Chapter 35: Chapter 35: Festival Symphony and the Traitor’s Frequency

The night sky of Bakasa was usually choked by industrial soot, but tonight, the city glowed with an unnatural, magical radiance. It was the night of the Aether-Bloom Festival—the only time of year the Mid-District was opened to the public, creating a sea of people celebrating the fading remnants of the Brassvale Kingdom’s prosperity.

But to Dayat, the colorful glow of the Mana lanterns floating in the air felt like the harsh lights of an interrogation room.

“Master, your heart rate is 115 beats per minute,” Dola whispered, her voice nearly drowned out by the frenetic strumming of harps and the laughter of festival-goers. “Recommendation: Regulate your breathing. Excessive adrenaline will cloud the focus required for Manifestation.”

Dayat tightened his grip on the large leather bag slung over his shoulder. Inside were three bars of pure Mithril—metal worth a kingdom’s fortune, freshly stolen from right under Gravion’s nose. “Hard to stay calm, Dol. We just robbed a military vault, and now we’re walking through a crowd of thousands while every guard in the city is hunting us.”

They slipped through the throngs of vendors selling swamp-rat skewers and street performers displaying magic tricks. Dola wore her deep blue gown, which had been hastily repaired with Iron-Silk; her hood was pulled low to conceal her far-too-perfect features.

Suddenly, Dola came to a jarring halt. Her body stiffened, and Dayat could hear a faint whirring sound from the back of her neck—a sign that her internal cooling fans were working overtime.

“Dol? What is it?”

“Detection of radio frequency signals… no, this is high-frequency Mana resonance,” Dola’s eyes flickered red for a fraction of a second. “Master, get down!”

NGIIIIIIIIIIING—!

A high-pitched shriek, inaudible to normal human ears but capable of physically rattling the eardrums, slammed into them. Dayat felt as if his head had been struck by an invisible sledgehammer. His vision spun, and a wave of nausea hit his stomach.

Around them, the civilians felt nothing. They continued to dance and laugh. But Dola… Dola fell to her knees, clutching her head with trembling hands.

“Dola!” Dayat caught her. “What’s happening?!”

“Sensory… systems… experiencing interference,” Dola’s voice was fractured, filled with static. “Someone is emitting a destructive wave… specifically calibrated to… disrupt my processor. RAM… flooded with junk data…”

From the shadows of a nearby tavern, a man stepped out with a sickening, triumphant grin.

Valmir.

Valmir’s right hand was still swathed in white bandages—a souvenir from their last encounter in the dead-end alley—but his left hand held a silver box with a crystal antenna that pulsed with a dull green light.

“Found you, Red-Eyed Ghost,” Valmir hissed. “Did you think I’d let you go after you broke my fingers? This is the ’Silence of the Machine.’ A device I designed specifically to paralyze ancient tech-relics. How does it feel, Dola? Is your clockwork brain starting to explode?”

Behind Valmir, twelve elite Viperion guards in black armor emerged, drawing swords coated in binding magic.

“Dayat!” Bara and Lina appeared from the crowd, blades drawn. They were supposed to wait at the Safe House, but their instincts had brought them here.

“I knew something was wrong when I saw a swarm of black-armored thugs sprinting this way!” Bara shouted. “Lina, guard Dola! Lidi, you handle the pale-faced prick!”

Dayat stood up, his eyes flashing with purple-gold light. The pain in his head was slowly being replaced by a searing, white-hot rage. He looked at Dola in agony—his wife, his partner, the only reason he endured this maddening world—and something deep inside him snapped.

“You…” Dayat pointed at Valmir. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Seize them! The Count wants the woman intact, but as for the man… chop off his legs!” Valmir ordered.

The guards charged. Bara lunged forward, holding back two men at once with his greatsword. Lina cast a protective spell, creating a thin shimmering shield around Dola, who was still struggling to reboot her system.

Dayat drew his Tactical Crossbow. “Dola! I need data! Give me an area-of-effect ammunition design!”

“Processing… difficult…” Dola tried to speak, her eyes flickering between blue and red. “Transmission… commencing. Master… use… the Flash-EMP Arrow.”

ZING!

The data flooded Dayat’s mind in jagged fragments, hot and painful. He groaned, forcing his purple Mana to surge into his left hand.

Vwoom!

An arrow with a warhead made of a clear glass sphere filled with violet neon gas appeared in his hand.

“Eat this!” Dayat fired the arrow directly into the center of the guard formation.

PRANG! BOOM!

It wasn’t a fiery explosion, but a blinding burst of white light and a massive electromagnetic shockwave. The mana lamps throughout the night market exploded in a chain reaction. The crowd descended into panic, screaming and scattering—the perfect chaos for an escape.

Valmir staggered, his frequency device emitting thick smoke. “Damn it! Fix the device! Keep chasing them!”

“Let’s go! Run!” Dayat hoisted Dola onto his back. Her body felt heavier now that her motor systems were locked in Safe Mode.

Bara and Lina carved a path through the streets. They sprinted through narrow alleys, pursued by the shouts of guards and the barking of tracking hounds.

“We can’t keep running, Dayat!” Bara yelled, smashing a wooden cart to block their path. “They’re surrounding us! Valmir is smart; he’s waiting at every intersection!”

They were cornered in a small courtyard behind a derelict, abandoned church. In front of them stood the towering city wall. Behind them, Valmir, a levitating Gravion, and dozens of Alaric’s soldiers blocked the only exit.

Gravion raised his staff. “The game is over, Engineer. Hand over the Mithril and your woman, or I will level this entire area with ten times the gravity.”

Dayat carefully lowered Dola to the ground. He looked at his bandaged hands, then at the bag containing the Mithril.

“Dol…” Dayat whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Dola’s eyes opened slightly. The glow was a stable deep blue, but her artificial breathing was ragged. “System… 60% online. I have blocked Valmir’s frequency with a dynamic firewall. But… we are surrounded, Master.”

Dayat smirked bitterly. “Remember Plan C? The Brute Breakthrough?”

“Master… the Railgun has not been assembled. The components are separate. Manifesting a circuit integration under this level of pressure carries a 95% explosion risk.”

“Five percent chance of success is more than enough for me.” Dayat reached into his bag and pulled out the Mithril bars. “Dol, transmit the Final Assembly data. I need you to be the assembly brain. I’ll be the power source.”

Dola looked into Dayat’s eyes. She saw madness, but also a pure, unyielding courage. For the first time, Dola didn’t calculate the risk. She smiled—a genuine, heart-stoppingly human smile.

“Very well, Master. If we must die, let us die while rewriting the laws of physics of this world.”

Dola took Dayat’s hand. His purple-gold energy began to roar, enveloping them both in a pillar of light so brilliant it shook the entire city of Bakasa.

The pursuit was over. Now, it was time for the fugitive to strike back.

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