The hijacked airship incident caused a sizable stir in New Eridu. But time did what it always did—what once felt enormous was gradually buried beneath fresh headlines, downgraded to an occasional piece of small talk.
And yet, in corners both visible and hidden, the aftershocks never truly stopped. The disturbance kept spreading—fermenting into a new storm.
Night lay heavy and bleak over the sky, starless and lightless. From within the Obsidian Barracks, looking up revealed only a vast sheet of ink. Artificial lights coiled through the camp like snakes curled in pain, flickering on and off. At one point, a drifting sigh seemed to cut through the silence—only to vanish the next heartbeat, as if it had never existed.
"All right, all right! Lights out! Save your whispering for tomorrow!" a woman's voice called—raspy, firm, and leaving no room for debate.
"Um… Captain Ghostfire, could we—" someone tried, timidly.
"No. Orders are orders. Everyone rests. Now." Her tone was a guillotine.
"…Hmph. Sharp tongue, Captain," came a dissatisfied mutter, quickly swallowed by the air.
With a click—the pull of a switch—the tent of the Obolus Squad fell into darkness.
The earlier rustling whispers cut off at once. The squad members obediently sank back into their beds. Within moments, steady breathing filled the tent.
Orpheus mumbled in her sleep, swearing she'd swap Ghostfire's holster for a pink one tomorrow as revenge for the confiscated chips.
Seed curled up inside the cramped but warm cockpit of Old Seed. She was exhausted—too exhausted for anything but a single, stubborn hope: that her long-sleeping partner would wake again. Clinging to that thought, she sank into deep sleep.
Even in dreams, Eleven wasn't peaceful. Her murmurs came in fragments—"Not enough… hand-blade… traitor…"
As for Captain Ghostfire herself, she snored with a half-electronic, dreamlike buzz. Every so often she coughed sharply, and the muzzle of her weapon spat a few tiny sparks.
The past few days' missions had been brutal.
For reasons no one could fully explain, certain zones within the Zero Hollow—areas whose Ether levels had once been stable—had seen a sudden surge in Ethereals. Not just a surge: a flood. A stampede. Worse, high-risk individuals began appearing in clusters, leaving the Defense Force scrambling. The Obolus Squad and other units had been running Hollow routes day after day, while logistics staff barely touched the ground.
Even some of the HIA researchers—those who'd been saying, "We don't have that kind of strength"—ended up picking up weapons and heading to the front. Maybe they wanted fresh data. Maybe they had no choice. Either way, they reinforced the line.
In the end, the Defense Force fought like hell, and the unprecedented anomaly was suppressed. A temporary victory.
The soldiers on the front finally had space to breathe—time to treat wounds, dull exhaustion, recover like beasts retreating to their dens to lick their injuries. Everyone knew: if they didn't restore themselves now, they wouldn't survive the next fight.
That was why Ghostfire had ordered silence so harshly. The squad was at its limit—and higher command believed this incident might only be the opening note of something far worse.
Privately, some people whispered:
"Honestly? It felt like something woke up. Or something got released from a cage. And these Ethereals… they're just what spills out when a powerful existence moves, even without meaning to."
The conclusion was more instinct than science—something that didn't usually belong in a research report.
But it came from Lei of the HIA.
And no one dared dismiss it.
Time passed through the tent's thick hush. Orpheus and Ghostfire seemed trapped in nightmares—brows knotted, bodies curling tighter. Eleven's restless muttering gradually smoothed into quiet.
Seed… Seed was always quiet. Her breathing was so even it felt like she and Old Seed had merged into one.
And it was precisely because the tent had fallen so still that the one person who hadn't been sleeping could finally move.
Trigger sat up gently and scanned the darkness, her eyes passing over her teammates—one by one.
She saw the glimmer of drool at the corner of Orpheus's mouth. Without a sound, she slipped over and tucked the blanket around Orpheus properly.
Only after that did she move like a shadow, slipping out of the tent and into the night.
Normally, during curfew, soldiers didn't wander without orders. Getting caught by patrol MPs was asking for trouble.
But—
"No one," Trigger murmured, scanning the empty camp. Only the wind answered. "So she really did arrange everything."
After a brief silence, she set off toward the agreed location. She stopped at a remote, two-story building, took a slow breath, and pushed open the half-closed door.
The hinge hadn't finished whispering when a streak of pale light snapped toward her.
A cold muzzle pressed its intent to her forehead—perfectly aligned—and with it came an equally cold gaze.
Trigger couldn't see the weapon's glint clearly in the low light, but she felt the razor-edge of the test.
Her expression didn't change. She planted her feet and offered a crisp salute.
"Obolus Squad sniper—Trigger—reporting to—"
"Obolus?" the other person cut in softly, voice carrying a strange, unreadable flavor.
"…Right. You are Obolus now. Orpheus's subordinate." A pause. "As for 'Trigger'… if you insist on that callsign, then I'll use it."
The muzzle lowered slightly, but the gaze never left her. The question came like a fired round—straight to the core.
"Then tell me, Obolus Squad's 'Trigger'… do you still remember the name of the first unit you belonged to?"
Silence spread between them. Trigger could feel the weight in that stare. The other person waited—patient.
Finally, Trigger exhaled a name that sounded like it had been buried under stone.
"Lira Squad," she said quietly. Each syllable carried mass. "Cat's Eye Camp's Lira Squad. Where I started."
The air tightened, then loosened with a faint, almost bitter laugh.
"Ah… so it's true. Some similarities," the woman said. "You… and me."
"Colonel Isolde," Trigger frowned slightly, "what do you mean?"
"Sorry." Isolde lowered her weapon, her tone smoothing out. "Hearing that answer brought back… certain memories."
Trigger had barely allowed herself a breath when Isolde's arm snapped up again.
She pulled the trigger.
Bang.
A coin round ripped past Trigger's ear and slammed into the doorboard behind her. It thudded, then clattered to the floor.
Trigger had already shifted the instant Isolde raised her hand—pure reflex, fast as a blink.
She stared at the colonel, her voice steady and serious.
"Ma'am. That isn't funny. If you did that to someone with a stronger panic response, they might have shot you the moment you moved."
"And wouldn't that be perfect?" Isolde replied, calm as still water.
Trigger blinked. "What?"
Isolde met her eyes and repeated, slow and deliberate.
"I said: wouldn't that be perfect?"
Trigger pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Isolde's severe expression melted abruptly, as if it had never existed. She waved a hand, casual again.
"Sorry. Another joke. Lighten the mood. You mind?"
"I mind," Trigger answered, without hesitation.
"Then that's unfortunate," Isolde said, lips curling in a shameless smile. "I'm a colonel. You're a subordinate. You'll endure it."
Trigger began seriously considering turning around and leaving.
But Isolde seemed to see it coming. She shook her head, and the frivolity finally drained out of her.
"All right. Enough small talk. Back to business."
She didn't turn on the lights. Under the thin, pallid moonlight seeping through the window, she picked up a kettle and poured two cups of tea—cold already. One for herself, one for Trigger.
Then she sat, fingers interlaced under her chin, and fixed her attention on Trigger again.
"Obolus Squad's 'Trigger,'" Isolde said, voice low but carrying undeniable force. "Tell me."
"Recently, New Eridu NEPS—Janus District Headquarters—Deputy Commissioner Justin Bringer, trying to stabilize public sentiment and preserve his position, led an armed NEPS force into a Hollow during a publicity stunt, intending to eliminate so-called 'rebels.'"
Her cadence stayed even, but certain words carried extra weight.
"During that operation, Bringer was struck by a large-caliber sniper round. He nearly died on the spot. Only emergency transport and surgery kept him alive. The follow-up report confirmed the shot came from over ten kilometers away—an ultra-long-range precision kill."
Isolde leaned forward slightly, eyes burning into Trigger.
"At the same time Bringer was shot, Obolus Squad was granted a three-hour rest period. During that window, you—Trigger—filed for an external leave pass."
Her voice dropped, each word razor-clear.
"And about an hour after you left… the shot happened."
Isolde didn't scold her. She didn't accuse her. Instead, something rare flared in her expression—an almost feverish searching, like someone hunting for a familiar flame in the dark.
"Tell me, Obolus Squad's 'Trigger.' Was it you?"
"Ma'am, there are talents among the rebels as well. You know that—" Trigger began.
"Trigger." Isolde cut her off. "If I called you here alone, you should understand I came with sincerity. And for the other senior officers who suspect you—"
She paused, gaze steady.
"I already cleared you in front of them."
Her tone tightened, not as a threat, but as a demand for reciprocity.
"And you should return that courtesy. Shouldn't you?"
Trigger remained silent, absorbing the pressure of that stare.
After a moment, she met Isolde's eyes and answered evenly.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. But I didn't fire that shot."
The light in Isolde's eyes dimmed in an instant, as if someone had poured water over a flame.
But then Trigger continued.
"However… I saw it. I saw who fired."
Isolde's breath caught.
"You were inside the Hollow at the time? No—wait…" A bold guess flashed through her mind, but she didn't voice it. She simply held her breath.
Trigger nodded, confirming the implication.
"I was aiming at the target too," she said quietly. "We were on the same line. But… she was faster."
"Who?!" Isolde demanded, the urgency roughening her voice.
Trigger's lips parted.
"She is—"
Darkness. Endless darkness.
In a corridor that seemed to have no end, only the weak, sickly glow of lamps set into arched walls gave any sense of direction. There were no screams—only, when a hand brushed a cheap plastic shade by accident, the world produced a sound like cat claws across a chalkboard.
Green emergency lights wandered through the gaps of rusted piping like ghosts. The metal walls sweated condensation, droplets ticking down onto an oil-stained floor and gathering into dark red, sticky puddles.
Every few steps, boots kicked scattered gears or other unidentifiable metal parts. They rolled with hollow echoes, as if the corridor itself were laughing under its breath.
Inside a hidden clinic—stitched together from abandoned pipes and scrap metal plates—Zoe spat to the side and glared at the woman across from her.
The woman wore a white lab coat with faint grime stains. A pair of rimless glasses rested on her nose. She held her eyes half-lidded in a habitual, gentle-looking smile—one that made her seem both warm and unfathomable.
Zoe's voice shook with restrained fury, fingers rubbing unconsciously at the worn texture of her holster.
"He was covered up too well. 'Conqueror of the Hollow,' my ass—he couldn't even lead from the front. He kept himself locked in the back and shoved his subordinates in front like shields."
She jerked her hand in a rough shoving motion, as if those obstructing officers were standing right there.
"I waited so long for that one opening. Black Doctor, you need to understand—"
"Why didn't you use a larger caliber?" the Black Doctor interrupted softly.
Her voice was gentle—yet chillingly composed, with a calm that carried its own kind of authority.
She removed her glasses and, unhurried, wiped the lenses with a sterile cloth. Through the temporarily blurred glass, her gaze rested on Zoe with clinical appraisal.
"Why not a higher-powered rifle? Why not poison? Why let him struggle on?" Each question cut with surgical precision, peeling apart every imperfection in Zoe's execution.
"Watch your mouth, woman." Zoe surged forward a step, hand snapping to her pistol grip. "My life was saved by Qianye—not you. The only reason I agreed to your plan is because Qianye—"
"And if I hadn't provided the facility," the Black Doctor said, sliding her glasses back on, smile unchanged, "and the… resources…"
Her tone was almost indulgent.
"Qianye wouldn't have been able to rip you back from Death's hands in the first place. Isn't that right?"
She tilted her head, voice warmed by something that wasn't kindness—something twisted and intimate.
"That child is always too soft. Always too quick to pity. Good thing his teacher is here to… clean up after him. To pave the road."
When she spoke Qianye's name, a strange tenderness entered her voice—soft and warm and deeply wrong, a cruel contrast against the coldness of what she was saying.
Zoe's breathing quickened, chest rising and falling hard. But in the end, the hand on her pistol eased away.
She understood, with unpleasant clarity, the extent of this woman's obsession with Qianye. Anything that might hinder Qianye—or anything the Black Doctor decided was "for Qianye's good"—would be removed or exploited without hesitation.
Zoe clenched her teeth. The words scraped out between them.
"Fine. What do you need me to do?"
The Black Doctor's smile suggested she was pleased. She pushed her glasses up a fraction and clapped her hands once—twice. The sharp sound echoed in the small, silent clinic.
A concealed door in the inner wall—nearly indistinguishable from the metal panels—slid open without a sound.
A scent drifted out: disinfectant, Ether solution, and a faint sweetness that belonged to something artificial—almost like manufactured tissue.
Then silhouettes emerged from the shadows one by one.
They walked in step, eyes empty, silent as husks without souls.
Zoe stared. Her pupils widened. Her mouth fell open as if she'd witnessed a forbidden diagram made real.
"You—" Her voice cracked with shock. "You recreated the Silver Army technology?!"
"This is simply to ensure sustainable 'resources,'" the Black Doctor replied flatly, as if discussing routine procurement, "and… to maximize utility."
Her gaze swept over the silent figures like an artist admiring her work. Then she looked back at Zoe's pale face.
"I need you to train them."
The sentence landed softly—and then kept cutting.
"Everything you learned from death and hatred—sniping, infiltration, killing—you'll pass it on. Use your experience to grind them sharp. And then…"
Her tone turned cold, hard, and unequivocal. Behind the lenses, her eyes flashed with an iron will.
"…make them blades of vengeance aimed at New Eridu."
And also—she didn't say it aloud, but it lived in the depths of her gaze—make them absolutely loyal puppets, tools that would one day be willing to die for Qianye, to flatten every obstacle in his path.
Zoe felt the chill crawl up her spine.
She had thought she'd once reached the peak of madness.
But standing before this woman—this "teacher," this Black Doctor who spoke of human lives like expendable components—Zoe realized she had been wrong.
Terrifyingly wrong.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 150)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter190)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter105)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter222)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 190
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 170
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass Volume2/5
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 215
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 65
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 200
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 154
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player Volume4/30
The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 115
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 130
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 105
I Can Copy Unique Skills 100
Summoning an Evil God, but the 70
Supernatural Multiverse 90
My Harem Is Indescribable 85
Jujutsu Kaisen: Heroic Spirit 90
"I'm just a Valkyrie passing through." 68
Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 81
Still playing traditional Honk 69
The Most Filial Son Under Heav 65
What Should I Do After Switchi - Volume2/3
Reincarnated as a Demon, Skill 60
Hell-Difficulty Dungeon? 55
Transmigrated as Sukuna 61
Checking In in Demon Slayer 65
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 80
I Refuse to Become a Heroic 66
My Best Friend Into a Slime? 58
A Saiyan Stands Above Marvel 65
What Do You Mean by Using a Lab Mod to Be the Hero? 63
Tanya Starts from Re:Zero 59
Why did they assign me to Uma 55
MYGO Beauties 56
DanMachi: Emiya the Giant Hero 45
The Gacha Merchant Who Started 49
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 26
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