Tower of Overturn

When Russell's anger, fear, and fixation reached their peak, a light screen flashed before his eyes.

It was certainly not some kind of system cheat code.

Instead, it was the chip at the back of his brain, detecting the possibility of emotional overload and issuing a warning to him.

[Emotional overload possibility detected, warning. Please take deep breaths]

[Warning, emotional overload may lead to sudden fainting]

[Please ensure psychological safety for yourself and others. If you have any requirements, please contact the Psychological Therapy Association. Your landing is imminent, the nearest psychologist is Dr. White, 13KM southeast, contact information is...]

Russell swiped right with his thoughts, dismissing all the notifications.

Only the persistent blinking of the emotional overload warning in his field of vision remained, accompanied by the sound of relaxing light music in his ears—the piano notes from a Gavotte.

Bad Day, with his legs crossed, silently looked at Russell, tilting his head as if pondering something.

A few seconds of eye contact passed, and Russell closed his eyes.

Self-Emotion Control was a compulsory course for all majors in every university, and Russell had achieved an S in this exam.

Soon, the faint green glow that had danced in his eyes faded away.

Then Bad Day continued to speak, "I don't know. But I have a guess.

"All four members joined the organization thirty years ago, all of them crucial logistics personnel, hidden on different Sky Islands, living disparate lives. If there's a common link to be found among these members, there's only one common contact they share.

"That would be your father. The man with the code name 'bishop,' my former mentor.

"Twenty years ago, he betrayed Babel, betrayed the cyber church. By offering the sole copy of a precious historical document as a token of defection, he gained protection from Ampoule Biological Medical. His whereabouts have been unknown ever since.

"——Although there is no proof, I have always suspected him. Always."

The large Samoyed, a prone-spiritual, looked at Russell and said word by word, "Since he has betrayed once, why could he not do it again?"

Russell was silent for a few seconds before he looked up again at Bad Day.

His thoughts flowing, he had already understood Bad Day's and Babel's purposes for being here.

This was a test. A utilization.

And also—an invitation.

As Bad Day said, unlike his mother, Russell was different... he had a chip.

More than that, he had graduated from the most reputable university, his postgraduate mentor being the dean of the Information Security and Intelligence Control College and a technical executive of the Chongguang Group. His personal relationships were clear and clean, well able to withstand any investigation.

And this clean identity was his value.

Together with an invitation to participate in revenge, and to join the organization.

Otherwise, even if his mother was also a member of Babel, Bad Day would have no obligation to explain so much to Russell.

"So," Russell said softly, "why should I join you?"

"Are you going to force me with violence? Or convince me with some lofty ideal? Or tempt me with generous rewards? Or is it simply, some kind of obligation etched into our bloodline?"

"Nothing at all."

To Russell's surprise, Bad Day didn't hesitate in the slightest over this question.

He smiled slightly, "Because you are the 'Doctor's' child... Though there are traces of that man, undoubtedly you're a good kid.

"So it's not about us finding you. It's that sooner or later, you will seek us out.

"Before that..."

Bad Day seemed unfazed in the increasingly oxygen-deprived environment.

He casually tossed the frost-forming tea cup over his shoulder, discarding his used cup through a broken glass aperture.

He merely chuckled, "I hope you haven't forgotten, there's still a thug aboard this airship.

"Go ahead and take your Short Sword. It's a Spiritual Energy Weapon, and even if you haven't Awakened Spiritual Energy, as long as you have the aptitude, it can exert enough power for a child like you to easily sever a head. This can conceal the fact that you've Awakened Spiritual Energy. Any intense emotion will suffice to activate it."

"But I'm not skilled with a sword."

Russell felt the need to make this clear to Bad Day, taking a deep breath and speaking softly, "I've never used a weapon to fight against anyone."

In both his past and present lives, Russell hadn't even gotten into a fight with anyone, let alone killed with a sword.

Bad Day just nodded, "I know. But don't be afraid because I will help you."

"Is it going to be like the one before..."

Russell realized something.

Bad Day planned to have him swing the sword in front of the captain, then use his own Spiritual Energy to kill from afar.

...What a farcical act.

Russell frowned deeply.

But Bad Day nodded, "Yes.

"Go on. That guy is still in the cockpit, and once he realizes all his accomplices are dead and that he has no way to escape, he might do something to the captain. If that happens, it could endanger all the passengers on this airship."

Watching Russell, Bad Day raised his eyebrows and asked in a playful tone, "Surely you wouldn't ask me, a fugitive who'd be executed if captured, to expose myself and kill the hijacker to save everyone when I could safely escape at any moment?"

"...Of course not."

Russell took another deep breath, "I'm not the kind to be noble at others' expense."

"That's good then."

Bad Day smiled, reached out his hand, and pulled up Russell, who was increasingly dizzy from lack of oxygen, gasping for breath, with his hands cold to the point of turning blue and purple, from the ground.

Feeling the coldness of Russell's body, Bad Day raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

...Would he rather freeze like this and suffer from lack of oxygen just to ask everything he wanted to ask?

But he didn't say anything more at that moment. Instead, he steadied the dizzy, cold Russell, whose legs had gone somewhat soft, and helped him to the door of the room. After opening the door, he mercilessly pushed Russell into the corridor.

Bad Day, with his usual smile on his face, faced the storm that howled like a fierce ghost the moment the door was opened, waved at Russell, then closed the door again.

The warm air in the corridor felt scorchingly hot to Russell, whose sense of touch had turned icy cold, as if he were dipping his hands into hot water in winter. His right hand, clutching the Short Sword, was so stiff he couldn't use any force, he couldn't even loosen his grip.

Russell moistened his abnormally dry, cold lips and took deep breaths of the fresh air.

It took nearly half a minute for Russell to finally recover.

His vision was still a bit blurry... but he couldn't wait.

If the hijacker confirmed he had nowhere to run, the hundreds of people aboard the airship could all be in mortal danger.

He felt his heart pounding wildly...

Not just from the lack of oxygen... but also from nervousness.

The adversary was armed with a gun, and he only had an ordinary Short Sword.

His newly Awakened Spiritual Energy seemed only useful for a sneak attack. His legs were already weak; there was no way he could confront a gun.

The plan was simple. Russell was to show himself in public, pretending to fight with the adversary. Meanwhile, Bad Day would use his peculiar swordsmanship that could transcend space to decapitate the hijacker in the captain's cabin from across a corridor. If Bad Day deceived him, or something went wrong, or he simply escaped earlier... without Bad Day's help, Russell was certain to die.

But.

This was not Russell's only way out.

Since Bad Day wouldn't die from something like the airship crashing and wasn't worried about being trapped here, he must have a way to escape before the airship landed.

If he shamelessly begged him, for his mother's sake—Russell believed that he would definitely take him along.

A hundred percent chance to save just himself.

Or risk being instantly killed by the adversary... to save everyone.

"—Come on, become a Hero, Russell."

Bad Day's voice echoed in Russell's ear like a phantom.

"I can go to hell..."

Russell clenched his teeth and couldn't help but curse under his breath.

He finally understood what Bad Day meant at that time.

If he showed himself in public, within the sight of others, and with Bad Day's help, killed the last remaining hijacker... then naturally, the three people who died in his room in the same manner would become his achievements.

Russell, who knew no swordsmanship and had never killed anyone, would inadvertently become a "Hero."

An utterly false Hero. A façade that could be punctured with a poke.

...He was very afraid.

Russell was truly very afraid.

Afraid of being directly killed by the nervous hijacker, afraid of the captain dying in the struggle and the airship crashing, afraid of messing up and leaving troubles for the future, afraid of Bad Day deceiving him and slipping away.

The lives of hundreds of people—and his own safety. Selfishly, perhaps his future happiness as well.

Retreat, failure, betrayal... Any mistake could lead to a different kind of tragedy.

Enormous psychological pressure made Russell's fingertips numb, his legs weak, his breathing rapid, his cheeks flushed.

His heart beat violently, so clear he could distinctly hear his own heartbeat, feel the vibration in his chest.

Why me?

But...

For some reason, he just couldn't ignore it.

Clutching the Short Sword, Russell staggered toward the captain's cabin.

As he rushed, an alarm sounded.

His heart tightened.

...Had he arrived too late?

The airship suddenly shook violently and tilted—Russell, still somewhat unsteady on his feet, was thrown against the wall on the other side by inertia.

The pain interrupted Russell's chaotic thoughts and yet brought him back to clarity.

Without waiting for the airship to stabilize or for his own calm to return and his ability to stand straight, Russell scrambled up without hesitation, supporting himself against the closed doors of the first-class cabins, inching toward the captain's cabin step by step.

A distance of less than a hundred meters seemed so incredibly long.

Finally.

Russell, breathing heavily and silently, stood noiselessly at the door of the captain's cabin, gripping the Short Sword tightly.

—Then, he clearly heard the sound of a gun's bolt being pulled back from inside.