Chapter 487
Chapter 487
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Gedroits's Heir, Deul (2)
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“....”
“....”
Gulp gulp gulp gulp—clink!
“Listen.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chancellor Young, whom I hadn’t seen in ages, offered me a drink with a face that looked far more aged than I remembered. Of course, it was probably just my imagination. It had been ages for me, but only about eleven hours had passed here.
“....The head physician warned me. If I don’t cut back on the booze, at least reduce my stress. If I don’t do one or the other, he’ll forcibly inject me with sedatives or spike my meds with sleeping pills—whatever it takes. And, as you know.... I’d sooner pull the trigger on my own head than cut back on drinking.”
Gulp gulp.
Clink!
“You get what that means, right?”
“I’d rather not.”
“That I want to kill you.”
Letting out a deeply sincere sigh, Chancellor Young picked up the thick stack of documents laid out beneath his glass.
“Miss Hyacinth is.”
“Asleep.”
“Don’t grin about it so smugly, you jinx. The lunatic friends are.”
“At BDSM HQ. They don’t know the details, so they’re not too worried.”
“Good. If those lunatics are behaving, it means I’ve got plenty of time to calmly hear about whatever insane stunt you pulled in there.”
Flip, flip.
With each page of the report that had been urgently sent his way, Chancellor Young’s scowl deepened.
....Hoo.
“I have no idea where to even start.... So let’s begin with whatever bits I can actually comprehend.”
Thwack!
One of the reports, which had been flipping limply by, slammed down onto the table.
=========
Priority Observation Target Log
Codename: Insaint (Insaint/Mad Saint)
Activity Report:
* 0740 hours: Handover from previous shift. ‘Outing’ with three key observation subjects concluded without incident. Subject returned to 47th District Dome.
* Subject entered Surveillance Division’s experimental/observation lab with Pale Lady at 0801 hours.
* Conversation between subject and Pale Lady (see Attachment 1). Serious discussion on departure and return.
* Observation Target 1, Insaint, logged into GG at 0824 hours. 7 days, 12 hours, 27 minutes since previous return. Sudden login prompted attendance from head physician, Neural Personality Research Division, Biotech Division, Media/Broadcast Control Division—total of 7 personnel in the lab.
* 5 minutes post-login. Observation Target ‘Pale Lady’ reports anxiety symptoms. Vitals stable, no significant changes.
.
.
.
.
=========
Huh? This isn’t just any ordinary report.
“You had us under surveillance?”
“Of course. Just a few days ago, you and your delightful friends fired a tank cannon at the market floor. Remember that? In my city, a private militia fired without authorization and punched a 13-meter-deep hole in the market square.”
Oh. That.
We obliterated an underground market run by smugglers and drug dealers. Thanks to BDSM’s little party, my stomach acid production has spiked by nearly 40% lately. Every time your names pop up in reports, it feels like my gut’s about to burst—so no more pointless ego clashes wasting time. Just keep reading.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
“Here. Even the scientists are divided on this part.”
Brushing off my complaint with a single stroke, Chancellor Young pointed to the end of the report with his fingertip.
=========
.
.
.
.
# Total login time: 9 hours 40 minutes.
# Playtime downloaded to Dome Broadcast Division linked to player ‘Professor’ account: [2,190,489 hours 40 minutes].
# Massive influx of play logs overloaded the network, crashing the relevant division and all three linked divisions’ electronic systems.
# Cause analysis underway, but GG server-related functions halted simultaneously, complicating recovery.
Reporter: Surveillance Division Agent Karl Feld
=========
“....”
“You logged in, played for 9 hours and 40 minutes, and over 2.19 million hours of play data flooded the Dome’s Broadcast Division.”
“Uh....”
“At first, we thought it was a DDoS from external forces, but analysis shows it’s all genuine play data. So that roughly 240 years’ worth dumped on Broadcast Division is real play data from someone. From the very account whose owner had just bid a grim farewell to his lover moments before.”
“Hmm....”
“Tell me. Not everything—just enough to understand what’s going on. If you still consider us allies.”
His eyes, darkened by booze and deep circles, gleamed with a dangerous edge as he stared at me.
‘If you still consider us allies.’ That meant in less than ten hours, this had shut down three major Dome divisions and paralyzed the Dome—which relied heavily on GG services—elevating it to a ‘threat to the Dome’s security’ level.
And if I, the prime suspect, couldn’t explain it to a comprehensible degree— they’d classify me as a ‘threat to the Dome.’
‘Of course, the fact that he’s asking over drinks face-to-face shows he’d rather it not come to that.’
Anyway, they were genuinely spooked over there. No reason for me to beat around the bush and send the chancellor—who was already at his limits with liver enzymes and stress—to an early grave.
“Well.... This is a seriously long and complicated story to explain....”
“Emergency call thirty minutes ago—every division’s agents are waiting outside. You can ramble for hours; plenty of folks to handle my duties.”
“Alright, then. 2.19 million hours is about 222 years, combined with my 28 years....”
A brief silence. As the chancellor’s tense gaze fixed on me, I held out my empty glass toward him and said,
“Hey, Young.”
“....Hm?”
“None of that ‘hm’ crap. Quit stalling and pour the old man a drink.”
Chancellor Young blanked out for a moment at Professor’s response, which surpassed all expectations as always.
“I’m around 288 now—don’t call me ‘geezer,’ so ‘old man’ it is. What’re you waiting for? My glass is drying out, you punk!”
He tilted his chin up high, barking down like he was looking over a cliff. Chancellor Young plunged deep into thought at the sight.
What on earth did this master schemer—hiding endless intentions behind every word and gesture—mean by spouting such madness?
Struggling to comprehend this situation where his familiar rogue had suddenly evolved into a pompous rogue,
Struggling,
And struggling some more.
Snap!
Somewhere on his forehead, an alcohol-laden blood vessel burst with a pop,
Clunk!
And he gripped the hefty whiskey bottle.
Crash! Clang! “Hey, Young! What’s this outrage—argh!” Thud! Crash!
The chancellor’s stress, piled to the breaking point, finally erupted into mindless violence.
The chaos in his office—filled with shouts and shattering glass—continued until the attending physician’s next-door anesthetic gas dispersed, prepped for his hypertension.
“....That young punk’s too hot-headed.”
Of course, standard anesthetic gas had no effect on the professor, who was practically a triple-mutated variant. He, still fine, had moved the collapsed chancellor and physician himself.
****
“Chancellor.”
“....”
“Chancellor Young.”
“....”
“Hey, Young—”
Crack!
“Ow! One joke and you flip out like this? Menopause? You got periods too?”
“....As I said earlier, I sincerely wish for your miserable death.”
Grind!
Dressed in patient gown with an IV in his arm, Chancellor Young ground his teeth and clutched his forehead.
“....You did 28 years. Your sub-personality ‘Hyde’ did.... 222 years in there. All those memories crammed into Professor’s head, and the massive play videos that crippled our Broadcast Division—”
“Are all records of my and Hyde’s playthroughs.”
“Insane.”
Clutching his throbbing head, Young took in the loathsome bastard before him.
Two meters... early? Mid? His height had shrunk just enough during login to teeter on the ‘human’ boundary. The hardened patches jutting like armor all over his body had receded inward, leaving only faint spots; aside from the massive metal plates on his monstrous left arm and chest, he could almost pass for human now.
Of course, per countless research inferences, that body held potential to revert to normal. Lead researcher Chelsea said, ‘As long as Professor wills it, he can return to that 30s District form anytime—and it’s irreversible.’
A body straddling human and mutant. Once changed, no returning to human form or mind—but conversely, if unwilling, it meant becoming a dozens-of-meters monstrosity that single-handedly suppressed one of the old era’s ultimate strategic weapons, ‘Orpheus.’
A human tactical nuke capable of taking the entire 47th District Dome down in a suicide attack.
‘Whatever.’
But Chancellor Young’s headache stemmed not from such ‘minor’ issues. He’d long analyzed Professor’s traits and principles, deeming him ‘reasonably safe’ upon readmitting him.
‘277 years. A human with 277 years of life crammed in his head.’
The cold sweat beading on the chancellor’s brow came from the cause of this mess, casually dropped like a joke by that monster.
4th World: 2.19 million hours. Warlord 28 years, sub-personality Hyde 222 years.
3rd World: 2 years.
Plus Wasteland Professor turning 25 this year: 25 years.
Total: 277 years of life in that skull.
‘277 years of memories. Even including multiple [deaths], nearly three centuries’ worth—can I even call that a fellow human?’
It was wariness of the unknown, shock at realized impossibility, awe of the abyss.
Young was sharp, and drunk Young was several times sharper.
=========
『Hey, Young.』
=========
The moment Professor said it, the chancellor knew from those words alone that the man before him had endured all those millions of play logs.
Always calm, cold, even ruthless—he’d countered Professor’s prank with playful mayhem because nothing else let him process how to handle him.
A body akin to humanity’s mightiest bio-weapon.
A mind holding nearly three centuries of memories, weathered life and death, yet staunchly holding to ‘Professor.’
“World’s gone mad—booze hidden in the hospital room? Drawers, under the mattress.... You some booze-powered golem?”
And yet, still irreverently playful and smug.
They say ten years changes mountains and rivers.
But 280 years hadn’t changed human Professor.
....Gulp.
Young feared him. Back then, the old Professor matched wits sharply, a perfect ally in cunning and ops. Now.... He didn’t even want to imagine opposing that thing.
“....Alright, let’s finish our talk.”
So, at the continuation, Young squeezed his eyes shut.
“Pleased to meet you, supreme leader of the 47th District Dome, Chancellor Alexander Young.”
“As for me! Wasteland solo survivor, GG game broadcast rank ‘1’ shining pro streamer ‘Professor,’ leader of mid-scale private caravan BDSM, ‘Completer’ who cleared Gedroits’s Game 3rd World.”
....Snap!
Whummm—!
“Gedroits’s Game, inheritor of all its authorities from Andrey Gedroits himself. The sole existing administrator. Holder of four of the seven authorities left as ‘Completer Rewards’—de facto next president of Gedroits Company.”
Young witnessed it. The moment Professor snapped his fingers, the lab building’s darkened screens outside the hospital window lit up.
GG forums, GG delivery drones, auction house—all offline—switched back online, hums rising as life and clamor returned to the glitched divisions.
Click, click-click—
“....Impressive.”
He tried hiding his agitation, but the ice clinking in his trembling glass betrayed him.
‘Four of seven. Ally Levit Princess has forum admin and save/load authorities. Outsider Thousand Stream Emperor has a body enhancement program.’
Which meant, which meant....
“Then. You obtained... that one?”
His voice, no longer hiding the tremor. The one facing him....
“....Obviously.”
Nodded.
“Stashed it real, real, rea-rea-rea-rea-l-l-ly far away.”
Clink!
Replacing his mere glass-holding hand, Professor clinked glasses with a grin.
“Waaay up there. Where we’ve always looked, always prayed to—waaay up there. The server room.”
The sharp finger, clad in black chitin, pointed upward.
Beyond the concrete ceiling shielding them, past the bluish shield and thick wasteland dust.
A place anyone could see, but none could reach.
“Heh, figures—a guy who loved stars and night skies so much.”
Clunk!
Young flung open the window with shaking hands.
Though hidden now by daytime sun, obscured at night by thick dust. It was surely there above.
The few stars still lighting the night, galaxies woven by countless satellites.
“Satellites. Gedroits Company had the tech and facilities to launch hordes independently.”
“General satellites were launchable by rich conglomerates since the 2060s. By the 2050s, Earth orbit was so clogged with satellites and space junk that global astronomers went on strike.”
“Ah, even if the Great War wrecked most.... Solar panels, metal hulls, unspent compact batteries—they’d block signals powerfully on their own.”
How foolish. Just because Gedroits said ‘somewhere on Earth no one can find,’ they’d thought Mariana Trench, Antarctica. Imagined a concrete cube blinking with LEDs for ‘server room.’
“To think... right above our heads....”
Amazement, despair, defeat.
Humanity’s hope—terraforming, climate control, seed vaults for ecological restoration—all hidden amid orbital debris and satellites beyond the atmosphere.
With tech unable even long-range flights amid EM storms and radioactive skies, no spaceship—mere knowledge of coordinates made it a pie in the sky.
Even now, 30s District radiation crept south fast; summer highs never topped 27°C anymore. When restore space tech? When reach it?
....Heh heh heh!
....And why’s that bastard grinning so creepily.
“Oh, I can see what our Young’s thinking.”
Crackle!
His blood pressure surged from despair, but curiosity about that smug face outweighed the urge to curse, so Chancellor Young asked.
“You have a way?”
“Heh heh heh heh.”
Snap!
Instead of answering, Professor snapped his fingers.
Whirrr whirrr whirrr—
A fresh-off-the-press sheet delivered by a GG delivery drone marked [GG Delivery].
=========
[NEXT-SPACE!]
- 50-person orbital habitat!
- Self-sustaining ecosystem with plants, insects, organics!
- Maintainable ~430 years without repairs!
- Includes Earth observation gear and return craft!
- Forget past follies! Now, off-Earth!
=========
“This is....”
“Completer Reward 5. Manned space station ‘NEXT-SPACE’ coordinates and security key. Perfect shelter no villain can reach. Orbital habitat guaranteeing total peace. Precisely, coordinates and key for an experimental unmanned space station survival base.”
Chancellor Young couldn’t tear his eyes from the stiff paper. Bold 2090s-style ad text, spacesuit characters, and... a space base launching ships skyward.
A vivid path to space, existing.
Young panted, carefully set down the crinkling [NEXT-SPACE] ad—humanity’s last hope—from his clenching fist, then reached for the half-empty bottle.
“Have a drink....”
“....Huh? W-what?”
“You didn’t ask? I’m pouring—take it.”
“Ah, no, don’t take it so seriously or I’ll.... Uh guh.”
Pour—
Half a shot. The max his pride allowed.
‘Can’t touch Professor.’
A GG delivery drone, meant only for auction items, fetched what he wanted on a gesture. Professor held addresses and survivor data for all drone-served shelters, could send anything anytime—bombs, lead slugs. Could swarm drones for impossible real-time surveillance if needed.
GG was fully halted now. As sole admin with all authorities, he could run it as he pleased. In a joyless world, that virtual realm rivaled drugs in addiction. All in Professor’s hands.
Humanity’s hope: server coordinates and codes too. And the only means to reach it.
Unbelievable such a being existed.
“....They say words become seeds. Idiots outside kept yelling it.”
“Huh? What?”
“....Nothing. Another round.”
As Dome leader, Young pondered how to treat wasteland’s newborn absolute.
Wanted or not, Professor wielded power too vast for one man.
His word would echo worldwide; his actions define eras.
The world called such beings ‘gods.’
Like that weird ‘Church of Luminance Wasteland Branch’ outside preached.
‘Professor is a god.’
“Cough, cough—hack! Kek! Urk! Blech! Th-thanks, thanks.... Back, pat my b—gah!”
“....”
Pat pat pat pat.
“Damn, what booze is this.... 80 proof? Chancellor, Dome hurting for cash? Chugging industrial solvent like it’s liquor?”
....Not entirely trustworthy.
But unlike some absentee up above, a god walking this harsh world with us.
If such existed... a god worth believing in.
“....Latura.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Ah, no. Nothing.”
Young mumbled it off, refilling the glass. Unaware his own face now mirrored Professor’s smirk as he eyed the puzzled professor.
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