There are three universal types of stubbornness in this world.
The first is the classic, “Oh, I totally meant to pick C!” when checking exam answers.
The second is the defensive, “I’m just not in the zone tonight,” muttered by an exhausted thirty-year-old man in the dark.
The third?
The desperate death throes of Crownslayer after having her entire facade completely dismantled yet again.
“Don’t worry, I’m not usually like this…” The Doctor wasn’t the least bit nervous; he was actually trying to salvage his own image.
Crownslayer glared at him, radiating a suffocating murderous intent for what felt like an eternity.
But after realizing that the man’s combat awareness was so abysmally low that he couldn’t even detect a precursor to an attack, she finally gave up on maintaining her cold, edgy persona.
“…I will judge for myself,” Lyudmila finally answered, her tone yielding, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.
“I will use my own eyes to judge your stance, rather than your words.
If I don’t get the answer I want, I will become your Sword of Damocles.”
‘A Sword of Damocles should at least have a Weight level of five, right?’ the Doctor retorted inwardly.
A flood of Crownslayer bully-strat memes and shift-mechanic jokes flowed through his rabbit-eared brain like a rushing river.
But looking down at the Lupo’s hesitant yet fiercely determined expression, he swallowed those buzzkill numerical jokes.
Lyudmila waited nervously for his response.
She was far too familiar with sarcasm and ignorance.
The man standing before her had every right to scoff at her naive declaration.
Instead, in the dim lighting of the contact station, the faint fluorescent glow from the terminal illuminated the young man’s profile.
His smile was genuine—gentle, warm, and surprisingly encouraging.
“Sure.
Although your health bar is a bit thin and your single-target control DPS is severely lacking…”
She didn’t understand that bizarre string of words, but she perfectly understood what came next.
The Doctor’s voice carried a heavy, expectant weight.
“—But if one day, I decide to make an enemy of the whole world, I hope it is a brave Lupo who comes to take my head.
I hope she can look me in the eye and tell me she found a better path than mine.”
Crownslayer froze in place.
The man spoke with such eager certainty, his dark eyes gazing forward as if he had already witnessed the future unfold.
“Don’t let me down, Miss Lyudmila.”
He waved his hand dismissively and sauntered out of the room.
Crownslayer stood there alone, half her face bathed in the warm glow, completely at a loss.
Did he…
see something she didn’t?
“Yes, I saw it with my own eyes!
That mysterious hooded figure was slaughtering everyone in his path.
He was so handsome and dashing, with a stoic, mature face that would make countless young girls’ hearts race!”
The Doctor popped the cap off another bottle of cheap malt worm beer, clinked glasses with a passing Reunion grunt, and gestured wildly with his free hand.
“He just waved his hand—like this!—and in an instant, the very world changed color.
His terrifying Originium Arts met our boss’s fire rain head-on and completely diluted it!”
“Whoa—!” the surrounding crowd of largely illiterate Reunion members exclaimed in unison, their eyes wide.
“This Doctor guy really is a total badass!”
“Hold on a second…
how could you see his face if he was wearing a hood?” A drunken sniper stumbled over, sloshing his drink as he tried to poke a logical hole through the story with his alcohol-addled brain.
“Uh…
because that’s my Originium Arts!
Clairvoyance!” The white-haired young man flashed a pure, entirely harmless smile and pointed directly at the sniper’s waistline.
“If you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it right now!
Your underwear is red!”
“Holy crap!
It’s true!” The drunk sniper yanked his waistband down to check, staring in absolute shock and awe.
“What terrifyingly powerful Originium Arts!”
“Clap, clap, clap!” The group of drunkards erupted into thunderous applause, cheering excitedly.
“Amazing!
Incredible!”
The Doctor stared at the exposed edge of the man’s red underwear, biting the inside of his cheek to fight the overwhelming urge to pound the table and laugh hysterically.
When it came to pulling off stupid stunts, the Reunion Movement really took the cake.
Just as he was leaning in to intently educate the crowd on the unofficial lore of how “Theresis’s womb is actually his ultimate hidden weapon,” he noticed someone lingering at the edge of the group.
It was an excessively thin, small Infected.
He was clutching a heavy grenade launcher that was practically taller than he was, his face completely obscured by a tactical mask.
The Doctor made a quick deduction in his heart.
‘…Is your name Skullshatterer?’
“Sir, you remembered my name?”
In the game, Skullshatterer was a terrifying boss who could casually one-shot high-ground operators.
But in reality?
He was just a child who barely reached the Doctor’s knees.
He stood there looking shy and timid, showing absolutely none of the rabid hatred and madness he usually harbored toward the non-Infected.
In the original storyline, many Doctors who aggressively skipped the cutscenes never understood why they had to fight Skullshatterer twice.
The reality was a tragedy: the second ‘Skullshatterer’ was actually Misha, the girl the Doctor had painstakingly tried to persuade.
The brutal death of her younger brother, Alex, was the catalyst that completely pushed her into the arms of Reunion.
In canon, his death was a tragic mixture of Amiya’s mistake and W’s behind-the-scenes instigation.
But this time, the Doctor’s speedrun through Chernobog had been far too fast.
W had completely failed to exchange intelligence with the death-seeking Scout, making her the slowest to react among the Reunion leaders.
Right now, that Sarkaz mercenary was probably still shocked, angry, and running around blindly like a headless Liberi.
He couldn’t let this opportunity slip by.
How could he let such a young, impressionable child miss out on coming to Rhodes Island to be a sniper—or rather, to receive proper Oripathy treatment?
The Doctor adjusted his posture, smoothly switching back into his infamous ‘Rhodes Island Succubus Mode.’ He flashed the gentle, disarming smile of a reliable older brother.
“Of course I remember.
Do you want to pull up a seat next to me?
You look an awful lot like a child I met back in Lungmen.”
“You know my sister?!” Skullshatterer’s eyes practically lit up behind his mask.
He grabbed a small stool and shuffled over in quick, eager steps.
“I’m not entirely sure if it’s your sister.
Can you tell me what kind of person she is?” The Doctor rubbed his temples, feigning a troubled, thoughtful expression.
“Of course!
Thank you so much, Mr.
Scholar!” Skullshatterer beamed, his gaze brimming with absolute gratitude.
[Rhodes’s Note:
Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?
(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!
to use the links!)