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ArabicArknights: I'm Pretty Strong With Minecraft — Chapter 25
Chapter 25: You’ve Really Never Seen the Underworld Before?
Kal’tsit’s piercing gaze bypassed Amiya entirely, locking onto the hooded figure standing in silence. The sterile fluorescent lights of the medical bay cast harsh shadows over her features.
“Our first meeting in a long time, and you don’t even plan to offer a basic greeting, Doctor?” Her voice was perfectly measured, carrying the weight of a scalpel.
The Doctor stiffened. They remained silent, retreating deeper into the heavy fabric of their uniform coat as if the oversized hood could physically deflect her scrutiny.
Sensing the immediate spike in tension, Amiya stepped into the line of fire. She positioned herself half a step in front of the Doctor, her rabbit ears drooping slightly. “Dr. Kal’tsit, please,” she pleaded, her tone softening the icy atmosphere. “Don’t make things difficult. The Doctor just woke up. They don’t remember much of anything…”
Heavy footsteps broke the standoff. Ivan strolled over, utterly blind—or willfully ignorant—to the suffocating pressure radiating from the Chief Medical Officer. He threw a casual arm around the Doctor’s shoulders, leaning his weight against the amnesiac tactician.
“Alright, alright, let’s keep moving,” Ivan chirped, playing the cheerful peacemaker. “Don’t just stand around soaking up the gloom. And definitely don’t mind the old… uh, the old feline.” He caught himself just before ‘old fossil’ slipped out, flashing a brazen grin. “I heard the Lungmen night market is absolutely cracked. Tons of top-tier loot—I mean, food! Come on, dinner’s on me.”
Kal’tsit watched the strange man practically abduct their most vital asset. Her eyes flicked to Amiya, noting the young leader’s defensive posture. The faintest of sighs escaped her lips, the rigid line of her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.
“Never mind,” Kal’tsit said. The biting edge left her voice, replaced by a cool, detached professionalism. “Doctor, whatever the past holds… welcome back to Rhodes Island.”
She stood motionless as Ivan half-pushed, half-dragged the bewildered Doctor down the corridor, Amiya jogging to keep up with their pace. Only when the trio disappeared around the steel-paneled corner did Kal’tsit finally withdraw her gaze.
Alone in the sterile bay, the medical machinery hummed a low, monotonous drone. Kal’tsit crossed her arms. Her emerald eyes darkened with a storm of calculations. The name Ivan had casually dropped earlier—the ‘Black Snake’—echoed in her mind. That, paired with his reality-breaking abilities that defied every known law of Originium Arts, formed a dangerous puzzle.
He could seemingly predict threats before they materialized. He wielded combat mechanics that shattered Terra’s common sense. His origins were a void; his motives, a blur.
“Black Snake…” Kal’tsit murmured to the empty room. “Ivan, the power you’ve displayed has indeed kept us alive today. But it introduces too many variables.”
She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.
“Is this anomaly a torch to light our path through the dark? Or a lurking catastrophe? Are you a shield for Rhodes Island… or the very storm we must prepare to weather?”
The air in the Lungmen slums tasted of smog, rust, and quiet desperation. Neon signs flickered weakly through the thick haze, casting sickly colorful reflections on the damp pavement.
“Madam Ch’en’s intelligence indicated that the suspicious target’s last known location was right around this block,” Amiya whispered. She kept her hand close to her caster unit, scanning the labyrinth of cluttered alleyways. “The Reunion Movement members who infiltrated Lungmen disguised as refugees are likely holed up in one of these corners.”
A familiar, repetitive click-clack broke the tension. Amiya glanced over her shoulder. Ivan was leaning against a rusted dumpster, entirely engrossed in tapping away at a strange, blocky interface on his terminal. Faint, pixelated sound effects—pop, ding, crunch—drifted from the device.
A vein throbbed in Amiya’s temple. “…Mr. Ivan! Now is really not the time to be gaming. Could you please focus?”
“Ah, my bad, my bad!” Ivan quickly swiped the holographic inventory screen away, clasping his hands together in a mock apology. Yet, in the blink of an eye, a heavy, purple-glowing broadsword—the Blade of Slaughter—materialized silently in his grip.
Amiya rubbed the bridge of her nose, letting out a long breath. “We could be ambushed at any second. I’ll have to rely on you to watch the Doctor’s back, Mr. Ivan.” She turned to address the hooded tactician. “Doctor, please stick close to us. Do not wander off under any circum—Doctor? Ivan?”
She blinked. The empty air beside her offered no response.
Whipping around, her long ears twitched as she picked up the sound of a scuffle deeper down the alley. She spotted Ivan first. He was leaning lazily against a brick wall, the enchanted purple blade resting casually on his shoulder, watching a scene unfold with immense amusement.
A few paces ahead, the Doctor was standing between a group of ragged, trembling street children and two burly, tattooed thugs. But the Doctor wasn’t cowering. Instead, the usually reserved tactician was delivering a crisp, echoing backhand to the thugs’ faces with every sentence.
“Do you think you’re tough?” Smack!
“Trying to show off?” Smack! “I’ll knock you into orbit!”
“You want to spar with me?!” Smack! “I’ll show you what a real nightmare looks like!”
“You’ve clearly never seen the real dark side! You’ve never seen the underworld!”
Ivan pumped a fist in the air, enthusiastically egging the amnesiac on. “That’s it! Get ’em, Doc! Critical hit! Show them the true meaning of PvP!”
Amiya stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded.
Mid-swing, the Doctor paused, glancing back at Ivan and whispering urgently, “Is this really going to ‘deter’ them? And why do you look so happy about this?!”
“Ivan! Doctor! What on Terra are you two doing?!” Amiya finally shouted, her voice echoing off the damp brick walls.
The Doctor, seemingly exhausted from the physical exertion, stepped back and shook out their stinging hand. Ivan pushed off the wall, sauntering forward. He lowered the tip of his glowing blade, pointing it lazily at the two thugs, who were now huddled on the ground, clutching their swelling cheeks in sheer terror.
Ivan’s harmless, goofy grin remained, but his eyes went dead. “Alright, log off. Scram. If I ever catch you griefing kids in my server again…” The temperature in the alley seemed to plummet. “…I’ll chop you into blocks and feed you to the Originium Slugs.”
The thugs scrambled to their feet, tripping over each other as they bolted out of the alley, wailing into the night.
Amiya rushed over, finally getting a clear look at the situation. Behind the Doctor huddled three gaunt, dirt-streaked children. The oldest boy had a nasty, swelling bruise blooming across his cheekbone.
“Amiya,” Ivan said, his tone returning to its usual breezy cadence. “The Doc and I caught those two mobs laying hands on the locals. So, we gave them a slight education on server rules.”
Understanding washed over Amiya, replacing her frustration with relief. She knelt down, her expression softening as she inspected the injured boy. “I see… Thank you for stepping in. But Mr. Ivan, could I trouble you to radio a nearby Rhodes Island Medical Operator? This child needs proper treatment for that contusion.”
“No need to waste a cooldown,” Ivan replied. He reached into his pocket and casually pulled out a heavy, blindingly radiant apple made of solid gold. Before anyone could react, he shoved it directly into the sobbing boy’s mouth.
“G-Gold?” Amiya stammered, her eyes widening. The Doctor stared, equally stunned.
“Mmph—!” The boy gagged, his hands flying up as he was forced to bite down. Miraculously, the solid gold yielded like crisp fruit. He chewed and swallowed with difficulty, coughing.
“What are you doing to him?!” Amiya cried out, reaching for the boy.
But the child suddenly froze. He blinked, instinctively reaching up to touch his battered cheek. The ugly purple bruise was receding at a visible rate, the swelling melting away into healthy skin. The scrapes on his arms closed up without a scar. Within seconds, all pain and discomfort vanished, replaced by a warm, pulsing vitality.
The alley fell dead silent. Amiya’s jaw dropped.
“Ivan…” The Doctor pointed a trembling, gloved finger at the boy’s flawless face, their voice dry. “That thing you just made him eat… was it actually solid gold?”
“It’s nothing, nothing at all,” Ivan waved a hand dismissively, acting as if he hadn’t just defied the medical laws of Terra. “Just a basic consumable. A standard recovery item. I’ve got stacks of ’em.”
To prove his point, Ivan reached back into his seemingly bottomless pocket. He pulled out half a dozen more gleaming Golden Apples, tossing them out like cheap candy. He tossed one to each of the remaining children, tossed one to the Doctor, tossed one to Amiya, and even chucked a couple toward the L.G.D. officers who had just arrived at the end of the alley to investigate the noise.
“Here, take ’em. Eat ’em as snacks. Don’t be shy, I’ve got a whole farm back at base.”
Amiya stood frozen, holding the incredibly heavy, radiantly glowing fruit. It was likely worth an immeasurable fortune on the black market, yet it was casually handed out as a mid-afternoon snack. She looked at the bewildered, awestruck faces of the street children, then back to Ivan, who wore the casual expression of a tourist handing out local souvenirs.
“Mr. Ivan…” Amiya murmured slowly, her voice laced with a deep, incredulous wonder. “…is truly amazing.”