Chapter 51: A Walking Myth
"My lord, once this storm passes, I suggest we bring Eli back."
Inside the dim cavern, a researcher in a white coat lowered his voice and spoke with unusual care.
The shifting light stretched Reed's thin features into something even colder and more sinister than usual.
He sat motionless for a moment, then asked, "Still no progress?"
"None." The researcher bowed his head a fraction lower. "Eli's body is too special. Mr. Gorgon says that unless Eli personally cooperates, there will be no real breakthrough."
Reed fell silent.
His pale fingers tapped the rough stone tabletop in a steady rhythm.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Ever since Eli had arrived in Oluson, the organization had been dragged from one whirlpool into the next. The Dark Feather Alliance had appeared out of nowhere. The General Administration had been roused. The whole city had become a boiling cauldron.
Yet the person standing at the center of all this chaos was thriving.
Eli had entered the General Administration, planted his feet, and risen on his own strength.
Originally, The School had not been in a hurry.
The average lifespan on Liuli Star stretched to one hundred and thirty years. Eli's project had only been running for less than half a year. As long as he was alive and functioning well, they had time. Patience was not a luxury. It was strategy.
But then he had revealed a spatial talent.
That one event had sent the upper circle of The School into something close to madness.
Now they were no longer simply obsessed.
They were afraid.
Afraid that this perfect experimental subject, this miracle they had spent countless failures to approach, would be lost to some random battlefield accident or political struggle before they could truly understand him.
The School had already reached a private conclusion.
Hodell's success was not an accident.
It was not luck.
It was not ordinary variation.
It was the one in a quadrillion chance of divine atavism emerging from a ruined gene chain.
A holy mutation pulled out of a graveyard of failed experiments.
Why call it divine atavism?
Because in the ancient myths of the Old Era, one theology had left an almost indelible mark on Liuli Star's civilization.
The [Records of the Four Phases].
Legend said that in the beginning, the world had been nothing but formless chaos. Violent, untamed, and impossible for life to endure. It was only when the Four Progenitors sacrificed themselves and merged into one great balance that the primal turbulence was sealed away and living beings were finally allowed to emerge.
In the common theology of the Old Era, all modern energy systems were fragments of that first divinity.
Mana. Source energy. Psychic force.
All of them were believed to descend from the primordial power of one of the Four Progenitors.
The four represented the four pillars of life.
[Father of Bone]
The symbol of structure and stability. The one who gave form to the material world. In the miniature order of a family, he was the father of construction and defense.
[Father of Spirit]
The symbol of change and energy. The one who gave birth to power itself. In the family model, he was the father of combat and outward struggle.
[Mother of Blood]
The symbol of containment and fusion. The one who gave life its flesh. In the family model, she was the mother of physical reproduction and medicine.
[Mother of Consciousness]
The symbol of wisdom and connection. The one who gave rise to soul and thought. In the family model, she was the mother of spiritual reproduction and education.
The mythology went even further.
It claimed that modern humans were only broken descendants of the Progenitors, carrying faint and incomplete fragments of that original perfection. To compensate for that innate incompleteness, society had gradually formed the four parent family structure of two men and two women. Through genetic complementarity and mana resonance, four adults could simulate the stable miniature pattern of the ancient [Primordial Four Faced God], making it far easier to raise healthy offspring.
Ridiculous.
Absurd.
And yet, ancient myths had a nasty habit of sinking their roots deeper than rational thought.
Once Hodell displayed space affinity, the inner circle of The School nearly lost its collective mind.
In their eyes, he was no longer merely a rare success.
He was proof.
Proof that divine blood had stirred again.
They believed his gene chain was no longer the ordinary double helix shared by common humans. They speculated that his structure had evolved into the legendary quadruple helix.
His bones possessed the absolute stability of the [Father of Bone], enough to endure the tearing force of space itself.
His energy carried the furious high frequency oscillation of the [Father of Spirit], which explained his explosive rise in combat power.
His flesh and blood carried the boundless compatibility of the [Mother of Blood], which explained why he could develop [Energy Simulation].
His consciousness bore the strange precision of the [Mother of Consciousness], which explained his monstrous perception and unnatural intuition.
In short, The School had reached a conclusion both reverent and insane.
Hodell was no longer human.
He was a walking myth.
…
The temporary office area of the Special Review Team had once belonged to some unfortunate senior executive who had been forced out in a hurry.
The scent of expensive incense still lingered faintly in the room, though it was now overpowered by oil, metal, gunpowder residue, and the cold smell of newly moved equipment.
Hodell sat behind a broad mahogany desk.
He was dressed in the deep blue robe uniform of the Special Review Team, the cut precise and severe. White gloves covered his hands, spotless even now, as he slowly wiped down a magitech firearm with a piece of velvet cloth.
Across from him stood Wagner, captain of the gendarmerie detail assigned to the team.
He was an old fox who had spent more than twenty years serving in Oluson. He knew procedure, knew how to survive, and knew exactly when to make himself useful and when to make himself harmless.
Unfortunately for him, Hodell now understood that too.
"In summary, sir."
Wagner slid a document to the corner of the desk. His tone remained respectful, but there was iron in it.
"Regarding your order for the immediate interrogation of Deputy Director Carlson from the Administrative Affairs Bureau, the gendarmerie cannot execute it right now."
Hodell did not look up.
Wagner continued.
"The Medical Department has already issued a warning. Carlson's mental state is on the verge of collapse. According to the [Prisoner of War Protection Act] and the [Oluson Public Servant Regulations], any deep consciousness interrogation now requires a full health assessment first."
He offered a strained little smile.
"As you know, Carlson is still a Deputy Director. Without a medical waiver, even you cannot carry out an irregular interrogation. If we go through the proper process, the earliest feasible time would be tomorrow afternoon."
Silence.
Only the soft sound of velvet moving across metal remained in the room.
Shh. Shh.
Wagner kept his eyes lowered, but his heart was pounding.
The city was in chaos. Everyone knew more arrests were coming. If Carlson died under interrogation, the storm afterward might not even splash Hodell. The rising star could still rise. But Wagner, as the direct executor, would certainly be the scapegoat.
Delay until tomorrow, let the departments fight among themselves a little longer, wait for a larger signal from above. That was the safest answer.
Unfortunately, safe was not always smart.
"Tomorrow afternoon…"
Hodell finally set the firearm down.
The assembled hand cannon landed on the mahogany desk with a hard, deliberate click.
Then he looked up.
His gaze was calm, but something in it made Wagner's spine go cold.
"Captain Wagner," Hodell said softly, "you've served in the gendarmerie for twenty one years. I understand your concern. The more you do, the more chances you have to make a mistake."
Wagner's eyelid twitched.
"I would never dare think that way, sir. I am only acting according to…"
"But you've misunderstood one thing."
Hodell cut him off.
His voice turned cold.
"This is wartime."
He leaned back in his chair.
"What you call process, the Director General calls delaying a military opportunity."
He paused.
"And what I call it… is collusion with the enemy."
Wagner's face drained of color.
"My lord, that accusation…"
Hodell pulled open the desk drawer and withdrew a red sealed document.
It was the [Special Review Authorization] personally signed by the Director General.
"You want to shield yourself. That's clever." Hodell rose from his seat. "But I don't like clever when it gets in my way."
He took a pen, wrote a few lines across the lower corner, then pressed the paper flat against Wagner's chest.
Wagner swallowed. "What is this?"
"A special appointment letter." Hodell's tone remained mild. "The protective talisman you wanted. Also my written assumption of responsibility."
He stepped around the desk and closed the distance between them.
Then, with a movement so casual it was almost intimate, he adjusted Wagner's slightly crooked tie.
"Now every consequence falls on me. Entirely."
His voice dropped lower.
"So if, after receiving this, you still want to wait until tomorrow…"
He leaned closer, almost whispering into Wagner's ear.
"…then I'll have to start wondering whether the reason you don't want Carlson to speak is because you're involved too."
Wagner trembled so hard the document crackled in his hand.
The next instant he slammed his heels together in a salute and nearly roared the answer out of pure survival instinct.
"Understood! I'll bring him in immediately!"
Then he turned and left so quickly he nearly forgot to open the door first.
The office fell quiet again.
Hodell picked up the firearm and resumed polishing it as if nothing had happened.
…
"I heard Baron can still be treated."
Irene's voice was light with hope.
"Hmph. In modern society, every injury can be treated." Loyi snorted. "The real question is whether you can afford the price."
Kyle walked ahead of them, and for the first time in days there was something resembling a smile on his face.
"We have Hodell to thank for that."
Irene nodded quickly. "Exactly."
Then she glanced at Sasha, who was walking behind them unusually stiffly, hands clenched together and eyes lowered.
"Don't be nervous," Irene whispered. "Just act natural."
Sasha's expression was even more strained than before an assassination. "I don't know what to say to him."
Irene leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing some great female secret.
"Men like praise. Just look him in the eye and say something simple like, 'You look really good today.'"
Sasha absorbed this advice with the seriousness of someone memorizing a combat doctrine.
…
By the time they entered the office, Hodell was still behind the desk.
The moment Irene saw him, the cheerful words on the tip of her tongue froze.
The deep blue Special Review uniform fit him almost too well. Silver buttons climbed cleanly to the collar. White gloves made his already slender hands look even colder and neater. His posture was straight, his expression indifferent, and the aura of a D Class Superhuman now sat on him with a natural pressure that felt unfamiliar even to old teammates.
He looked less like the Hodell they knew.
More like someone who could decide whether others disappeared.
Then he looked up.
The ice melted instantly.
A familiar faint smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
"You're all here?" he said. "Sit."
Kyle exhaled quietly and offered a standard salute.
"Sir."
Hodell blinked, then laughed.
"There's no need for that."
He rose from behind the desk, and as his gaze shifted, it landed on Sasha.
Sasha immediately went rigid.
She could not stop looking at the silver buttons on his collar. Her mind, meanwhile, had become a complete blank void full of panic.
Irene jabbed her sharply from behind.
Sasha jerked like she had been struck by a curse.
Then, with the heroic determination of someone charging to her death, she lifted her chin and declared:
"I… look… really good today."
Loyi's communicator slipped from his hand and dropped onto the carpet.
Irene covered her face.
Kyle looked from Sasha to Hodell and back again as though trying to decode some military signal.
Only then did Sasha realize something had gone catastrophically wrong.
Red climbed up her neck and across her face so quickly it was almost impressive. For a second, she genuinely seemed ready to draw a blade and tunnel through the floor.
Hodell stared at her.
Then he nodded thoughtfully.
"Thank you," he said. "I do look good."
Irene broke first and burst into helpless laughter.
With that one absurd exchange, the invisible wall that had grown between them from status, blood, and recent battles cracked wide open.
Hodell shook his head, amused, then motioned for them to settle.
"Now, let's get to the real matter."
He opened the desk drawer. Several access cards slid to the edge.
"The enemy's main structure has collapsed, but scattered rats are always harder to catch than a nest. Right now we're in the open. They're not."
Kyle's expression sharpened immediately. "Do you need us searching districts? Or reinforcing the front line?"
"No." Hodell shook his head. "Searching blindly for needles in a haystack isn't the best use of you."
What he needed now was not manpower.
It was a trustworthy core.
People who would not hesitate when something had to be done.
He walked to Kyle first and lowered his voice.
"I need you to help me guard a door."
Loyi frowned. "A door?"
"Yes." Hodell's eyes cooled. "The fifth basement level."
…
The fifth basement level was not simply quiet.
It was the sort of quiet that existed only in places where screams had already been accounted for.
This was the quietest place in Oluson.
And the closest place to hell.
Even Arthur, back then, had only dared think of taking Hodell to the third basement level. That alone said enough.
The airtight door sealed shut behind them.
The room beyond was almost offensively plain.
No racks of torture tools. No obvious bloodstains. No crude horror.
Just gray white sound absorbing walls, a ceiling grid of shadowless lights, and a single metal chair fixed in the middle of the room.
Carlson sat strapped into it.
The Deputy Director of the Administrative Affairs Bureau no longer looked like someone who once spoke in conference halls. He looked like a sack of nerves and sweat barely holding human shape.
The door hissed open.
Hodell entered first.
Kyle and Loyi followed.
Two administrative officers assigned to internal security stood watch inside. The moment they saw Hodell, both straightened instinctively.
"Sir," one of them said, "the prisoner's mental state is extremely unstable. He's demanding legal counsel and a direct audience with the Director General. Under Legal Department regulations, current visitation cannot exceed fifteen minutes."
Hodell ignored him and pulled out a chair.
"Leave."
The guard frowned. "Sir, this is a special grade detainee. By regulation, at least two staff officers must remain present during any live questioning session…"
A gloved hand blocked his line of sight.
Kyle had moved without a sound.
"Leave," he repeated.
The second guard stiffened. "This is a violation. I'll report this directly to Internal Affairs…"
Loyi had already crossed to the control panel.
"The highest operational authority in this room belongs to Officer Hodell."
He tapped several keys.
The original monitoring matrix shut down with a sharp little chime.
Then he looked back over his shoulder.
"Right now there is no Internal Affairs Department here. No Legal Department either."
"There's only us."
The guards exchanged a glance and backed off with ugly expressions.
The heavy soundproof door sealed behind them.
A one way acoustic barrier activated with a faint hum.
Now the room truly belonged to Hodell.
He sat down opposite Carlson and did not speak at once.
He only watched.
Watched the trembling fingers.
The darting eyes.
The sweat soaking the collar.
After a few seconds, Carlson cracked first.
"Ryan."
His voice shook, but he forced out something resembling a smile.
"I know who you are. The Empire's rising star. Clever. Very clever."
He licked his lips.
"I admit it. I accepted money. Thirty million from the Obsidian Group. I signed off on certain green channel approvals. I took the bribe. I was negligent. I am guilty of corruption."
He swallowed.
"But I didn't know who they really were. I didn't know anything about the Dark Feather Alliance. I was only greedy. That is all."
His voice grew more urgent.
"If I had known they were harming the Empire, I never would have helped them. Officer Ryan, I was used too. I was tricked too."
Hodell opened the file on the table and turned several pages without hurry.
Then he tapped the final section.
"Enough."
Carlson flinched.
"You're overacting."
Hodell flipped to a photocopy of several approval forms.
"The green channel documents for the Obsidian Group."
He looked up.
"Carlson spent twenty years in the Administrative Affairs Bureau mastering one art above all others. Passing responsibility."
"For a trivial road repair budget, he would drag in three deputy signatures just to dilute future blame."
His finger came down on the lonely signature at the bottom of the page.
"But on these documents, 'you' signed alone."
Carlson's face twitched.
"If you want to accuse someone, you can always fabricate a reason! I want legal counsel!"
Hodell rose.
Then, without warning, he seized Carlson by the head and drove his face into the steel tabletop.
Bang.
Blood ran from Carlson's cheekbone instantly.
"What are you doing?!" Carlson shrieked. "This is illegal torture!"
Hodell let go, took a clean pair of white gloves from his pocket, and pulled them on one finger at a time.
"There are no laws in this room," he said.
Kyle handed him a high frequency oscillation needle. Blue arcs snapped faintly at its tip with a thin, ugly hum.
For the first time, real terror entered Carlson's eyes.
Hodell approached.
Kyle stepped behind the chair, locked Carlson's shoulders down, and exposed the base of his neck.
With a single smooth motion, Hodell drove the needle in.
Zzzzzzz!
Carlson's scream shredded the soundproof room.
His veins bulged. His body jerked so violently the chair itself squealed against its anchors.
"Kill me… just kill me…"
Hodell rotated the needle slightly.
The scream became something far worse.
Once the mind reached a certain threshold of pain, layers of disguise stopped mattering. Self control collapsed. Pretending collapsed. Fear cut directly to the root.
And then Carlson broke.
"Great… Sodrian…"
Tears and saliva ran down his face.
"Grant me… release…"
Hodell's hand stopped.
He pulled the needle free.
Carlson sagged like wet cloth, gasping and babbling incoherently.
Hodell stood very still for a moment.
Then he turned.
"Administer truth serum," he said to Loyi. "His mental defenses are punctured."
But his mind had already moved elsewhere.
Sodrian.
That name stirred something old in his memory.
Not from this life.
From the game.
It sounded familiar. Not like an individual. More like a title. Or something worse.
He narrowed his eyes.
Then the thought locked into place.
Troy.
Sodrian.
Liuli Star.
His expression changed slightly.
So that was it.
This really was a beginner planet.
…..
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