the other end of the line—you finally severed the connection with a heavy sigh.

I am suffering from severe Amiya withdrawal. I just needed to hear her voice to buff my morale.

Unfortunately, because your tactical performance over the past few days had been entirely too dominant, the Supervisory Council had absolutely no intention of inviting Rhodes Island to participate in such a massive, entertaining political purge.

Fortunately, as a veteran gamer, you were an expert at forcing your way into the main scenario event.

“You should head back now, Mr. Malkiewicz. Remember, absolutely no one came looking for me tonight.” You offered a polite, knowing smile to the middle-aged man standing nervously beside Patriot’s massive boots.

Malkiewicz looked as though he had just been granted a royal pardon. He bowed stiffly and quickly slipped away into the suffocating darkness of the blackout. He was a genuinely righteous man, one who had risked total alienation from the Supervisory Council to secretly deliver intel to you, desperately hoping you possessed the power to stop the situation from escalating into a total bloodbath.

Sadly, he was destined to be a mere NPC, entirely incapable of altering the scripted developments of this war.

Just moments after the vanguard of the Silverlance Pegasi—dozens of heavily armored, elite knights—breached the inner city streets, a strange, ear-piercing frequency cut through the darkness. It was not quite a song, but rather a haunting, melodic howl.

“Ah—aaaaah…”

The Silverlance Pegasi instinctively halted, their visors turning toward the source of the sound.

A thin, frail-looking boy wearing a heavy metallic control bracelet on his wrist stood directly in the center of the avenue, blocking their advance. As his voice—hovering somewhere between a sorrowful lullaby and a beast’s wail—echoed through the concrete canyon, the shadows around him began to writhe. Massive, grotesque creatures, a horrifying amalgamation of twisted metal and mutated flesh, slowly lumbered forward, lining up shoulder-to-shoulder to form an impenetrable, living barricade.

Mephisto’s hands were trembling violently. The sheer mental strain of commanding such a massive swarm of the Infected at once made the sickening, coppery taste of blood pool in the back of his throat.

But this time, he did not take a single step backward.

This was the very first time he had ever attempted to use his terrifying Arts to stand in front of others, to protect rather than slaughter. It was also his first time fully synchronizing with Rhodes Island’s experimental ‘Packbeast-Modified Herd’.

Even if his vocal cords tore. Even if he was trampled into dust. He was going to hold this defensive line.