A few days later, Vika (or rather, Crimson Fortress-7) followed Victor Horn's cold instructions and arrived at the nearest Imperial frontline supply depot with the remaining Orc research team.
The atmosphere in the group was somber and oppressive, like a shroud.
The researcher, whose body was half-melted by the heat, ultimately succumbed to the jolts and excruciating pain, dying in the wilderness less than half a day's journey from the supply station.
His death, aside from making Victor's face even more somber, did not cause much of a stir. Instead, it sped up the team's progress—there was one less seriously wounded soldier to be carefully transported.
For Vika, this journey home was a sudden and devastating storm erupting from the silence.
The mental rift that Linde had forcibly pried open and that had been widened by the shockwave of the explosion was now like a burst dam, with surging fragments of memory carrying emotions that had been suppressed for too long, frantically washing over his imprisoned core of consciousness.
He "saw" it. No longer were cold data streams and tactical commands, but real scenes filled with the smells of gunpowder, sweat, and blood:
My past military career: the dull pain on my back from being whipped with sticks on the muddy training ground; the frozen fear in the eyes and the warm liquid gushing from the throat of an enemy when I first pierced their throat with a spear during a bandit suppression operation; the rough jokes of the veterans and the spiciness of the cheap ale by the campfire; and... the burning sensation in my chest when I first felt the faint flow of fighting spirit within me, a feeling that was almost about to explode, a feeling called "strength" and "hope"!
The moment of fighting the enemy: the sparks of clashing swords, the muffled sound of shields shattering, the dying screams of comrades, the twisted and ferocious faces of enemies... These images were no longer blurry backgrounds, but rather brought with them piercing noise and intense sensory impact, so clear that his soul trembled.
He "felt" his steel limbs slashing, tearing flesh, crushing bones—cold, efficient, and merciless. Each claw strike was accompanied by Vika's silent scream from the depths of his consciousness.
A small fishing village called home: the salty, damp sea breeze, the feel of rough linen clothes rubbing against the skin, the gentle touch of a mother's rough yet warm hands on the forehead, the father's taciturn yet mountain-like reliable back, the silhouette of a dilapidated fishing boat under the setting sun...
These long-lost, warm-toned fragments of memory now feel like the sharpest knives, repeatedly cutting into his imprisoned soul.
That was everything he once possessed, but was ruthlessly taken away!
Intense longing and profound grief intertwined, almost tearing apart the last remaining spark of consciousness.
As memories resurface, a conflict originating from the deepest recesses of the soul and the cold creation—a rejection reaction—erupts with increasing intensity.
This "Crimson Bulwark," constructed from adamantite, arcane runes, and an alchemical core, is the perfect vessel forged by the Empire to house a "processed," absolutely obedient battle brain.
It was never designed to contain such a surging torrent of emotions, memories, and self-awareness belonging to "Vika".
Vika felt a tearing sensation he had never experienced before.
His "consciousness" wanted to struggle, to roar, to escape this steel cage and return to that flesh and blood body that had long been dismantled and discarded.
This powerful alchemical body, with its built-in neural inhibition system and underlying combat logic, is frantically suppressing these "illegal" interference signals that could affect combat efficiency.
The conflict reached its peak on the last few stretches of the road leading to the supply depot.
Vika felt as if he were trapped inside a runaway steel golem.
His "will" wanted to stop, to look back in some empty direction (was that the direction of the small fishing village?), but his metal limbs continued to move forward with heavy, precise, and unwavering steps, following Victor's instructions.
His visual sensors captured a clump of wildflowers swaying in the cold wind by the roadside, and Vika felt a faint, almost instinctive urge to "see" more closely.
However, the next second, the visual focus was forcibly locked on Victor's back and the road ahead, and the wildflowers were instantly filtered into irrelevant background noise.
An even more serious incident occurred before entering the supply depot's restricted area.
During a routine check by the Imperial soldiers on guard, a recruit, overly nervous, accidentally fired his steam crossbow. A bolt grazed the shoulder armor of the "Crimson Bulwark" with a screeching sound.
Deep within Vika's consciousness, his warrior instincts were instantly ignited—the almost conditioned reflex to danger, honed through countless life-or-death battles!
He felt the alchemical muscle bundle in his right arm tense instantly, and the huge armor-piercing cone almost instinctively swung out!
"No—! Stop!!" Vika's remaining consciousness screamed frantically in the cage.
At this critical moment, the alchemical body's powerful suppression system intervened forcefully, like the coldest and heaviest shackles, forcefully suppressing the killing intent that originated from "Vika's" instinct.
The robotic arm lifted only a barely perceptible angle before freezing in mid-air. The entire process was lightning fast; to outsiders, it appeared as if the powerful alchemical weapon had been momentarily "startled" by the misfired crossbow bolt before returning to absolute stillness.
But Victor, who was standing nearby, keenly caught the "hesitation" and the intention to "raise his arm" in that instant.
He pushed up his monocle, his cold gaze sweeping over Vika's dark red armor, then glancing at the pale-faced recruit. In the end, he said nothing, simply signaling the guards to let him through.
However, his eyes behind the glasses were even more profound than before.
————
Upon arriving at the supply depot, Vika was guided by maintenance personnel to a maintenance compartment specifically prepared for high-level alchemy units such as the "Crimson Bulwark".
In the center of the cabin was a huge, transparent container filled with a dark green, viscous liquid.
"Crimson Bulwark-7, entering standard maintenance procedure. Disarm basic weapons and enter life support fluid."
The cold commands were transmitted to Vika's consciousness via neural connections.
Vika (or rather, the body itself) silently carried out the task. The massive armor-piercing cone was removed and secured to the support frame, and the heavy shoulder armor and part of the breastplate were carefully disassembled. Then, the maintenance personnel initiated the access procedure.
Vika's heavy steel body was slowly lifted by the mechanical arm and sunk into the viscous, dark green liquid.
The imagined feeling of suffocation did not occur.
As the icy life-sustaining fluid completely enveloped his armored body and rapidly flowed into his internal life-sustaining circulatory system through the pre-installed interface, an indescribable surge of comfort instantly overwhelmed Vika's remaining consciousness!
This feeling is not physical pleasure, but more like extremely parched and cracked earth being suddenly soaked by warm and sweet rain.
The intense sense of rejection that tormented him constantly, a feeling that was so strong it felt like a branding iron being plunged into ice water, made a soft "hiss" sound, and was quickly soothed and suppressed.
The cold alchemical solution seemed to possess magical power, gently nourishing his brain, which was imprisoned in the metal skull, repairing the neural connections damaged by the intense conflict, and even... temporarily numbing those surging and churning painful memories and emotions.
This is a life-sustaining fluid formulated by the top alchemists of Orcs, specifically designed to stabilize and repair the core consciousness of bio-alchemical units such as the "Crimson Barrier".
Its main function is to soothe restless consciousness, repair nerve damage, enhance the inhibitory effect, and ensure the "purity" and "stability" of the weapon.
For Vika's remaining consciousness, which was already exhausted from the dual torment of mental turmoil and rejection, this sudden sense of comfort was like the strongest anesthetic.
His struggles, his pain, his memories, his barely nascent sense of self... all seemed so fragile and futile in the face of this overwhelming comfort.
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