Linde's mental energy sank into a cold, viscous deep sea. His consciousness was instantly pulled away from the cold order of the steel sky and fell into a broken, chaotic dream fragment, carrying the salty sea breeze and the atmosphere of despair.

Dream:

The wind was salty, carrying the smell of rotting seaweed and the fishy odor of the catch.

The crashing sound of waves against the rocks is the eternal background noise.

This is a typical small fishing village on the border of the Sass Empire. The houses are low and mostly made of rough stones and dried mud bricks, with thick seaweed covering the roofs.

The air was filled with an atmosphere of poverty yet resilience.

Linde's "perspective" is centered on a boy—Vika.

He was surrounded by several respected elders in the village. Their rough hands patted his thin but already showing strength shoulders, and their cloudy eyes held a complex emotion that mixed envy, expectation and a trace of barely perceptible pity.

"Vika, good lad! You've been chosen by the Earl! You're going to the city to serve in the army and live off the government!"

"Bring honor to our village! If you become successful in the future, don't forget your roots!"

"Once you get to the military camp, be smart, listen to your superiors, and hone your skills!"

Young Vika's face was tanned and rough by the sea breeze and sun, but his eyes shone brightly, filled with longing for the unknown world and a desire to escape poverty.

He straightened his back, nodded vigorously, his chest heaving as if embracing the bright future.

He bid farewell to his taciturn, tearful parents, to the familiar beaches and fishing boats, and embarked on his journey to the inland earldom.

The dream flowed by quickly, like a faded film reel.

Military camp: cold stone barracks, rigorous training that borders on cruelty, sweat, mud, sticks, and scolding.

With her indomitable spirit and innate wit, Vika struggled through the mud, breaking through her limits time and time again.

He learned to grip the rough wooden spear, to charge to the sound of bugles, and to fill his stomach with coarse flatbread by the campfire.

Scars are medals, fatigue is the norm, but the light in his eyes has never been extinguished—he is getting closer and closer to the "glorious" dream of being a soldier.

He made a contribution, was promoted, received a simple epaulet symbolizing a minor leader, and even awakened a faint seed of fighting spirit, reaching the threshold of a silver-level warrior.

He thought he had found the meaning of life.

Turning point: The scene freezes on a dimly lit count's study.

The elderly count's face was hidden in the shadows, his voice carrying an undeniable authority and... a hint of barely perceptible weariness.

“Vika, I have witnessed your loyalty and potential. Now, the Empire needs you, needs you to carry out a more noble and secretive mission. Go to the capital and participate in the ‘Bastion Project.’ This is the Empire’s top secret; it is both an honor and a responsibility. Your family will receive the best care.”

A transfer order bearing the bright red imperial eagle emblem was pushed in front of Vika.

The boy felt only excitement at being trusted and a vague longing for a "noble mission," with zero awareness of political conspiracies.

Without hesitation, he knelt on one knee, his voice booming: "For the Empire! Vika would die a thousand deaths!"

Abyss: The scene suddenly changes.

Cold white.

The pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with the strange odor of corroded metal.

This is no longer a military camp, but a place filled with cold equipment, flashing indicator lights, and researchers in white sterile gowns with expressionless faces.

"Border Project" laboratory.

The light in Vika's eyes was gradually and cruelly extinguished here.

Stripped: He was strapped to a cold metal bed and unable to move.

A helmet-like device was attached to the head, with sharp probes piercing the temples.

Intense, soul-tearing pain struck, not physically, but as if memories were being forcibly extracted and emotions were being brutally stripped away.

He saw his mother's figure waving goodbye at the village entrance shatter before his eyes; he heard his father's silent sigh turn into a piercing noise; he felt the surge of passion in his chest when he first performed meritorious service instantly freeze into ice...

They were sucked away from consciousness like quicksand, leaving behind a huge, empty panic.

Reshaping: Then comes the even more terrifying "gift".

The cold liquid was injected into the blood vessels, bringing a burning pain and a false sense of power.

The skeleton was replaced with a reinforced alloy, emitting a teeth-grinding grinding sound.

The nerves were forcibly connected to cold metal wires, and each test was accompanied by electric shock-like spasms and uncontrollable howls (but soon, even the ability to howl was suppressed).

He felt like a piece of stubborn iron, being repeatedly forged, quenched, and twisted, just to be molded into a shape that conforms to the blueprint.

Core: The deepest nightmare has arrived.

Under the enormous, insect-eye-like operating light, the chest cavity was opened by cold instruments.

Vika watched in horror as her heart beat in her field of vision before being carefully moved away.

Instead, an alchemical core, shimmering with a cold light and covered with intricate pipes and runes, was implanted.

Next came the head... The excruciating pain reached its peak, and consciousness seemed to be ripped from the body, hovering above the cold operating table.

He "saw" his own brain—the organ that carried all of Vika's memories, emotions, and dreams—being carefully removed and soaked in a pale green, luminous nutrient solution, with countless hair-thin neural probes and arcane wires connecting to it.

Then, the organ that carried his "existence" was slowly placed into a cold metal cranial cavity filled with interfaces and coolant.

The field of vision was instantly switched to a cold sensor screen, where countless streams of data washed over the remaining fragments of consciousness like a waterfall.

Vika disappeared.

A cold, synthesized electronic voice resonated within the metal skull:

[Consciousness transfer complete. Unit: Crimson Bulwark-7, initialization initiated...]

Linde's mental power was like a ghost, traversing through these fragments of memory composed of pain, stripping away, and despair.

He "heard" Vika's silent cry and felt the trembling of the soul that had been forcibly stripped of its emotions and imprisoned in a steel cage.

The sense of fragmentation in each scene and the cold touch of each renovation are clearly conveyed.

He understood.

The Crimson Bulwark is not a pure construct.

It was a weapon that the empire "forged" from the living, breathing young Vika using the cruelest alchemy.

A "sword" that has erased humanity, leaving only fighting instincts and absolute obedience to orders.

What the Empire needs is not soldiers like Vika, but a powerful, efficient, unquestioning, fearless, and tireless war machine.

Vika gave everything—his life, his emotions, his memories, his very existence as a "human being"—and in return, all he received was a cold number and eternal confinement.