Chapter 4: In the Future, He Will Become His Spiritual Anchor

When receiving this mission assignment, Rimbaud gave Verlaine exhausted from training an afternoon off while he went alone to the DGSS headquarters.

Rimbaud’s superior, who was also the highest commander of DGSS Mr. Gao was waiting for him in the office.

“You seem to have doubts about the mission, my child.”

Mr. Gao wore an amiable smile. “This is the first time you’ve actively sought me out. Are you facing any difficulties?”

“There is one point. I disagree with the decision to have Verlaine participate in mission execution immediately.”

Rimbaud’s expression appeared extremely calm, stripped of all subjective emotions purely businesslike. “He has been training for less than three months.”

The investment required to cultivate a qualified agent wasn’t enormous, but the effort expended was certainly not insignificant.

Even with that questionable journal serving as a warning whether genuine or fabricated Rimbaud remained committed to thoroughly training Verlaine as a newcomer, teaching him all the skills necessary to become an agent.

Theoretically speaking, Verlaine needed six to eight months of training before he could start with simple missions and gradually adapt to this highly demanding new profession.

Even though the government placed such importance on the combat capabilities of this 【artificial god】, they shouldn’t deploy him directly into the field when he wasn’t yet prepared.

This stance didn’t involve any personal bias but stemmed from purely rational judgment.

Rimbaud and Mr. Gao locked eyes for a long time until the latter finally sighed and looked away first.

“This is still a test,” Mr. Gao said.

“His performance in the final round of the assessment didn’t satisfy everyone. My dear Arthur, do you understand what I mean?”

“…………”

Rimbaud fell silent for a moment before comprehending Mr. Gao’s meaning.

In that test, Verlaine’s final decision not to shoot was because of him, and his decision to shoot was also because of him.

He had become the crucial influencing factor in this trial, to the extent that after reviewing the test report, the higher-ups realized Verlaine might not be as controllable as they had anticipated or rather, the anchor point for control wasn’t in their hands.

They still wanted to test Verlaine again through actual combat, and he would be involved as well, becoming that critical helmsman.

“Fundamentally speaking, you both possess very powerful abilities extremely powerful ones.”

Mr. Gao’s gaze at Rimbaud was profound, yet carried the unique affection and fondness of an elder looking at a junior.

“If possible, the government doesn’t want to lose either of you; in fact, we hope you and Verlaine can separately support DGSS’s future.”

So they wanted him and Verlaine to separate in the future and undertake missions independently…

Faced with such heavily implied expectations, Rimbaud only remained silent for a moment before looking back at Mr. Gao.

“I can take Verlaine on this mission, but the decision you’ve made might not be wise.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but his pacing and enunciation were extremely clear as he emphasized each word deliberately.

Mr. Gao made a questioning sound, equally perceiving the underlying meaning.

“You believe he’ll lose control as soon as he’s separated from you?”

” Yes.”

“Are you confident you can control him, ensuring he never commits any acts detrimental to France’s interests?”

“Yes.”

“And all of this must be established under the condition that you remain together at all times?”

“Yes.”

Rimbaud’s answers grew increasingly firm and resolute with each response, causing Mr. Gao to gaze at him for a long while before slowly speaking.

“Then let it begin with this mission. Verlaine still needs to depart with you.”

He ultimately conceded to the subordinate he had always admired and held in high regard. “It’s just as well that he’s still a novice now we can observe where his mental limits lie in a natural state.”

This practical test was unavoidable no matter what Mr. Gao had stated it plainly.

After a moment of silence, Rimbaud heard Mr. Gao pose one final question to him.

“Even under such circumstances, can you still guarantee the mission’s success?”

“Yes.”

Rimbaud replied.

He would become the anchor for his spirit, the calm a midst all storms.

…………

Located in the southeast, Nice was nearly a thousand kilometers from Paris, requiring over ten hours by train to reach their destination.

Aside from returning to Paris with Rimbaud for DGSS assessment, this was only Verlaine’s second time riding a train.

The swaying carriage and peculiar odors emanating from within made him extremely uncomfortable. Even the letters on the documents seemed to waver, inducing intense dizziness.

Noticing how Verlaine clutched the documents while occasionally furrowing his brow in discomfort, Rimbaud swapped seats with him, letting the other sit by the window.

These old-fashioned trains moved slowly, and their windows could be lifted halfway to allow some air circulation.

“No need to force yourself to read. I can explain it to you.”

During non-training hours, Rimbaud’s tone was always gentle, effortlessly soothing his emotions whether unease, agitation, or those deeper, heavier negative impulses that were hard to suppress.

Like a vast expanse of viscous, foul-smelling asphalt, making every step through the shadows increasingly difficult until he halted completely, sinking slowly and irrevocably into darker depths.

“Alright.”

Verlaine’s expression immediately relaxed as he nodded and put away the documents.

They were orphans whose parents had died tragically in the war, their inheritance embezzled by distant relatives who then found them troublesome and contacted Sitoon Religious Academy, paying to send them away.

“Did those distant relatives really exist?” Verlaine whispered to Rimbaud. “What if they investigate?”

“The distant relatives are our people. Even if the academy investigates personally, no flaws will be exposed.”

Rimbaud explained, “Beyond operatives like us specializing in combat missions, DGSS and DGSE also have numerous support personnel, just like in this case.”

Verlaine: “DGSE?”

“Another intelligence agency, but they only manage non-Espers the opposite of DGSS.”

After a pause, Rimbaud continued, “In truth, many governments dislike Espers, viewing them merely as strategic resources requiring strict control… Though in regions with strong religious atmospheres, treatment becomes polarized either as God’s chosen people or heaven-sent calamities.”

According to the latest battlefield intelligence gathered by their department, Britain had already deployed Espers with large-scale incendiary capabilities on the front lines; Germany, not to be outdone, had similarly dispatched causality-manipulating Espers to participate in the war.

With the addition of large military forces sweeping through, the war raged so fiercely that the sky turned dark and the earth scorched, transforming several kilometers of what was once a small town into a devastated ruin.

He usually wouldn’t speak so bluntly, but facing Verlaine who, according to the journal, was deeply fixated on his own identity Rimbaud felt it necessary to let him know in advance about the harsher, more unforgiving side of the world.

“So, even in the government, you face… unfair treatment too?”

Verlaine fell silent for a long moment, then turned to look at Rimbaud, who sat beside him with an unwaveringly calm expression, as if struggling to understand his answer.

“They wouldn’t dare.”

He heard Rimbaud reply with a casual, almost dismissive tone.

In the damp, cool breeze drifting through the window, Rimbaud leaned back against the seat, one hand propping his cheek, legs crossed.

His hair was a deep black, fine and soft, with elegant curls resting on his shoulders. Disturbed by the wind, he tucked the strands on the window side behind his ear, revealing under the bright sunlight his distinctly European features high cheekbones, fair skin which made his golden eyes appear even more profound and serene.

As powerful Espers, they themselves were walking calamities, the origins of every storm, “earthly deities” whom no one dared disrespect.

But not all Espers were this powerful, and setting aside their abilities, they were still human.

Because they were human, they yearned for acceptance, for realizing their own values, for belonging to a larger community.

In this regard, they were no different from Verlaine.

Verlaine stared at Rimbaud for a long time, seemingly stunned.

After a brief silence, he heard Rimbaud speak again, his voice soft, as if even he wasn’t entirely sure whether he could accomplish what he said.

“To end the war, we must do something.”

According to the journal’s records, this Esper war engulfing the world would last at least five more years.

Could he… change something ahead of time?

At the very least, he had to prevent that outcome…

“Rimbaud.”

A low, quiet call suddenly reached his ears, and the words someone had written in the journal and passed on to him receded like a tide, revealing the still-shaking old carriage and Verlaine, who was looking his way.

“What is it?” Rimbaud asked gently.

“What happens if I fail the mission?”

Verlaine’s brow was tightly furrowed, lacking confidence in his first mission or more precisely, he was afraid of messing up and dragging Rimbaud down with him.

Hearing the question, Rimbaud blinked in slight surprise, looking at the still-immature Verlaine, so different from the one described in the journal.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

“I’ll be watching over you.”

…………

As per Rimbaud’s request, the identities DGSS prepared for them were quite simple.

Verlaine’s alias was Musa Kushner, younger brother of Moran Kushner that is, Rimbaud’s brother.

They were one year apart, born into a mixed-blood family whose ancestors had immigrated to France, which also explained why one had blond hair and the other black.

The records also included the explanation given by their “distant relative” to the Sitoon Religious Academy:

The elder brother had a gentle and reserved temperament, while the younger brother was aloof and taciturn. They had only received a few years of homeschooling previously. Although their parents were wealthy, they had never allowed them to be exposed to religion. Now, at last, they could come to receive the guidance of the Lord.

Sitoon Religious Academy, while accepting a large sum of money, was also quite willing to take in this pair of “lost” brothers and guaranteed that they would surely feel “the love of a new family” once again.

“I am Besan Tobila, just call me Aunt Besan.”

A middle-aged woman stood by the platform, holding a sign that read [Welcome the Kushniel Brothers].

She had already received the brothers’ enrollment application, and as soon as she spotted them, she proactively waved them over.

“Aunt Besan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The elder brother, Moran, was polite and courteous, taking the initiative to greet her. “Uncle Edmund sent me and Miusa here.”

The younger brother, Miusa, stood slightly behind him, his face pale and indifferent. He merely glanced at her briefly without uttering a word.

At first glance, they matched the descriptions she had seen in the documents.

Besan Tobila carefully observed this pair of brothers who had chosen such a delicate timing to enroll.

On Moran’s left wrist was a plainly designed mechanical watch, somewhat expensive but with worn edges a birthday gift from their wealthy but deceased parents a few years ago. It was clear that he treasured it dearly and had taken great care of it.

Beyond that, the elder brother preferred light-colored clothing, while the younger favored dark tones. The fabrics were generally of medium to high quality, hand-sewn, but the styles were outdated, showing signs of starch-washing and fading.

This also aligned with their family’s decline and their current situation of having to depend on others.

At least in terms of their attire, Besan Tobila could find no suspicious signs.

“Oh, what adorable children.”

So, smiling, she put away the sign, opened the car door with one hand, and wrapped her other arm around Rimbaud’s shoulder, carefully guiding him to bend and sit inside all while chattering incessantly.

“How lovely! I can almost see your parents’ beauty reflected in your eyes. Oh, I am truly saddened by their passing. War is such a cruel slaughter, isn’t it? But don’t worry, I promise you’ll soon have a much better, bigger family.”

When she reached out to take Miusa’s arm, the cold-faced younger brother directly avoided her touch, getting into the car himself and sitting beside his elder brother Moran.

He pressed close to him, almost clinging, behaving exclusively yet showing extreme dependence on the other.

Moran gently patted his head, soothing his unconsciously revealed tension and anxiety.

“I’m very sorry, Aunt Besan.”

He apologized to the slightly embarrassed Aunt Besan. “Miusa is just like that; he doesn’t like being touched by others.”

His tone was sincere, and his light golden eyes, gazing over, were as beautiful as honey illuminated by sunlight, making Aunt Besan immediately decide to let it go. She waved her hand and took the passenger seat.

“It’s alright, children always need more tolerance and understanding.”

Her plump face broke into a smile, her eyes crinkling so much that her true emotions became indiscernible.

Once the car started moving, Besan Tobila didn’t remain silent but kept asking Rimbaud and Verlaine about their personal matters, seemingly particularly curious, pitying, and sympathetic toward their plight.

Musa Kushner, on the other hand, maintained a stern expression throughout, lips pressed tightly together, unwilling to utter even half a word in response to her.

He turned his head toward the car window, appearing completely uninterested in any conversation inside the vehicle though in reality, Verlaine was feeling somewhat carsick, and this posture helped him feel more comfortable.

Rimbaud, who was responsible for external communication, answered every one of the woman’s questions politely and thoroughly, using the standard Parisian French accent. His tone was gentle and courteous, leaving no room for suspicion, which only prompted her to keep asking questions in various ways.

Moreover, the woman’s French accent was far from standard, often peppered with words and grammar that Verlaine couldn’t understand.

Rimbaud occasionally expressed confusion about the meanings of these words during their conversation, but Verlaine had a strong intuition that he actually understood them and was merely pretending not to.

Just as Verlaine himself was dutifully playing the role of a cold and aloof younger brother, he remained fully aware of everything happening inside the car.

If even the slightest unusual situation arose such as their identities being exposed he would not hesitate to take action.

Although he had heard Rimbaud mention before that he was an Esper, Rimbaud’s usual demeanor was reserved and calm. Even when supervising Verlaine’s intense training, his movements were always elegant, with no trace of high combat capability.

What if Rimbaud’s ability was of a supportive type?

Verlaine instinctively kept an eye on Rimbaud’s safety and repeatedly visualized in his mind how he would deliver a fatal blow to both the driver and the plump woman if he had to act.

His instincts strongly rejected that plump woman, just as he clearly knew that her smiles, her scrutinizing gaze, and every question she directed at Rimbaud were all filled with ill intentions.

If he ended up having to kill her later, it would also be a perfect opportunity to prove to Rimbaud that he would never hesitate when facing a target.