Arknights: How Did I Actually Become the Doctor? — Chapter 74

Chapter 74: The Babel Ghost (Disguised Version) – Limited Time Return!

“Go on, Mephisto! It’s time to show your worth!”

You watch the spectacle unfold from the sidelines, completely unbothered by the escalating chaos. It is painfully obvious that facing the Silverlance Pegasi—towering Kuranta knights who stand nearly three times his height—the young Sarkaz’s calves are trembling violently.

Mephisto gritted his teeth, his pale face contorting as he barely maintained his composure. “Cut the crap! You haven’t taken my life because I still have value to you. How could you possibly waste me here so easily!”

What you find genuinely fascinating is the sheer audacity of the boy. Even though Mephisto is terrified out of his mind, he glares at the armored behemoths in front of him with an even more vicious, venomous intensity, as if they share some deep-seated, ancestral blood feud.

‘Is this that legendary phenomenon?’you muse internally.’The more terrified the dog, the louder it barks?’

“Not entirely stupid. Then—Number 3, The Herd, block!”

Your tone shifts instantly, dropping the casual amusement for a cold, commanding edge. Mephisto obeys the authoritative snap in your voice subconsciously. The grotesque, three-meter-tall amalgamation of flesh and metal known as The Herd suddenly lurches upright, throwing its massive bulk directly into the path of the lead Silverlance Pegasus’s probing strike.

The heavy, mutated hide of the pack beast offers little resistance. The knight’s lance pierces straight through the thick flesh. The Herd wails, twisting its ruined body and using its internal metal skeleton to forcefully grind against the weapon, bleeding off the knight’s kinetic momentum. The beast collides head-on with the armored Kuranta, narrowly halting the devastating charge less than a meter from Mephisto’s face.

Mephisto’s pupils shrink to pinpricks. All color drains from his face. “I [Sarkaz profanity] you [Ursus profanity] Silverlance Pegasi! How dare you ambush me?! I [Yan profanity] your entire bloodline!”

Your eyes light up behind your visor. Mephisto’s vocabulary of vulgarities has improved astronomically since his internment on Rhodes Island. He is truly a sponge for culture, gathering the most vile curses from across all of Terra into one magnificent, foul-mouthed package!

‘Speaking of which, this kid…’you think, watching his knees knock together.’How does he manage to be simultaneously so cowardly and so aggressive? The closer he is to death, the harder he flames his opponents.’

You can clearly see that the moment Mephisto finishes screaming his multilingual insults, his legs tremble so hard he can barely stand. The Herd instinctively tries to shrink its defensive perimeter to protect its master, but it stops abruptly, its feet welded firmly to the front line by your overriding command.

“…You!” The Silverlance Pegasus pauses, momentarily stunned by the sheer density and variety of the insults hurled at him. Then, a cold rage radiates from his visor. He violently swings the shaft of his lance, batting aside the twitching corpse of the mechanical Herd, and raises the deadly tip to skewer the malicious child where he stands.

Clang!

Patriot finally makes his move. The towering Wendigo hurls his massive halberd. The weapon crosses the distance in a blur of dark metal, arriving with the force of a siege engine to slam directly into the knight’s lance.

The Silverlance Pegasus fails to react in time. He digs his armored boots into the ground, exerting every ounce of his immense physical strength to catch the blow. The sheer kinetic transfer is too much. The next moment, the elite knight launches into another brave, fearless charge—only this time, he is flying backward, backside leading the way, straight toward his own formation.

Boom!

After crashing backward through several reinforced concrete walls in a cloud of dust and debris, the knight finally manages to stabilize his footing, his armor groaning under the strain.

“Patriot… he’s still alive?!” A senior Silverlance Pegasus barks, recognizing the apocalyptic physical strength and the iconic weapon instantly.

The atmosphere shifts. The senior knight and the three warriors beside him immediately raise their lances, completely ignoring the trembling Mephisto. “Regardless of your purpose, bringing this monster to the current Kazimierz means you have chosen the wrong time to die!”

The realization hits you. What Patriot just swatted away was not just a random patrol. This is the absolute apex of Kazimierz’s military might.

Seeing a massive, city-leveling conflict about to erupt, you clear your throat to politely assert your presence. “Did I choose wrong?”

The moment the words leave your mouth, a brand-new combat interface illuminates across your PRTS visor:

[Contingency Contract: Operation Spectrum – Arena No. 8]

[Current Risk Level: 12]

‘Wait, so the Silverlance Pegasi, the absolute peak combat strength of Kazimierz, are benchmarked against the Contingency Contract event?’You pause, lost in deep thought. If a standard 420-point annihilation run benchmarks against a few dozen of these elite knights, then reaching the absolute maximum Risk level of the contract is practically equivalent to destroying an entire nation.’Is it hard?’you wonder. Reaching the top Risk of the contract indeed required your past life’s gamer self to rack your brains, read guides, and brainstorm strategies for nearly a month.’But the problem is…’A wicked grin spreads across your face beneath the mask.’Operation Spectrum was designed before Wis’adel was released!’

A surge of absolute confidence washes over you. Forget about complex operational techniques and precise deployment timings. It is time to let the proud people of Terra taste the sheer, unadulterated terror of meta power creep!

“I am very sorry. Due to some unfortunate accidents, I no longer recognize all of you. But perhaps… someone here still remembers me?”

You raise your hand and snap your fingers. The crisp sound echoes through the ruined street.

The next moment, a dark red figure plummets from the rooftop, slamming heavily onto the cracked pavement with predatory grace.

The white-haired, red-eyed Sarkaz woman slowly rises, spreading her arms in a lazy, exaggerated stretch. Her long, pointed tail swishes back and forth behind her in a relaxed, almost mocking rhythm. Hovering behind her are six Arts-amplifying units, each pulsing with an ominous, blood-red light.

“You only remembered to call me now?” Wis’adel purrs, her voice dripping with lethal amusement. “Why aren’t you thinking about your precious Kuranta knights at a time like this?”

The Silverlance Pegasi freeze. They look at the Commander who never takes off his black hood, and then at the red-horned, white-haired Sarkaz mercenary.

‘Wait, no!’the collective realization seems to scream from their rigid postures.’Didn’t that monster die in the war against Babel?!’

With a loud, uniform click, every single Silverlance Pegasus raises their lance, dropping into a state of maximum combat alert without their captain needing to utter a single command.

The captain slowly retreats several paces, merging his massive frame back into the defensive phalanx. “Bad. We’ve been surrounded! Prepare to break contact and retreat!”

‘With only a few dozen of us, how the hell did we run head-first into this walking natural disaster?! Isn’t the Ghost of Babel supposed to be dead?!’

You read the intense apprehension and raw terror bleeding through the slits of their visors. Once again, you are forced to acknowledge that your past reputation is truly, irredeemably toxic.

Suddenly, a spark of inspiration hits your gamer brain. ‘Wait, I have an idea!’

You earnestly dig through your fragmented memories, recalling every piece of lore and second-hand information you have about your terrifying Babel-era self. You reach up and pull the brim of your hood down further, casting your face in absolute shadow.

Most, you carefully channel the sheer exhaustion of your current life: that mountain-high stack of unread documents you left rotting on your desk at Rhodes Island, Amiya’s endless educational issues, and the sheer stress of keeping Kal’tsit completely in the dark about your current shenanigans.

In a flash, that weary, cold, and utterly detached mastermind aura radiates from your body. You lower your voice, artificially smoothing out the tone to imitate the pleasant, melodious, yet deeply unsettling cadence of your past self.

“If you come when you want, and leave when you want… haven’t I been a bit of an inhospitable host?”

The previously relaxed Wis’adel suddenly goes rigid. She whips her head around, staring fixedly at your hooded profile. Her knuckles turn bone-white as she grips her weapon.

The opposing knight order looks as if the entire group has been struck by a time-stopping Arts. The captain struggles to squeeze out a diplomatic smile, though the result looks far worse than a man weeping. “Where… where did you get that idea…”

A relatively young Kuranta in the back whispers frantically. “Who is he? He feels so arrogant… Urgh!”

The veteran beside him slams a heavy armored elbow into the rookie’s ribs. “Shut up! Do you want to get us all killed? Is your brain made of Originium ore?!”

Seeing the psychological damage working so perfectly, even you are slightly startled. ‘Hey, don’t look at me like the apocalypse just dropped! Don’t be nervous, I really don’t intend to start a bloodbath with you right now!'”There is no need to be so tense,” you say smoothly, your voice echoing in the dead silence. “I thought you would know by now that this level of vigilance against me is entirely meaningless.”‘I’m literally just here to scam some LMD from the Kazimierz General Chamber of Commerce so I can farm enough materials to E2 a couple of Operators!'”Sorry. For the sake of the grand plan, Kazimierz serves as an excellent transition point. This is merely a necessary measure.”‘Please, just listen to my perfectly reasonable explanation!’

“You will understand me… right?”

After running your internal thoughts through the ‘Babel Mastermind Translator’, the resulting dialogue is so incredibly sinister that even you feel like you are drowning in your own edge.

Wis’adel looks as though she is fighting the overwhelming urge to rush over and blast you to ash with a point-blank detonation.

The Silverlance captain gathers every ounce of his courage, his voice trembling slightly as he tentatively asks, “Um… didn’t the rumors say you had forgotten everything?”

You offer a chilling, empty smile beneath the hood and slowly spread your hands. “What I have forgotten… what does that have to do with my plan?”

“…Little animals, there is no need to be so nervous. Confusion and resistance are perfectly normal reactions. And I do not require your understanding, either.”

Just letting those words roll off your tongue makes you feel a thick, suffocating aura of a sinister ghost clinging to your very soul.

[‘Wis’adel, please don’t hate him. Like me, for the sake of his ideals, he has no other choice…’]

[‘Wis’adel, if hatred can support you to live openly and freely, please hate me. I will accept it gladly.’]

The blood-red memory flashes violently through Wis’adel’s trance. In this fleeting instant, the hooded Doctor’s casual, cruel dismissal overlaps perfectly with the darkest, most painful memories etched into her mind.

‘Dr. ■■,’ she mutters silently, her teeth grinding together as if she wants to tear out his throat and drink his blood.

The Nachzehrer presence lingering in the shadows behind her begins to boil with violent, barely contained malice.

You just finish delivering your incredibly cool, villainous lines when you suddenly feel a sharp, icy chill crawl directly up your spine.

‘…Hahaha. It’s just my imagination, right?’

[Rhodes’s Note: “Male Ghost” (男鬼) is Chinese internet slang often used to describe a lingering, haunting presence of a past lover or a past persona that refuses to die., it refers to the Doctor’s terrifying, manipulative “Babel-era” persona returning to haunt everyone.]