Chapter 70: First Fortress 22

The treatment for Heroic Spirits Society warriors far surpassed that of the Lower City, with comfort levels well beyond the Ninth Fortress. In the washroom, crystal-clear hot water flowed automatically all day long. Damn this resource monopoly.

An He turned on the water, testing the effects of her new Innate Talent, the Eye of Prophecy, while keeping an ear out for noises outside.

Wen Yewang’s experiments had made her suffer greatly.

But it wasn’t just suffering. She could sense that after hearing Wen Yewang’s report, Sekhmet seemed to pay her even more attention and patience.

A blessing in disguise—her abilities and origins had earned the Saint Lord’s approval.

Now, Sekhmet and Wen Yewang were personally waiting outside the washroom.

Waiting for her to finish bathing.

What elite treatment.

All of An He’s data had already been entered into the system: basic metrics like height, weight, cardiopulmonary function, and special values like mental strength, willpower, Nestsoul Innate Talent. Fortunately, First Fortress technology still couldn’t precisely measure the number of Innate Talents—not even Wen Yewang had thought to test for that.

Multiple Embedded Spirit Bodies were enough to thrill them.

No one knew An He actually possessed three Innate Talents. That was her life-saving trump card.

Still, An He needed to race against the clock to figure out how to evade Thought Implantation.

It sounded like some kind of brainwashing procedure. She couldn’t truly submit to the Heroic Spirits Society’s thoughts.

The Church, the Heroic Spirits Society—everyone wanted to plant something in her brain. This forced implantation repulsed her.

She preferred to choose for herself.

No matter what, Gu Xianqing’s methods were far more sophisticated.

From the First Fortress’s experimental style, Thought Implantation was likely some human Innate Talent combined with machinery, similar to the Mental Device that blocked Gu Xianqing.

She couldn’t kill her way out like last time, so how could she dodge it?

An He lathered up with bubbles, pondering left and right, when Tina suddenly came to mind.

She’d witnessed Tina’s Innate Talent before—it involved mental shielding. Back on the battlefield, it had protected all their allied soldiers from influence, that astonishing tactic still sending shivers down An He’s spine.

On closer thought, Tina’s ability was incredibly powerful: perfectly suited, with a wide coverage range. As long as Tina was still in the upper levels of Babel Tower, escaping this implantation would be no problem.

The issue was, where was Tina now? How could she contact her in this limited time?

Tina had only been in the First Fortress for two hours, and Sekhmet was swamped—surely no time to strike yet.

If she could just pinpoint Tina’s location!

An He activated the Eye of Prophecy again. Her head throbbed intensely; this Innate Talent drained her mental energy more than the others, and frequent use nearly made her faint.

But its benefits were countless.

An He discovered she didn’t need to see the real person—she could predict a brief future glimpse at any time, any place, any person, like a magic witch’s crystal ball.

The amount of information in the visions depended on her experience in interpreting them.

An He decided to explore a new use: tracking!

She tried three times, predicting Tina’s situation three minutes, five minutes, and ten minutes ahead. The first two were static scenes, like she was somewhere collecting data. Only the ten-minute one showed Tina being supported as she walked.

An He spared no effort to seize the fragmented clues. The background was a corridor, on the path to the teleport lift—the same route she’d passed with Gu Xianqing during their earlier recon, near the ventilation ducts.

…

Outside the door, Wen Yewang paced back and forth with arms crossed. “Not done yet? Did she drown? Or get so thirsty she drank the bathwater in there?”

“Calm down,” Sekhmet said, eyes half-closed.

“Should I check inside? If she’s drowned, I can prep a stretcher.”

“And haul her to your lab table?” Sekhmet’s voice deepened. “Cool your brain too. I said no.”

“Fine.” Wen Yewang finally shut up.

Eight minutes later, An He emerged fully dressed.

She’d changed into Heroic Spirits Society combat gear.

Society warriors tended to be tall; if not for Lola’s measurements in the system leaving two spare sets, they might not have found anything to fit An He.

It suited her well enough.

The black synthetic cotton underlayer hugged her body, loose pants allowed free movement, paired with a short jacket featuring gold-trimmed cuffs, blue epaulets—similar to police attire.

An He flexed her arms. The metallic doorframe reflected her image, utterly unlike the Ninth Fortress style.

No more feral wildness; she looked polished, bright—but rigidly obedient, like a soldier following orders to the letter.

“Let’s go.” Sekhmet wasted no words, leading the way to the Imprint Room.

The silver-glowing alloy corridor underfoot felt cold and solemn. An He deliberately lagged two steps, scanning her surroundings. No one batted an eye at her curiosity; as a Cabin Cocoon, it was natural in unfamiliar territory.

At a fork, An He glimpsed the end of the path to the teleport lift.

Sure enough, Tina was being supported right on cue in that corridor position.

Sekhmet and Wen Yewang strode straight to the experimental area ahead. An He broke away without hesitation, heading for Tina.

“Where are you taking her?” An He grabbed Tina’s wrist, questioning the young attendant.

The attendant, who only worked in Babel Tower, looked baffled at the stranger. After confirming An He’s Heroic Spirits Society uniform, she hesitated. “The Saint Lord told me to take the Captain to her bedroom. Has the order changed?”

Bedroom? An He wore a strange expression. What was going on? She wanted to probe further, but Wen Yewang noticed her straying and doubled back. “How’d you vanish in a blink!”

“I saw her.” An He released Tina’s hand; the Parasite mycelium threads for possession had already vanished without a trace.

Wen Yewang shoved An He along. “She doesn’t need your escort anymore. Come on, come on—from now on, whatever happens to her is none of your business.”

At the corner, An He couldn’t help glancing back.

The Saint Lord and Tina’s relationship was special indeed. She had to be careful not to overuse the Eye of Prophecy indiscriminately.

Protect my eyes. Respect others’ privacy.

…

The Imprint Room was just as An He imagined: a blend of human and machine. Two researchers specialized in mental implantation were in position—tall figures clearly Embedded Spirit Bodies.

The room was spacious; she wasn’t the only one awaiting Thought Implantation. Two or three newly recruited soldiers signed consent forms nearby.

Heroic Spirits Society turnover was high, especially now with shortages—recruitment never stopped. The scars on these new soldiers suggested real skill.

An He dawdled casually, lining up behind the others, secretly observing the process.

The first two sat in specialized metal chairs, donned sensor-laden helmets, and the black computer devices hummed to life. Golden Age neural info-writing tech was evidently advanced, likely used for robots and simulations. First Fortress researchers had tweaked it for soldiers.

To An He’s surprise, before implantation began, the lead researcher asked, “Do you believe in the Church?”

An He startled. An entry requirement? No, didn’t seem so. She recalled her talk with Lola in the Ninth Fortress: the First Fortress Saint Lord promoted and controlled the Church, but the Society didn’t make it mandatory. Soldiers split between believers and not, with no duty differences. Lola wasn’t one, after all.

So why ask? An He soon realized: it was a prerequisite. Different answers led to different implantations.

Conveniently, the current subjects answered “yes” and “no.” For “no,” keywords flashed on the screen: loyalty, glory, future, Heroic Spirits, unity. For “yes”: loyalty, sanctity, mission, faith, immortality.

Loyalty was common; the rest seemed tailored. An He couldn’t see the full content—just simplified results on the screen.

She glanced at the consent form beside her, with soldiers’ names.

Nothing like she’d imagined—no dark room forcing evil ideologies. The Society offered choices, even letting queuers watch openly.

Thus, everyone saw it caused no pain. The process was brief, just two minutes—like signing a form.

Soldiers rose smiling, eyes bright with excitement, leaving the Imprint Room. An He saw hope in their gazes.

Some grand ideal instilled? Fearless faith?

An He sat tensely. She felt Tina’s presence. After answering “I don’t believe in the Church,” she commanded the Parasite: mental shield now.

The room stayed silent. Keywords flickered on the computer; An He’s mind went blank.

Two minutes later, she stood, forcing a natural smile.

To seem confident, she fixated on a recent goal in her mind—Next fight with Gu Xianqing, I win—to spark that eager gleam in her eyes.

Sekhmet didn’t ask how she felt, issuing orders directly. “From today, you stay by my side. Report to me alone.”

“Yes.” An He replied. “Where to now?”

“You, to eat.”

An He tilted her head. “I thought we’d head to the Church scene.”

“No need.” Sekhmet turned. “Min He reports Gu Xianqing left the scene. They’ve found leads and are pursuing. Tonight’s handled by Min He.”

An He steadied herself. Sekhmet was still giving Min He a chance. What leads? Harmful to Gu Xianqing?

Not that she worried.

But they were too entangled—if Gu Xianqing got caught, she might be implicated.

Good thing Scavengers were helping. Min He couldn’t threaten her much.

Soon, Sekhmet summoned a guard. “Take Vivian to eat. Bring her to my bedroom in half an hour.”

An He: ?

Wait, her to the Saint Lord’s bedroom too?

Sekhmet left without explanation, and An He was escorted to the Central Urban District barracks cafeteria.

She ate with her heart pounding in dread, thinking Sekhmet’s personal supervision post-implantation meant immediate battlefield deployment. But it wasn’t that simple.

Either the Saint Lord changed plans, or while curbing Wen Yewang, she’d been observing An He closely.

Had she shown a slip-up? Post-implantation reaction normal?

This bedroom trip filled An He with massive unease.

Leaders’ cryptic orders were the worst; her meal lost all flavor.

But in an era of starvation, Heroic Spirits Society meals were obscenely abundant—no rations, unlimited food and fresh water for warriors. A huge temptation; no wonder competition to join was fierce.

Yet this resource tilt stripped the Lower City bare—a sick, unmasked cruelty.

This place hid nothing.

After eating, An He was led to the residence.

She’d assumed the Saint Lord’s quarters overlooked everything from the top—power-hungry leaders loved lording over all, blind to the depths’ misery.

But no. The teleport lift stopped at the thirty-fifth floor.

Midway up Babel Tower, the view just above the Central District’s encircling skyscrapers. The structure differed slightly—no central atrium void, solid core, outer ring corridors—like a load-bearing pillar for the entire tower.

Through the one-way glass corridor windows, half the fortress sprawled below. Beyond, barren plains stretched to the horizon, the fortress lights the only manmade glow for miles under the dim blue moonlight.

The sensation of overlooking everything from up here wasn’t pleasant at all. Instead, it stirred a strange sense of isolation and dread.

Sekhmet’s living quarters were enormous, located right at the heart of the tower.

Such a vast space—truly the extravagant style of someone hogging resources, An He grumbled inwardly.

The guards halted at the door. An He pushed it open alone and stepped inside. The thick shag carpet beneath her feet created a floating sensation, as if she’d tumbled into a bed of soft clouds in an instant.

The wallpaper was a deep crimson hue, but there were no superfluous decorations or furnishings. An invisible central axis divided the bedroom into two distinct zones: one side held a massive desk and shelving units, while the other featured the bed and a walk-in wardrobe. The room didn’t scream ostentatious luxury; rather, it exuded a precise, rational elegance everywhere she looked.

In the corner, Tina—freshly cleaned up—sat quietly on the leather sofa. Her wounds had been redressed, with scattered medicines and the dirty linen bandages from before littering the area nearby.

Well then… not quite what I imagined.

“You’ve arrived,” Sekhmet said from the desk, scribbling something with a rare mechanical pen. She didn’t even look up as An He entered. “Sit.”

An He glanced around at the available seating options. None of them felt quite right. Aside from the sofa and the bed, there was only the wooden chair opposite the desk—a clear subordinate’s spot, practically overshadowed by the Saint Lord’s oppressive presence. Sitting there would be impossible.

The bed was absolutely out of the question. An He mulled it over for a moment, skirted past the wooden chair, and plopped down right next to Tina.

In an unfamiliar place like this, it’s safer to stick close to someone familiar.

Sekhmet arched an eyebrow and swiveled around in her leather chair, turning to face them fully. Rather than explaining why she’d summoned An He here, she struck a casual pose—leaning back against the chair with her hands clasped together. “You seem… quite close to Tina?”