Arknights: I'm Pretty Strong With Minecraft — Chapter 81

Chapter 81: Reminiscence

Amiya stared down at the row of unconscious captives sprawled across the pavement, her small face pinched with confusion. She reached out, lightly tugging on Ivan’s sleeve. “Um… Mr. Ivan. Their clothing… it doesn’t match the Reunion Movement at all, does it? Who exactly are they?”

Ivan kept his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He stepped forward and casually nudged the nearest black-clad man with the toe of his boot. His voice dripped with undisguised disdain. “Black Cloaks. The old dragon’s hidden Shadow Guard. They lurk in the dark, handling all of Chief Executive Wei’s dirty work that can’t survive the light of day.”

He paused, letting the weight of the situation settle before dropping the real bombshell. “According to the intel I so graciously inquired about, their current orders were to eliminate all unstable elements within the Lungmen area. To put it in plain terms, that means wiping out all perceived troubles. Including the Infected.”

Amiya’s azure eyes widened. Shock and utter incomprehension flooded her expression. “Eliminate the Infected? But… didn’t Chief Wei sign a formal cooperation agreement with Rhodes Island? Shouldn’t they be our partners? Why would they ever do something like this?”

Ivan let out a dry, mocking scoff. “Did Wei Yenwu ever actually mention he kept a black-ops unit like this on a leash? No, he didn’t. He hid this little strike force from us, and from everyone else. In his eyes, Rhodes Island is probably just a collection of useful tools. Or worse, we are just more potential trouble he needs to guard against.”

He gestured vaguely toward the groaning, unconscious pile of elite operatives at his feet, his tone shifting into one of absolute, shameless self-righteousness. “So, what is the harm in us borrowing a little of their labor? Letting them contribute to Rhodes Island’s great cause to atone for their sins sounds perfectly reasonable to me.”

‘That logic is just so… Ivan,’ Amiya thought.

She looked back down at the Black Cloaks. Even in their unconscious state, their brows were furrowed in pain. She offered a reluctant, hesitant suggestion. “Um… Mr. Ivan, perhaps you could find a slightly gentler way to invite them to Rhodes Island next time? Like a normal escort?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, looking entirely unbothered. He crouched down, grabbed the shoulder of a Black Cloak lying face-down in the dirt, and casually flipped the man over.

The operative’s back was a complete disaster. The tough, military-grade black fabric of his combat uniform had been shredded into tattered ribbons. Beneath the ruined cloth, the man’s skin was scraped raw and bloody, heavily bruised from being dragged at terrifying speeds across the unforgiving Lungmen asphalt. It was a brutally clear indicator of Ivan’s highly ungentle transportation methods.

Ivan stared at the gruesome, bloody mess for a second. “Ah. Well.” He stood back up and spread his hands in a helpless shrug. “Alright, fair enough. How about this, Amiya. Call in a few reliable Operators. Bring some stretchers, haul these guys back to Rhodes Island, and dump them directly in Kal’tsit’s office. Just tell her they are a lovely little gift from Chief Wei, and let her figure out what to do with them.”

Amiya nodded quickly, vastly preferring this far more humane approach. “Okay, Mr. Ivan. I was thinking the exact same thing. I will arrange for a retrieval team immediately.”

A sudden, deafening roar tore through the city air from several blocks away. The sheer force of the distant explosion sent a violent tremor rippling through the concrete beneath their boots.

Ivan snapped his head up, his gaze locking sharply onto the rising plume of smoke. “Oh? Now that is quite the commotion.”

He spun back to face Amiya and the Doctor. “You two take a squad and scout the immediate perimeter. Stay alert. Over there…” He pointed a finger straight toward the epicenter of the blast. “…It seems another good show is about to kick off. I am going on ahead.”

“Wait! Ivan!” the Doctor called out urgently, reaching forward.

But Ivan’s figure had already vanished into thin air, leaving absolutely no trace behind.

The Doctor stared at the empty space, stomping a boot against the pavement in sheer frustration. He clutched the sides of his heavy hood and let out a miserable wail. “Argh! When did this stinky bear learn to just pop in and out of existence like that?! I cannot even catch his shadow anymore! How am I supposed to be a tactical commander when my vanguard ignores the laws of physics?!”

Blocks away, Faust’s lungs wheezed like a broken bellows. Every ragged breath he dragged into his chest carried the thick, metallic stench of his own blood. Ahead of him, the rhythmic, unified crunch of approaching footsteps grew steadily louder. The heavy clatter of L.G.D. armored boots struck the pavement in a merciless march.

Faust forced his heavy head up. The entire street ahead had been entirely blockaded by the Lungmen Guard Department’s heavy armored defenders. The pale sunlight reflected off their massive, standardized riot shields, casting a blinding, dazzling white glare across the ruined intersection.

“Do not let a single Reunion member escape,” the L.G.D. commander’s voice rang out, cold and authoritative. “As the Lungmen Guard Department, we must do our utmost to stop their atrocities.”

Faust gasped for air, his trembling fingers tightening around the heavy grip of his crossbow.

“Ready!” The L.G.D. commander raised a hand, then swung it down in a vicious arc.

Drawing upon the absolute last ounce of strength in his battered body, Faust raised his weapon. His arm shook violently from the agonizing pain tearing through his muscles. He did not aim at the encroaching shield wall. He did not aim at the commander. He simply pointed his crossbow up toward the hazy, smoke-filled sky.

The simple motion brought a sudden, quiet memory rushing back to him. He remembered the countless sunsets bleeding over the frozen ruins of Chernobog. He remembered the white-haired youth who had always stood by his side.

Across the barricade, a chorus of heavy bowstrings snapped in unison, vibrating with the intensity of a torrential downpour. Countless L.G.D. bolts sliced through the cold air, descending upon his solitary figure like a merciless metallic rainstorm.

In the final fraction of a second, as the deadly rain of arrows completely obscured the sky above him, Faust smiled.

The expression was so incredibly pure, so entirely devoid of malice, that it looked entirely out of place on this grim, blood-soaked battlefield. He looked just like a tired child finally receiving a long-awaited gift.

“Ino, I am coming for you,” Faust whispered softly into the wind.

But amidst the deafening, shrieking rush of descending steel, who could possibly hear such a fragile murmur?

“In your final moments, Sasha, what will you think of?”

A calm, low voice suddenly cut through the chaos. Just as the lethal rain threatened to pierce him, a tall figure materialized out of thin air, stepping directly into Faust’s path to block the sky.