Chapter 3 - Chapter 3: The Cost of Thought – Before the Rules, Questioning Is the Greatest Original Sin

# Chapter 3: The Cost of Thought – Before the Rules, Questioning Is the Greatest Original Sin The hall of the command post reeked of a mix of sweat, iron rust, and faint motes of magical dust. Around the rough-hewn long table, the captains of each squad sat rigidly upright, the faint clink of their armor the only sound. Lin Ge occupied the seat at the very end, his massive minotaur frame cramped in the relatively narrow space. His totem pole leaned against his leg, its stone surface cold and unyielding. At the head of the table, Captain Kunkka slouched in his chair, one boot propped on the crossbar of an empty seat beside him, the brass wine flask still clutched in his hand. He half-closed his one eye, teetering on the edge of sleep, occasionally taking a swig of his "wine," his Adam's apple bobbing. But Lin Ge's acute frequency hearing picked up on it: when certain captains spoke, Kunkka's fingers resting on the wine flask would tap out an impossibly faint rhythm—a silent form of recording, or evaluation, known only to himself. Sven sat to Kunkka's right. His silver-gray hair was immaculately neat, his stern features carved from stone as if by a master sculptor. A glowing data pad hovered before him, his long, slender fingers flicking across its surface to call up charts and lists. He sat as straight as a javelin, every plate of his silver-white armor reflecting the cold light of the magical orb in the center of the hall—its pristine order jarringly out of place against the rough, unrefined surroundings. His very presence was like a wedge of order driven into the chaos of the camp. Lina sat diagonally across from Lin Ge. She folded her arms across her chest, her scarlet-gold pauldrons rising and falling slightly with each breath, her golden eyes half-lidded as if bored by the meeting's proceedings. But a wisp of crimson flame flickered and twisted like a living thing at her fingertips, betraying her simmering impatience. "Combat data from yesterday has been compiled," Sven's voice cut through the hum of quiet chatter. It was not loud, yet it silenced all other noise as effectively as a block of ice dropped into warm water. The hall fell deathly still. A holographic screen projected from the data pad, filling the air with cold blue numbers and scrolling charts. "Radiant casualties: twenty-three units," Sven's tone was flat, devoid of any emotion, as if he were reading a supply inventory. "Seventeen of these units underwent standard reconstruction at the Respawn Spring and have regained basic combat capability. Six units suffered persona template corruption due to high-frequency energy impact at the moment of death or data loss exceeding the 15% threshold. Initialization and reset have been scheduled for these units." When Sven uttered words like "data loss" and "persona template reset," it was as if an invisible valve had been wrenched open in Lin Ge's ears—those abnormally sharp frequency-sensitive ears. A tidal wave of **shrill, chaotic "sounds"** crashed over him, sounds of unspeakable agony and utter bewilderment. They were not true sounds, but a miasma of residual data streams, fragments of consciousness, and unspent emotional frequencies left behind by the six soldiers in their final moments. Screams, howls of terror, whispered pleas of unwillingness as their "existence" slipped away… At the same time, at the six empty seats where those soldiers might have sat, faint, wispy **pale gray data wraiths** materialized at the edge of his vision. They opened their mouths soundlessly, stretched out their hands, and then dissolved into smoke, like ghosts banished at dawn. Lin Ge's stomach lurched violently. He clenched his fists so tightly his nails threatened to pierce the skin of his palms. "…Battle assessment: Advanced 47 yards into Dire lines, destroyed one Level 2 defensive tower, expended enemy resources…" Sven continued his report, but to Lin Ge, those "battle result" numbers were now tainted with the icy chill of the six gray wraiths, their echoes still ringing in his mind. "Six more resets, eh?" Kunkka's lazy drawl cut in. He burped loudly, the sound echoing in the silent hall. "No matter. New templates'll be uploaded in no time—they'll be in the recruit camp by afternoon. Carry on, lad." Sven paused for half a second, then resumed: "Tactical analysis phase. Based on data simulations, the next offensive can utilize a modified 'Trident-7' formation. First and Third Squads will act as bait to draw the enemy main force into Blackwood Gorge, where Fifth Squad—currently in stealth—will coordinate with long-range fire to…" The captains began to murmur among themselves, arguing over troop deployments, casualty ratios, and advance efficiency. Cold, clinical jargon clashed in the air like steel against steel. "…Projected casualty rate for the bait units is 75%, but this will secure an uninterrupted 20-second output window for the main force's flanking attack, increasing relic shield degradation efficiency by approximately 8%." "Recommend prioritizing mana potions for assault units with higher survival rates. Wounded units may be abandoned to avoid delaying the respawn sequence…" "Trading ten units for a 5% reduction in the tower's health is the optimal solution given current resource constraints…" Every number, every "optimal solution," felt like a cold needle piercing Lin Ge's eardrums, mixing and festering with the lingering echoes of the dying soldiers' pained data streams. "Worth it?" The word drifted across the hall, spoken by one of the captains, soft enough to be almost a whisper. It was the straw that broke the camel's back—the spark that ignited the powder keg. **"Worth it?!"** A deep, resonant roar, raw with suppressed rage and trembling with emotion, exploded in the hall. Lin Ge shot to his feet, his massive weight sending his chair scraping backward across the stone floor with a shrill, ear-splitting shriek. He grabbed the totem pole instinctively, slamming its base against the ground with a thunderous crash that shook the very foundations of the room. All sound ceased. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to him in unison—eyes wide with shock, confusion, and irritation. Lina's eyes snapped open, her brows furrowing as the flame at her fingertips winked out instantly. Sven lifted his head, his cold gaze cutting into Lin Ge's face like a scalpel, the glow of the data pad casting an eerie light across his expressionless features. Kunkka's boot dropped from the chair, his one eye opening a little wider, the lazy haze in it fading fast. Lin Ge felt blood rushing to his head, the "sounds" of the dead screaming in his ears, the faint outlines of the gray wraiths still burning in his vision. He pointed out the window, at the golden relic pillar that stood eternal, glowing with warm light that now seemed absurdly, cruelly mocking. His voice was hoarse with rage and a profound, searing grief: "Can't you hear them?! When they died—those 'data'! They were scared! They didn't want to go! **Why are we pushing that tower?! What does it matter if we knock it down?! Then what?! Respawn and push again?! What's the point of this cycle?! What the hell are we fighting for?!**" His barrage of questions hung in the silent hall like a clap of thunder, shattering the fragile calm. Then, the punishment came. **First wave: Silence.** Absolute, all-consuming silence descended in an instant, stripping Lin Ge of all hearing. It was not that sound had ceased to exist, but that his ability to perceive it had been brutally severed. In the utter stillness, only his own heartbeat remained—louder and faster with each passing second, a war drum pounding in his chest. **Second wave: Darkness.** His vision was wrenched away, closed off with brutal force. The command post hall, the captains' shocked faces, the glowing pillar outside the window… everything vanished. In its place was pure, empty, suffocating blackness. **Third wave: Agony.** This pain was not physical, yet it was far more terrible than any bodily wound could ever be. It struck directly at the act of "thinking" itself—at the very source of his questioning consciousness. Lin Ge felt as if two red-hot, barbed steel rods had **pierced his temples simultaneously, driving deep into his skull**! It was no physical penetration, but a law-based punishment for "cognitive violation." Agony exploded across his entire head, as if an invisible giant hand had clamped down on his brain, squeezing with the force to crush every drop of marrow and every thought into dust. At the same time, a bone-chilling "current" raced down his spine, seizing every muscle in his body with violent, uncontrollable spasms and twitches. "Ghh—AAAGH!!" He let out an inhuman scream of pain, his knees buckling beneath his massive weight as he crashed to the ground. The totem pole slipped from his grasp, clattering loudly across the stone floor. He clawed at his head with both hands, his nails digging white furrows into his gray-blue skin. The minotaur's powerful body shook like a leaf in a hurricane, and from his mouth and nose, wispy tendrils of **faint blue data light**, flickering with garbled code, seeped out uncontrollably—a temporary data leak caused by the overload of the system's punishment. **The connection to reality fractured, spiraling into chaos.** Through the unrelenting pain, the visions of the ICU ward were no longer fleeting phantoms. They burned themselves into the very core of his consciousness, clear and unyielding: The harsh glare of the hospital lights seared his eyes. The monitor's alarm blared, sharp enough to split his eardrums (even though he could no longer hear the hall around him, he could "hear" this alarm from the real world). On the screen, the waveforms representing his vital signs spasmed wildly, erratic and unstable. Blurred figures of medical staff rushed past, their anxious shouts crashing into him like shards of glass: "Blood pressure 40/20!" "Ventricular fibrillation! Prepare defibrillation!" "Contact neurosurgery! Now!" His mother's broken sobs tore through the barrier between the virtual and the real, exploding directly in the depths of his soul: "Xiao Ge—! My baby—!" The agonizing punishment of the virtual world, the near-death crisis of his real body, his mother's desperate cries—three catastrophic waves of sensation crashed and tore at his consciousness. He felt as if he were being ripped apart alive, each fragment subjected to unspeakable torment. His vision flickered madly between the suffocating blackness, the stark white of the ICU, and the chaotic pale blue of the data streams. Silence reigned in the hall for a heartbeat, then erupted into a muffled chorus of gasps. Lina was already on her feet, her hand resting on the hilt of the sword at her waist, her face ashen. She stared at Lin Ge, who lay writhing in pain on the ground, data light seeping from his body, her golden eyes roiling with emotion—anger, shock, and a flicker of unmistakeable… fear? Fear of the punishment, or fear for Lin Ge's state? Sven moved the fastest. He was on his feet the moment Lin Ge hit the ground, his data pad flaring bright red and letting out a shrill, urgent alarm. His face remained cold and impassive, but his eyes sharpened to a razor's edge as his fingers flew across the data pad's surface. His voice was cold and efficient, cutting through the chaos: "High-intensity abnormal cognitive activity detected in Unit 'Rigwarl Stonehoof'! Energy peak exceeds safety threshold by 387%! **Thought Restriction Protocol - Level 3 Response** triggered! Requesting system authorization for immediate isolation and deep scan!" He turned to Kunkka, his tone brooking no argument: "Commander, in accordance with Chapter VII, Section 3 of the *Forward Camp Anomaly Disposal Regulations*, I must report this to the System Core immediately and initiate mandatory restraint procedures!" The drunken laziness vanished from Kunkka's face the moment Sven finished speaking, as if wiped away with a cloth. A sharp, piercing light blazed in his one eye, and the aura of a battle-hardened commander—one who truly held life and death in his hands—erupted from him in an instant. "What the hell are you all staring at?!" Kunkka roared, his voice like thunder, shaking the hall to its rafters. "Can't you see the rookie's having a fit?! Battle stress disorder! Plus mana circuit backlash! A bunch of ignorant fools!" He strode across the hall to Lin Ge's side in three long steps, his movements seemingly rough but precise. He dropped to one knee, one hand pressing down on Lin Ge's violently trembling shoulder—hard, but with a deftness that belied the force—and the other covering Lin Ge's hands, which were still clawing at his head. **His fingers pressed firmly into specific points on both of Lin Ge's temples, tapping out a strange, rapid rhythm.** In that instant, Lin Ge felt the crushing pressure of the "steel rods" piercing his skull **loosen, if only for a split second**! A **rough, warm "interference wave"**, thick with the scent of sea salt and tobacco (or perhaps wine), surged into the path of the punishment signal, following the rhythm of Kunkka's presses. It could not erase the pain, but it was like dropping boulders into a raging river—creating a brief blockage, a diversion. The vision of the ICU ward wavered, fading slightly. "Captain Sven!" Kunkka looked up, his one eye blazing as he locked gazes with Sven, his voice heavy with the unassailable authority of a battlefield commander. "What page of your rulebook says 'when a soldier has a medical emergency, the first priority is to stand around reciting regulations instead of saving them'?! Hmm?!" Sven's fingers froze on the data pad, his expression unchanged: "Commander, the data confirms this is not a normal medical emergency. It is a clear case of abnormal cognition triggering a system protocol. I must—" "Must my ass!" Kunkka cut him off, slapping his own commander's data pad into existence with a flick of his wrist. He scrolled through a dizzying array of ancient battle records and jumbled waveform graphs, shoving the screen in Sven's face. "Look at this! The Black Tide Campaign! Dozens of my men had mana backlash peaks higher than this! Did they die? No! The medics pumped 'em full of potions, they lay in bed for a few days, and they were fine! Can your cold, soulless data tell the difference between a truly life-threatening 'anomaly' and a rookie's hysteria—his mind broken by the horrors of the battlefield?!" He jabbed his finger so close to Sven's nose it almost touched it (though he stopped just short), his tone aggressive and unyielding: "Sven lad, rules are dead. Men are alive. If you report this now, the System will send a 'Purification Unit' down here. They'll scan this kid, and when they're done, who knows if he'll still be *him*. A promising rookie—one who's just scared out of his wits—and he's gone for good. Who bears that loss? You? Me? Or that damn rulebook of yours?!" Sven fell silent. His fingers tightened around the data pad until his knuckles turned white. A faint glimmer flickered for a heartbeat in the tiny crack on his armor's shoulder—the same crack he'd gotten protecting Lin Ge the other day. He glanced down at Lin Ge again—the minotaur was still writhing in agony, but in the gaps between the waves of pain, his eyes retained a flicker of struggle, a clarity that had not yet been snuffed out. This was not the empty, hollow gaze of a unit before template reset. Rules… and the suffering soldier before him, a soldier with potential… Time seemed to stand still for a few heartbeats. Finally, Sven's fingers pulled away from the report confirmation button. He met Kunkka's gaze, his voice still steady, but stripped of a fraction of its absolute coldness: "…I will withhold reporting to the System Core for the time being. However, in accordance with the supplementary clauses of the Regulations, this unit must be placed under strict isolated observation. I require daily updates on his vital signs, mana fluctuations, and behavioral data. If, during the observation period, his energy anomalies peak at the threshold again, or if signs of cognitive disarray appear, I will activate all procedures in Chapter VII immediately. At that point, even your authority as Commander will not be able to intervene." "Deal!" Kunkka snapped, his commanding aura undiminished. "Observation period: two weeks! For these two weeks, this kid's in my direct squad—I'll keep an eye on him myself!" He turned and roared toward the door: "Medic from First Squad! Where the hell are you?! Drag this man to the Silence Chamber! Pump him full of double… no, triple the dose of Calming Elixir! No one gets near him without my written order! Do you understand?!" --- The so-called "Silence Chamber" was a small, standalone hut built from thick stone blocks at the edge of the camp. Inside, there was nothing but a hard stone slab for a bed and a dim crystal lamp hanging from the ceiling. Crude sound-dampening runes were carved into the walls, and the air reeked of dust and the cold, stale smell of old stone. Lin Ge had been forced to drink a foul-tasting Calming Elixir (which he suspected was a diluted version of Kunkka's "cognitive confusion agent")—one that had eased the lingering headache and muscle spasms significantly. He lay weak and exhausted on the stone slab now, the cold of the stone seeping through the thin mattress beneath him, a strange comfort to his still-burning head. The door creaked open. Kunkka and Sven stepped inside one after the other, and the already cramped space felt even more suffocating. Sven spoke first, the glow of his data pad casting an eerie light across his expressionless face: "Commander, even with the report withheld, protocol must be followed. These are all energy fluctuation records for Unit Rigwarl Stonehoof over the past 24 hours, including the abnormal peak during today's meeting." He pulled up a chart, the jagged, blinding spike clearly visible. "In accordance with the *Temporary Management Regulations for High-Risk Observation Targets*, I need to confirm his current state of consciousness, the integrity of his self-cognition, and conduct a review of the provisional diagnosis of 'battle stress disorder.'" Kunkka crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, his lips twisting in a scowl: "Review away. Kid," he said, turning to Lin Ge, "you still know who I am? Know your own name, where you are, and why you're lying here?" Lin Ge spoke with difficulty, his voice hoarse and raw: "Kunkka… Commander. Rigwarl… Stonehoof. Radiant camp. Because… I questioned." He paused, adding quietly, "I'm feeling better, sir." Sven made a note on his data pad, then asked, "Do you still harbor doubts about the necessity of the strategic objective to 'topple the relic'?" It was a crucial question. Lin Ge fell silent for a few seconds, feeling Kunkka's gaze on him. He spoke slowly, carefully: "I… do not understand the meaning. But I will not… question it openly again." It was the truth, and it was a compromise. The agony of the punishment was seared into his very soul, impossible to forget. Sven stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of his words. Then he turned to Kunkka: "Commander, based on the current situation, I approve of maintaining your diagnosis and observation period arrangement. However, daily data submissions must be on time. Additionally," his gaze swept the small hut, "the security level here is insufficient. I recommend adding a layer of basic Energy Suppression Runes to prevent accidents." "Add 'em, add 'em, do whatever you want," Kunkka waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't bring those tin cans (a reference to the System's Purification Units) down here. You can wrap him in runes like a mummy for all I care. Now get outta here and lay those runes—me and the patient got a few words to say." Sven glanced at Lin Ge once more, his gaze calm and empty, yet Lin Ge felt as if he had been scanned from the inside out. Then he nodded slightly, turned, and walked out, his steps steady, the faint clink of his armor fading into the distance. The door closed, leaving only Kunkka and Lin Ge. Kunkka walked over to the stone slab and stood looking down at Lin Ge, the mask of the fiery, commanding captain slipping away, revealing a deep, oceanic calm and a hint of weariness in his one eye. "Kid," he said, his voice low, "the 'questions' in that head of yours are a hell of a lot more trouble than I thought." He tapped his own temple. "Here, 'thinking too much,' 'asking why'—it's the most expensive luxury there is. So expensive that anyone who can't pay the price ends up a 'reset template.'" He bent down, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper: "For these two weeks, you stay here and keep your head down. I'll find a reliable 'old medic' to take a look at you. Remember—until the 'doctor' comes, keep that brain of yours in check, and…" he gestured vaguely at Lin Ge's throat with the wine flask, "keep that humming habit of yours under wraps. Sven's scans aren't something to mess with." Lin Ge nodded, his voice weak but clear: "I understand. Thank you, Commander." Kunkka straightened up, waving a hand dismissively, his carefree, gruff demeanor returning: "Don't thank me. I'm only keeping you alive 'cause you're useful—would be a waste to let you die." He reached the door, then paused and turned back: "Oh, and that firestick of yours (referring to the totem pole)? That girl Lina brought it back for you. It's leaning against the door. Tch, that girl's got a temper like a wildfire, but she's not all bad." With that, he pushed the door open and stepped out. Night fell. The only sound in the Silence Chamber was the faint hum of the crystal lamp. Lin Ge lay there for a long time, his chaotic thoughts slowly settling. The agony of the punishment was still fresh in his mind, but he could still feel the brief reprieve when Kunkka had intervened, the faint glimmer in the crack of Sven's armor when he'd backed down, and Lina… she'd brought back his totem pole? He struggled to sit up, leaning against the cold stone wall. His gaze drifted unconsciously across the empty, bare walls. Then he froze. In a corner of the wall, lower than the height of the stone slab bed, there was a patch where the stone's color was slightly different from the rest. He shuffled over, leaning in close to inspect it. They were incredibly old carvings, almost completely covered by dust and layers of stone powder, but when he brushed them gently with his fingers, their outlines emerged, faint but discernible. The carvings were shallow, yet the lines possessed a strange, fluid grace. The main design was a **modified quarter note symbol**, its stem stretching downward to point at a faint, crudely drawn arrow indicating the northeast direction. Next to the symbol were two smaller, scrawled characters—they seemed to be written in a common script of this world, yet Lin Ge understood their meaning instinctively, as if the knowledge had been buried deep in his soul all along: **[Listen to the Wind]** The edges of the characters were worn smooth with time, a clear sign they had been there for a very, very long time. Lin Ge's fingers traced the carvings. Beneath the rough grit of the stone powder, he felt a faint, almost imperceptible **warmth** lingering in the grooves of the carvings—not the cold of stone, but the "memory" left behind by the long-term infusion of some kind of energy. The sensation was gone in a heartbeat. But this symbol, this direction, these two words… "Listen to the Wind"? Was it a codename for the predecessor who had left the clue? Or a hint? Northeast… Windranger had mentioned a "clean and sad" place to the northeast just yesterday. This was no coincidence. In the back of his mind, the system status text that only he could see had long since updated: `Anomaly Level: 0.042% → 0.38%` `Surveillance Status: Targeted Observation (Disciplinarian: Sven) → Priority Observation (Commander's Authorized Observation Period / Disciplinarian: Sven - Daily Deep Scan Active)` `New Status: [Cognitive Suppression Resistance] - Minor (Residual effect from external interference, slightly reduces intensity of next punishment of the same type)` `Warning: Anomaly Level is approaching Level 1 Response Threshold (0.5%). Strictly regulate all behavior.` 0.38%… an increase of nearly ten times. But the "observation period" was a fragile shield, for now. The daily deep scans meant Sven's gaze would be on him at all times, unblinking. Just then, the softest, almost inaudible sound of footsteps approached the door and stopped. After a long pause, a familiar female voice drifted through the door, her tone much lower than usual, awkward and stilted: "…Idiot." It was Lina. She fell silent for an even longer time, as if hesitating, as if searching for the right words. "…Do you have to say everything out loud? Would it kill you to keep some things to yourself?" Another pause, longer still. "…Your totem pole. I brought it back. It's leaning against the door." The footsteps faded away, soft and light, disappearing into the night wind in an instant. Lin Ge leaned back against the stone wall, staring up at the low stone ceiling. The headache had mostly subsided, but the weakness lingered. Fear, lingering terror, and a profound understanding of the system's cruelty wrapped around him like a cold, suffocating tide. But within that cold, there were a few faint, yet real, glimmers of warmth: The ancient carving on the wall, pointing northeast. The totem pole, standing guard outside the door. Kunkka's protection—brutal on the surface, precise and careful beneath. The tiny crack in Sven's unyielding adherence to the rules. And Lina's awkward "idiot," and the weapon she had returned to him. The cost of thought had been immense—almost enough to destroy him. But if he stopped thinking entirely, what would he be but another "reset template"? He exhaled slowly, a breath that smelled of bitter herbs and the Calming Elixir. Two weeks of observation. A clue to the northeast. "Listen to the Wind"… And a lesson learned: he must learn to think… more carefully, more cleverly, in the cracks of the rules. Outside the Silence Chamber, the night sky of the camp flickered with invisible data streams. On the second floor of the command post, Sven stood at the window, his gaze fixed on the direction of the Silence Chamber. The glow of his data pad illuminated his cold, complex features. On his armor, the tiny crack seemed to glow a little brighter in the moonlight, clearer than it had been in the day. **(Disciplinarian Sven's Encrypted Log, Updated Entry:** **"Observation Target: Rigwarl Stonehoof. Today's incident has been filed under 'Battle Stress Disorder with Severe Mana Sensitivity.' Commander Kunkka insists on this diagnosis and has taken over observation. Basic Energy Suppression Runes have been deployed, and the Daily Deep Scan Protocol has been activated. The unit's abnormal energy peak is concerning, but the stability of its consciousness core exceeds expectations. Continue to observe its interactions with Commander Kunkka, and… whether it truly understands the boundaries of the 'Rules.'"** )