Chapter 249

The Third World is just sendin’ days rollin’ by like any ol’ normal life, ya know?

Well, if there’s anything outta the ordinary, it’d probably be that Polaris failed to convince Victoria over the span of two whole days?

Anyway, even though Polar and Vicky managed to get back to the Royal Academy, looks like their emotions ain’t exactly all tidy and neat.

Or maybe they’re so tidy that they’ve cut ties entirely?

Still, classes are goin’ okay—nothing too crazy. If it’s just rote memorization instead of those tricky application problems, I could even ace ’em!

So after listenin’ to lectures till the afternoon, head on home. Once the evening rolls around, wrap up chores, and before ya know it, midnight strikes.

And that’s how the day ends.

Of course, don’t let that fool ya—the Royal Academy itself ain’t truly peaceful. It’s like a buncha powerful forces just suddenly showed up, treadin’ carefully like they’re walkin’ on thin ice. Everyone’s cautious, which is why no big trouble’s brewin’… yet.

But this state won’t last long. Humans adapt when stressed for too long—it’s exhausting to stay tense forever, right? Some call it adaptation, others numbness. Happens all the time.

Construction sites? Same deal. The more experienced workers end up havin’ accidents ’cause they’ve gotten used to danger, dulled their senses to it. They mistake the dangerous situation as comfortable, but in reality, the danger’s still real.

Even places from faded memories with ceasefires act the same way. Wars may pause, but people stop feelin’ the risk. Outsiders might see how precarious it is, but locals who’ve lived decades like that don’t sense the danger anymore—they’re desensitized.

What can you do? Living beings weren’t built to endure stress endlessly. There’s only one reset button: death.

In hazardous zones, folks die periodically. Worst-case scenario? When countless deaths become normalized, and no one feels alarm anymore. That means life’s value has hit rock bottom, paving the way for moral collapse.

Wait, got carried away there…

Anyway, this current state won’t drag on forever. Once the careful tension between parties snaps, resentment toward whoever caused it will surface. Humans are simple like that.

As for me? All I gotta do is step in whenever patients pop up and turn ’em into Harvesting Systems. If things don’t spiral too badly, that works too. No rush here; it’s not like other worlds where Harvesters are desperate. In fact, being overly active might raise suspicion. If someone starts questionin’ why Harvesters exist, they might uncover my own nasty little secrets.

Though life at the Royal Academy’s kinda quiet lately…

***

Meanwhile, the Fourth World is super fun! Finally, the place to create Harvesters is ready!

I moved from the lab to a new spot near Jeber’s mansion. This building actually straddles a wall, like some fortress jutting out. Not just a standalone structure—it’s fortified with extra fences inside the estate grounds.

Once inside, sure, my limbs are still gone, but at least I’m free of those chains. Well… technically, my situation worsened. I’m crammed into this box-like contraption, stretched out like I’m on some ancient torture rack, but trapped inside a tiny space.

Then my blindfold was removed, only to find myself locked in a pitch-black, claustrophobic area. Doesn’t matter much though since nutrients and air flow through tubes embedded in my body. Mentally, anyone else would’ve snapped already. Physically, though, I’m fine. My body’s half-submerged in some gelatinous liquid that somehow prevents bedsores or anything nasty.

So while I waited, a faint light appeared near my mouth. A tiny door, barely wide enough to glimpse my lips, opened.

“Are you here to make me young again?”

An elderly man’s voice came through.

Thinking this might be the only line I’ll ever say in this world, I recited the contract:

“I’ll give myself to you. In return, once you finish everything, you’ll hand over all you possess. How’s that sound?”

The old guy outside agreed, and I absorbed his light into myself.

“Oh, ohhh! Ohhhhh!”

His amazed gasps echoed briefly before fading as the little door slammed shut. Must have great soundproofing.

But I gained Brang—a Harvester! Through his perspective and memories, I scoped out our location.

Here’s what it looks like from the start:

The entrance resembles a cheesy gambling den or bar—some sleazy pleasure zone. Instead of menus listing drinks or prices, there’s a wooden sign describing vague promises and lies about what happens inside.

Apparently, I’m billed as some legendary shaman from afar, planning to stick around for a few weeks to fulfill some mysterious karma-related mission. Ridiculously suspicious, but once the first Harvester gets made, that suspicion turns into intrigue.

A warning on the sign says to just agree to the contract without asking questions. Asking risks getting cursed and dying, apparently.

After the chimera guarding the entrance confirms all this, it escorts the first volunteer—Brang—inside.

From the entrance to the first room, it keeps that sleazy vibe going. But past that, it transitions into a temple-themed area.

The chimera doesn’t enter, leaving Brang alone. From Brang’s POV, the atmosphere shifts dramatically, signaling caution. The spacious room is empty except for a large door opposite the entrance.

Hesitantly, Brang opens it, revealing another room flanked by mirrors. The front wall is pitch black, with only one light shining down from above.

When Brang enters and closes the door, a small opening appears in the dark wall near its edge—like an old confessional booth from some faded memory.

There, we meet, and he becomes a Harvester, growing younger. He stares at himself in the mirrors, delighted, then rushes out to tell everyone waiting outside.

That day, nine people entered and became Harvesters. Afterward, the “shaman” claimed exhaustion and closed shop.

Limiting it makes it spread faster than unlimited production. Limited-edition items sell like hotcakes for the same reason—if people think an event might end anytime and spots are limited, they jump at the chance.

Jeber knows his stuff about humans. Start ‘em off with a seedy casino vibe to hint at shady dealings, then abruptly shift to religious tones for a mental shock.

Inside, they meet someone mysterious—who knows if it’s really a shaman—and strike a bargain. Then they immediately see their transformation reflected in the mirrors.

No one explicitly hurries them along, but after a few seconds, the sole light near me goes out, prompting them to leave naturally.

Clever design.

Back in the sleazy area, the next potential Harvester waits. Those who entered exit the way they came in, doubling as walking advertisements.

Older folks need to constantly prove they’re younger now, turning themselves into living billboards.

Every day, massive crowds gather outside the shop.

Not just aging individuals seeking youth, but also curious onlookers verifying the rumors.

On the second day, Jeber himself stepped out and boldly lied, claiming the shaman was his guest and they were collaborators. He announced only nine random volunteers would be chosen daily via a half-transparent, half-opaque box containing slips with names, addresses, genders, and ages.

It’s shockingly easy to collect personal info this way.

To deflect resentment from those not picked, Jeber declared outsiders would draw the slips instead of himself, acting more like a game show host.

The transparent part of the box faces the audience, while the opaque side faces the drawer—a clever way to both harvest data and diffuse anger.

The place erupted into chaos. Every day until lunchtime, people submitted slips, and in the evening, a randomly selected person drew nine names under everyone’s watchful eyes.

Crowds grew daily, including some trying to uncover my true identity.

But who’d guess it’s just a fancy talking machine behind the scenes? And if anyone asks too many questions, the chimera kills them, drags the corpse outside, and announces the day’s session is canceled due to “cheating.”

Soon enough, a population of obedient lab rats formed.

Good for me—more Harvesters spreading. Good for Jeber—more test subjects. Good for the people—younger lives.

Everyone’s happy!