CHAPTER 256: QUESTIONING

In the Outer Region, the highest level of power a kingdom could attain was that of a Rank 4 Practitioner. Rank 5s—like the Wandering Merchant—were rare visitors, showing up only for business or to revisit the lands of their birth, chasing the ghosts of old memories.

The reason for that ceiling was simple yet absolute: resource scarcity. Even entire races, ruling over their own territories, lacked the materials needed to push beyond.

Advancing as a Practitioner required far more than talent. It demanded access to rare Sparks and a near-endless supply of energy resources that most kingdoms simply couldn’t provide.

And for someone like Adyr, that meant an ordinary kingdom would never be enough.

While the Midlands were home to vast empires built upon the cooperation of many races, the Outer Region had only one remotely comparable case: Pacthold. That was where Selina and the others operated. But even Pacthold wasn’t a true empire—it was more of a fragile alliance, a patchwork of races sharing land while maintaining separate leadership. Shared territory, yes—but fractured authority.

What Adyr envisioned was something entirely different: a unified empire forged under one ruler, with subordinate kingdoms tied together through loyalty and domination.

The first was already forming—Velari, where his influence had taken root. The second would be Aqualeth, where his dealings with Maruun Aqua in the marketplace had begun to lay the groundwork.

And as his power grew, piece by piece, the idea of building an empire in the Outer Region no longer felt like fantasy. It felt inevitable.

"An empire..."

It wasn’t just the STF soldiers, hardened by war and blood, or the Players, constantly discovering new fragments of this new world, who were shaken by his ambition.

Even the researchers—and more notably, the Twelve City Managers—sat in stunned silence, visibly affected.

One of them, an old man whose body trembled not from age but sheer excitement, leaned forward. His voice crackled through every speaker in the room, deep and brittle:

"I’m already a fragile leaf... just waiting to fall."

He paused to steady his breath, fingers clutching the edge of his wheelchair as if anchoring himself to the moment.

"But this ambition of yours... it makes me want to hold on. Just a few more years. Just long enough to see it begin."

It wasn’t a metaphor. It wasn’t a figure of speech. Everyone could hear it in his voice—he meant it.

A lifetime spent trying to hold together a crumbling world... and now, the chance to witness a new era. The idea of humanity rising again on new soil was enough to fill the hollow spaces in the hearts of all twelve City Managers.

Adyr watched their reactions, steady and assured. "So, I take it there’s no issue with accepting my proposals."

"No objection," the twelve City Managers replied in unison, as if the question had merely been a formality—one they had already answered in their hearts.

The moment their voices echoed through the chamber, a subtle shift occurred. A new energy pulsed through the room, silent yet tangible, weaving itself into every breath, lifting every spirit it touched.

Two hundred and fifteen years ago, twelve men and women had emerged from the ashes of nuclear war—guided by vision, driven by discipline. With clarity and resolve, they built the Twelve Cities—restoring order, rebuilding hope, and lifting humanity back onto its feet.

Now, more than two centuries later, one man stood before them with a dream no less daring. Yet his playground was not just a shattered world—it was the world beyond.

Of course, there were doubts. There always were.

But doubt alone was never enough to stop those who had already started to believe.

After that, Adyr proposed a few more structural suggestions—each met with unanimous approval, not a single voice raised in doubt. He then opened the floor to questions and insights, letting the sharpest minds in the room contribute. Bit by bit, the foundation of the new order took shape. Every word, every shared idea, polished the architecture of what was to come.

A few hours later, the session came to a close. One by one, the attendees were dismissed to begin immediate preparations.

Only Adyr and the Twelve City Managers remained.

Even their personal aides had stepped out, leaving the room sealed—silent, shielded from eyes and ears alike.

Adyr walked to the edge of the raised stage and sat on its rim, one knee bent, the other leg dangling slightly. From above, his eyes swept over the twelve City Managers seated below, their aged faces turned up toward him.

"I have a few questions for you," he said calmly.

One of the men—City Manager of Shelter City 9—responded first. His voice was raspy, and his pale eyes peered into Adyr’s with a weariness that came from years of seeing too much.

"I know what you’re going to ask. And I’ll be honest with you—we can’t give you answers to everything. In some ways, we’re just as blind as you are. But we’ll share what we can. That much, we owe you."

He stroked the end of his long white beard, the gesture absent-minded but grounded in thought.

Adyr nodded. He had expected as much. These men and women were powerful, but they were still pieces on someone else’s board.

"Let’s start from the beginning, then. How and when did you first meet the Mad Scientist? And what exactly do you know about his identity?"

There was a pause—a silence laced with hesitation.

Finally, one of the older women leaned forward and spoke. Her voice trembled with age but held clarity.

"He was known by that nickname—Mad Scientist—even before the nuclear war. Back in the old world, he was famous for his research and inventions. A pioneer in several fields. But after the war... he vanished. And not just physically. It was as if someone had scrubbed his existence clean. School books stopped mentioning him. Academics in his field stopped citing his work. It was like he’d been erased."

Her breath faltered, and she reached for the oxygen mask clipped to her side. She inhaled deeply, eyes dimming for a moment.

Another City Manager, seated beside her, picked up where she left off.

"We first met him exactly eighteen years ago. Just a few days from now, to be exact—August 17th, Year 197 of the Requiem Calendar."

Adyr froze.

His composed facade cracked, if only for an instant. A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes—quiet, but unmistakable.

The City Managers noticed. Their eyes might have been cloudy with age, but they were far from dull. Each of them had once led humanity out of ruin. They knew how to read a man.

"You’re surprised," the same man said, leaning slightly forward. "That’s the same day, isn’t it? The same date you were found—registered as an infant at the city orphanage, discovered on the outskirts of a ruined settlement."

That was right.

Before Adyr ever reached the city orphanage—before Marielle had taken him in—he had simply been a nameless newborn, found alone in a collapsed, abandoned house.

It had always been a quiet mystery to Marielle. And every time she thought of it, she would bring it up again—how strange it was that he’d been found swaddled tightly in a thick blanket, lying peacefully at the center of a ruined home, untouched by the cold or chaos around him.

"This is... interesting," Adyr muttered, eyes narrowing.