Chapter 13: Twenty Years of Hope and Waiting 5600
The colossal Steel Serpent Siberia watched as Joshua hurled the steel fragment infused with his soul into the space-time gate. It observed all of this in silence, its emotions utterly placid.
Every world is different, and every World Will is different. Some World Wills delight in interfering with the civilizations and races within their bodies, even personally reaching out to help those adorable, fragile mortals—who live and die in the span of a single day like specks of dust—toward prosperity and glory.
Other World Wills take pleasure in tormenting all things. Perhaps they don’t truly intend to be evil; from a certain perspective, they merely poke and prod at their own bodies from time to time, occasionally causing destruction, like a child playing with ants—innocent yet terrifying.
There are benevolent ones, indifferent ones, and naturally, there are evil and heartless ones. World Wills, like intelligent life, come in all sorts of categories.
But Siberia was exceptional. Compared to its more active kin who loved to meddle in worldly affairs, it had no interest in anything. The Steel Serpent, drifting through the void, merely wished to quietly observe the cycle of life and death and sleep peacefully… Yet even this simple desire was always unattainable.
“O Descender from another world,”
The Steel Serpent, which had not rested for a thousand years, watched the slowly dissipating formation and murmured to itself, “I hope you can steer everything back on course… You are the only being in all these years willing to help me.”
Meanwhile, Joshua’s soul was sinking.
Passing through the mist-shrouded space-time gate, he entered the interlayer between the world and the void. The warrior felt himself falling, falling endlessly. The shifting, elusive space-time curtains swayed at his side, and he sensed countless sounds and colors assaulting his senses.
This was the first time Joshua had crossed an unfamiliar world barrier. Normally, due to his familiarity with the Mycroft World, he could traverse such distances in an instant. But in the Siberia World, a peculiar energy barrier caused him to spend what felt like an eternity.
Amid a blur of flowing light and strange energy, the warrior’s soul seemed to hear a ‘voice.’
*Joshua, you call yourself a savior—who exactly do you intend to save?*
*You once said that people don’t need saving; they save themselves. So why do you call yourself a savior?*
The voice was strange, as if it came from deep within his heart, yet also from the void itself. It plucked at every fragile thread of logic in his mind, questioning him back and forth.
Joshua didn’t dwell on the origin of the question. Perhaps it was a doubt buried deep in the warrior’s heart, or perhaps it was a heart demon born from his lifeform’s evolution to such a level. Now, with his body and soul separated, these hidden suspicions surfaced… But none of that mattered. Joshua calmly gave his answer.
Saving the world is an act, and being a savior is an attitude.
To place oneself above the entire world and condescend to save it—that is arrogant and impractical. But helping others avoid destruction merely requires action: to do, to begin.
For Joshua, so-called world-saving was nothing more than doing what needed to be done. Just as a kind-hearted person might give directions to a passerby or help someone about to fall or who has already fallen back to their feet, the warrior’s power had reached a level where his goodwill could accomplish such things—no lofty title was needed.
He called himself a savior only to state a fact. But from start to finish, Joshua was a warrior, and nothing more.
The shifting space-time curtains vanished.
The azure-violet steel fragment fell from the highest reaches of the world, breaking through layers of clouds toward a diamond-shaped continent. Below, the continent was barren, with only scattered green dots across every corner. At the continent’s center, a cluster of rising and falling steel structures rumbled with activity. In their midst, a towering spiral spire, piercing the clouds, stood at the world’s core.
[What am I? What am I doing? Who am I?]
[Work Log, Day 3739: A few days ago, I stripped naked and doused myself with cold water. My head started to heat up—this is what the books call a cold. A Soul Puppet entered the workshop and took me away. For the first time, I left the maintenance corridor. It took me to the medical area, where more expressionless people were. They diagnosed me, gave me medicine, and injected me with something. I took the chance to observe my surroundings… As I was being injected, another child was brought in by a Soul Puppet. It led her to the operating room at the back… The puppet came out holding two boxes, but the child wasn’t there. The puppet placed one box on a cabinet nearby. I saw that the cabinet was full of similar boxes, labeled… ‘Superhuman Unit’? Something like that.
Back in the workshop, I noticed my Soul Core’s capacity had increased by one. I think I understand. I’m surprisingly calm—I thought I’d go mad, but am I not already mad? Haha.]
[Work Log, Day 4000: A round number. I’m starting to pull myself out of my slump. After all, I’m still alive, and being alive means hope. No matter how lonely or boring, I’m better off than those civilians in the farming zones or the children sent to the operating room. Good grief, I’m actually starting to feel superior—compared to ignorant farmers and harvested crops, a mad maintenance worker naturally feels above them, doesn’t he?]
[Work Log, Day 4123: Today’s worth noting. For the first time, more than 15 Soul Puppets came in for repairs—a record. These big lugs were covered in battle damage: puncture wounds, shattered parts, and over seven Soul Cores destroyed… Someone is fighting these things and actually destroying them! To me, this is the greatest encouragement. I don’t know if these people will come, but I’ll wait. Hope and waiting—that’s my creed for maintaining sanity in this endless solitude.]
[Day 4779: The maintenance worker from Workshop No. 5 next door was taken away by a Soul Puppet. Wrinkles had appeared on his face, and his hands were starting to tremble. He was sent to the medical area, and another Soul Core was added. I stared at the patrolling Soul Puppets for a long time… Beneath that familiar steel shell, is there a familiar soul hidden?]
The handwriting trembled, as if from fear or anger, but more likely from confusion. The diary’s owner seemed unsure of what to do himself, until the next entry appeared.
[Day 5000: Another round number. I’ve grown used to loneliness. I’ve learned to empty my mind, just like those blank-faced people. Through several puppet patrols, I’ve explored most of the Garden Zone. I now have a rough idea of what kind of environment I’m in.
The Garden Zone is surrounded by vast farming zones. Every day, new children are brought here. I’m in the innermost part of the Garden Zone, where all severely damaged puppets are sent for repair or disassembly… If the farming zones are farms for growing the wheat and bread we eat, then the Garden Zone is a farm for cultivating ‘Soul Cores.’
If so, whose wheat and bread are we?
At least, I believe my waiting has value. I’m gradually uncovering the truth of our world… Though I can’t awaken others, this record must have meaning. We have writing, books, the ability to create Soul Puppets, and to build vast farms. We couldn’t have been born as puppets who only know how to work and sleep… Someone turned us into this, and I will remember it all.]
After that, no more entries appeared. A long stretch of blank pages followed, turning cleanly until the diary’s final page abruptly bore a massive number.
[10000 Days]
[Twenty years. It’s been twenty years since I awakened. The time has been so long that I’ve forgotten my original thoughts. Luckily, I found my diary and recalled the past.
I’m old now. Wrinkles have appeared on my face, just like the worker from Workshop No. 5. My hands haven’t started trembling yet, but they will soon. Though it might be my imagination, I feel like those Soul Puppets are watching me. Before long, they’ll probably take me to the medical room and turn me into a Soul Core too.
My unawakened compatriots—at first, I was surprised, afraid, and scornful of them. Later, I looked down on them, ignored them. I thought I was different, that I could change things. But I’ve realized I’m no different from them. I’ve endured even more loneliness and pain, yet I still live the same life. But so what? They and I are the same. I only gained self-awareness through a lucky soul shock—that’s all. And I write these words only to prove my existence.
I pity them, just as I pity my own fate. I’ve thought for twenty years, and my conclusion is this: as long as hope exists, I exist. I won’t go mad, but I don’t have another twenty years to wait.
The fighting outside continues. Broken puppets keep pouring in for repairs. Because of this, I still hold onto hope. I know that one day, a Soul Puppet will come and take me away, turning me into a Soul Core. But I won’t let them. They will never succeed.
I would rather die with a hope strong enough to kill than endure a single second of peaceful despair.
I choose death. I should have chosen it long ago. Sweet death, freeing me from the cage of despair—this is the only freedom left to me in this prison called the Garden.
The maintenance worker no longer maintains his own mind. This is the last day’s work log.]
Blood dripped.
Thick blood began to congeal. The figure of a middle-aged man, starting to age, could be seen slumped over the workbench.
He had regular features and a sturdy build, kept fit by years of maintenance work. His hair was graying and thinning. He wore a gray maintenance uniform. In his left hand, he held a welding torch; his right hand hung at his side, fingers slightly curled. On the floor, a pen lay in a pool of blood.
In his final moment, the man had used the welding torch—capable of fusing alloys—to shoot himself through the head.
This was the death he chose. Free.
At the same time, a flash of azure-violet light streaked through, ignoring all barriers as it plunged straight into this small maintenance room.
A dazzling silver radiance swept across everything. The steel fragment began selecting its host. A low hum resonated from every corner of the space, causing the Soul Puppets throughout the Garden Zone to turn and stir, searching for a target.
But then, the hum abruptly ceased. The Soul Puppets, finding no target, retreated to their posts… Yet if anyone could perceive the soul world, they would have heard a deep, clear boom—like something snapping into place, fully seated. And in the next instant, an unparalleled pressure swept across the entire Garden Zone and even the farming zones, dimming all light for a moment.
In the small maintenance room, everything seemed unchanged.
But suddenly, the dim eyes of a damaged Soul Puppet on the workbench flickered. A streak of silver mixed with azure-violet light coursed through its entire body.
“Unit SNOVA-21 Harvest-type restarting. Core ready. Unknown energy source detected… Soul Armor restart successful.”
A voice devoid of emotion came from within, but it gradually shifted, finally becoming a low male voice: “Finding the most suitable vessel matching the original lifeform. Beginning possession. Beginning assimilation. Loading Steel Fragment plugin. Beginning soul infusion…”
“Descent complete.”