"Your nerves have been eroded by the Armor of Original Sin by 47%. Although it hasn’t reached the critical threshold, the damage to your nerves is too deep. After treatnt, the erosion level should decrease sowhat, but only slightly."
"So, this erosion is irreversible, right?"
Galahad’s expression changed for the first ti, but only for a mont; he then returned to his indifferent deanor.
The Armor of Original Sin is a secret weapon of the Perpetual Motion Pump. No one knows how this group of lunatics managed to create it. It possesses demonic traits, but unlike demons, it can be controlled by humans.
However, like a double-edged sword, humans using it bear the sa erosion as fighting against demons.
"Indeed, contact with demons results in contamination, and this bizarre contamination will erode us. The erosion level gradually subsides once the contamination source is removed. But for people like you who are in contact for too long, the erosion level can only decrease slowly or even rise. If it breaks the critical threshold... you will begin demonization, and once it reaches 100%, you will beco a demon."
This is sothing every person of the Purification chanism knows, but saying it at this ti makes it oddly cruel; the ones fighting demons eventually beco demons themselves.
"But don’t worry, I’ll suggest to Arthur to transfer you away. You’re not suited for frontline work anymore, Galahad."
Seemingly reminded of his long-lost holand, Nikola continued.
"Do you need to organize your retirent life? You can co to my hotown. Although it’s a bit far from Ingwig, the weather there is sunny; it’s a pretty good place for retirent."
Holand?
Galahad was slightly startled. Knowing Nikola for so long, he had never heard of Nikola’s hotown. This guy was a foreign student from a small place and had caused a blackout in the entire Royal College of chanical Engineering during his first sester due to his inventions.
He wasn’t penalized. A researcher from the chanical Institute was working part-ti as director there, recognized Nikola’s talents, and brought him into the chanical Institute.
A madman entering a madman’s paradise, and thus rose rapidly to where he is now. In Galahad’s view, Nikola’s life is all about inventions and explosions.
"Yes, my hotown. If I hadn’t heard Old Dunling is the most advanced place in the world back then, I wouldn’t have wanted to leave my hotown."
"Leaving your hotown... it sounds really heavy. Why did you co here?"
"For science."
"Science?"
"Yes, science, Galahad. You are rely a brute. I’ve seen your university report card; your chanical studies are simply abysmal."
Geniuses are always like this, casually ridiculing mortals in their conversations.
"Whether it’s a regi or so exquisite sword skill, their impact on the world is only so slight; only a few generations. But science is different.
Every single person in the world directly or indirectly benefits from the convenience brought by technology. This isn’t sothing ideas or brute force can achieve, so those who truly change the world aren’t politicians or warriors; those who truly change the world are scientists."
Lack of sleep had dulled the gaze, yet it now sparkled; it was hard to believe that Galahad saw sothing akin to an ideal in this madman’s eyes.
"So Galahad, no matter what decision Arthur makes, don’t resist. Continuing will only make you beco a demon, and your impact on this world will be negligible."
As if he were advising.
"... What did I do after I lost consciousness?"
Ignoring Nikola’s words, after a brief mont of daze, Galahad lowered his head slightly to look at his body soaked in pale green fluid. He lost control, but he was still alive. Galahad still rembered the powerful feeling after donning the armor; logically he should have been eroded to death by the armor, but now he survived... soone subdued him.
"You nearly killed Bluebird and Bola, then withstood the smoothbore artillery and high voltage current, and almost killed ."
Nikola analyzed the battle situation at that ti, his sickly face devoid of any expression, possibly long-term insomnia had damaged his facial nerves.
"The thirty kilograms of bullet head only caused you to pause slightly. Even lethal rcury vapor couldn’t subdue you. And thank your loss of control, apart from Lancelot’s Armor of Original Sin, the other Armor of Original Sin needs readjustnt; I don’t want to recover you guys a second ti."
Lancelot.
The familiar na rang out once more, and Galahad felt indescribable.
"Can that fellow master the armor?"
It was a nightmare experience, even for familiar colleagues; to stand firm amidst such terror made Galahad feel a wave of unfamiliarity.
"That guy is practically born for the armor. All of you Knight Commanders are people with specialized nerves, able to withstand demon’s will erosion longer than ordinary people, even ignoring most erosions, but Lancelot is the best among all of you."
Nikola recalled the first experint, Lancelot as the test driver, completely wrapped in the Armor of Original Sin, didn’t lose control, not even an emotional fluctuation; absolute rationality, like a cold machine.
Following Nikola’s instructions, he completed all high-difficulty maneuvers, cold and efficient, absolutely obedient to orders. For this, Arthur conducted a separate test on him, which Lancelot passed with full marks.
"You know the special nature of the Armor of Original Sin too. Our Perpetual Motion Pump took so many years to create the first batch of finished products. Every ti we deploy them requires Arthur’s approval, while Lancelot directly appointed by Arthur can carry the Armor of Original Sin autonomously."
"Alright, don’t think too much now. You need rest; the residuals of the Armor of Original Sin within your body need to be purified. Sleep."
Seemingly tired of the conversation, Nikola didn’t give Galahad any chance to speak further and pressed a side switch, new gases flooded into Galahad’s trachea through the breathing mask. Within seconds, Galahad’s consciousness plunged back into darkness, sunk into deep sleep within the container.
Watching the sleeping face, Nikola’s expression gradually grew solemn, he walked around to the back of the container, from the semi-transparent container wall you could see Galahad’s body.
The back was eerily gray, most of the flesh seemingly necrotic, gradually decomposing under the pale green liquid, tiny tumors peeling off, the trauma worse than Nikola described.
"The parts assimilated with the Armor of Original Sin have been removed; according to the nerve fluctuations during the conversation, Galahad’s erosion level is very stable."
An assistant ca over, having been recording data from the dark corner since Galahad awoke.
"It’s really severe..."
Nikola well understood what the Armor of Original Sin was made of; being assimilated by such a thing was rather local demonization. But fortunately, they rescued Galahad; otherwise, what awaited him would be the incinerator of the Perpetual Motion Pump.
"Submit the report to Arthur. How to handle Galahad next will be up to him."
As Nikola spoke, he signed his na on the report. After completing the first part, he seed to have forgotten sothing; he paused and rummaged through his pockets for a long ti until he finally found his na badge. No wonder Bola said this place is a group of lunatics, so happy that this group of lunatics can’t even rember their own nas.
He lifted the pen but halted in mid-air, froze in place like a statue, staring at the figure in the container.
After stepping out from the front line, Galahad would inevitably never be able to enter the battlefield again. Although most of his emotional intelligence had been exchanged for intellectual intelligence, Nikola well knew this was a blow to Galahad, and part of it was his fault; if not for his experints, perhaps Galahad would be okay.
As if comforting himself, and to comfort Galahad, he whispered.
"Thus one person can’t change anything about the world, but I am different, Galahad.
I am a scientist, destined to change the world."
As those words fell, several ters thick electric light streaked across the steel do, the electric light brightened the dark corner and cast Nikola’s face in a ghostly pale hue.
Thousands of cables coil around, as if a mysterious ceremony, occasionally brightened by electrical flashes and thunderous sounds, as if divinity descended.
All the staff halted, not for a break but waiting for Nikola. All preparations for the experint were completed, now just waiting for Nikola to start everything.
After a final glance at the sleeping Galahad in the container, Nikola handed the signed report to the assistant beside him; beneath a tangled ss of data, there was a line of scrawled handwriting.
Nikola Tesla.
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