Chapter 53
Chapter 53
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 053
Chapter Title: Major Incident
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Lyn Yenitz jolted in surprise and logged out of the database at lightning speed.
"Y-Yes?!"
There stood a man wearing glasses.
Her gaze flicked to the ID badge on his chest.
[Grade 1 Inspector]
[Philippe Marso]
'A Grade 1 Inspector...!' Quickly composing herself, Lyn offered a hasty excuse.
"Oh, uh, yes. I was just checking records from a previous inspection case..."
"......"
What followed was nothing but silence. She stealthily slipped the USB into her sleeve and unconsciously tensed her toes. 'Did... did he see?' But his expression was utterly inscrutable. Finally unable to bear the mounting anxiety, Lyn swallowed hard— Just then, Philippe chuckled softly.
"Oops, looks like I startled you."
He raised his hands as if to calm her and continued.
"You were so focused you didn't notice someone new come in. I was just teasing a bit. You okay?"
"Ah."
Lyn nearly sighed in relief but nodded instead.
"Oh, of course. Yes."
"Haha, you looked so shocked I thought maybe you'd breached some security protocol."
"......"
"...Not really?"
"Of course not, Inspector."
"No need to be so formal. Just Marso is fine."
"Ah, yes. Then, Inspector Marso."
"Okay, let's settle on that. Inspector Yenitz."
With a smile, he pointed to the computer behind her.
"So, have you seen everything you need? If so, mind if I use it now?"
Philippe gestured to the side.
"The other computers are under maintenance."
"Ah, aah. Yes, of course. Go ahead."
"...Tsk, this won't look like I'm pressuring you out, will it?"
Lyn shook her head vigorously.
"No, not at all. I've seen everything I needed..."
"That's what I thought. Just checking."
Philippe grinned and approached the computer.
"Alright, I'll take over then."
"Yes. Sure."
Gripping the door handle, she gave a quick bow.
"W-Well, I'll head out first. See you."
"Sure. Catch you next time."
"Yes."
With a bam!, Lyn burst out of the reading room, barely keeping her legs from buckling under the wave of exhaustion. 'I thought I was done for.' No matter how focused she was, how could she miss someone entering the room? 'What an idiot, idiot!' Berating herself for the blunder, she hurried back to her office. 'Lena Clark as a suspect in the Luther murder and a Grade 1 terrorist...' It was shocking, but something felt off too. If true, it meant the anti-Luther ideologue had personally taken out Kyle Clark, presumed to be the illegitimate son of the Luther mayor. 'How the hell do you even interpret that?' To begin with, Luther getting murdered? 'Who the...' As she climbed the stairs, she thought. 'First, I need to check which Luthers were declared dead within the last ten years.' Meanwhile, Philippe Marso watched her leave with a smirk.
"So innocent."
As if computers in the reading room would be under maintenance during work hours. Gazing at the logged-out screen, he muttered.
"What exactly did she see? Enough to use a cleaner."
Philippe logged into the reading room computer. * The same time. 2nd Administrative District, Rodersmirium Artifact Exhibition Hall. A man in a sharply tailored tuxedo entered the week-long exhibition event. He was none other than Alex Marshall, who usually disguised himself as a cop. Uncomfortable at such an event after so long, he loosened his tie slightly. The butler, unfazed, simply beamed with pride.
"They say clothes make the man, and it's no exaggeration. You look splendid today, young master."
"Why do I have to come to something like this?"
"You know why. This exhibition is entirely sponsored by the Marshall Family. As the heir, it's only natural you attend."
"Can't my sibling handle this stuff?"
"As the eldest son of the Marshall Family, you need to show your face now and then."
"Sigh, that damn Marshall name."
Alex let out a small sigh.
"I'm sick of it, so sick."
"Don't say that; the family head would be hurt."
"Like my father cares."
Wandering the exhibition hall, he added casually.
"He barely pays attention to me anyway, right?"
"He just doesn't show it well. It's not like that."
"Yeah, sure."
The Rodersmirium hall displayed a vast array of artifacts. Some were dull, like furniture from centuries past, but most were magic artifacts and ancient cold weapons. Donated or consigned by wealthy elites and noble houses. Quite a few were slated for the post-exhibition auction. Alex, lost in thought for a moment, spoke up.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
"Didn't that inspector mention it last time? Prisoner 43471 wanted a fire-attribute magic artifact."
The butler blinked and nodded.
"Yes, indeed. We're preparing to acquire the highest-quality one available on the market..."
"Nah, forget that."
Alex pointed to a nearby artifact.
"Why not just buy one from here and give it to him?"
"P-Pardon...?"
Following his gaze, there was a dagger on display that radiated an otherworldly aura. The plaque below read:
[Malbrias's Cursed Dagger]
The dagger said to have been forged by Malbrias, the sage who wielded sacred flames, sealed with profound curse magic.
Auction item]
"See?"
Alex said to the butler after reading it.
"These look way better than anything on the open market." * The next day. From early morning, the 141 Security Stabilization Unit was in utter chaos. Ahead of the all-out war with the Al Kimia Alliance, massive reinforcements and personnel supplements were flooding in.
"Whoa, shit. What's that?"
"Armored vehicles this time?"
Prisoners sweeping the cellblock exterior with brooms gaped at the arriving convoys. Thick armor plates gleamed under the warm sun, main guns of impressive caliber shining brightly. The prisoners sighed.
"How rough are they planning to throw us into the field that they need all this?"
"Shit..."
"Gotta stick to the med bay somehow."
But that was just the start. Heavy transport helicopters landed in the parade ground, tethered to massive containers. With a clang!, the ropes snapped, and the container doors flew open. Inside were prisoners, every one with a vicious glare, clad in prison uniforms. The guards muttered.
"...Those are the guys?"
"Yeah. From Gulag."
"Today was the day."
Too dangerous criminal records, poor mental evaluations, failed personality tests—various rejects. From today, they joined the Security Stabilization Unit.
"No time to be picky about warm or cold rice. Manpower shortage, and alchemists aren't pushovers."
"At least they picked ones controllable with bomb collars?"
"Who knows. Gotta trust the higher-ups handled it."
The Gulag felons entering the cellblock whistled.
"Whoa, fuck. Heaven compared to Gulag."
"Bastards been sucking honey here while we rotted."
"Got consciences after all."
Med bay prisoners snickered.
"How long you think those'll last?"
"Confidence that high? Three days?"
One shook his head.
"Nah, I give 'em two."
Meanwhile, cellblock 3rd floor. Walter was packing his belongings in his room. Kyle watched silently, eyes misty with nostalgia.
"...You're really leaving?"
"Gotta."
"Never thought it'd end like this."
Walter chuckled dryly.
"What, thought we'd room together forever?"
Packing his combat gear, he smirked.
"Count your blessings. Neither of us kicked the bucket; we're both moving out alive." "True. Your life's tougher than weeds."
"Says the guy who shouldn't."
He glanced around the room he'd called home.
"Feels weird, though. Every sidekick who bunked here died before me."
Walter eyed Kyle.
"Never thought I'd see my sidekick outlive me and become a mentor to newbies."
"......"
"See ya."
"...I'll help with your bags at least."
"Knock it off. Why so dramatic?" Thud. He tossed his bag onto the bed across the hall.
"It's right next door."
"Yeah, fair."
With the unit's major reorganization, 3rd Platoon got reinforcements and reassignments. Thus, both Walter and Kyle became mentors to incoming newbies.
"Heard they're adding company structure too."
"1st to 4th Platoons as 1st Company. 142 Unit's getting formed too."
"Damn, they're serious."
"Dead serious. We're fucked."
It was a declaration of all-out war. Walter clicked his tongue.
"More troublemakers in the cellblock now."
"Think so?"
"Hundred percent. And where'd they pull this many from? Gulag, obviously."
Fresh from hellholes, they wouldn't play nice.
"Trouble's guaranteed. Guaranteed."
As he unpacked on his new bed— Kyle sensed footsteps on the stairs.
"They're here."
"Reinforcements?"
"Yeah." Bang! The security door flew open. Led by Lieutenant Roden, vicious-faced newbies filed up.
"Line up straight if you don't want your skulls cracked!"
"One by one, in order!"
Walter, Kyle, and the 3rd Platoon lined up by their doors, exchanging glances. The lieutenant aligned six new prisoners in the hall and barked.
"All face rear!"
The newbies shuffled around awkwardly.
"The senior prisoners in front of you are your mentors from today. Obey them to adapt to 141 fast. Got it?"
"......"
"Got it?!"
"Yes..."
Lieutenant Roden glanced at Kyle.
"As I said before, take good care of him."
"Sure."
He bellowed again.
"See you at roll call! No bullshit, stay put!"
The guards left, plunging the hall into awkward silence. Kyle scanned the newbies and nodded. 'Okay, no women at least.' More sweat-stink, but better than beauty troubles. His sidekick—a sporty-haired punk—eyed him up and down insolently. Kyle stroked his chin. '...What'd the old man say when I first got here?'Ah. "Welcome to this shithole, newbie."
"...Ha."
The sporty-hair snorted and stepped forward, rubbing his neck.
"Fuck. You telling me I gotta listen to this brat?" Splat! He spat in Kyle's face, then flicked his forehead. Poke, poke! "Fuck off and jack off, bitch."
A suffocating silence blanketed the hall.
"...?"
The veterans looked shell-shocked; newbies confused.
"What? Why the stares?"
Sensing the mood, the punk backed away. Shocked, Walter covered his mouth.
"...Holy shit."
How long since those words were spoken?
"Screws up right out the gate."
Kyle wiped the spit from his face with a grin.
"This'll be fun."