"I really did sleep the whole day away."
Maybe it was because I’d barely caught a wink over the last few days. For the first time in a long while, I had fallen into a deep, proper sleep. The sun had long since reached its zenith, and the members of the Guerrilla were already busy with their respective duties.
"Have you arrived, Staff Officer?"
"...I'm sorry. I ended up oversleeping without realizing it."
As soon as I stepped into the staff tent, the Vice Staff Officer greeted me warmly, but I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. Whatever work I hadn't done must have been dumped onto him and the subordinates.
"Not at all. In fact, it is true that you have been pushing yourself far too hard lately. Seeing you act like a child once in a while isn't such a bad thing."
He was probably just being polite, but it was a relief nonetheless. It was better than having to hear a lecture right after waking up.
The thing I feared most was my leadership being shaken. I didn't want the authority I had painstakingly built through constant mental gymnastics to crumble over a single mistake. I really needed to make sure I got proper sleep from now on.
"Still, it looks like there isn't much paperwork today."
Indeed, the stack of reports was significantly thinner than usual. At my comment, the Vice Staff Officer looked at me with an incredulous expression.
"I believe someone finished almost all of it while working overtime recently."
I scratched the back of my head in embarrassment. Right, I had already cleared most of it out, which was why they weren't complaining.
"The remaining work should be finished in about two hours."
"Well, if there's nothing to do, I should find something to make myself useful."
"..."
The Vice Staff Officer seemed flustered for a moment, then spoke in a low, steady voice.
"Staff Officer. Sometimes, taking a rest is a great help in preparing for battle."
"Pardon? Well, I suppose that's true?"
"Both you and the rest of the staff have been running at full speed until now. If you only ever run, you might collapse from exhaustion. How about doing only the assigned work today and then taking the rest of the day off?"
As the Vice Staff Officer's words poured out like rapid fire, the other staff members chimed in with shouts of agreement. Wait, don't tell me... they just want to rest themselves?
Thinking back, since I was always working without breaks and pulling all-nighters, the staff naturally had to work alongside me. It made sense; it’s hard for subordinates to leave when their superior refuses to go home.
"Fine. I'm not really in a position to argue after oversleeping, so let's finish up quickly and rest today."
----------
But who could have predicted this?
"I have nothing to do..."
Because I had done nothing but look at documents and work, having nothing in my hands actually started giving me symptoms of anxiety.
Of course, a person can't live on work alone. However, since I had spent all my previous leisure time with Yelena, I had no idea what to do with a break all by myself.
Thus, the place I ended up was none other than the unit's warehouse. Since the staff wouldn't let me work, I figured I might as well check on the supplies. Soon, the drones sitting dormant in the warehouse caught my eye.
Even though they weren't treated very well in the game, I believed drones were the true 'flowers of the battlefield.'
In Terra, where aerospace engineering hadn't developed due to the Catastrophes caused by Originium, drones were a significant means of seizing air superiority—capable of not just reconnaissance, but also harassment and special operations.
The problem was that while basic reconnaissance drones were fine, high-end drones that performed more advanced roles required the operator to be able to use Arts.
"Sigh. I really want to try using a drone properly."
The 'Frost' drone that sprayed freezing Arts from the air to slow enemies, the 'Bombbird' that acted as a substitute for bombers in a world without planes, the 'Targeteer' that scouted wide areas and relayed artillery coordinates to the main force...
There were so many strategies I could test if only I could use drones, but it was so frustrating.
"Well, I can't help what's impossible. I guess I'm destined to hold onto nothing but reconnaissance drones for the rest of my life."
"Do not speak of destiny so lightly, child."
"Whoa!"
It was a familiar voice, yet one I could never quite get used to. A man whose voice alone carried a unique sense of majesty—Patriot, who was now my father.
"Father, what brings you here?"
"I came to inspect my equipment. I needed a whetstone to sharpen my spearhead."
After rummaging through the supplies, he found a suitable whetstone and began sharpening his spear on the spot. As if he had done it thousands of times, his spear soon regained its lethal edge.
...Maybe this man would know? If it was Father, who had lived through wars that couldn't function without Arts, he might know a way to draw out Arts even in someone without talent.
"Father. I have something on my mind. Could you listen?"
"That is unexpected. To think that you, who always charges ahead with your plans, would have a worry. Speak."
"I want to use Arts too. Is there any way to force an awakening?"
At my words, he remained silent as if deep in thought. I waited quietly for his answer, and an awkward silence filled the warehouse.
"...Why do you wish to wield Arts?"
"Arts are indispensable in war. If you cannot use Arts, you are pushed aside by the absolute difference in power and eventually discarded. I want to use Arts so I can be of more help to the Guerrilla."
"It is not that there is no way."
I knew it! As expected of the war hero Patriot, he knew the solution to the obstacle I faced.
"However, my son. I do not wish to recommend this method."
"Why not?"
"Before that, may I tell you an old story?"
When I gave my consent, he laid the spear he was maintaining on the floor. It seemed it was going to be a long story.
"Do you know of a place called Kazdel?"
"I know it as the nation where the Sarkaz live."
The Sarkaz were a race with appearances close to demons in fantasy novels. Because they were the first race to utilize Originium, most of them were proficient in using Arts. Patriot himself belonged to the Wendigos, a sub-race of the Sarkaz.
"Yes... In that place, the Sarkaz fought a civil war, killing one another within their own borders. There was no distinction between civilian and soldier. Only the relatively strong could survive that arena, and the weak survived only through extreme choices."
I felt it instinctively. That 'choice' was the only way I could use Arts.
"It was the method of injecting liquid Originium directly into one's veins."
"What? Isn't that just a one-way ticket to Oripathy?"
"For them, only two choices existed. Die slowly from Oripathy, or die immediately at the hands of the soldier in front of them.
By rapidly increasing the concentration of Originium in their blood, they gained the power to resist the enemy before them for the moment, but they eventually met their end alongside side effects like hallucinations and other symptoms of the disease."
While I stood there in shock, mouth agape, he continued.
"There are countless reasons why I do not recommend this method. It is essentially a suicidal act. And even if you were to use it, you would not become noticeably strong. You would only gain enough power to resist an ordinary Ursus soldier."
While Ursus soldiers were famous for being elites, it was a pitiful result for a method that cost one's life.
"Earth. Your strength is not Arts. You have a brilliant mind, and I want you to know that you are already a great help to the Guerrilla because of it. My proud son."
With those final words, Father picked up his spear and left the warehouse. It was a truly storm-like entrance and exit.
"Injecting Originium into the veins, huh..."
To think they would directly inject Originium into the body to force Arts adaptability. It was such a novel method of suicide that I hadn't even imagined it.
And it was also a method that no one else could use, but I could.
In the original game, Arknights once had a collaboration event with another game. However, it hid a lore bomb so important to the world-building that it couldn't be dismissed as just a simple collab.
It was the fact that ordinary people from Earth do not contract Oripathy. The protagonists of that collab event were brought to the world of Arknights and lived with the Infected for a long time, even surviving in the middle of Catastrophes where Originium is generated, yet their cell-Originium fusion rate remained at 0%. Considering that the standard for a 'non-infected' person is usually around 0.1%, it was an incredibly shocking fact.
It might be self-conceit, but I seemed to show a similar tendency. I had woken up in an Originium mine and worked with the Infected for a month.
I had even been wounded by Originium while making weapons for our escape, yet I showed no signs of Oripathy. Perhaps—no, with a high probability—I was a being unaffected by Originium.
"This is a reasonable gamble."
Father had given his advice meaning that I shouldn't be impatient since Arts weren't my strength, but my thoughts were different. To overcome the massive crises ahead, using Arts was a necessity, not an option.
"I have more work to do. I need to test how well this body reacts to the 'Originium drug.'"
I immediately called the Medical Squad Leader and planned a biological experiment on my own body. I was slightly afraid, but I decided to trust my knowledge of the original work. This was an investment for a bright future.
"Wh-what?! I must have misheard you! I... I know nothing about this! If something goes wrong and the Captain or Lady Yelena finds out, I'm a dead man!"
The Medical Squad Leader, whose name I couldn't quite remember, turned pale and tried to refuse, but I managed to persuade him by coaxing and using my authority as the Staff Officer. Why was a grown man making such a fuss?
Fortunately, just as I expected, there were no health problems. However, the duration of the Originium's effect in my body was only about two hours per injection. Since the Medical Squad Leader advised that injecting more than that in a day could cause psychological side effects, my plan for 24-hour drone operation came to an end.
Still, it was better than living as someone completely inept at Arts. At least I could try out the things I had imagined. Engrossed in various experiments, the night quickly revealed itself.
"I should go ask when we're going to start using separate rooms."
I returned to the tent where Yelena was. Recently, I had changed my strategy to going to bed early before I could start thinking about other things instead of working late. Of course, if she started complaining, it would mean I wouldn't be getting any sleep that night anyway, but that was unavoidable.
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