The Rat King glanced at the "Old Dragon" drinking gloomily beside him, wondering what kind of conditions Columbia had offered that Wei Yenwu found impossible to refuse.
He had been curious from the start as to why Wei Yenwu had agreed to this. While Columbia was a formidable power, Lungmen clearly held the moral high ground in this incident. He didn't believe Columbia would risk souring relations with a vital financial hub like Lungmen over a single rogue researcher. For them to initiate sanctions over one dangerous individual would suggest their President's "battery acid" was leaking.
(President of Columbia is actually a robot.)
"If you don't want to talk, then don't. Drink!" The Rat King stopped prying and focused on the alcohol.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the two were dead drunk, surrounded by a floor littered with empty bottles. Wei Yenwu didn't even remember how he got home; that Fumizuki actually let him into the bed in that state was a miracle he couldn't fathom. When he woke, she didn't mention it, acting as if she knew nothing—though she did hand him a bowl of sobering soup.
Three days passed. Without the knowledge of Lungmen's citizens, the mastermind behind the heinous laboratory incident was about to return to his homeland.
At least, that's what the researcher thought. Even the Ursus man, Ivanov, who was being handed over as a "bonus," had a look of feverish excitement in his eyes.
Ivanov was different from the researcher. What he had confessed wasn't particularly vital to Lungmen, but the torture he had endured was nothing short of subhuman. His captors held no mercy for the primary culprit. When he refused to cooperate during interrogation, they utilized "extraordinary measures."
Between hallucinogens and mental-interference Originium Arts, Ivanov's mind had been fractured. Even now, his sanity was frayed. A strange, haunting sound echoed in his ears—like the wails of vengeful spirits—leaving him in a state of constant, restless anxiety.
The sound was everywhere. No matter what he did, the shrieks of the dead pursued him, denying him even a moment of peace in sleep. I must be truly ill, he thought. Once I'm back, I'll find a top-tier doctor to fix this tortured brain.
"AAAAAAAGH!!!!!"
Dammit! Ever since arriving at this exchange site, his hallucinations had worsened. What did they do to me? Is this some bizarre Originium Art?
They had been brought to a wasteland not far from Lungmen. He knew this place well; it was the very spot where they used to discard Infected subjects who no longer had any experimental value. Looking at the blackened earth—charred by Jeanne's holy fire—it stood out like a drop of black ink on a scorched yellow canvas.
Since arriving, Ivanov's expression had grown hideous, his face twisting into a mask of agony.
Thump—Thump—Thump!
To drown out the eerie voices, Ivanov began pounding his fists against the prison transport vehicle, eventually escalating to slamming his own head against the metal. Beside him, the researcher appeared calmer, but the way he clawed at his own thighs to maintain a shred of reason suggested he was also on the verge of a total breakdown.
"What's wrong with these two? As soon as they got here, they started acting like lunatics. Did they catch a case of mania?"
Outside the transport, a Shadow Guard (Raincoat) operative watched the two prisoners perform their "performance art" with total indifference. This behavior hadn't started today; it was as if they had realized they said things they shouldn't have and were now looking for a way to die.
After observing the prisoners' abnormal behavior for a moment, the Shadow Gurads began scanning the perimeter, remaining vigilant for any interference.
"Who knows? Maybe the vengeful spirits of those Infected finally caught up to them," a colleague remarked dismissively. "I heard that the gang members in Lungmen who collaborated with them have been disappearing left and right."
The operative didn't hide his disgust. While he wasn't fond of Infected, human experimentation was something that repulsed him to his core. Because this incident was so shameful and ran counter to certain interests in Lungmen, Wei Yenwu hadn't allowed a single member of the L.G.D. to participate.
Everyone present was a member of the Shadow Guards, Wei Yenwu's personal special operations force. They were the ones who had extracted the prisoners from the L.G.D. cells in secret. Within the L.G.D., only a few top officials knew the truth; to everyone else, the official story was that Chief Wei was personally handling the case at a secure, undisclosed location to prevent any further assassination attempts.
"Less talking, more watching! Chief Wei is arriving in person today. If anything goes wrong, you'll be the ones answering for it when we get back!" a captain barked, patrolling the area. With Wei Yenwu attending personally, they had to be beyond cautious.
On a distant cliffside, Roy and Monique watched the Shadow Guards and the prison transport through their scopes.
Knowing the exchange was today, the two Lazurites had arrived the previous evening, finding a concealed spot as far away as possible. To ensure they wouldn't be detected, they hadn't even lit a fire, relying on their physical resilience to endure the elements.
It was essentially winter now. The wasteland wind cut like a blade, making it feel as though their very internal organs were being frosted over.
"Consider yourself lucky," Monique muttered, her body chilled. She hadn't spoken to Roy in hours.
Even as a highly-trained Lazurite, staying stationary in this environment for nearly 18 hours was grueling, especially since her uniform was relatively thin. Both were wearing their official gear beneath yellowish-brown ghillie suits to mask their prominent blue hair. To maintain combat agility, their uniforms were designed with as little excess fabric as possible.
Roy seemed unfazed by the cold, but Monique was focused on preserving her core temperature. She had already consumed ten bars of chocolate. At this rate, she'd have to train for weeks after the mission just to make sure her weight didn't fluctuate. A Feline's base stats simply couldn't compare to a Kuranta's.
"How is this luck? This is the result of my management style! In Yan, don't they call it being 'slick and social'?" Roy was quite proud of his approachable smile. He often completed missions through words rather than force. His motto was: Never fight if you can talk, and never work hard if you can slack off.
"Shut your mouth and focus. If the mission fails, the Darksteels will hang your head from the gates of the Major Knight Territory! Look—the Columbians are here."
In the direction Monique pointed, a vehicle kicked up a trail of dust. It was a transport prominently marked with the logo of Rhine Lab.