Honkai Star Rail: Saving the World with a Mobile Game — Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Didn’t We Agree to Take the Initiative to Find Herta?

That was right.

Judging by that specific form of address alone, there was truly only one person in the entire universe who possessed the sheer audacity to use it with her. It was a title that only ever surfaced when the two of them were conversing in strict privacy.

Even without hard evidence…

‘What on earth is he up to?’Herta pressed her knuckles against her porcelain lips, her doll joints clicking softly as she sank into deep thought.’Clearly, after the scepter was destroyed, he went completely off the grid. Lost contact entirely.”So how did a fan game suddenly materialize out of nowhere?’

The timeline of events was rather straightforward. That day, Ash had abruptly contacted her and Screwllum, outlining his next destination: Amphoreus. At first, it seemed like a trivial matter; perhaps he merely required a bit of logistical assistance. But once she learned that Ash had disembarked early, venturing into Amphoreus to uncover the scepter, the situation escalated into a serious problem.

To be perfectly fair, Herta had no idea what Ash’s true objective was. She didn’t know why he chose to jump ship early at such a critical juncture, nor how he just happened to stumble upon the scepter. However, weighing the variables, she chose not to interrogate him. Instead, she directly provided the support he needed to combat Iron Tomb.

After Iron Tomb fell, the man vanished into thin air.

And now, a highly sophisticated game directly tied to Amphoreus had suddenly launched, and it had the gall to drag her into its narrative?

After a moment of careful calculation, Herta decided there was no need to overcomplicate things or hunt for obscure clues. Wouldn’t it be infinitely more efficient to just establish a connection and interrogate him directly?

“You little brat,” she murmured, her tone dangerously soft. “You had better think very carefully about how you are going to explain this to me…”

Raising her voice, she commanded the laboratory’s AI. “Mirror Four!”

“Present!”

“I’m here! General.”

The Xianzhou Luofu. Seat of Divine Foresight.

With a relatively clear schedule today, Yanqing’s daily routine had shifted. Aside from his rigorous swordplay practice, the young lieutenant now dedicated a specific block of time every single day to grinding Honkai: Star Rail.

However, with the second half of the game’s banner generating massive waves of hype across the cosmos, it naturally couldn’t escape the watchful eyes of the Xianzhou’s upper echelons.

Jing Yuan had suddenly summoned Yanqing to his office. It was hard to say whether the boy should be sighing in exasperation or counting his lucky stars.

Because they were part of the Luofu’s highest command structure and possessed classified intelligence, they knew a chilling truth: the lore and historical fragments mentioned in the game regarding the Xianzhou were entirely accurate.

Unlike the ordinary players who engaged in wild, ignorant speculation or genuinely believed it was just a high-budget fan project, Jing Yuan had solid grounds for suspicion. He deduced that Herta’s newly released storyline was also based on absolute reality.

Which meant the esteemed Genius Society member was yet another victim of this mysterious developer’s broadcast!

“Yanqing, what are your thoughts on this?” Jing Yuan asked, his golden eyes resting thoughtfully on his retainer.

Yanqing paused, the game interface reflecting in his eyes as he realized the true weight of the General’s question. “Ah, General, I am merely observing the mechanics.”

Jing Yuan offered a warm, knowing smile. He gestured casually, inviting the boy to drop the formalities. “Yanqing, there is no one else here. Feel free to speak your mind.”

Realizing his deflection had been seen through instantly, Yanqing scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin breaking his disciplined facade. “Understood, General.”

“Well, actually, I believe this entire broadcast is mostly factual. After all…” He trailed off, omitting the classified details they both already knew by heart, before pivoting to the tactical reality. “The intelligence this developer possesses already involves Emanators and Aeons. Their actual combat strength remains completely unknown, but based on visual estimates alone, it must be terrifying.”

The young swordsman straightened his posture. “If it were up to me, as long as there is no further content directly targeting the Xianzhou, it would be best for us to maintain our distance and avoid getting involved.”

At this current juncture, the Luofu still had unresolved, highly sensitive matters concerning Jingliu. Sticking their hands into a chaotic situation involving an Emanator, or potentially provoking the gaze of another Aeon, would bring far more trouble than it was worth.

“Besides,” Yanqing added, pointing out the core political dynamic, “the IPC should be handling this matter with full authority. Even if the game’s creator manages to slip through their fingers, we can still extract clues about his identity through their intelligence networks.”

“We can evaluate whether or not to take action when that time comes.”

Hearing this precise breakdown, Jing Yuan nodded slowly, his expression reflecting deep satisfaction. “Not bad, Yanqing. You have actually grown quite far-sighted.”

Yanqing scratched his head again, the praise making him flush slightly.

Yet, his tactical reasoning was flawless, aligning perfectly with Jing Yuan’s own silent calculations. That was exactly why, when Fu Xuan had approached him earlier regarding the game’s explosive popularity, he hadn’t issued any orders for intervention.

He merely wondered how the Master Diviner was progressing with her own playthrough.

Fu Xuan was, naturally, deeply invested in clearing the story content.

The news that Herta not only received a featured banner but also a dedicated story quest had spread like wildfire among the player base, causing the community forums to erupt into a frenzy of excitement.

Although the main questline wasn’t particularly long, the sheer scale and rarity of the content made it magnificent. After all, who in the universe ever got the chance to spy on the private, daily life of a true Genius?

However, sitting quietly in the parlor car of the Astral Express, Himeko felt a cold knot of unease tightening in her chest. She had been following both the unfolding story and the community reactions while sipping her black coffee.

This was her razor-sharp intuition acting up. A heavy, suffocating instinct warning her that something terrible was about to happen.

The main quest provided Herta as a trial character, picking up from the previous narrative thread: the preparation to seek an audience with Nous, the Aeon of Erudition.

According to the game’s plot, the audience system designed to connect with Nous had malfunctioned, prompting Herta to initiate manual repairs. The quest was divided into three distinct sectors, primarily consisting of environmental exploration and clearing out hostile data constructs.

This resulted in the final sector, where a ‘thief’ from the Garden of Recollection was caught red-handed and permanently exiled within the system’s void by Herta’s command.

What deeply puzzled Himeko, however, was the sudden inclusion of the Memokeepers. Why was the Garden of Recollection involved in this specific event?

She didn’t have much time to analyze the lore implications. Once the audience system was fully repaired, the on-screen Herta was teleported directly into the Pathstrang Gap. She was truly preparing to stand face-to-face with the Aeon of Erudition.

Spying on a direct conversation with an Aeon—even through the filtered lens of a video game—was an incredibly stimulating, almost taboo experience.

This sheer audacity made Himeko slightly skeptical of the developer’s limits.

She watched intently as the digital Herta walked forward into the cosmic expanse.

Suddenly, an unexpected anomaly occurred. A mechanical mirror within the environment spoke up:

“Madam Herta, we have captured anomalous audio frequencies within the Gap.”

“Sounds?”

Himeko rested her chin on her palm, her amber eyes narrowing at the screen. Could those sounds truly be the voice of Nous?

Within the game, Herta clearly shared the same hypothesis.

“Oh? Let me hear them.”

The mirror processed the request, emitting a cold, synthetic sequence: “0001, 0011…”

“This sound is… binary calculation? Could it be Nous?”

At first, the digital Herta assumed it was the Aeon. But as the sequence progressed, the numbers began to distort.

A ‘2’—a digit that fundamentally does not exist in binary code—glitched across the dialogue box.

Immediately following the anomaly, a muffled, distinctly human voice echoed through the audio channel.

“Wait, this door doesn’t seem to be locked.”

“Door? Locked?” The in-game Herta’s eyes widened in sheer surprise. “No, this isn’t the voice of the Path at all.”

Sitting in front of her tablet, Himeko was just as shocked as the genius on the screen.

She had been carefully analyzing the plot’s trajectory, but the moment that specific voice played through the speakers, her eyelid gave a violent twitch.

Why did that voice sound so incredibly familiar?!

As the cinematic continued, a device labeled ‘Mirror Three’ let out an incredibly creepy, distorted laugh.

“Hee hee hee hee… Madam Herta, the individuals outside seem to be discussing some very interesting things.”

“Hee hee hee hee… would you like to listen?”

“Mirror Three, disable that audio profile. Stop that laugh, it gives people goosebumps,” Herta commanded sharply. “The individuals outside you just mentioned? Could it be…”

It was framed as a lighthearted joke within the game’s script, but out in the real world, Himeko actually felt goosebumps prickling along her arms.

The heavy sense of unease in her chest skyrocketed into pure alarm.

Then, the inevitable happened.

“She fainted?” a familiar, deep male voice filtered through the game’s audio.

The instant that specific tone hit her ears, Himeko whipped her head around, scanning the empty parlor car. There was no one standing behind her, but her sudden, sharp movement nearly gave Pom-Pom a heart attack as the conductor swept the floor nearby.

There was absolutely no mistake.

Even though the audio was slightly muffled by the game’s environmental filters, Himeko could identify that cadence anywhere. It was Welt’s voice.

And that first human voice from earlier? The one talking about the unlocked door? Replaying it in her mind, it sounded exactly like Sunday.

But hadn’t Welt taken Sunday to the space station to find Herta in person? How on earth could their live audio be broadcasting inside this game?

Wait. Find Herta?

The game…

A chilling realization washed over her. Nothing could be more terrifying than the conclusion forming in her mind. Not even witnessing an audience with an Aeon.

As a rational adult, Himeko rarely indulged in wild, paranoid fantasies, but at this exact second, she desperately hoped she was just experiencing auditory hallucinations.

But the facts playing out on the screen were absolute.

In the unfolding story, someone had genuinely broken into Herta’s private laboratory and was actively attempting to use the power of Harmony to force her awake.

Ultimately, forced by the dire circumstances—since the sheer cosmic energy of Nous’s actual descent would instantly annihilate Mr. Yang and Sunday—Herta made the bitter choice to abort the hard-won audience.

And in the very next second.

The screen blinked rapidly, mimicking the motion of an eye opening and closing.

When the visual feed stabilized, two incredibly familiar figures rendered in the game’s engine stood in the center of the laboratory: one man with brown hair and glasses, and another with pale blue hair and a distinct pair of wings.

The dialogue boxes above their heads confirmed their identities.

Himeko finally understood exactly where her intense, suffocating unease had originated.

“Pom-Pom.”

She turned her head slowly, her voice deadpan but laced with absolute urgency. “I think… you need to carefully sweep the Astral Express. Check if there is anything resembling hidden cameras planted on our train.”

Pom-Pom paused mid-sweep, tilting their head. “?”