Life Game In Other World
Chapter 1204: Our Determination (Long - for Monthly Votes)

Chapter 1204: Chapter 1204: Our Determination (Long Chapter for Monthly Votes)

Dawn City

Sunlight poured down from the farthest reaches of the sky, leaving behind a pale firmament and a sparse scattering of silent, dazzling stars.

Click—

Sitting on the balcony, Christos glanced at the coffee beside his hand before reaching out to flip through the files in his possession.

After briefly skimming through one document, he set it down and turned his gaze toward the railing of the balcony.

There, a man with a silver ponytail stared quietly out at the still city in the distance.

"You seem troubled?"

Christos lifted the coffee to his lips, took a sip, and casually asked.

"I’ve been thinking about what that bastard councilman said."

The silver-haired man placed his hands on the balcony railing.

"The one who proposed replacing all the prostitutes’ bodies with mechanized ones?"

Christos flipped through the files again as he spoke offhandedly,

"Still angry about him? These councilmen are businessmen at their core. Corporations spend fortunes to sponsor them, connect them to the right people, and elevate them to power—all so they can advocate for laws and policies that serve the corporations’ interests at critical moments.

"It’s a routine practice for them."

"I’m not particularly angry at him. I’ve certainly seen enough of these scoundrels’ true faces in the past two years,"

The silver-haired man shook his head and withdrew his gaze from the distant cityscape, looking toward Christos. "I’m just contemplating the coherence of what he said."

"’High crime rates are caused by too many prostitutes. These filthy women give birth to criminals. Therefore, if their bodies are mechanized so they can’t reproduce, crime rates will naturally decrease.’"

Christos raised his head and repeated the councilman’s "theory." "Is that what you’re thinking about?"

He observed his old friend lost in thought and chuckled softly, "Do you feel his warped logic almost makes a strange kind of sense?"

"Precisely."

The silver-haired man turned around and leaned against the railing. "What he said is indeed true: many children born to prostitutes do ultimately turn into criminals, contributing to the high crime rates. That’s part of why his theory seems superficially reasonable."

He lowered his head, his gaze fixed on Christos. "But I’m pondering one crucial question: Are the children of prostitutes inherently destined to be criminals? Are they born evil?"

"That ventures into the age-old debate of ’whether humans are born virtuous or depraved,’ doesn’t it?"

Christos set aside the documents in his hands and regarded the silver-haired man. "Which side do you lean toward?"

"Subjectively, I’d like to believe humans are born virtuous."

The silver-haired man picked up another cup of coffee from the table and took a sip. "But objectively, I lean toward the biological perspective: ’Traits are influenced jointly by genes and the environment.’"

"There indeed exist individuals genetically predisposed to violence or, conversely, tolerance.

"For most ordinary people, we’re born without profoundly marked tendencies toward good or evil—only the primal drive for survival encoded in our genes, which evolves into a desire for reproduction as we mature.

"But as people grow, their differing environments sculpt them into entirely distinctive character profiles."

He held the coffee cup and once again walked to the edge of the railing. He leaned lightly against it, gazing toward the shadowy fringes of the bustling city,

"Prostitutes live at society’s lowest strata, in its darkest corners. If they don’t have stable husbands or partners, their children might be born without ever knowing their father.

"Some mothers take responsibility by raising their children, while others abandon them outright. In some cases, the mother dies while the child is still young, leaving them orphaned.

"These children lack the means to attend school, they often go hungry, and they grow up in chaotic neighborhoods rife with theft, robbery, and violence—the incessant gunfire of gang conflicts their only childhood lullaby.

"And because of their vulnerability, they’re often on the receiving end of bullying and exploitation.

"Wouldn’t children raised in such environments—immersed in such sights and sounds—grow to crave power, lean toward violence, and find themselves more likely to turn criminal?"

He turned to Christos.

"Even those who are extraordinarily clever and manage to secure an education may never fully escape the shadows of their upbringing,

"inflicting their childhood traumas upon everyone else as the most fearsome kinds of perpetrators."

He raised the coffee cup to his lips and took a measured sip.

"I wonder, if these children grew up in a normal family—a stable family with both parents present, receiving proper education—could they not become scholars in tailored suits, held in high esteem?"

Christos gazed at the silver-haired man before him, appearing somewhat lost in thought. After a long moment, he came back to himself and laughed. "Years ago, I asked someone similar questions in a similar state as you are now."

"What answer did they give?"

The silver-haired man looked down at Christos, his expression faintly puzzled.

"’There are no ifs in this world,’"

Christos said slowly.

The silver-haired man froze slightly upon hearing the reply.

"From your analysis, the issue with ’children of prostitutes’ isn’t merely about those children."

Christos lowered his head and quietly remarked as he scanned through the files in his hands.

The silver-haired man paused slightly, speaking softly,

"If we want those children to grow up healthy and normal, we must ensure their mothers can also live healthy and normal lives—fed with dignity, educated properly, unburdened by the need to sell their bodies for survival.

"The same goes for everyone else living in those chaotic neighborhoods—the prostitutes, and everyone like them. The real root lies in transforming the environment that creates all of this."

He lowered his head and looked to Christos, suddenly gaining a deeper understanding of what Christos had committed himself to, and of ’that person’s’ efforts to change this world.

He stared at the ’Mayor’ standing just ahead, a note of sentiment rising inside him. "Do we really have the ability to change all this?"

"Compared to when we first came into office, there are far fewer prostitutes in Dawn City now. More food, more jobs, better social welfare have given some the power to choose another path.

"I’ve heard the situation is even better in Kaye City. We are working hard to change all of this,

"It’s our ’resolve.’"

Christos spoke softly. "All of us, perhaps even ’that person.’"

"Our resolve,"

Chewing over Christos’s words, the silver-haired man sighed softly, "To think, somehow, unknowingly, I’ve come this far supporting you."

Christos lifted his head and looked at the silver-haired man. He smiled. "Another epiphany?"

"Indeed."

The silver-haired man turned to gaze at the resplendent city behind him. "But theory must meet practice. Relying solely on simple surveys and research papers to understand this world is like seeing flowers through a mirror—never truly comprehending their essence.

"Regarding certain blind spots in our understanding, my contemplations often fail to account sufficiently."

He chuckled. "In the two or three years I’ve spent governing alongside you, I’ve learned more than in decades spent immersed in old books."

"Maybe visiting Kaye City, Rock City, and Wint City would yield even greater insights."

Christos suggested softly.

"If we make it through this storm alive."

The silver-haired man gazed toward the dense sea of lights and cityscape in the distance, smiling faintly.

Christos glanced at the silver-haired man, opening his mouth as though to ’advise’ him.

"It’s unusually quiet tonight."

Just then, the silver-haired man, staring at the distant lights, abruptly commented.

"Indeed. No protests, no sit-ins."

Christos swallowed the words he’d intended to say, casting his gaze toward the vibrant neon lights gradually illuminating the city under the night sky. "Even those greedy, selfish councilmen seem a bit more agreeable tonight."

"The moments of calm offered to us before the storm,"

The silver-haired man murmured, turning around to place his coffee on the table and looking at Christos with a smile. "I’ve handed drafts of my manuscripts over to my students. If I don’t finish them, they’ll complete them for me."

He straightened, smiling as he said, "I’ve thought long about it. There’s probably no city where the Deputy Mayor flees after the Mayor’s downfall. After all,"

He paused momentarily, continuing, "If you go down, I’ll be the Mayor of Dawn City. Who wouldn’t want to be that?"

He stopped again before adding, "As long as there are people alive, things must press onward."

He stood tall, staring once again at the interwoven darkness and lights of the city. "This is our resolve."

Christos gazed at his friend with hesitation, opening his mouth slightly but ultimately shutting it again.

Specks of light began to emerge amidst the haze and shadows, gradually illuminating the darkness.

——

North Mountains of Minte City

Two figures crossed a snowfield glimmering faintly, dragging long trails behind them as they scaled the mountain peak ahead.

Beneath their feet, traces of snow-covered stone-carved steps could be faintly discerned.

He Ao raised his head and stared upward toward the lights glowing atop the peak under the leaden clouds.

The setting sun offered its final traces of radiance at the edge of the sky, though the pervasive cloud cover made it seem as though night had already fallen.

At the crest of the slope ahead, beneath stretches of white snow, a broad, metallic facility marked with dark red patterns loomed faintly into view.

A small door stood at the entrance of the facility, flanked by two dim red lights that illuminated the snow, casting a faint aura over the wooded mountain path.

"Humans have a settlement here?"

Xiya, standing by He Ao’s side, glanced up toward the metallic facility, her voice tinged with astonishment. "We’ve never seen it before..."

She turned to observe their surroundings before realization struck, her voice rasping, "This is deep within the territory frequented by Pseudo-Wolves. Did these people hide their settlement here to avoid being discovered by outsiders exploring the territory?"

She blinked in momentary surprise before muttering, "Aren’t they afraid of attacks by Pseudo-Wolves? Or do they have some way to deal with them?"

"They might’ve had some means in the past,"

He Ao glanced at the lights of the blood-stained facility and started moving forward toward its narrow metal door. "Now, not necessarily."

"Huh?"

Xiya blinked in confusion.

She quickly sped up to match He Ao’s steps.

Before long, both reached the narrow door.

The door wasn’t sealed; it hung ajar, revealing a dimly lit hallway within.

Drip-drip—

Thin, cold liquid fell down onto Xiya’s cheek.

Instinctively, Xiya raised her hand to touch her face.

Her slender fingers were instantly stained red by the faintly luminescent liquid, the thick metallic scent of blood permeating the chilly air around them.

Confused, Xiya glanced upward at the source.

A brilliant red lamp came into view overhead.

Only then did she notice that the bright red light wasn’t inherent to the lamp but was the result of blood smeared across its surface, casting this eerie crimson glow.

Drip-drip—

With her gaze fixed, another drop of blood fell from the lamp body, landing squarely on her cheek.

Hurriedly, she stepped back from beneath the lamp, avoiding the falling blood.

The chilly wind brushed against her cheeks.

Yet, in such cold conditions, ordinary blood would already have coagulated.

She glanced at the crimson stain on her fingertips.

Could this blood belong to Transcendents?

Her attention shifted to the other lamp beside the entrance.

The lamps were large—how much blood would it take to coat them completely?

Click—

A faint sound broke the silence ahead.

Xiya lowered her gaze and looked forward.

He Ao had already pushed open the slightly ajar door and stepped inside.

Xiya hurriedly chased after him.

But the moment she stepped past the threshold, she froze momentarily.

The floor tiles within the hallway mirrored faint but pervasive red hues.

Glancing upward, her gaze met the ceiling.

Blood-soaked chandeliers dangled in the darkness of the hallway, each lamp saturated with red, dripping blood that echoed faintly against the stillness.

Drip-drip-drip—

Falling blood glinted under flickering suspended lights, resonating like ominous whispers within the long, narrow corridor.

"We need to hurry,"

The gentle yet firm voice beside her instantly shattered the eerie atmosphere, pulling her attention toward it.

He Ao inspected the time on the bracelet worn around his wrist and said, "We don’t have much time left."

With swift strides, he instantly reached the far end of the hallway.

Drip—

A crimson droplet fell near Xiya.

She instinctively glanced at the scarlet ceiling lamps overhead before her unease surfaced. "Uncle... Mr. Suote, wait for me."

Lowering her head, she darted ahead and caught up with He Ao’s brisk pace.

Soon, she arrived at the hallway’s farthest end.

A ’T’-shaped junction split the path into left and right.

At the far end of the rightward corridor, a shadowy figure stood motionless and cradled a bucket of blood, smearing something across it.

Turning toward her companion’s silhouette, Xiya meant to ask something.

But before she could speak, the figure beside her briskly strode toward the rightward direction.

She quickly followed behind.

"Hmm?"

The shadow holding blood seemed to hear their approaching footsteps, turning with the bucket of crimson toward them.

Bzz—

The blade flashed crimson the instant the shadow turned its head, severing it cleanly in an instant.

Without stopping, the figure carrying the back-sheathed blade walked past the headless corpse as if nothing had happened.

The severed head spiraled through the air before falling toward Xiya behind him.

Unaware of what had flown toward her, Xiya instinctively reached out to catch it.

Looking down, her eyes met the bloodied white wolf’s head.

"Ah—"

Startled, she flung the wolf’s head to the ground reflexively.

Thud—

Meanwhile, the headless humanoid corpse ahead toppled forward onto the floor, its neck’s pale flesh shining faintly with no trace of bleeding.

The overturned blood bucket splattered its crimson contents, pooling over the floor.

Scarlet light danced across the hanging lamps overhead, illuminating the pooling blood below.

Only then did Xiya finally discern what the shadow had been smearing using the blood—a hemispherical surveillance camera.

At this moment, the blood-covered camera had tilted upward, resembling a bloodshot eye watching her intently.

Shuddering faintly, Xiya darted after He Ao without hesitation, ignoring the blood and sprinting toward the depths of the bunker alongside the vanishing figure.