Honkai Star Rail: Saving the World with a Mobile Game — Chapter 46

Chapter 46: Management’s Orders, Madam Herta’s Heavy Hand Arrives!

“I’d like to know more about the specific features and content of this game. Having a complete profile would make our investigation significantly easier.”

Topaz’s voice was crisp and professional, cutting through the slight static of the encrypted channel.

[Understood. Truthfully, our department is operating in the dark as well. The only concrete data we have is that it’s a role-playing experience centered entirely around the Astral Express.]

“The Astral Express?”

[I recall you two have had dealings with the Nameless before. Do any potential suspects come to mind?]

Over the secure comms line, both Aventurine and Topaz fell into a synchronized, heavy silence.

After a long beat, Topaz finally spoke. “None. Following my last contact with their crew, they should have already charted a course for their next destination. Even if they were aware of this digital anomaly, they wouldn’t have the spare time to engineer something of this scale.”

“Let’s pivot back to the actual content,” Aventurine interjected, his tone smooth and laced with casual curiosity. “Role-playing… meaning the player assumes the identity of a Trailblazer exploring uncharted worlds?”

[Yes, exactly…]

The Game Department staff quickly outlined the core loop of the mysterious software. They detailed the currently accessible mechanics, the overarching narrative structure, and the focal point of the entire simulation: a world called Amphoreus.

Listening to the briefing, Aventurine leaned back, a spark of genuine intrigue lighting up his eyes.

“Oh? Amphoreus…” He tapped a rhythm against his desk. “I just ran a query. Within the Interstellar Peace Corporation’s archival records, there isn’t a single data backup or historical footnote related to this planet.”

He let out a soft, amused breath. “The game itself is actually quite polished. If my schedule weren’t completely buried in paperwork, I’d genuinely like to experience the life of a Trailblazer.”

[You must be joking, sir.]

“I rarely joke about a good time.”

With just those fragmented pieces of intel, the gambler had already isolated the true focal point of the entire incident.

That planet. Amphoreus.

The IPC held trade agreements, surveillance outposts, and partnerships with countless worlds across the galaxy. The number of habitable planets that remained entirely undiscovered by their network was vanishingly small.

That was the crux of the issue.

The developer had breached the IPC’s firewall without leaving a single digital footprint. Someone possessing that level of overwhelming technical supremacy made even seasoned executives like Aventurine feel a prickle of danger. It was a remarkably thorny problem.

So, what was the motive?

As a high-ranking executive of the Strategic Investment Department and a designated Stoneheart, Aventurine operated on a very simple philosophy: every action in the universe boiled down to profit or meaning.

Would an entity capable of hacking the IPC and misappropriating Madam Herta’s portrait rights take such an astronomical risk just to farm some loose credits?

Unless they were a fanatic following the Path of Aha, the Elation, the math simply didn’t add up.

This was no simple case of copyright infringement. The real secret was buried in the code of that virtual planet.

Aventurine and Topaz quickly aligned their strategies, agreeing that the first phase of the investigation had to be locating the real-world coordinates of Amphoreus.

“The logic holds,” Topaz said, her holographic avatar crossing her arms. “But we are still blind to their ultimate endgame.”

“The endgame doesn’t matter right now,” Aventurine replied lightly. “As long as we can prove the planet they rendered actually exists, the rest of the puzzle will solve itself.”

“Alright. I’ll initiate contact with the Astral Express to see if their databanks hold any records of this world, and you can—”

Ding-dong!

A high-priority notification sliced through their private channel.

[Children, there is an urgent situation I need to bring to your attention. If you see this message, come find me immediately.]

Just as the two Stonehearts were finalizing their operational roles, Jade had bypassed their filters.

Staring at their respective screens, both Aventurine and Topaz paused. The playful yet commanding tone of the message left no room for delay. They immediately shelved their current tasks and initiated a secure handshake with Jade’s terminal.

Instantly, the communication devices flared to life. Though separated by vast stretches of vacuum, Jade’s elegant holographic projection materialized perfectly between them.

“Madam Jade,” Topaz greeted, a faint, respectful smile touching her lips. “We’re here. The urgent notice you mentioned…”

Jade wore her signature, unreadable smile. “It concerns the new assignment you two just picked up. The investigation into that anomalous game.”

She paused, letting the silence stretch for a fraction of a second.

“You don’t need to pursue it anymore.”

Topaz blinked, her professional composure slipping into mild confusion as she opened her hands. “Did something happen, Madam Jade? Was there a jurisdictional complication, or has another department taken over the file?”

Jade’s voice remained perfectly smooth, as if she were discussing the weather on Pier Point. “It has simply been terminated. There is no need for either of you to dig any deeper. This is a direct order from management.”

The words hung in the air.

It wasn’t just Topaz. Even Aventurine, who usually thrived on sudden twists of fate, sat frozen in his chair.

Terminated? Just like that?

And an absolute directive from the highest echelons of management?

At that exact moment, shockwaves were tearing through secure networks across the galaxy.

Inside the Game Production Department’s encrypted chat group, text was scrolling at a blinding speed.

[IPC management has already taken notice! This thing just went nuclear. Obviously, we don’t need to stress about it anymore; it’s going to be crushed naturally.]

[Wait, even the P45s have been mobilized? I guess it makes sense. The software infringes on multiple high-profile parties and used the IPC platform as a host. Theoretically, a total lockdown is the only stance they could take.]

A few insiders who had access to the upper-level traffic logs began leaking the movements of the executives.

But a minute later, the tone of the chat violently shifted.

[Something’s happened, everyone!]

[Over at the IPC…]

The official internal memo issued by management leaked into the group. The already chaotic chat room instantly boiled over into pure disbelief.

[Is what you’re saying actually real?!]

[It absolutely cannot be fake. The digital signature comes straight from the top! The investigation into the game hasn’t just been paused, it’s been completely dismantled. It’s almost like…]

[Old Oti: Like someone gave it the green light?]

[This is completely insane. Forcing management to personally issue a stand-down order? What kind of terrifying background does this developer have? A single game violated the rights of half the galaxy, and the IPC is just going to take the fall for him?!]

[Unreal. Forget the non-profitable characters for a second. To bypass Madam Herta’s wrath… there is only one logical explanation.]

Just as that final message populated the screen, Old Oti was already receiving the raw intelligence in person.

Far away on Penacony, aboard a breathtakingly luxurious private spacecraft, the Alfalfa family head sat comfortably on a velvet sofa. A high-ranking subordinate approached with trembling steps, leaning down to whisper a few frantic words into his ear.

It was exactly as the chat had feared.

The only entity capable of bypassing the board and speaking directly to management was that particular Genius.

“Hahaha…”

Old Oti’s laughter was rich and booming, echoing through the opulent cabin. “Interesting. Truly interesting. I haven’t encountered a variable this amusing in a very long time.”

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Could this… be much more than just a simple game?”

The interstellar tech giants and entertainment conglomerates had initially assumed the software was too insignificant to warrant Madam Herta’s attention. To them, a rogue indie game was a microscopic blip. For the IPC to mobilize P45-level executives was already a massive overreaction.

But the truth was far more terrifying.

Madam Herta hadn’t just appeared. She hadn’t descended from the space station to hold the developer accountable or to shatter the game into digital dust.

She had intervened to protect it.

As the classified intelligence bled through the corporate grapevines, internal channels exploded with wild speculation about the exact nature of the relationship between this mysterious developer and the Genius Society’s 83rd member.

But externally? The entire industry went dead silent.

Because everyone with a shred of survival instinct knew that this was a board they could no longer afford to play on.