Arknights: It Can't Possibly Be My Fault... Right? — Chapter 87

Chapter 87: Life and Death

“…Separated…” GreyThroat murmured, her boots clicking softly against the damp, cracked pavement of a narrow alleyway. Just moments ago, she and Amiya had been coordinating a rendezvous with the main vanguard of the Lungmen Guard Department.

However, the chaos of the urban battlefield had fractured their formation. Driven by a sudden, aggressive instinct, GreyThroat had broken away from the main squad to pursue a splinter group of fleeing Reunion Movement members. It was a tactical error born of unfamiliarity with the sprawling, labyrinth-like terrain of the city. The Reunion stragglers had woven through a series of complex detours, not only shaking off her pursuit but also leading her deep into the suffocating gloom of the Slums.

“This is troublesome…” She gripped her repeating crossbow tighter, her sharp eyes scanning the rusted scaffolding and decaying walls with heightened vigilance. Suddenly, the faint, low timbre of a man’s voice drifted through the stagnant air.

“Mhm… sleep peacefully.”

“Alright, I promise you. We won’t go back to Chernobog…”

“Sleep… the pain will be gone soon…”

‘This is…’GreyThroat silenced her footsteps, tracking the sound around a crumbling corner. There, half-swallowed by the shadows, she found a short-haired figure kneeling on the blood-stained concrete, gently comforting several critically injured and dying Reunion members.’An enemy,’ GreyThroat noted, her grip on her weapon tightening.

It was Faust. He had come to meet this specific group of comrades—the ones who had voluntarily offered themselves as decoys, exposing their positions to draw the L.G.D. away and buy the main force time to escape. Even though Faust had calculated the grim odds, knowing it was virtually impossible for these few to survive Lungmen’s relentless pursuit, he had come anyway. ‘If only there is a single survivor,’ he had thought.

Thus, he had entrusted Mephisto’s remains to the Phantom Crossbowmen, ordering them to retreat, and ventured alone into the danger zone to meet this squad. If a miracle occurred and there were survivors, he would use his Originium Arts to cloak them and bring them home. If not… the least he could do was collect their bodies so they wouldn’t rot in enemy territory.

The reality was only marginally better than the absolute worst-case scenario. Of the original squad of dozens, only a handful remained, their bodies broken and bleeding out. Even these resilient few, after dragging themselves to the designated rendezvous point, were already standing at death’s door.

Yet, their very first reaction upon seeing their commander wasn’t relief. They cursed at Faust, their voices weak but desperate, demanding to know why he had been foolish enough to come back. After their brief, emotional outburst, the curses dissolved into pleas. They begged him to run, warning him that pursuers were closing in and that he, above all, had to stay alive.

How many people had died before him? How many more would follow?

Faust gently reached out, his gloved hand brushing over the face of the last fallen comrade, closing the man’s lifeless eyes. He prepared to leave. The Slums were highly volatile now; the Guard Department and Rhodes Island operators could follow the blood trail and purge the sector at any second. However, luck had long since abandoned him. Just as he was about to gather his companions’ remains and vanish, his honed instincts flared. He keenly sensed GreyThroat’s presence lurking just at the edge of his perimeter.

“Drop your weapon!” Once her presence was compromised, GreyThroat didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. She stepped out of the shadows, raised her heavy crossbow, locked the sights squarely on Faust’s chest, and shouted the command.

“…” Faust remained silent. He slowly stood up, his movements deliberate and unthreatening, and raised his empty hands into the air.

“…Only you? Where are your companions?” GreyThroat didn’t pull the trigger immediately. Instead, her gaze darted to the rooftops and blind corners, warily scanning the perimeter to guard against a potential crossfire ambush.

But in that brief moment of divided attention, she witnessed something startling. The figure standing in plain sight began to warp. The edges of his silhouette blurred, bending the light around him, until he rapidly turned completely invisible, melting into the thin air.

Without a second thought, GreyThroat threw herself into a hard roll to the side. A heavy crossbow bolt hissed through the exact space she had just occupied, striking the concrete from behind her original position.

‘Originium Arts that grant invisibility… Is this Faust, one of the commanders mentioned in the intelligence files?’GreyThroat sprang to her feet, moving as nimbly as a startled cat, and slammed her back against a solid, rusted steel barricade for reliable cover.’That shot just now was off…’ Leaning against the cold metal, GreyThroat’s mind raced, quickly analyzing the trajectory. If he truly was the elite sniper Faust detailed in the intel reports, there was absolutely no way he would have missed a stationary target, nor would he have aimed so low, targeting her legs while her back was turned. It was a warning shot.

“Faust, right? You didn’t intend to kill me with that shot just now—” Before GreyThroat could even finish her sentence, her instincts screamed. She suddenly spun around, snapping her crossbow up and aiming it dead center at a seemingly empty cluster of trash cans. “Don’t move! I’ve found you!”

“Very keen… How did you find me?” Faust’s voice drifted from the empty space before his figure gradually materialized from the gloom, his own heavy crossbow held firmly in his hands. He didn’t bother relying on his invisibility to reposition again; he knew a fellow sniper’s gaze when he felt it. She had genuinely locked onto his position and could pull the trigger at the slightest twitch.

“Experience…” GreyThroat watched Faust with even greater intensity, her muscles coiled tight. If he showed even a flicker of Originium Arts to turn invisible again, her repeating crossbow would immediately flood his position with bolts.

“It seems Rhodes Island has very rigorous training. However… a crossbowman should shoot first and talk later.” Faust made no move to lower his weapon. The two snipers remained locked in a deadly, silent standoff, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

“Right now, as two lone crossbowmen, we can both ensure mutual destruction the moment either of us pulls the trigger. Can we talk now?” GreyThroat kept her voice steady, though her finger remained resting heavily on the trigger. “As I was saying, you didn’t seem to want to kill…”

“Who taught you to speak to an enemy like this, Little Swallow?” Faust interrupted her, his tone flat and devoid of hostility. “I don’t think there’s anything for me to discuss with Rhodes Island.”

“…I can see it in your eyes. You’ve completely lost your will to fight.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“Rhodes Island wants to help the Infected, and I just saw you helping them.” GreyThroat wasn’t entirely aware of the brutal massacre that had transpired at the Guard Department headquarters; she simply felt that this Reunion commander, who stayed behind to comfort the dying, might be someone capable of reason.

“…They are my comrades-in-arms, but you are my enemy. How does Rhodes Island have someone as naive as you?” Faust frowned, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his stoic features.

GreyThroat fell silent for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. Since he refused to parley, she had to prepare for the inevitable violence. She noted the design of his weapon—it didn’t appear to have a rapid-fire mechanism. If she could perfectly time and dodge his first shot, she could counterattack and end his life before he reloaded.

“But being naive is good for you… Little Swallow,” Faust continued, his voice dropping into a calm, almost melancholic register. “At least you can still hold onto hope.”

“GreyThroat is my code name. Don’t call me Little Swallow.” She corrected him after a brief pause, refusing to let her guard down.

“…It’s irrelevant to me.”

“Then let’s talk about something relevant to you. I heard your final conversation with those Infected… comrades.”

“What are you trying to say?” Faust’s frown deepened. For a lethal sniper, this girl talked far too much.

“You’re doing the right thing, aren’t you? And that arrow just now—I suspect you had absolutely no intention of killing me. You’ve already accepted your own death, yet you don’t want to drag more people down into the grave with you, whether they be enemies or allies.”

Faust stared at her through the gloom. “…You’re wrong.”

“I mean no harm,” GreyThroat pressed on. Even though Faust verbally denied it, his lack of aggressive action only made her more certain she had struck a nerve.

“That is precisely what’s most tragic.”

“…What do you mean?”

Faust let out a slow, heavy sigh. “Perhaps you really do need someone to give you an explicit answer, or else you just won’t understand.” He adjusted his grip on his crossbow, the metal groaning softly. “Listen to me. Don’t feel burdened by doing this. Whether it’s killing or being killed, these things happen every single day on this earth. Even Rhodes Island cannot avoid the bloodshed.”

“…Why can’t we help them together?” GreyThroat asked, her voice softening, posing a question that seemed to transcend the immediate battlefield.

“…I would like to, but it’s impossible. So, let us part ways here.” As he spoke, Faust’s silhouette immediately began to flicker and distort once more. For a crucial, fleeting second, GreyThroat hesitated. She didn’t pull the trigger.

“Wait!”

Before GreyThroat could take a step forward, a specialized smoke arrow suddenly struck the cracked pavement in the dead center of the alleyway. It detonated with a sharp hiss, instantly kicking up a thick, impenetrable screen of gray smoke that blinded her vision.

By the time the wind finally cleared the choking haze, the alley was completely empty. The bodies of the fallen Reunion members, and Faust himself, had all vanished without a trace, leaving only a dazed GreyThroat standing alone in the shadows.