86: The reasoning of a madman is harder to refute than that of a normal person.

Corvin pointed the muzzle of his gun at Nathan Doom's forehead.

Eight meters.

At this distance, a bolt shell from a Bolter could penetrate any known human armor within 0.3 seconds.

But the man did not look at him.

Nathan Doom sat in his chair with his head lowered, muttering something under his breath.

His voice was very soft and intermittent.

Corvin's bionic eye automatically magnified his lip movements in an attempt to decipher the content, but it wasn't any language he recognized.

It wasn't Terra Common, nor a Pacific dialect, nor any known wasteland tribal tongue.

Those syllables were twisted and fractured, forcibly dragged from the depths of his throat.

The hair on the back of Corvin's neck stood up.

"Stop," he said.

Nathan Doom did not stop.

"I said stop."

The chanting ceased abruptly.

Nathan Doom looked up.

The moment those grey eyes looked at Corvin, Corvin's finger nearly pulled the trigger.

There was something in those eyes that made his instincts scream.

It wasn't exhaustion.

It was madness.

A madness that had been suppressed for a long time but had never truly disappeared.

"Oh," Nathan Doom said, his voice raspy, the kind of raspiness from someone who hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time. "A guest has arrived."

He tilted his head to look at Corvin, then at TW-201, and then back to Corvin.

His gaze darted back and forth between the two of them, rapid and restless.

"Two," he said. "Only two came."

He laughed.

The laughter echoed in the empty hall, sharp and short.

"Your master sent two people to kill me? Two?" He shook his head.

"Does he look down on me, or does he look down on you?"

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Corvin said.

"They are right where you can see them." Nathan Doom spread his hands and placed them on the armrests.

His fingers were long, his nails neatly trimmed, but there was a faint black layer on his fingertips—traces left by long-term contact with some kind of chemical substance.

Corvin noticed he was wearing a ring on his right ring finger.

It wasn't made of metal; it was made of bone.

Human bone.

"What were you chanting just now?" Corvin asked.

"A prayer," Nathan Doom said.

"To whom?"

"To those watching us from the beyond." Nathan Doom's lips curled slightly. "You wouldn't want to know."

TW-201 circled around from the side, its muzzle always aimed at Nathan Doom's temple. Its footsteps were light, but every step produced an echo in the empty hall.

"No one else is around," TW-201 said.

"Of course not," Nathan Doom said. "I drove them all away. Three days ago."

"Drove them where?"

"Everywhere." Nathan Doom's fingers tapped lightly on the armrest in an irregular rhythm. "In the jungles, in the deserts, in your refugee camps. Everywhere."

Corvin's pupils contracted.

Soldiers of the Sun Warriors had infiltrated the refugee camps.

"You're setting a scheme," Corvin said.

Nathan Doom looked at him, something flashing in those grey eyes.

It was neither denial nor admission, but something closer to a condescending scrutiny.

"A scheme?" He repeated the word, then laughed again, this time shorter and sharper. "You think I'm setting a scheme?"

He stood up.

The movement was sudden. Corvin's finger tightened instantly, the muzzle moving with the man's head.

But Nathan Doom didn't make any aggressive moves; he just stood up and began pacing on the platform.

He had a slight limp in his right leg. With every step, his body would tilt slightly to the right before correcting itself.

It wasn't an external injury; it was some kind of degenerative disease.

Corvin had seen this gait before in wasteland dwellers who had been exposed to radiation for long periods.

"Let me tell you something," Nathan Doom said, his back to Corvin. "Your master, the man who calls himself The Emperor, he wants to unify Terra."

"That's none of your business."

"None of my business?"

Nathan Doom spun around abruptly.

"This is my territory, mine!"

His voice suddenly rose, exploding in the hall.

Corvin saw the veins on his neck bulge, the wrinkles on his face twisting with rage.

Then he calmed down.

Within a second, he went from rage to calm.

This switching speed made Corvin more alert than any weapon could.

A person who can completely control their emotions within a second has either undergone extremely harsh training or their mind has already shattered to a certain peculiar point of balance.

Corvin leaned toward the latter.

"Thirty years," Nathan Doom said, his voice returning to its previous rasp.

"I spent thirty years building all of this. Every city, every shipping route, every port.

I crawled out of a small island submerged by a tsunami, empty-handed, with nothing.

Thirty years later, the Pacific Ocean is mine."

He walked to the giant screen at the edge of the hall and reached out to touch it.

The screen lit up.

Blue light filled the entire space.

Corvin squinted and saw that the screen displayed a map of the Pacific region.

It was marked with dense icons: cities, ports, factories, mines, agricultural zones, and power stations.

"Do you see?" Nathan Doom said. "This isn't a warlord's territory. This is a civilization."

His finger slid across the screen, the image zooming in and focusing on a coastal city.

"New Tokyo, population four million. Three nuclear fusion power plants, two deep-sea mining platforms, one genetic engineering research institute."

The image switched.

"Manila Fortress, population two million, the largest shipyard in the Pacific. Twelve ocean-going freighters launched every year."

Switch again.

"Sydney Ruins Reconstruction Zone. Population one and a half million. The only university on Terra still in operation."

He turned around and looked at Corvin.

"Your Emperor wants to unify Terra. Fine. I don't object to unification, but what is his method?"

He didn't wait for Corvin to answer.

"He created you." Nathan Doom looked Corvin up and down coldly. "Genetically modified Transhuman soldiers. Fast, efficient, cruel. Crushing all who resist."

The corner of his mouth twisted slightly.

"And then? After the crushing is done? Can you farm? Can you smelt steel? Can you teach children to read and write?"

"That is not our duty," Corvin said.

"Right, that is not your duty." Nathan Doom's voice suddenly became very soft, almost a whisper.

"Your duty is to kill. After the killing is done, you leave behind scorched earth, and then your master stands on that scorched earth and declares victory."

He took a step closer.

Corvin's muzzle pressed against his chest.

Nathan Doom looked down at the dark barrel, then looked up, staring straight into Corvin's bionic eye.

"The ambition to save humanity," he said, his voice carrying a cold mockery, "is almost always a disguise for the desire to rule it."

Corvin's finger paused on the trigger.

It wasn't because those words had convinced him.

It was because those words reminded him of something.

Something he had never seriously thought about.

The Emperor wanted to unify Terra.

Why?

For the future of humanity?

To rebuild civilization?

Or...