Of Steel and Roses: Silver-Haired Loli on a Rampage Chapter 49: Existential Crisis? Only the Living Have the Rig

No, that's not right. It shouldn't be like this.

Pavela tried to force her hands to clench, but she still couldn't stop her trembling.

This question was like a black hole, swallowing all her thoughts—

--【Warning: Intense host emotional fluctuations detected】--

--【Heart rate increased to 112 bpm, abnormal adrenaline levels】--

--【Suggestion: Initiate forced sedation to stabilize host's ntal state】--

Pavela froze for a mont.

Then, an inexplicable irritation welled up in her heart.

You motherf—

--【Forced sedation ready. Execute?】--

"No."

Pavela responded coldly in her mind.

--host rejection of suggestion detected. Based on current ntal state assessnt, strongly suggest—】--

"I said, I—don't—need—it!"

Her thoughts beca sharp, like a blade cutting through those annoying notification sounds.

"I don't need you to tell how to think or how to feel."

--【...】--

--host feedback recorded. Forced sedation canceled.】--

The voice disappeared.

Pavela took a deep breath.

Strangely, having been interrupted like that, she actually cald down.

That ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) black hole that was swallowing her... didn't seem so terrifying anymore.

She clenched her trembling fingers again, successfully forcing her thoughts back from the edge of that abyss.

What exactly am "I"?

She couldn't find an answer.

But she knew one thing.

If she couldn't answer this question now.

Then she shouldn't be thinking about it now.

On the battlefield, she had seen too many people die because of "thinking."

Not from an enemy's bullet, but from the unsolvable questions in their own heads.

If a soldier starts thinking about "why am I killing" or "what is the aning of this war," they are generally not far from death.

Existential crises are a luxury.

Only the living are qualified to think about "who am I."

The dead don't have to think about anything.

Therefore, she must survive first.

First learn to control her power, first figure out the rules of this world, first ensure she won't blow herself to pieces during the next loss of control.

As for the question of "who am I"...

She would think about it slowly when she had the ti.

Regardless of the answer, the "Pavela" sitting here now had to keep living.

Her hands stopped trembling.

Her breathing returned to a steady pace.

When she looked up again, the confusion in her eyes had receded, replaced by a calm, almost cold clarity.

"..."

Margaret looked at the silver-haired girl before her.

She had originally prepared a whole speech.

About the dilemma of self-identity.

About the existential crisis that a Wayfarer must face.

About how to maintain a stable core amidst constant "death" and "rebirth."

She had said these words to Frederick, to Reinhardt, and to Alicia.

Every Wayfarer experiences such wavering when they realize they are being "eroded" by The Way Back.

So take days to co out of it, so take weeks, but most...

Never co out of it.

But Pavela only took less than thirty seconds.

Margaret watched those eyes turn from confused to clear, watched the calm expression reappear on that pale face, and watched those trembling hands stabilize.

Her eyebrows arched slightly.

This wasn't "suppression."

A suppressed person would appear rigid and tense, like a taut string that could snap at any mont.

This wasn't "evasion" either.

An evading person would change the subject, using anger or jokes to mask their inner fear.

Pavela's state was more like...

"Shelving."

She had packaged the problem whole, placed it in a corner of her consciousness, and then continued moving forward.

It wasn't pretending the problem didn't exist, but rather acknowledging its existence while actively choosing not to deal with it for the ti being.

This was an extrely mature psychological defense chanism.

Too mature.

A fifteen-year-old girl shouldn't possess this level of emotional managent capability.

Even if she had been on the battlefield.

"I have a question."

Pavela's voice interrupted Margaret's thoughts.

The silver-haired girl in front of her had completely recovered and was now looking directly into her eyes.

"Go ahead."

"Why are you so insistent on joining this special project?"

Margaret raised an eyebrow, signaling her to continue.

"I an..."

Pavela weighed her words, "If it's just to teach how to control my power, you could do that anywhere else. Private guidance, secret training, anything. Why must you get into the academy, into this project?"

Margaret didn't answer directly.

She leaned back in her chair, observing the young girl before her with a scrutinizing gaze.

"You just went through an existential crisis."

She said, "Most people in that state would either break down, run away, or take days or even weeks to barely recover."

"But you pulled yourself back in less than thirty seconds."

"Then, you didn't dwell on the fear just now, nor did you press for more questions about'self.' Instead, you jumped straight to the next topic—a more practical one regarding an exchange of interests."

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

"This kind of ntal strength is praiseworthy; I've rarely seen it even in mature Ferryn."

Pavela didn't respond.

She just waited quietly for Margaret to answer her question.

This silence was a response in itself.

She wouldn't be distracted by praise, nor would she lower her guard because of it.

Margaret's smile deepened.

"What do you think?"

She asked back, "Why do you think I want to get you into this project?"

Pavela was silent for a few seconds.

"Because you need to do sothing."

Her voice was calm, "This isn't simple 'teaching'—you're making an investnt."

Margaret laughed.

It was a genuine, heartfelt laugh that made her look less like a Major General and more like a child who had discovered an interesting toy.

"Smart."

She adjusted her sitting position, folding her hands over her stomach.

"You're right. I do need you to do so things, things in the future. But that's not for us to talk about now."

"Why?"

"Because you are too weak right now."

Margaret's tone was rciless, "A Sequence V Destroyer sounds impressive, but in reality? Right now, you can't even control your own power; the mont you lose control, you turn into a beast that only knows destruction. In this state, you have no value to ."

Pavela didn't argue, because it was the truth.

"I'm getting you into the academy to give you a safe environnt to learn control."

Margaret continued, "The academy's immunity can block the Imperial Security Bureau's investigations, the project's resources can accelerate your growth, and I..."

She pointed to herself.

"I can ensure that you don't blow up half the academy when you lose control."

"Sounds like raising Gu," Pavela remarked.

"Pretty much."

Margaret admitted without hesitation, "Though the Gu I raise all live quite well. At least longer than the wild ones."

She jerked her chin toward the side door.

"Frederick, Reinhardt, Alicia—they were all 'raised' by . Three Ferryn; out there, any one of them could cause major chaos. But here with , they are students, companions, and..."

She paused, seemingly searching for the right words.

"A group of monsters who haven't gone completely mad yet."

Pavela was silent for a while.

"So you're teaching so that I'll work for you in the future."

"Yes."

"What if I refuse?"

"You won't refuse."

Margaret's tone was annoyingly certain, "Because you have no other choice."

"Pavela, let tell you a cruel fact: for a wild Wayfarer like you, there are only three endings: being swallowed by your own power, being eliminated as a danger by others, or..."

She reached out and lightly patted Pavela's head.

"Finding a sufficiently powerful backer, learning to control it, and then surviving."

"I think I can think about it before choosing."

"But you've already chosen," Margaret's mouth curled into a smile, "from the mont you stepped through that door."