Chapter 342: The Answer
On Eric's eleventh cycle at the Transit Hub, he finally grasped a fundamental
reality.
The position of "Information Consolidation Unit" sounded prestigious on
parchment, but the operational reality involved a relentless marathon between
various spreadsheets and ledgers.
Reporting at 08:00 Hours, the first task was a cross-reference of the previous
night's transit logs. Which arrays were activated? Which entered dormancy? Were
there any anomalous fluctuations in energy consumption?
Every data point required manual logging. Then, a duplicate was transmitted to
the Arcane Legion technical squad, and a secondary copy was archived by the
State Army operations group.
Two copies. Daily. Each utilizing a different format.
The Arcane Legion demanded raw, clinical data—precision to two decimal places. A
single surplus syllable was considered structural noise. The State Army required
the "Narrative-Version," where every blip was accompanied by a concise
explanation. A missing footnote resulted in the entire file being rejected for
reprocessing.
It took Eric three cycles to memorize both templates. By the fourth, he could
draft them without auditing the master-file. By the eleventh, he could finalize
the morning quota while simultaneously consuming his breakfast.
Whether this represented "Progress" or simply "Systemic Desensitization," he
wasn't certain. But Grace had stopped marking his reports with red "Logic Error"
ink, which he logged as a positive signal.
The morning cycle proceeded as usual. Audit data. Fill forms. Duplicate.
Archive.
Midway through, he conducted a sweep of the Commercial District to verify the
business-license of a newly arrived Dwarf merchant. The Dwarf's handwriting
resembled a brawl between two earthworms; it required ten minutes for Eric to
localize and identify the digits.
He returned to Building 3 just after noon. He organized his morning logs in a
neat column on the desk, preparing for a sustenance-break.
Just then, the Wizard Tower outside ignited.
It wasn't the standard hourly sapphire pulse. It was white. A singular flare
that lasted barely two seconds before winking out.
Eric had read about this signal in his advanced theory scrolls, though he had
never witnessed it. The High-Tier Arrival Beacon.
He walked to the window, staring toward the Transit Plaza. The skeletal staff on
the ground shifted their behavior instantly. It wasn't panic, but a highly
trained, rhythmic reorganization. Positions were opened; thoroughfares were
cleared; the movement was rapid, silent, and absolute.
Eric watched for several seconds before turning to head for lunch. Grace's voice
vibrated through the corridor.
"Eric. The afternoon Commercial sweep is rescheduled. Accelerate
deployment. 13:30 Hours."
"Understood."
He didn't query the change. After eleven cycles, the first rule he had archived
was: When a directive is issued, execute first. Queries follow the completion.
He returned at 13:25, standing by the entrance of Building 3. The sweep-route
was familiar: enter via Sector B, follow the main artery to the terminus, cross
the bridge to Sector C, and loop back. Total duration: forty minutes.
As he reached the mid-sector of the main thoroughfare, he noticed several units
ahead. Not merchants. Not construction thralls.
A skeleton led the group, wearing a State Army uniform. However, the design
differed from any Eric had archived; a unique crest sat upon his pauldrons—an
insignia Eric didn't recognize. Flanking him were two Vampire sentinels, their
gait synchronized and their eyes performing high-intensity scans of the
perimeter.
Trailing behind them by exactly two paces was another skeleton. This unit's
attire was mundane—borderline uninformative. He didn't look like an inspector;
he looked like a pedestrian on a casual stroll.
He was observing everything: the roadside stalls, the banners above, the texture
of the stone bricks. He paused occasionally to touch a strand of purple vine
climbing a pillar. His movements were casual, lacking the rigid gravity of an
elite official.
Eric performed a cursory scan and prepared to bypass them to maintain his
sweep-itinerary.
But the mundane skeleton stopped. He halted before an unopened shopfront,
tilting his skull to read the sign. The lettering read: ELDRITCH SOUVENIRS.
"The character for 'Souvenir' is mis-etched," the skeleton stated. His tone was
casual, as if he were addressing himself.
The State Army skeleton in front pivoted instantly, following the other's gaze.
His soulfire flickered with sharp alarm. "I shall authorize an immediate
correction, sir."
"Do not prioritize it," the first skeleton waved a hand. "Finalize the edit
before the grand opening. Efficiency matters."
The group resumed their walk. As they passed Eric, the distance was less than a
meter.
Eric performed a textbook "Staff Greeting": he pivoted his frame to clear the
path, lowered his head slightly, and maintained zero vocalization. According to
the manual, this was the optimal response to a high-tier inspection.
The mundane skeleton paused as he drew level with Eric.
"Are you a staff unit of this Hub?"
"Affirmative. Information Consolidation Unit. B-Sector. Designation 037."
"Service duration?"
"Cycle eleven."
The skeleton gave a slow nod. He asked zero further questions and resumed his
march.
Eric stood perfectly still, watching the silhouettes disappear around the bend
of the main thoroughfare.
He concluded his sweep as scheduled.
When he returned to Building 3, Grace was waiting at the entryway.
"Audit report."
Eric handed over the notebook. Grace flipped through the entries, then looked
him in the eye.
"During the afternoon sweep in the Commercial Sector... identify the units you
encountered."
"I encountered a High-Tier inspection party. Accompanied by a State Army
official and two sentinels."
"Tactical response?"
"Adhered to manual protocols. Cleared the thoroughfare. Maintained silence. The
subject issued two queries; I provided accurate data."
Grace watched him for two long seconds. Her expression didn't shift, but the
pulse-rate of her soulfire increased marginally.
"Do you possess the identity data of the subject?"
Eric calculated, then shook his head. "Negative."
Grace closed the notebook and shoved it back into Eric's hands. "Satisfactory."
She turned to enter the building, then paused, her voice falling back over her
shoulder without a turn.
"You followed the manual. You executed your directive without bias. That is
sufficient glory for a recruit."
The door swung shut.
Eric stood on the steps, running Grace's final sentence through his logic
circuits.
Then, he remembered Query Five from his interview. If the Sovereign visited in a
'Civilian-Mask' and you failed to recognize him, performing a standard audit...
identify your subsequent action.
His response had been: Executing the protocol is my directive. The law does not
deviate based on the identity of the variable.
This afternoon, he had performed the practical application of that theory.
As for whether the answer was correct... Grace stated there was 'No Problem'.
Therefore, the logic is verified.
Eric tucked the notebook into his tactical pouch and entered the building.
Footsteps and murmurs from other colleagues echoed in the stairwell—someone was
debating the white-flare event at the plaza. He didn't focus on the chatter.
He returned to the second level, sat at his station, and began the input of the
afternoon data.
Outside, the sapphire glow of the Wizard Tower ignited on the horizon.
The hour was complete. THE EVERNIGHT was functioning at 100% capacity.
☆☆☆
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