Fated to Die to the Player, I’ll Live Freely with My SSS-Class Ship!

Although I suck at melee combat, that doesn't mean I'm completely helpless—I can still perform basic "attack" actions.

Like swinging a steel pipe, for instance—a rather effective concussion delivery device.

*TING!*

The impact reverberated hard.

A loud metallic gong echoed through the tunnel, and I felt the jarring feedback buzz through my fingers. My palms tingled as both heads dropped to the ground, accompanied by the unmistakable fleshy thump of meat hitting the floor.

"Lucky!"

One solid swing. That's all it took to down both guards!

And since I struck the back of their heads with a blunt object, I didn't need to worry about them staying awake—though now I was slightly concerned if I'd killed them outright.

Cautiously, I crept closer to the two crumpled bodies.

Just to be sure, I delivered a follow-up move—swinging my foot directly between their legs. A groin check, if you will.

Their bodies jolted slightly, but that was the end of their movement. No further reaction. They were definitely unconscious—if the pipe didn't knock them out cold, the nutcracker certainly did.

"Perfect timing," I grinned to myself. "I've been thinking… I'm way too cold dressed like this anyway."

Right now, other than the powered suit—doubling as my actual skin—I only had a short fabric wrap around my waist. While my more sensitive areas were technically covered by the suit, the whole setup still looked ridiculously exposed.

I reached down and grabbed one of the guards. Without an ounce of remorse, I stripped him down, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. His uniform? Mine now.

To complete the disguise—although I hated doing this—I cut off his two electrodes and attached them directly to the back of my helmet.

With my face hidden behind the visor, and my skin completely concealed beneath the uniform, I could pass for a Voltherian guard at a glance.

Not only did this spare me the embarrassment of wearing nothing but waistcloth, but it also gave me an edge in infiltration. The disguise gave me camouflage and dignity. A win-win.

But for the ruse to hold, there were still two critical details I needed to nail.

First, the guard's name and call sign. Second, his responsibilities.

Luckily, his personal terminal was still unlocked. I skimmed it, absorbing as much surface-level info as I could. Based on what I read—and the way he bantered with his partner earlier—he seemed like a laid-back prankster type.

Easygoing, not too serious.

'Rest in peace, brother... Though technically, you're not dead yet.'

Fully geared up, and with a flashlight in hand, I backtracked along the path the guards had originally come from.

No cameras. No alarms. No traps.

It was surprisingly smooth—until I reached the end of the corridor.

"Halt!"

Two guards stood at attention in front of a reinforced bulk door.

"You..." One of them narrowed his eyes, studying my nameplate. "Cleveland? Where's your partner?"

"Oh, him?" I grinned, altering my voice to match Cleveland's tone and cadence. "I yelled [Zombies!] as a joke after we finished our sweep. He freaked and ran. Last I saw, he was curled up like a baby somewhere down the tunnel. Legs probably jelly by now. Hah!"

"Bastard…"

The guard stepped forward and slapped a hand on my shoulder, hard. I flinched internally—but maintained my poker face.

"You should've recorded that! Would've been gold. Hahaha!"

"...Y-Yeah, totally slipped my mind. Haha..."

Thankfully, this guy wasn't as uptight as he looked. Turns out he was another prankster, just like "Cleveland."

"He should be back in like thirty minutes," I added, scratching my head with feigned awkwardness. "But if he takes longer, give me a ping. I'll go drag his sorry ass back here myself."

"Got it. Actually, want me to go check on him for you?" the guard offered, sounding way too eager.

Danger bells rang in my head.

"No, no. I can't trouble you with such a minor thing—" I didn't pause, eyeing his insignia and nameplate. "—Captain Andrei. Just call me and I'll take care of it."

If this guy went himself, my cover would be toast.

Though I'd be long gone from here by then, hopefully, but better to avoid the risk entirely.

"Alright, alright!" The guard laughed and threw up his hands. "Get going and report back to that annoying bastard Blark."

"Ugh... Right…"

And just like that, I walked past them, crossing the threshold into the next section of the tunnel.

My heart raced the whole time. Every step felt like it could be the one that gave me away. But I kept calm on the surface, pacing myself evenly as I moved forward—passing other soldiers and guards in varying uniforms, blending in among them.

{...thur! Arthur?! Can you hear me now?}

"…!"

Just in time—radio connection reestablished. I must've passed beyond the signal jammer's range.

"(Yes, loud and clear. But I'm in plain view right now, so I can't talk.)"

I responded quietly and shut my mouth. Talking to myself out loud in enemy territory? Not exactly low-profile.

{Oh, finally!} Nyssra sighed in relief. {I was getting worried. Some soldiers were heading your way right before the signal went down. Glad you're still alive.}

I kept walking, silently following the glowing digital trail Nyssra had laid out for me earlier. It shimmered faintly ahead, lighting the safest and most efficient route.

{I'm updating your positioning and enabling new auto-navigation markers. Head toward the central tower—that's the most likely place my mother is being held.}

The glowing trail didn't change much, but I could tell adjustments had been made farther down. At the same time, a full 3D schematic of the facility projected itself into my vision through the contact lens.

My position blinked green on the map.

{Yellow dots are the candidate cell locations. You only need to check the marked ones—ignore everything else.}

"..."

From the map—and judging by the distance I'd already covered—it was clear that I still had a long way to go.

'Alright. Time to get moving.'

With determination in my steps and a calm, focused mind, I resumed my advance toward the unknown.

---

Within one tower of the Bastion, at the highest location atop its summit, there was a single prison cell.

It was so secluded that the only entrance began at the base of the tower, leading into a tight, spiraling staircase that stretched upward—roughly 400 meters from bottom to top. A long, punishing climb to scale on foot, with no elevators in sight.

Inside this lonely cell, a single prisoner was confined.

She bore the unmistakable appearance of a Voltherian—skin shimmering in a soft blend of blue and violet hues, and four electrodes trailing from the back of her head—a visible symbol of her noble, royal bloodline.

The woman wore nothing more than a tattered, grey one-piece garment, dulled by layers of dust and grime, its filth accumulated over time without mercy or reprieve.

Baths? Only if one considered the occasional splash of cold water the guards poured over her body every three days to be a bath. It was more an insult than hygiene.

Her treatment was horrid, far beyond what even dangerous criminals might expect. She was isolated, silenced, and watched. Not once, for the entire two years of her stay, was she allowed to exchange words with another soul—not even with the guards who delivers her necessities.

"..."

Her violet eyes stared through the narrow, barred window in the cell wall. It was the only portal she had to the outside world—though usually, all it revealed were the jagged silhouettes of mountain peaks, thick grey clouds, or on rare nights, faint glimpses of starlight.

But now, her gaze was locked on something unusual in the sky. And it wasn't the clear, twinkling stars.

To the naked eye, there was nothing—just the same dull gray as always—but her vision held firm, fixed on a single, invisible point. Her expression said it all. She could feel something, as if her instincts screamed that something—someone—was there. Unseen.

"…It's time…"

She murmured softly, voice laced with exhaustion carved deep by years—yet in her tired eyes shimmered a faint spark, as if starlight itself was flickering in her pupils.

Her regal beauty may have long faded, dulled by dirt and time, but the light in her eyes had never dimmed.

She might look like a vagrant now, stripped of dignity and reduced to scraps, but behind those eyes burned a will that refused to die. A hunger for life, a thirst for freedom, and a fury fueled by betrayal.

And with a barely-contained fire curling her lips upward, she whispered, almost reverently,

"My savior… is coming."

---

Roughly 20 minutes had passed since I disguised myself as one of the soldiers.

In that short window, I managed to reach the Bastion's main structure. I wasn't being slow, for the record. I followed Nyssra's shortest projected route, sprinting through most of it with as much speed as I could muster.

But as I expected, the Bastion was absurdly massive.

It took about 10 minutes just to get from the lower tunnels to the surface. Finding a concealed alley with no security presence took another three minutes. The remaining seven? Spent running flat-out toward the main towers.

There were four yellow markers on the map—four possible locations where the Empress could be imprisoned.

And I had only around 10 minutes of safe time left, give or take, before someone stumbled upon Cleveland and his unfortunate friend.

That meant there wasn't enough time to scan all four towers individually.

I needed to maximize my odds.

Charging into the nearest tower blindly wasn't an option—I had to be strategic.

I analyzed each tower's location, weighing their advantages and flaws. Which one looked most fortified? Which structure held the most significance?

"That one!" I muttered, eyes locked onto the third tower from my current location.

It stood deep within the Bastion's inner perimeter—right in the sanctum. Heavily guarded. From the look of it, the entrance had to be situated in the courtyard, teeming with soldiers and eyes in every direction.

The tower's top was isolated from surrounding buildings, making aerial escape nearly impossible.

It was, by every measure, the most secure and reinforced structure of them all—as if whoever was locked inside wasn't just dangerous, but cursed. As if they carried the plague itself.

"But I can't just waltz in there…"

If I tried entering as I was now, I'd get exposed in seconds.

To make it inside, without suspicion, without interference… I need chaos as cover.

So... let confusion reign! Let disorder take hold!

Let the Bastion descend into madness!