Arknights, I'm going to beat Kal'tsit, really?

Page 15

Witnessing all this, an almost chilling despair enveloped Kal'tsit. From the moment Theresa fell—the situation had completely spiraled out of control. The Doctor's condition, the legacy of the Black Crown, and even the enigmatic and cunning enemy before her… everything was sliding into the abyss.

Kane didn't say anything more. He slowly walked to the unconscious Amiya, and the hand that could only activate Oripathy and fire Originium Arts slowly rose and locked onto the fragile head of the girl from Katarts.

"Hand over Mon3tr, or everyone here will die!" Kane's voice was flat, yet more threatening than any roar.

This is not intimidation, but a sword hanging over everyone's neck. Whether the blade falls is entirely up to Kane.

Of course—Kane knew the limits of this threat.

Precys's brief appearance served as two silent warnings: first, the Doctor's life. He had recklessly used the Doctor as bait, and even though he was certain of success at the time, it still posed a threat to the Doctor's safety. This was only a minor punishment, but Kane knew there wouldn't be a next time.

Secondly, there's the survival of civilization—that seems to be a game she's orchestrated, and considering Amiya's future trajectory, it's not hard to guess. Kane just expressed his desire, but Precys refused.

Therefore, the only pawn Kane can truly eliminate at this moment is Ascalon. To Kal'tsit, Ascalon is an important partner, even a friend, but when it comes to weighing the necessary options, sacrificing her for a greater goal is something Kal'tsit's resolve will not waver. Even Ascalon herself has long accepted the destiny of her Shadow Guard identity—to give everything, including her life, for what she protects.

Upon hearing Kane's words, and considering the changes she had sensed earlier, Kal'tsit felt her thoughts were beginning to take shape. However, before she could have time to think, Kane's hand suddenly condensed Originium Arts, the implication of which was unmistakable.

Under this suffocating pressure, Kal'tsit raised her head. Her face was pale, weak from the backlash of Oripathy and exhaustion, but her green eyes were like tempered ice, sharp and cold. She stared intently at Kane's disguised face, as if trying to etch him into her heart, or perhaps trying to see through the surface to understand something.

"I agree to your request, but I cannot trust you."

Ignoring the destructive energy gathering in Kane's palm, she looked directly into his cold eyes and stated her conditions:

“Leave Rhodes Island. I will be your hostage. Once we reach a safe distance, I will sever control of the link with Mon3tr and hand it over to you. This is the only option. If you refuse, you will get nothing.” Kal'tsit’s millennia of experience ultimately allowed her to grasp the crux of this negotiation.

The moment her words fell, the Mon3tr in front of her let out a low, resentful, and furious hiss. Its massive body trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the pain of being separated from its master and the deep-seated killing intent it felt for Kane.

However, it did not resist. Kal'tsit's decision was its will. To protect what she considered more important—the Doctor, Amiya, and even the faintest possibility of what would happen next—it accepted its fate, even if that fate meant becoming the enemy's spoils.

Kane's gaze swept between Kal'tsit's resolute face and Mon3tr's growl. He could continue to apply pressure; Kal'tsit was no longer capable of fighting, but she still possessed the ability to make Mon3tr self-destruct at the last moment.

Every person with desires has weaknesses. Since Kane's target was clearly Mon3tr, Kal'tsit seized this only bargaining chip and engaged him in this desperate negotiation with almost ruthless rationality.

“…Wise.” Kane finally withdrew his hand from Amiya, the Originium energy slowly dissipating. He nodded slightly, accepting the unequal deal.

"Put it away. Come with me."

Kal'tsit made no unnecessary words or movements. With a slight thought, the dark green crystalline behemoth transformed into a stream of light and merged into her body. The next second, Kane roughly hoisted her up, carrying her away from the command hall filled with sorrow and despair, as if she were an object.

Watching Kal'tsit being taken hostage by the enemy and gradually disappearing into the end of the passage, Ascalon's pent-up regret, anger, and helplessness erupted like a burst dam! Her clenched fist slammed heavily onto the cold metal floor beneath her, producing a dull thud. Her knuckles instantly shattered and bled, but it did nothing to change the cruel reality before her. She had ultimately failed to uphold her duty as a Shadow Guard.

Chapter 41 Separation

Kane quickly led Kal'tsit away from Rhodes Island. Powered by Originium Arts, a fierce wind whipped up sand and gravel, causing the ground to recede rapidly beneath their feet. Kane brought them to a desolate, wind-eroded rock area ten kilometers away from the Rhodes Island.

Even with Kazimir's prized "Silver Spear Pegasus" at full speed, this distance would take a considerable amount of time to cover. The only way to intercept Kane was through a precisely anticipated ambush—but at this moment, in the Tower of Babel, the pillars of faith had crumbled due to Theresa's assassination and the Doctor's betrayal. The morale of the frontline soldiers collapsed like a burst dam, the command system was on the verge of paralysis, and the entire front was in chaos. The Military Council would not let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip by; the Tower of Babel was preoccupied with its own problems, how could it have the resources to hunt down a mere "pawn"?

The tide has turned. The balance of the Sarkaz civil war has completely shifted; Kane's goal of seizing "Mon3tr" is also within reach.

"Hand Him over. Even if you want to resist now, you have no chance of winning." Kane released Kal'tsit, his voice calm and even, yet carrying an undeniable pressure.

""

Kal'tsit stood silently, her green eyes churning with rage and... a rare sense of powerlessness. In her long, multi-civilizational memory, even when facing death last time, she had never felt so utterly out of control. As long as Mon3tr was by her side, she always held a trump card to turn the tide. But this time... she had lost completely.

The defeat was irreversible. Kal'tsit's mind, however, was still racing. The remaining power of Babel had to be preserved, Rhodes Island had to evacuate Kazdel as quickly as possible, the unconscious Doctor needed to be cared for, and the dangerous power within Amiya needed to be dealt with with utmost care… And all of this depended on the fact that this mysterious and unpredictable raider was willing to spare her life.

Without a word, Kal'tsit slowly closed her eyes. Driven by her will, dark green crystals, like living things, proliferated and spread wildly from the cracks in the rock beneath her feet! They did not coalesce into the familiar, ferocious behemoth form, but instead contracted and reorganized inward, ultimately transforming into a dark green, rhomboid core structure suspended above the ground, radiating a dark glow—the original form of Mon3tr. That chilling, ferocious aura was perfectly contained and imprisoned within this small crystal.

At the same time, a faint yet chilling crackling sound came from Kal'tsit's spine. Beneath her skin, her bones bulged slightly, and a crystal about the size of a fist, flowing with a deep green light, slowly precipitated from her body like a detached organ. This was the unique, life-and-death neural link between her and Mon3tr.

“Only by possessing it… can a basic link be established with Mon3tr.” Kal'tsit’s voice was calm, but her gaze was sharp as she locked onto Kane’s eyes. The puzzle in her mind was rapidly completing—Mon3tr was a creation of Project Ama, and only beings of the same origin could truly “use” it rather than merely drive it. Even if ordinary people obtained this core, they could at most use it as a powerful bio-weapon.

But on Terra, there are countless weapons with greater destructive power and higher cost-effectiveness than the Mon3tr. Kane's painstaking efforts to seize the core of the Mon3tr must be aimed at a deeper realm—the core technology of Project Ama, especially… the secrets concerning eternal life.

The Ama series... Kal'tsit's sparks of inspiration fly.

I am not an isolated case. Who is he? Another test subject? Or... did someone unearth the blueprints for Project Ama from the records of a previous civilization? This conjecture is bold to the point of madness, but it is currently the most reasonable explanation. Over the long years, countless people have sought the path to immortality from her, and without exception, they have all been consumed by their own greed and turned to dust.

Kane reached out and took the still slightly pulsating, dark green link core from Kal'tsit's cold, stiff hand. It felt warm to the touch, yet contained unimaginable, immense energy and secrets. This was his ultimate trophy for this journey.

The air froze instantly, filled with murderous intent. Kal'tsit's greatest value had been extracted. Now, stripped of Mon3tr's protection, she was left with only a body belonging to a Felin scholar, exceptionally fragile in the Terra wilderness. A basic spell, or even a heavy punch, could easily end her long vigil.

The dark green construct beside him trembled slightly, clearly indicating that Mon3tr was threatening to kill himself. If Kane were to truly go all out, then even self-destruction would not fall into Kane's hands.

Kane did not choose to do so—Kal'tsit is now the last pillar of Babel. If she dies, perhaps only one-tenth of the entire Babel will survive. If the comatose Doctor falls into the hands of the Military Council, those Sarkaz might cut him into pieces... When Precyth arrives completely, the Sarkaz will be the first to be exterminated, and Kane will probably be held accountable at that time.

He doesn't want to be erased from his soul.

Kane glanced at Kal'tsit one last time. His eyes held neither the mockery of a victor, nor pity or sorrow; he was simply filled with emotion.

Without pausing, Kane turned around, and with the suspended dark green core, his figure quickly merged into the vast yellow sand, disappearing at the horizon.

Watching that resolute disappearing figure, even Kal'tsit, known for her rationality, felt an unprecedented emptiness and confusion welling up inside her. Mon3tr… the "half-body" that had coexisted with her since she gained consciousness, accompanying her through countless life-and-death crises, had been forcibly detached for the first time. This separation… would it ever lead to a reunion?

There was no time to wallow in emotions. A chilling sense of crisis instantly pulled her back to reality. She had to return to Rhodes Island immediately! Having lost Mon3tr's senses and power, she had become more vulnerable than ever before. Every step had to be fraught with danger, and any potential peril had to be avoided at all costs. Although this area was theoretically still under Babel's control, the chaotic situation was constantly shifting. Hopefully, Ascalon could recover her strength quickly and come to her aid.

From that moment on, Kal'tsit understood that the sense of security that came from absolute power and had accompanied her for countless years had vanished. The road ahead would forever be shrouded in the shadow of losing her "half a body" and doubled the danger.

--split line--

Kazdel Wasteland.

“Could it… be made a little smaller?” Kane frowned, examining the Mon3tr core structure floating beside him, emitting a faint green glow. The Doctor's explanation echoed in his ears—he hadn't included an "interface" for interfacing with Mon3tr in the initial design. It felt like trying to insert the latest generation chip into the slot of an old-fashioned radio—a huge generational gap, incompatible protocols, and complete hardware and software incompatibility.

Chapter 42 Lateran

Kane, refusing to believe it, tried to plunge the sharp green link core directly into his body! A sharp pain shot through him; his flesh was easily pierced, and blood seeped out. However, aside from the pure pain of self-harm, nothing else happened. There was no "blood oath" as described in Yan Kingdom folk tales, no energy resonance; the link core was like a dead object, completely incompatible with the system within his body.

It seems that only by following the doctor's method—modifying and upgrading Kane with a "life support device"—can he accommodate the Mon3tr. Afterwards, I'll return to Columbia and look up the information the doctor gave me to see how to manufacture this thing.

The current situation is that Kane has gained a strikingly conspicuous "sidekick"—a large, dark green crystal floating off the ground, constantly emitting an ominous green glow. It looks very much like an Originium altar used by Letanian warlocks—to the Sarkaz mercenaries, this is tantamount to carrying crimson gold around in the slums. Kazdel's "simple and honest people" means that trouble will be endless. Kane isn't afraid of fighting, but he utterly despises unnecessary trouble.

Therefore, he needs the Mon3tr to be portable, ideally able to fit into a backpack.

"..." Faced with Kane's request, the suspended dark green crystal did not react at all, as if it were a real stone.

Kane laughed in exasperation: "Ha...you've got quite a temper, haven't you?" He suppressed his anger and reminded himself: this little thing is related to his future survival, so I have to coax him for now.

So, he adopted a nonchalant tone, but his gaze remained icy as he cast the direction Kal'tsit had disappeared in: "Oh dear, I've suddenly changed my mind... I really should eliminate any future trouble. That girl shouldn't be far, right? Let's chase after her and kill her now, and be done with it..."

*Snap*—Before the words were even finished, the suspended dark green crystal suddenly contracted and reformed inward again! In the blink of an eye, the conspicuous structure that was originally half a person's height became a dense dark green rhomboid block that was only slightly larger than a basketball and could just fit into a tactical backpack.

"Not bad, you know what's good for you." Kane weighed the heavy little cube in his hand with satisfaction, tapping it on its smooth, cold surface with his knuckles, producing a dull, soft sound.

"Little one, we'll be spending a lot of time together for a long time to come... You'd better get used to my style soon."

He carefully put away the "key" that held his life in its hands, then turned his gaze to the vast and treacherous wilderness of Kazdel. A new problem arose: how to safely leave this quagmire?

Kane had first driven his motocross motorcycle into Kazdel, hiding it near a heavily eroded ancient ruin. He had carefully covered it with thick camouflage cloth, but this simple method could only fool a fleeting glance from afar. If anyone approached, this incongruous protrusion, standing out starkly against the dilapidated environment, would easily be exposed.

I hope it wasn't picked up by Er Lengren (also known as Yi Lingba).

Kane had no intention of relying solely on his own two feet to measure Terra.

--split line--

On the outskirts of Kazdel, on the edge of this land torn apart by war and chaos, hordes of Sarkaz thugs, like hyenas, roam the trade routes, waiting to ambush their prey. Such a large group is inevitably divided—among the Sarkaz are true warriors who uphold ancient honors and value their promises above all else, but more numerous are those who have abandoned all principles, indulging in plunder and debauchery.

Laterano—this holy city, a chasm of light and darkness with Kazdel, is renowned for its unique religious laws and order. It maintains various forms of diplomatic relations with the nations of Terra, and its citizens, the Sarkaz, are often idealized by other races due to their generally perceived "innocence, optimism, and carefree, almost divinely blessed" nature. Laterano's doctrines and laws have a profound influence; even a small confessional in a foreign land is enough to attract many believers seeking solace.

Ironically, this "holy city" and the "demon land" of Kazdel are not geographically far apart. Since when has the irreconcilable conflict between the Sarkaz and the Sarkaz become the norm? Is it because Sarkaz thugs desecrated the guardian guns that the Lateran people regarded as extensions of life and faith? Or does it stem from a much older "betrayal" buried by time?

The roots of hatred have long been blurred. The only thing clearly visible is the bloody reality of Sarkaz thugs plundering Lateran caravans. Certain trade routes connecting different countries inevitably grazed the dangerous edge of Kazdel, and those Sarkaz gangs who did not participate in the civil war and lived purely by raiding the wilderness naturally became the most vicious nightmare for Lateran caravans.

The roar of engines shattered the silence of the wilderness. A modified light armored vehicle rolled across the rugged terrain, carrying three Sarkaz and one Liberi—a Lateran special operations team on a mission. Their target was a Sarkaz gang that had repeatedly robbed Lateran caravans over the past two months, seriously threatening the safety of the trade routes. This operation was directly ordered by the Papal Court.

"Andorn! We've already crossed the border into Kazdel! Are you sure you want to continue chasing us?!"

Andorn was the only male Sarkaz in the group, and also the squad leader. He had short, silver-white hair and wore a well-tailored, jet-black priest's robe, an attire that added to his profound divinity. However, his handsome face seemed etched with an unyielding melancholy and burden, his icy blue eyes fixed intently on the marks left by the thugs ahead.

“We’ve got their trail. If we act fast enough, we can wipe them out before they can react.” Andorn’s voice was calm and firm as his gaze swept over Fiameta. The captain’s decision was made.

Fiameta was the only Liberian member of the squad and also the assault soldier. Her fiery red, shoulder-length hair, like a burning flag, danced wildly in the gale-force winds of their speed; the striking red feathers on her head reflected her personality: fierce, straightforward, and hating evil.

"But this is Kazdel. If we are surrounded by the enemy, we will not receive any help."

"Kazdel is exhausted by the civil war, and it is difficult to see any organized forces on the outskirts. This is why the other side dares to act recklessly."

The other two members of the team—a pink-haired Sakota sniper and a blue-haired assault soldier—remained silent, watching the two men's conversation quietly.

Because of the Sakorta's unique gift—empathy—granted by the "Law," Sakortas can sense each other's emotions. While not reaching the level of "telepathy," simple emotional exchanges can convey complete meaning if two people are familiar with each other. This results in the three Sakortas having little to talk about—because many things can be communicated through empathy. However, to accommodate Fiameta, who cannot access empathy, and to ensure accurate information synchronization, they still deliberately use language to communicate key decisions.

"Tsk, we almost missed it last time! That guy actually has such a high-performance off-road motorcycle!? That thing doesn't look like a Sarkaz product at all." Fiameta recalled the failed ambush last time, her tone full of frustration.

"Perhaps they are spoils of war." Andorn's gaze remained fixed on the billowing dust ahead, offering the most reasonable guess.

P.S.: I'm an information broker from the East. Today I received a tourist who actually wanted to inquire about that Doctor from Rhodes Island. Judging from my years of experience, this girl must be a fangirl—and fans love gossip, so I dumped all the juicy details about that Doctor on her, using phrases I'd honed from reading the Casimir wine report. Sure enough, she paid a hefty sum in the end. This kind of incredibly profitable business is fantastic!

Chapter 43 The Battle Between Angels and Demons

The overall strength of Andorn's squad is top-notch even among all the special operations squads in Laterano. Apart from Andorn, the outsider Sarkaz, the other three were all top students who ranked in the top three during their time at Laterano School. Andorn was able to travel from the small monastery in Iberia to Laterano on his own, overcoming all the dangers along the way.

Most of the Sarkaz thugs only know the most primitive and savage fighting methods. They may be good at direct combat, but their military skills such as tracking and counter-tracking are terrible. Therefore, the Lateran squad easily tracked down the Sarkaz thugs' camp—an ancient ruin located in the wasteland.

Most of the buildings exposed above ground have collapsed and weathered, but the remaining outlines still reveal its former glory and splendor. This was probably once the palace of a member of the Sarkaz royal court.

“Target spotted – two sentries at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions.”

Remi'an lay prone on high ground, her high-powered sniper scope covered with camouflage netting to reduce glare—this group of Sarkaz had raided the Lateran convoy and likely possessed low-level firearms, so the Andorn squad was being extremely cautious to minimize the risk.

As Remian pulled the trigger, two sentries were instantly killed. The sound of the sniper rifle firing was mostly swallowed up by the silencer, while the noise of the Sarkaz banquet in the camp drowned out the remaining sounds.

Fiameta, Mostima, and Andorn quickly infiltrated the ruins, carefully searching every corner where enemies might be hiding. The Sarkaz were extremely unguarded, with no sentries except for the two unfortunate sentries at the entrance.

The three of them successfully made their way to the center of the camp. Andorn glanced over—the center of the camp was located at the entrance to the ruins, and clearly, the thugs, lacking expertise, had no way to get past the tightly closed gate.

But everyone knows that the ruins are very likely to contain the wealth of this royal family member during his lifetime—whether it is pure gold, precious artifacts, or weapons made with the ancient techniques of the Sarkaz, whatever it is, it could make them a fortune, or even allow them to escape this hellish place of Kazdel and enjoy wealth and luxury in a foreign land.

Therefore, the Sarkaz placed their campfire at the entrance and lived their lives around it.

Looking around, there were many cargo boxes that had been violently broken open; those were the looted caravan goods.

Most of the enemy was in makeshift shelters, with only three in the center. We hid in the shadows, and our first attack had to disrupt their plans.

Andorn already had a plan. The ruins were full of crumbling building remains, which might be valuable data for archaeology, but in battle, they would be the best traps.

"Fiameta, bombard those load-bearing pillars with grenades later; Mostima, come with me and take care of those three in the center of the square. Remian, I'll leave the rear cover to you."

"Don't worry, the view is clear." came the sniper's calm response through the tactical headset.

The three silently dispersed, taking up advantageous positions and forming a crossfire network.

"action!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!—With three resounding firing sounds, three grenades accurately struck the stone pillars in three different directions. These long-rotten antiques collapsed instantly, and massive bricks crashed down, crushing the Sarkaz temporary camp below to dust. The unlucky ones died on the spot, and even the more fortunate ones couldn't escape the blast.

"What love—!"

Rat-a-tat-tat—The three Sarkaz guards resting by the campfire reacted the fastest, just as they were about to get up and rush to their aid, but Andorn and Mostima, who were poised to fire, immediately opened fire. The rapid-fire speed and intensity of the high-level firearms instantly tore several bloody holes in their bodies. Even with the Sarkaz's strong vitality, such injuries were enough to be fatal.

[Warlock, eliminated.] Remian's voice was calm and even in the headset. A warlock who had just finished casting a spell was accurately killed by her bullet while casting.

Such an efficient and precise method of warfare naturally resulted in a one-sided massacre.

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, this mission should also come to a perfect end.

However, what Andorn's squad didn't know was that the leader of this thug was quite insightful. He knew that he couldn't open this ruin with his bunch of good-for-nothings. So he made a decision to ask professional Sarkaz mercenaries for help. They wanted to use a more effective method to blast open the gate that was blocking their path to prosperity in one fell swoop.

So he sent one of his scouts to recruit mercenaries—and the scout got lucky, finding a motocross bike on the outskirts of the ruins, left there by some idiot. But from the moment it was found, the bike belonged to them!

Three A Matters of the Abyss (Part Two) "Our camp has been attacked! Skullbreaker, it's your turn! We'll raise the price afterwards!"

The scout leading the Sarkaz mercenary squad to the outskirts of the ruins heard the explosions inside. Urged on by the scout, the mercenary squad immediately began to advance.

--split line--

"*Columbian swear word* Isn't that where I parked?!"

Hearing the distant explosions, Kane, who had been wandering in the wilderness for a long time, immediately cursed. He had been relying on his motorcycle to increase his speed, but now, his motorcycle was likely to be blown up!

Perot can be tolerated, but Rupert cannot! Kill him!

Kane immediately increased his speed, attempting to save his beloved car.

Based on his memory of the location, Kane quickly found the place where he had hidden the motorcycle, but there was no trace of it, and even the camouflage cloth used to hide it was gone!

"You *Colombian* swear word, you're just taking advantage of people, aren't you!?"

Kane was furious. Although he was unsure of the identities of the two sides currently exchanging fire, Kane deduced that the "defender" was definitely the thief who stole his car.

He immediately activated Originium Arts, and a strong gust of wind rose from the ground, lifting him lightly to the top of a huge stone pillar.

The view from here is expansive, offering a clear overview of the battlefield.

Sarkaz, with inconsistent equipment... and on the other side, Sarkaz? Within Kazdel?

While curious about the identities of both parties, what drew his attention even more was a figure at the edge of the ruins—a Sarkaz scout straddling a sand-covered off-road motorcycle. He lit something, then twisted the throttle, driving the motorcycle like a charging knight, frantically charging towards the Sarkaz's position!