The next day, Rick awoke in his chamber at Palais Saint-Rosel.
After experiencing the greatest breakthrough of his life yesterday and reuniting with Moya, he had barely slept all night. Rising, he checked the wall clock by the window and rubbed his bleary eyes.
"It's already so late. I wonder how Moya's injury is doing."
Draping on a starched and ironed shirt, Rick washed up hurriedly and headed out. He intended to visit Moya at the barracks, but no sooner had he stepped out than a waiting attendant bowed respectfully. "Mr. Rick, His Majesty bid me inform you to meet him in the imperial garden upon waking."
"The garden?" Rick frowned in displeasure. "I have other matters."
"His Majesty's orders, sir."
Gazing at the unyielding attendant, Rick rubbed his temple wearily. "Fine, lead the way."
The attendant nodded deferentially and led the path. Distracted, Rick followed until they reached the imperial garden of Palais Saint-Rosel.
Amid a sea of flowers vying for splendor, Rick caught sight of Arthur sipping morning tea in a pavilion with two girls. His irritation flared.
"Damn, why drag me here while he's flirting?"
Scowling, Rick strode to the pavilion. But as he approached and saw the girls' faces, he froze as if struck by lightning, speechless for moments.
The red-haired girl was Anna—no surprise she accompanied Arthur. But if the other companion was Love, Rick could only gape in astonishment.
The trio in the pavilion turned at his footsteps, fixing him with three gazes of differing implications. Squirming under their stares, Rick awkwardly waved at Love. "Hey, Love. You're here too..."
"You don't seem thrilled," Love huffed, shooting Anna a sharp glance before turning away petulantly. "I'm not here for you. His Majesty invited me to assist with research."
"Indeed," Arthur feigned ignorance of the tension between them, steering the conversation along Love's lead. "Thanks to Love, we've begun repairing equipment excavated from Underground Tanzan City."
"Underground Tanzan City... You sent people to excavate there?!" Rick gasped. He knew its worth—beyond the questionable functionality of the equipment, the library's vast collection alone was priceless.
Arthur nodded. "Yes, I have a plan. I intend to revive the miraculous technology of the Tanzan era and use Hell's Corridor as my battle insect reserve, expanding Tanzan's power severalfold in a short time."
As he spoke, Arthur picked up a report, scanned it, and continued: "Yesterday, your two friends delivered 500,000 Red Wasp eggs, giving me the capital to rapidly expand Tanzan's military."
"F-fifty thousand..." Rick flinched at the number.
"Indeed, it sounds enormous, but transforming them into usable combat power will take time." Arthur turned to Love.
Understanding Arthur wanted her to explain, Love cleared her throat. "Evolving 500,000 eggs into 500,000 warriors is a long process. With current battle egg modification technology, fully stripping a single egg of wild genetic traits takes 5-7 days, with only a 60% success rate. Even pooling all insect experts from Tanzan's three cities, annual output would be only 4,000-5,000 eggs, including reasonable losses."
"Does that mean... finishing all these eggs would take a hundred years?" Rick was horrified by the thought.
"Essentially. So through studying ancient Tanzan biologists' notes, I have a hypothesis: instead of fully stripping wild genes, we can remove only the most dangerous traits. This would increase efficiency tenfold."
"Semi-finished products?"
"Precisely." Arthur stood and approached Rick. "That's why I called you here. My next military expansion concerns you directly, so I need your advice."
"I'll try," Rick said uncertainly.
"Breaking through 15x gravity in seven days is a miracle—unprecedented. I need you to document an effective training regimen for our new army."
"My training methods?" Rick gaped, shaking his head. "Impossible. It's not realistic. My methods were designed to suppress..."
He paused, glancing at Love, suddenly connecting her earlier words. "Ah, I see. No need to explain further."
"Good." Arthur clapped his shoulder gravely. "No point hiding it. With the current turmoil, Tanzan must raise a capable army quickly. The pariahs roaming our streets will be our recruits."
Rick stiffened.
"I know these battle eggs are unstable and risky. But as one of them, you understand: no gain without pain. Joining my army is their only chance to change their lives."
"Guinea pigs..." Rick's mouth twitched bitterly.
His pariah past gave him greater compassion for the powerless, but a year of trials had taught him reality: without miracles, pariahs stayed pariahs, their children too. Arthur's proposal offered rebirth—like his own—but also the risk of death.
Raising his head, Rick recalled hiding in corners to escape the cold, alongside companions equally blue-faced from the chill.
Yes, a pariah's life was already worse than death. Changing it required sacrifice—even life itself was a fair price, with no room for complaint. His role was to share his experience, helping more survive.
"I understand. I'll compile the training regimen as soon as possible." Rick smiled, having made up his mind. "Thank you for giving these people another choice in life."
"Don't flatter me—it's a necessity." Arthur chuckled, sitting and pointing to the seat beside him. "Rick, I want to offer you a position. What do you think?"
"A position?" Rick's eyes flickered to Anna and Love, but their faces gave no clue—they seemed to have struck a deal with Arthur, selling him out. Resigning himself, Rick said bluntly, "Spit it out. What do you want me to do?"
"Sheriff." Arthur's eyes gleamed as he produced an appointment letter, placing it before Rick. "Remnants of Houses Zarok and Ferdinand are still stirring. I need a tough sheriff to purge these pests. It's a powerful senior role."
"Sheriff? Sounds like a lackey." Rick casually picked up the letter, pointing to a clause. "Lord title? What's this?"
"The Defender Alliance uses a feudal title system. All members hold titles, valid in all alliance-controlled cities with noble privileges. Your 'Lord' is a nominal title, not official. But you're young—you could become a Duke like me, even found your own duchy."
"Pass. I haven't got that ambition." Rick set down the letter, understanding its implications.
If Arthur's words in the library the night Manny was killed were a probe, this letter was a formal contract. Accepting the appointment and title would make him a Defender Alliance member, sacrificing self for humanity's salvation.
It was heavy, meaning no more freedom. But had he ever been free? Even without this, he'd been a puppet, sacrificed at will. Joining meant knowing his challenges.
Taking a deep breath, Rick decided. He grabbed the prepared pen and signed the letter with his messy script, officially accepting the offer.
"Haha, welcome to the team!" Arthur happily took the letter, blowing on the ink. "I've prepared a mansion for you near Champs-Élysées Avenue. You can name it."
"My own house?" Rick blinked.
"Yours, under your name." Arthur stood. "If I were you, I'd hire a good butler for your new assets. The inauguration is tomorrow. Now, I'll leave you three youngsters to chat."
"O-oh, right." Rick fidgeted beside Anna and Love, sensing tempests ahead.