Chapter 72: Ambers of the Long Night (28)
Nahem walked wearily out of the Red Court’s government office. When he met the expectant gazes of the other officials, he shook his head.
“No. Her Majesty the Queen cannot meet anyone right now—nor handle any affairs.”
That was already putting it mildly. In truth, the Queen had been sitting motionless in her chair for an entire day and night. All her nutrition was administered through IV drips; not only could she not see anyone, but even her response to the outside world was dull.
Nahem knew that both Opatra and the Super AI were already using everything they had just to keep the world functioning normally. They couldn’t see the data on “world collapse rate,” but from the Queen’s current state, it was clear—things were very bad.
The officials, faces full of disappointment, dispersed without protest. None of them even had time to argue, because with the Queen incapacitated, each of them carried enormous workloads, handling the endless pile of public affairs.
Nahem soon returned to his own office. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw several employees slacking off. They had been working overtime for days—sleeping in the Red Hall, living on caffeine and duty. By now, even the most devoted employees were worn down; the only thing keeping them going was sheer responsibility. A little downtime during work was inevitable.
One of the staff members was watching a video through his neural chip, absorbed in the performance of a slick-haired man on screen. Suddenly, Nahem appeared before him.
“Uh—Chief!” The employee panicked and closed the video immediately. “I was just… taking a short break.”
Nahem said nothing, just swept his gaze over the desk, where there were photos and merchandise of the slick-haired man. The staffer laughed awkwardly.
“Uh, I’ve just been following current events, sir. He’s… kind of viral online lately.”
It wasn’t just that man. In the past few days, four or five new figures had suddenly skyrocketed in fame and power: a singer who comforted victims through haunting songs, a hero who fought terrorism, and a rescue volunteer—the slick-haired man among them.
Their only common trait was how quickly they had risen. Their power levels climbed at an impossible rate, leaving everyone uneasy and suspicious.
It was like how no one could figure out how those unregistered, chipless individuals managed to precisely assassinate high-level elites.
The connections were too obvious to ignore. Nahem had already sent people to monitor these newcomers, but no matter what they did, they couldn’t find a single trace of wrongdoing—only a sense of something being off, with no flaws to expose.
In the past, this wouldn’t have been an issue. If there were no leads, they could take their time. The Queen and the Super AI would eventually uncover the truth—they just needed to be the attack dogs.
But now, it was different. The Queen no longer had the processing power to handle these things. Before the succession ceremony, Nahem’s department had to eliminate all obstacles on their own.
Of course, even as he said that, Nahem felt a touch of helplessness. They had no evidence. No matter how certain they were that these sudden figures were linked to the assassinations, the truth was: there was nothing to prove it. They’d checked every digital and physical communication channel—nothing. It was as if these people had a separate brain network, communicating beyond detection, leaving no trace at all.
Exhausted, Nahem returned to his desk, only to see a new, anonymous email pop into his private inbox.
Someone contacting him directly at this hour…?
He frowned, thought for a moment, and opened it. As soon as he read the content, his face darkened.
Xu Xiao? She actually had the nerve to ask him for help?!
No matter what kind of help she wanted—he would never give it. Not only that, he immediately traced the email’s address—but it turned out to be a timed delivery. The sender was likely long gone.
[I know you hate me. I’m sorry. I’m not asking for forgiveness.]
[Tomorrow, I’ll send you a gift. The rest… I’ll leave to you.]
“What the hell is that woman planning this time?!”
Nahem had long had enough of Xu Xiao’s one-sided way of doing things. She never discussed—she just announced. Always self-willed, always acting on her own. He made up his mind: if she wanted something through him, she wasn’t going to get it.
He didn’t expect that the next day, what he would receive from the Investigation Bureau—
was Xu Xiao’s corpse.
Nahem postponed his assignments and went to the Bureau. Inside the cold morgue, he found her mangled remains.
“Early this morning, joggers near Li Guang’s house found this trash bag,” reported an investigator beside him.
“The first thing discovered was a left hand—missing fingers.”
Li Guang—the slick-haired man—the same rescue leader.
Nahem pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted.
“And then?”
“Then we got reports from the homes of House, Zuozang, Dunbar, and others—evidence found in their cars or yards. They’re all being interrogated now.”
All of them were high-level elites who had recently risen to prominence—and also the very people Nahem had been investigating.
“Evidence delivered right to our door, huh?” he muttered, staring down at Xu Xiao’s pale face.
“Should I thank you for that? Thank you for the courage to fix the mess you made?”
The dead couldn’t answer. Nahem spoke to himself, then slowly left the morgue.
As he stepped out, he saw a figure crouched in a corner, body covered in medical wraps.
“Well, well. Class reunion today?” Nahem sneered, approaching. But when he saw Emmanuel’s face and the miserable state he was in, the mockery died in his throat.
Looking back at Xu Xiao’s corpse, it wasn’t hard to guess—they’d acted together.
“What were her last words?”
“…She said she wanted to see the real world.”
“Hah.” Nahem chuckled bitterly. “That’s just like her—living recklessly, dying just as recklessly.”
“The Queen… Opatra—can she bring her back?” Emmanuel asked weakly.
Nahem didn’t answer.
“She can, right? All our data’s backed up—like that scholar in the dome before. Xu Xiao told me, if Opatra wants to, she can restore anyone’s consciousness data. That’s why she never cared about death—because as long as there’s a backup, everyone still has a chance…”
“Restore her—and then what?” Nahem cut in.
“So next time, everyone holds hands and dies together again?”
Emmanuel froze, then covered his face.
“Is it… that bad already?”
“Pretty much,” Nahem said flatly. “What could’ve lasted five years is now down to less than five weeks—and the demons’ meddling is only accelerating the fall.”
“Still, at least the election three days from now should hold. I hate to say it, but we do owe her one for that.”
Society was collapsing fast. The Queen’s abdication was now inevitable—perhaps the first ever wise ruler forced to step down, not die naturally.
If those three candidates’ levels kept climbing, they might have even been able to override the Super AI—but not anymore.
Now, with this scandal, the Investigation Bureau and government had every reason to intervene.
The selection of a Wise King depended on “potential” and “high level.”
Potential was age-related—but high level was determined by the Super AI’s five-dimensional evaluation, an even stricter system. The Wise King represented “perfection.” Anyone under murder suspicion would be disqualified. Unless the investigation cleared them within three days, the Super AI would never choose them.
“What if they find evidence to clear their names?” Emmanuel asked bitterly.
“I saw what Xu Xiao did after I woke up. She must’ve used Blue Sky Society’s network. But from the reports and the Bureau’s statements… honestly, it’s not impossible to overturn it.”
“Overturn?” Nahem’s expression twisted oddly.
“Right. You’ve never actually worked inside the system, have you? Come with me. I’ll show you something.”
He led Emmanuel down the corridor to an interrogation room. Through the glass wall, they saw Li Guang sitting inside, still trying to maintain a calm smile.
“I’ve answered this question countless times,” Li Guang said. “Do you really need me to say it again?”
“Of course,” the interrogator replied coldly. “For the sake of accuracy.”
“But you’ve already asked the same questions over ten times!” Even someone as good-natured as Ge Guang would lose his temper eventually — and truth be told, his temperament in Lost Paradise wasn’t all that great to begin with.
The interrogator kept a polite smile on his face. “Please don’t worry, Mr. Ge Guang. We absolutely won’t let a single bad person go free, nor will we ever wrong a good one. The interrogation room is fully monitored — if you feel dissatisfied or uncomfortable, or don’t want to answer, you can submit a reasonable complaint. If the interrogator refuses to listen, you can immediately upload the live footage with one click, or even start a livestream to let everyone see how civilized law enforcement works.”
That kind of public accountability left Ge Guang no choice but to suppress his anger. After all, his role here was that of a mild-mannered, righteous, and friendly middle-aged man. But even the kindest person would go mad if torMentd by endless nitpicking.
“…So that’s it?” Emmanuel finally understood, looking at Nahem in disbelief. “You never intended to investigate the truth.”
“Of course not,” Nahem adjusted his glasses, the lenses flashing faintly. “Why would we? Whether this dismemberment case was a frame-up doesn’t matter. What matters is delaying the investigation, guiding public opinion — that’s how you play by the rules.”
Because of the five-dimensional scoring system of the Super-Intelligence — morality, intellect, fitness, aesthetics, and labor — corruption was nearly impossible in this world. That also meant politicians had fewer dirty tricks they could use. If someone’s score dropped too sharply, even the dullest citizen would notice something was wrong. So Nahem couldn’t frame anyone outside the system — instead, he worked within it: carefully following every procedure, reviewing every form, confirming every signature multiple times, recording statements every few hours, passing cases back and forth — all under the name of “meticulous investigation.”
After all, they didn’t need the truth. They just needed to stall for three days.
“…Nahem, you’ve really turned into a despicable politician,” Emmanuel said softly. “What happened to the impatient kid who hated rules?”
“People grow up,” Nahem replied with a calm smile. “And I’ve learned something important — to defeat evil, you must be even more ruthless than evil itself. This is just the beginning.”
“What if they flip the table?” Emmanuel asked, glancing at Ge Guang — who was barely keeping his anger in check in the interrogation room. The corner of Emmanuel’s mouth twitched. “Not gonna lie, that is satisfying to watch… but it’s like arguing the law with a wild tiger.”
“Perfect,” Nahem said. “We’ve been waiting for that opening. Tell me, what do you think the Queen’s been working so hard for all this time? If social order hadn’t held, if the army wasn’t still intact, if we didn’t still have our own armed forces — do you really think they’d still bother playing by the rules?”
The intel from Chu Xiao’s message had already been shared with Nahem. He had once doubted the existence of Lost Paradise and the “Demons,” but after seeing Chu Xiao’s corpse, he had no choice but to treat it all as real.
He didn’t know exactly how powerful those Demons were, but it was easy to reason it out:
If they were willing to obey this world’s rules, then there must be something — or someone — they feared. And that could only mean one of two things: the Queen, or the hyper-advanced military forces of this world.
In other words, they weren’t yet strong enough to defy the world itself. And if they did break the rules first — that would actually make things easier. Once they became “criminals,” Nahem’s authority would unlock full military response privileges. He could immediately order the army to surround and annihilate them — even if he had to take responsibility afterward.
Emmanuel said nothing more as they passed the rows of interrogation rooms.
But Nahem pressed on, “So, what do you think now? Do you still believe the Wise King has been taken over by the Super-Intelligence?”
“You and Chu Xiao are both insane,” Emmanuel snapped. “How many times do I have to say it? Aubetra is still there. Every decision the Wise King made was her own. The Super-Intelligence is just a tool! Why won’t you believe me?”
“…Maybe.”
Emmanuel didn’t argue further. In truth, he was wavering himself. Because from what they knew, if the Super-Intelligence had really betrayed humanity, it wouldn’t still be consuming its own computing power to maintain society.
If that was true… then all their previous assumptions were wrong. What was really happening outside this world?
*
[Log excerpt]
February 20 — It’s been over ten days since any new consciousness entered. Total uploaded consciousness count: 2,836,382. In other words, Project A — planetary escape — has failed.
The cosmic maelstrom is too terrifying. Even its peripheral shockwaves are enough to doom entire civilizations.
“Cosmic maelstrom?” Tang Mobai repeated, puzzled by the unfamiliar term.
In the real world, the panel of experts quickly compared the log’s descriptions and came up with a hypothesis, “Could it mean a cosmic tsunami or a spacetime surge?”
Gong Ling frowned. “A… cosmic tsunami?”
The expert wiped sweat from his forehead. “A truly terrifying cosmic-scale disaster. Every major galaxy has a supermassive black hole at its center — it’s what keeps the galaxy spinning. But if two such black holes ever form a pair, their eventual collision would mean total annihilation. Our galaxy, for instance, is already on a slow collision course with another — though that won’t happen for billions of years.”
“In their world, they called this catastrophe a cosmic maelstrom. We call it a cosmic tsunami. It’s still a theoretical concept — but if two supermassive black holes really collided, the released energy would be unimaginable. The resulting gravitational waves would tear spacetime itself apart. Compared to that, the planets caught in its wake are like droplets of water in an ocean.”
“…That level of disaster?” Tang Mobai scratched his head helplessly after seeing the chat’s commentary. It was hard for him to even comprehend something on that scale — even on Earth, such theories remained purely hypothetical. But in this world, it had actually happened.
So that’s why they stopped pursuing space travel — the plan had already failed. The catastrophe had come from the universe itself. And now that surface civilization was likely extinct, rebuilding aerospace was meaningless.
“In that case,” Deville raised his head, “doesn’t that mean Dr. Chu Xiao’s theory was wrong? If a disaster like that really happened — forget humanity, even the planet itself might not have survived. Even if it did, it’d be a dead star.”
Tang Mobai turned toward the livestream chat.
“Yes,” the expert confirmed, nodding grimly. “We don’t know the full scale, but based on the description, even a passing shockwave would have devastated the planet’s ecosystem. No wonder they turned to consciousness uploading… it might’ve been humanity’s final retreat.”
In other words, uploading consciousness was humanity’s last refuge.
Pressed for time, Tang Mobai skimmed further through the logs. The later entries were mostly research notes — specifically about the Super-Intelligence itself.
Even after uploading their minds into the virtual world, humanity had continued studying the Super-Intelligence — and their findings matched what Emmanuel’s team now knew.
[March 20]
It’s been a long time since I last wrote. Too many problems lately — the consciousness upload process has shown unexpected side effects. We’re temporarily calling it the “Zero Impact,” or “Death Shock.”
We chose the full-upload model — meaning consciousness is uploaded at the moment of death. The Super-Intelligence then replicates the billions of neural connections, while intentionally deleting memories related to death and the truth.
Tests show that keeping those memories causes unbearable psychological pain, leading to data collapse.
Dr. Chu Xiao opposed this from the beginning — she believed humanity’s desire for truth and the sky can’t be suppressed. Maybe she was right. Even with partial memory deletion, some individuals still recover fragments of the truth from their subconscious.
Unless we fundamentally reshape society, these cracks will never stop appearing.
But it’s too late to undo it. We’re one with the Super-Intelligence now.
Too much data collapse forces it to consume even more computing power — and the underground energy reserves won’t last forever.
When that day comes, we may have no choice but to erase everyone’s memories entirely…
Perhaps that way, we can last a little longer.
Until the final day, the day the energy runs out — we must complete the Super-Intelligence.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
