Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Soul's Revelation
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The rest of the journey was pure torment—for both Heinrich and Gavin. So when the airship finally came to a stop, they both let out a sigh in unison.
"Your Majesty, we've arrived at the gates of New Versailles Palace... Huh?! What happened to you?!"
Heinrich's face was black and blue, with two dried streaks of blood under his nostrils that looked utterly ridiculous. The guard officer stared at him in stunned silence as he stepped down, his expression like someone owed him five million: "It's nothing. I fell."
The guard officer: "..."
You must've face-planted at a perfect ninety degrees with a splat to end up like that!
Heinrich's face turned ashen amid the barrage of bizarre stares, and with a whoosh, he yanked open the rear cabin door, reaching in to scoop Gavin out.
Gavin wasn't faring much better. Heinrich's jacket carried a heavy whiff of Alpha pheromones—stronger and more direct than even Aaron's bedsheets. The whole trip had left him flustered, breathless, and weak in the limbs, inwardly cursing why he couldn't just smash his head against a wall and pass out.
Gavin was the type who stayed cool and composed on the surface while his mind roiled like a storm. Unlike the emperor, who only had to fight raw lust, his inner turmoil was far more tangled: Why the hell am I affected by pheromones? Does that mean I really am an Omega? No, no, even if I am an Omega now, does that make me one of those submissive, meek types that yield to Alphas by nature?!
Bundled in Heinrich's jacket and cradled in his arms, Gavin's glare screamed like someone owed him fifty million.
"Listen," the emperor strode toward the palace steps, murmuring in a voice only they could hear: "I don't want to mark anyone, and I'm guessing you don't want to be marked either. It's simple—just behave, and you won't get hurt. After this, you can chase whatever Alpha you want. Has nothing to do with me."
"You just want the Phoenix mech," Gavin stated flatly.
"Sharp as ever, but I only want the Phoenix's cockpit." Heinrich frowned. "Have I heard your voice somewhere before?"
"You're imagining things."
"..."
New Versailles Palace was built entirely of white moonstone, glowing with a soft, ethereal light. The interior was impeccably arranged, sparsely furnished; the vast entrance hall gleamed with pale silver floors so clean they mirrored every figure.
The emperor crossed the grand hall to a row of curved glass domes at the far end. Beyond the glass was a basement lab packed with biochemical equipment. The elevator behind the door whisked them underground, where several white-coated researchers stood waiting on either side.
Gavin instantly grasped the emperor's intent.
He wanted to study the Phoenix's neural link—to find a way to extract the cockpit without dismantling the mech.
"We'll use a simulated neural shunt to deliver a controlled burst to your brainstem. It might hurt a bit." Heinrich leaned down to place Gavin on the alloy bed. "But if you don't struggle, it'll be over in seconds."
Gavin locked eyes with him. "I have a question."
"Out with it."
"Why the cockpit?"
The emperor fell silent for a long moment before saying slowly, "For the future of the nation."
Gavin noted he said "nation," not "empire"—two words with very different connotations in Imperial Standard. But he had no time to press further, as Heinrich sealed the glass canopy with a heavy thud.
Gavin was locked inside the alloy gurney, mechanical arms extending from outside to slide him into a massive surgical pod like a coffin.
"The neural bond between pilot and mech is achieved via bioelectric signals. Thousands of years ago on ancient Earth, people couldn't explain this electromagnetic wonder, so they called it the soul."
Countless electrodes snaked out from the pod, linking to a rectangular array of computers that fed into a hovering screen. A researcher activated the display, gesturing for the emperor to view the intricate web of colored lines.
"We 'draw' the soul using specific spectral patterns—something like this. Once the procedure starts, we'll see vivid scenes from the target's deepest memories. Clarity depends on his neural threshold."
"What we're doing now is scanning and copying his 'soul,' then amplifying the signal to surpass Marshal Celia's old threshold. That'll let us force a link with the Phoenix, boot it up, and command it to eject the cockpit."
"Will it harm the body?" Heinrich asked, brow furrowed.
"We'll do everything to avoid that—a young, healthy Omega is rare. No one wants to hurt him."
The emperor said gravely, "See that you do."
The researchers nodded solemnly.
Of course they would—emperor or not. Alphas had an innate protective drive toward Omegas, and even without that, considering the emperor had lived centuries yet was still a virgin by choice, they had every reason to keep this Omega alive.
After an eternity of preparations, the experiment was ready. A researcher loaded the stimulant into a syringe, and a several-inch alloy needle slowly extended from the pod, aiming for Gavin's crown.
Gavin was clamped down by metal restraints, unable even to turn his head, forced to watch the needle descend.
Then his skull went ice-cold.
The sensation was indescribable—a flash of searing agony followed by numbness. The needle's presence was so vivid it felt like his cranial sutures were being pried apart.
As it pierced his brain tissue bit by bit, Gavin began to shudder uncontrollably, then thrashed wildly!
"Don't move!" came an angry roar through the comms. "You'll throw it off!"
The clamps spun tighter, pinning him so fiercely his muscles couldn't even tense. Those seconds stretched into eternity; Gavin's vision whitened in bursts, his mind fogging over.
His soul seemed to float free, looking back down coldly at his corpse-like body.
Is that me? he wondered hazily.
What even is "I"? Where did this "I" come from?
In the vast river of time and consciousness, why did this particular "I" emerge?
Gavin closed his eyes. When he finally opened them, the scene had changed. He stood in an endless corridor, icy drafts slithering from the darkness like serpents' tongues against his neck, the air thick with salty, damp mist.
He realized these were buried memories.
...But where was this?
Gavin groped forward tentatively, meeting only chaotic black fog. As he stepped ahead, a hand suddenly seized his.
"—Congratulations on fooling those senile old corpses, but I see through you." A pale-faced man loomed close, his black armor blending into the shadows. "I know your tricks."
Gavin felt an odd familiarity but couldn't place him.
"You're a two-faced liar, at home in light and dark alike. But from now on, all myths shatter—my eyes will track you, watching your every move forever—"
The man bared a savage grin, but Gavin cut him off:
"Whatever, Yunes. To me, you're just a sewer rat."
He turned and strode the other way down the corridor, the man's roar echoing behind: "Save that talk for when I beat you, Celia!"
Celia didn't look back, didn't change expression.
"—In your dreams."
The scene shifted abruptly, the dark hall receding in a blur as sunlight flooded in.
Gavin blinked to find himself in a wholly different corridor: golden light streamed through glass windows, bathing everything in a warm, dazzling haze.
Outside lay a flat afternoon parade ground where soldiers sweated through PT, sunlight glinting off their bronze muscles—even their sweat sparkled.
"I've noticed you've toned down the venom lately," a man in major general's uniform drawled beside him. "Going all self-cultivation on us, Marshal?"
"Your 'lately' starts two hundred years back, does it?"
"Hmm... not quite that long. That erectile dysfunction joke you dropped at Chairman Konsettlin's birthday gala is still fresh..."
"You should remember the good ones occasionally, Karyan." Celia said mildly, "These days, I mostly keep the jokes in my head."
"...So you're trash-talking in your mind nonstop now?"
Celia turned to the major general, pausing before replying slowly, "I am right now."
Karyan looked impressed. Celia gave him a faint smile and gazed out the window.
A breeze carried the thick scent of summer greenery, rustling the treetops. Karyan watched the training with him a moment longer before adding, "I figured you'd pick some solid recruits. Who knew you'd grab these... whatever they are..."
"You weren't this harsh when you were my adjutant."
"Wasn't I? Hmm—thoughts on those two newbies?"
Celia chuckled and shook his head, seeming exasperated by the question. At last he said, "Aaron's got general potential, just like you. You'll see it in time."
"Disagree. And the other?"
"Heinrich?"
"Yeah, that pretty boy."
Celia pictured the young man's face—strikingly handsome, with a rugged edge that ruled out any gigolo vibes.
"Personally, I don't like him much, but he's got higher talent... in leadership."
Karyan blinked. "You saying he's got commander charisma?"
"You could put it that way."
"Then why not like him?"
"...Dunno." Celia paused under Karyan's surprised gaze, then added slowly, "But it doesn't matter. There's so much I don't like... what's one more?"
Why not like him?
The question was too complex—or rather, live long enough, and hard problems simplify while simple ones tangle beyond reason.
Celia lay on the operating table, blinding lights forcing his eyes shut. Nausea surged from his gut to his throat; seconds later, he bolted up, vomiting his guts out in agony.
"Marshal!"
"Marshal, sir!"
"It's okay, Celia, it's okay! Just normal rejection response... Get him some water! Towel, quick!"
Edna knelt by the table, gripping him tight and wiping the cold sweat from his face with a hot towel. Minutes later, Celia slumped, spent, his voice hoarse and altered: "...Help me up."
Karyan rushed forward with Edna, supporting him to the full-length mirror in the corner. The reflection showed a stranger's face—deep-set features, sharply defined. Celia studied it, rasping, "Who is this?"
"The gene catalysis will kick in soon—back to normal in two weeks max... It's you, Celia." Edna trembled. "You're still you, just in an Alpha body. Nothing else changed."
Celia stood silent a beat, then shook his head.
"You shouldn't have pulled the dead from their graves, Edna. No next time."
But "no next time" was empty talk—no one truly controlled their own fate.
The scene shifted again: twelve years later, Celia lay in Red Earth Star's desert, the Phoenix's shattered wing reflecting cold moonlight.
The last drop of solution injected, his vision blurred. The final image burned in his mind: countless stars in the night sky, crossed by the Nine Heavens Galaxy.
If this failed, true death awaited.
Yet he wasn't sure if he hoped for failure or success. Heinrich's anguished sobs still rang in his ears, but his thoughts drifted to the mint fields on White Heron Star, lush in the breeze.
He wanted to go back, just once.
If he could go back once more...
Night winds whipped up dunes, burying the Phoenix and cockpit alike. Darkness swallowed Celia; faintly, he glimpsed a path to another world, winding from his feet into the void.
...The final curtain, then?
So thinking, he stepped toward the distant faintness.
The screen's once-clear memory feed fuzzied, electromagnetic glitches flickering before blacking out entirely.
At the same instant, Gavin convulsed violently in the pod—but the needle retracted in a flash, and the canopy burst open with a bang!
Heinrich lunged, clutching him fiercely, body and voice shaking: "Celia! It's okay, Celia, it's all over, everything's over—I knew you'd come back..."
His fingers found the needle wound in Gavin's hair, and trembling, he kissed it hard. Gavin heard nothing amid the dizziness, convulsing and retching in torment.
"Did you come back to see me? To find me?" Heinrich kissed his cheeks frantically, arms bulging with veins from the iron grip—like clutching a lifeline he refused to release: "I knew you'd return. This time, no one... no one will ever..."
His eyes burned like a cornered beast's, wild with despair and savagery—no one dared approach.
"Let... let go," Gavin gasped through the haze, ribs screaming: "Hurts... let go!"
"—Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" A researcher stumbled forward. "Please release him—the brain scan shows something in his head! A signal receiver!"
Heinrich's pupils contracted sharply.
"It's a used receiver—implanted to capture soul electromagnetics!" The researcher was so excited his voice pitched shrill: "—League black-tech from fifty years ago, Your Majesty! Can I extract it for a look?!"
Author's Note:
Saw a lot of folks saying they didn't get this chapter's plot, so here's a breakdown: The emperor realizes Gavin can link with the Phoenix, so he wants to copy his bioelectrics (aka soul) to control it. During the scan of Gavin's brain, deep memories project onscreen. Marshal's high threshold makes them crystal clear, so the emperor sees everything and knows everything.
The signal receiver was mentioned in Chapter 10—for soul refraction, you implant a resonator in the original brain and a receiver in the duplicate. Gavin having one proves the marshal's soul is inside him~
Sorry, tried my best but still no stewing-the-meat scene by Chapter 20...
I tweaked the plot order—emperor jumping straight to bed without suspicion or knowledge felt off for his disciplined, principled character. So the smut gets pushed post-experiment...
Promised the editor double updates today to make up for no triple on V-day, but this chapter ballooned, so just finished at 11:30 local time [faceplant]
My time zone's two hours ahead, so my "10:30 PM" updates are actually 12:30 AM here!! [tears streaming] Duck flies by...
Gonna grind out the next chapter's opener before bed—see how much I can do tomorrow. This counts as my debt; if not tomorrow, then the next day; if not, Sunday. I'll make it up...