Arknights: The Scarlet Devil of Terra — Chapter 104

Chapter 104: The Mole-Hunting Game

“Are you sure?”

The cultist leader’s voice was a harsh, paranoid hiss.

“Look, there’s really no one around!” A lackey pushed the heavy iron door ajar, pointing out into the desolate alleyway.

It was dead silent outside. Given a few more minutes, the naturally cautious leader might have sensed the suffocating tension in the air and discovered the trap. But time was a luxury he did not possess. Hoshiguma, standing at the vanguard of the assault, had already signaled her team to advance, closing the net by a third.

“Everyone, follow me!”

Left with no time to deliberate, the leader drew his weapon and led his men in a desperate charge out the door. The moment their boots hit the pavement, the alley erupted. They slammed headlong into a wall of heavily armed L.G.D. Operators. The cultists thrashed and fought like cornered beasts, their eyes gleaming with a bloodthirsty, feral light, but it was utterly futile against the overwhelming numbers and disciplined shields of the Lungmen Guard Department. The brief skirmish ended without so much as a ripple of true resistance.

The captured cultists were dragged up from the concrete, looking thoroughly battered. Then, with a cold, practiced silence, the arresting officers shoved them into the back of armored transport vans. Under the convenient pretext that the active combat phase had concluded, every officer reached up and clicked off their body cameras.

By the time the heavy vehicles rolled into the Guard Department’s underground garage and the prisoners were hauled out, the feral madness in the cultists’ eyes had been thoroughly beaten into a bruised, lucid terror.

They were thrown into the holding cells just as Wei Yenwu arrived.

“Tell me the situation.”

The Chief Executive of Lungmen did not waste breath on pleasantries. He took the main seat in the briefing room, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered Operators. Since Ch’en had taken full command of this case, she stepped forward, delivering a crisp, detailed recount of the raid.

Wei Yenwu nodded slowly as he listened, a rare glimmer of gratification softening his stern features. Throughout this entire operation, he could clearly see Ch’en’s growth. She had not hesitated to call for backup when the variables shifted, and she had shown a keen, protective awareness of her subordinates’ safety. It was a stark departure from her old habits; she was no longer a lone wolf relying solely on her own brute force and swordsmanship. She was finally learning to wield her authority, use her mind, and trust the partners standing beside her.

“How are the two injured Operators?” Wei Yenwu asked, his tone shifting to a quieter gravity once Ch’en finished her report.

Beatrice, the officer who had personally escorted the wounded from the field, stood at attention. “Reporting to the Chief Executive. They were rushed into emergency surgery immediately. We just received an update from the medical wing; they suffered severe blood loss and heavy cranial trauma resulting in unconsciousness, but their vitals have stabilized. Currently, there is no immediate threat to their lives.”

“Very good,” Wei Yenwu said, his voice carrying the absolute weight of his office. “Once they are discharged, record a formal merit for both of them. Promote them by one rank, and grant them half a year of paid leave.”

A secretary standing in the shadows immediately noted the Chief Executive’s decree.

“Next is this Cult of Truth,” Wei Yenwu continued, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Taking down one of their peripheral hideouts is an achievement worth commending. But it is far from enough. I want you to pry their mouths open. I want every single one of them hiding in Lungmen rooted out and erased. Lungmen absolutely will not tolerate the existence of a cult organization within its borders. Do you understand!”

The entire room snapped to attention, boots clicking against the floor tiles.

“Understood!”

Not far away, a tiny figure was busy mimicking the solemn officers. Flandre Scarlet puffed out her chest, held her head high, and offered a perfectly rigid, albeit completely adorable, salute. The sight managed to draw a low chuckle from the Chief Executive. He beckoned to the little vampire.

“Little Flandre, come here.”

Flandre skipped over, and Wei Yenwu reached out to gently pat her blonde head.

“You did a truly excellent job this time, little one.”

“Hehe! Flandre loves the game of catching bad guys!” she beamed, her innocent smile completely masking the terrifying destructive power sleeping beneath her skin. To her, the enemies of Lungmen were nothing more than fragile, squishy toys.

Wei Yenwu turned his attention back to Ch’en. By now, the room had emptied of the rank-and-file, leaving only a few trusted, familiar faces.

“What are your plans for the next phase?”

“Beat the grass to startle the snake, then wait for the rabbit to crash into the stump,” Ch’en said, a confident smirk playing on her lips.

“A sound strategy. And what of the mole?” Wei Yenwu nodded. Though she spoke in idioms, he already saw the shape of her trap.

“Loose on the outside, tight on the inside. We lure the snake out of its hole,” Ch’en answered smoothly.

“The infiltrator managed to slip away completely unnoticed last time. Are you certain your net will hold them this time?” Wei Yenwu asked, tilting his head.

Then, he followed Ch’en’s gaze. It landed squarely on the little blonde girl happily swinging her arms.

“Flandre and I have an agreement,” Ch’en explained. “She is going to help me catch the rats scurrying around the Guard Department. In return, I am commissioning a contact in Victoria to procure several rare books that simply cannot be found in Lungmen.”

Flandre raised a tiny, pale fist and pumped it in the air. “Flandre is super good at catching rats!”

Wei Yenwu’s stern expression melted into a genuine smile. “Then I shall wait and see. I look forward to your good news.”

After Wei Yenwu departed, the remaining officers immediately began laying the groundwork for the operation. Under Ch’en’s strict directives, the newly captured cultists were locked away in the deepest, most secure isolation cells of the Guard Department. Their daily meals were handled by a single, designated officer. The interrogation personnel were handpicked by Ch’en herself, and all transcripts and recordings bypassed standard channels, delivered directly to her desk.

The security measures appeared suffocatingly tight; even the interrogators themselves were placed under a strict gag order, forbidden from discussing their findings with anyone else.

Her strategy was elegantly simple. If the Cult of Truth’s spy embedded within the L.G.D. chose to do nothing, Ch’en would inevitably extract a mountain of critical intelligence from the prisoners. Once the cult was completely uprooted, the spy would lose their backing and have nowhere left to hide.

If the spy chose to act, however, that was even better. Ch’en had woven an invisible dragnet over the isolation ward, waiting patiently for the traitor to take the bait. It was an open, desperate dilemma. Whether the spy jumped or stayed still, they were dead. But Ch’en was certain the infiltrator would not surrender easily. They would take the risk.

So, in the darkest, innermost corridor of the prison block, she arranged a special little gift for them.

The name of that gift was Flandre Scarlet.

The first day passed in absolute peace. Even if the spy had received the news, they could not instantly find a crack in Ch’en’s heavy security. But to avoid the risk of the prisoners breaking under prolonged interrogation, the traitor would have to strike quickly.

And so, in the dead of night leading into the second day, Flandre slipped silently into the deepest sector of the prison.

5:00 AM.

It was the darkest hour before dawn, the exact moment when the human spirit is at its most exhausted and scattered. The night shift officers of the Guard Department were running on fumes, their minds entirely focused on the impending arrival of their daytime replacements.

It was in this window of vulnerability that a dark shadow glided into the restricted prison block. The figure moved with practiced precision, carefully hugging the blind spots of the surveillance cameras and timing the patrol routes perfectly, until he reached the heavy steel doors of the innermost cells.

He did not attempt to open the door. Instead, he withdrew a small, unassuming glass vial from his coat. With a flick of his thumb, he popped the cap and silently tossed the open container through the narrow grate of the cell.

Just as his arm completed the throwing motion, a sudden, terrifying pressure descended upon him. He froze. It wasn’t a choice; his muscles simply ceased to obey his commands. He couldn’t move a single finger. Only his eyes could dart wildly in their sockets.

Then, the heavy steel door in front of him slowly groaned open.

A petite blonde girl strolled out of the cell. Cradled in her hands was the very same glass vial he had just thrown. The lethal, highly concentrated mustard gas, which should have rapidly expanded and filled the room the moment the cap was removed, was inexplicably frozen, swirling harmlessly inside the glass as if held back by an invisible wall.

“Caught you, little mouse!”

The paralyzed infiltrator immediately recognized the girl standing before him. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul in the entire Guard Department who didn’t know her face by now.

Flandre Scarlet.

The Special Consultant for the L.G.D.’s Special Inspection Unit. A terrifying anomaly extremely skilled in Magic, Incantations, and Originium Arts, possessing an uncanny ability to track killers by the scent of their blood. It was precisely because of her terrifying tracking abilities that he had chosen mustard gas—a method intended to execute his captured comrades silently, leaving no bloody wounds for the little monster to trace.

But clearly, Ch’en had seen right through his desperate logic, planting Flandre here to wait for the rabbit to deliver itself.

Under the traitor’s despairing, wide-eyed gaze, Flandre offered a sweet smile and pulled out a standard-issue walkie-talkie.

“Sister Ch’en! Flandre caught the bad guy!”

“I’m coming right now!” Ch’en’s voice crackled through the speaker mere seconds later.

It didn’t take long for the heavy blast doors to open as Ch’en rushed into the prison block, flanked by two Operators. The moment they entered, they saw the infiltrator standing rigidly in the hallway like a wooden statue. Meanwhile, Flandre was happily juggling a few more small vials she had fished out of the man’s pockets.

“What is this?” Ch’en asked in a low, dangerous voice as she stepped up to Flandre’s side. She didn’t even spare a single glance for the paralyzed mole.

“I took it from the bad guy,” Flandre chirped. “He said it was mustard gas.”

Ch’en’s eyes instantly narrowed. “Mustard gas? All of these?”

Flandre nodded enthusiastically.

The atmosphere in the corridor plummeted, Ch’en’s expression growing incredibly grave.

“Take this guy to the interrogation room for a proper questioning first. Then, contact Officer Zhang and Officer Li. Tell them to report to the Special Inspection Unit immediately,” Ch’en ordered the two Operators beside her.

As the two Operators clamped heavy iron shackles and handcuffs onto the traitor, Flandre casually pointed a pale finger at him, releasing the Hold Person spell. The man stumbled forward, barely catching his balance, his face completely ashen. Stripped of his weapons, his poisons, and any chance of resisting Flandre Scarlet, he knew exactly what dark fate awaited him.

Watching the defeated man being dragged away down the cold corridor, Flandre tilted her head. “Sister Ch’en, why do you care so much about this mustard gas?”

“Do you remember when I told you about the officers we lost during our previous pursuit of the Cult of Truth?” Ch’en asked, her voice tight. “They died from severe mustard gas poisoning. Because of that, we have always suspected that the cult operates a hidden chemical testing ground somewhere. It’s the only way they could possess such a large-scale stockpile of toxic gas. Now that mustard gas has appeared again, it completely confirms our suspicions.”

Not long after Ch’en and Flandre returned to the main office, the two veteran officers she had summoned arrived at the Special Inspection Unit. The moment they were briefed on the confiscated vials of mustard gas, a deep, agonizing sorrow washed over their weathered faces. The Operators who had died in that toxic cloud months ago had been their direct subordinates.

“Officer Ch’en… thank you for telling us this,” one of them said, his voice trembling slightly. “We have an audacious request…”

“If you two wish to personally conduct the interrogation, of course there’s no problem,” Ch’en interrupted smoothly, looking up to meet their grieving eyes. “But there is one rule you must follow. As long as you can promise me that, I will arrange it.”

“Please say it. As long as it is within our power, we are at your service,” spoke the older of the two, an officer with a head full of silver hair who looked old enough to be a grandfather.

“He cannot die, and he cannot be crippled,” Ch’en stated, her gaze locking onto the silver-haired man. “I want him to face the judgment of the law alive and conscious.”

“If you two can agree to this condition, then I will allow you to participate in the interrogation.”

“No problem!”

The response was clean, decisive, and immediate. To these hardened veterans, Ch’en’s condition was simply too easy. For old officers who had worked the dark underbelly of Lungmen for decades, there were countless excruciating ways to make a man suffer and break his spirit entirely without causing permanent physical injury.

Seeing the dark resolve in their eyes, Ch’en quickly wrote out two authorization slips and handed them over.

“Then the interrogation of this traitor is left to you two. I only want results.”

Hearing Ch’en’s final words, a cold, bloodthirsty smile crept onto the faces of the two old officers.