Rhodes Island does not exist.

The bomb will detonate once the remote control is removed from your finger.

Even if the merchant sensed anything amiss, the bomb would detonate with the slightest movement.

No Originium Arts can outpace his thinking.

Even Amiya, who can read and interfere with other people's thoughts, couldn't convince him to keep the remote control firmly in his hand.

Because now that things have come to this point, if we want him to give up detonating the bomb, we can't talk to him with an adversarial attitude.

Confrontation will only lead to tragedy.

Moreover, Rhodes Island is practically running out of manpower right now.

The operators' physical condition has begun to show some obvious problems due to more than a day of thirst and hunger, and some operators have even collapsed at their posts while working.

Therefore, even a PhD student at this moment can only speculate on possible turning points through constant reflection.

He still wanted to save Provence.

But this train of thought was ultimately interrupted by a sentence that came from Provence through the receiver.

"If you want supplies, come and get them, I'll open the door."

This wasn't said to myself.

She's probably standing in front of the observation tower right now, talking to the thugs who are confronting the operators.

Provence?!

The doctor almost lost his voice at that moment.

Although he rarely lost his composure.

The boys and girls sitting in a circle on the bed all stared at the doctor, their eyes filled with unease and pity.

They didn't know what the doctor was facing, but they could feel the emotions overflowing from his mouth.

-

Rhode Island, 16th floor, at the connection point of the observation tower.

"I agree to your terms."

"If you want supplies, just come and get them, I'll open the door."

A silence.

Even the half-mad merchant was stunned for a moment, wondering if he had misheard.

"You are... one of the women from the tower?"

Then, he finally came to his senses and turned his gaze to the tightly closed door that led to the depths of the corridor.

“Yes, I am Provence, the messenger of the Scourge from Rhodes Island,” she said.

Her voice was without the slightest timidity or hesitation; it was upright, righteous, and forceful.

From the moment she was surrounded by those thugs, she never uttered a single word to them.

"……hehe."

But the merchant laughed.

He rediscovered his previous frenzied state of mind and distorted expression.

"Take a good look at how we look now, all of you take a good look at how we look now." He pulled his left hand, which was tightly gripping the remote control, behind his back, while extending his right hand and gesturing back and forth in the air.

"Don't think I don't know what you're thinking!" He stepped back, gradually retreating into the crowd of refugees surrounding him. "If you really hand over the supplies to me, if you really fulfill the conditions I set for you and make me release the people, then we're the ones who will die! In the end, we won't get a single piece of those supplies!"

“After all, we are no match for you, so if you really wanted to kill us, it probably wouldn’t be any harder than crushing an ant.” He was panting, his expanded lungs unable to keep up with the physical exhaustion he had expended due to his emotional outburst. “The reason we… the reason you still treat us with respect is entirely because I still have a deterrent against you.”

In fact, he was right.

Because Kal'tsit also came with this idea in mind.

“And once we reach an agreement, this deterrent will cease to exist.” He stared at Kal’tsit, his voice already somewhat hoarse. “So I will absolutely not give up this deterrent. At least… at least before I die, I will drag you down with me.”

His thumb loosened slightly.

He means it.

“In that case, let me be your hostage,” Provence’s voice came again from inside the deep doorway. “If you are hesitant because of this worry, then let me take your worry away.”

"You? A hostage?"

The businessman was speechless as he asked the question.

“Yes,” Provence said. “If your people want to eat, they can even come and enjoy the supplies. That way, we won’t lose me as a hostage, nor will we lose your deterrent power on the sixteenth floor—how about it?”

At the very end of her statement, she even posed a rhetorical question.

"I..." The businessman fell silent.

For him, this was actually enough to meet the demands and conditions he had previously set.

When he heard what Provence said, he even wanted to agree to her proposal and take his refugees to have a feast.

But deep down, he also possessed a kind of calm madness.

Because he is a businessman.

Merchants, on the other hand, know best when to accept favors and when not to.

The premise is that the businessman only represents his own interests.

"Boss, I'm so hungry I can't stand it anymore... Just one bite, please let me have something to eat..."

"I know you definitely want to blow this place up, boss! But even if I'm going to die, I want to die with a full stomach."

"What are you waiting for? If you wait any longer, that woman will definitely back off. If you don't agree to her now, the treatment next time won't be as good!"

Those were the voices behind him, the constraints that prevented him from monopolizing the profits.

Behind him were the refugees who looked like clowns.

Although they were tormented by hunger and dehydration, they had long since given up thinking and entrusted their bodies and minds entirely to the merchants.

Even so, instinct remains firmly ingrained in their bodies.

Chapter 185, Chapter 184: The Price of a Vow

"How to do?"

The questions burning in his mind were searing the businessman's thoughts.

He was very clear about what he was relying on and what was supporting him in order to stand here.

It was the refugees behind them.

Although he saw them as clowns and burdens, there was no doubt that without them, he would not have been qualified to negotiate with Rhodes Island.

Since that's the case, let them do what they want.

"I understand."

He nodded and looked at the closed door as he spoke.

"Let's do it your way. Open the door and hand over all the supplies. I'll have my refugee brothers go over and receive them directly, and then enjoy them on the spot. As for you, just stay here as a hostage."

After saying this, he lowered his head and exhaled.

The refugees who were barely surviving beside him immediately burst into a loud cheer, as if they had already filled their stomachs before they even ate anything, and were full of energy.

“Then let’s come over to this side of the corridor.” Provence’s voice gradually faded. “I’ll go pack up the resources in the observation tower and prepare for the handover later.”

“Then…we?” A refugee looked up at the merchant, waiting for his permission.

"Don't rush. Leave some people to observe Rhodes Island." The merchant was cautious. "We can't be careless now that we're about to get our hands on them."

"clear."

-

"Doctor, you don't need to worry about me."

The voice in the communicator was interrupted unilaterally for a time, and then reconnected, allowing Provence's voice to return to the doctor's ears.

"How could I not be worried? What did you just say? Are you planning to open the door and let those refugees into the tower? You'll be dead!" The doctor bit his lip, a surge of agitation rising in his chest.

“Doctor… I already said this before.” Provence on the other end couldn’t help but chuckle. “You should be concerned about the remaining resources, not me.”

“My life is already insignificant in this situation. My survival can no longer help Rhodes Island's continued existence. You shouldn't be so concerned about me, but…”

Her laughter returned to its usual cheerful and warm tone.

As gentle as a wind chime.

"...Thank you for saying that, Doctor."

“But that’s not why I said that to you.” The doctor’s tone was in stark contrast to Provence’s.

He wasn't incapable of understanding the meaning behind Provence's words.

On the contrary, he understood it all too well.

This strategy of acting solely from the perspective of maximizing profits is exactly the same as my past self.

But that's precisely why there are problems—because I fully understand them.

Because this is not a decision that a human being with emotions could make.

Living things are driven by self-interest and avoidance of harm; life is selfish and ruthless.

Humans are inherently selfish creatures.

Acting in the interest of maximizing one's own interests is ultimately just an unattainable ideal.

But this girl, this messenger of natural disaster named Provence, was able to do such a thing without batting an eye.

There is only one reason that led her to do this.

She believes a doctorate is worthwhile.

“Doctor, do you know?” After a moment of silence, Provence suddenly spoke up, “I was actually very scared when I first came to Rhodes Island, until I saw you.”

"But I don't feel that my appearance is as likable as you say," the doctor said with a wry smile.

“No.” Provence’s voice was soft and gentle, as if she were reading a bedtime story. “When I first came to Rhodes Island, I got lost in the training area. Several operators passed by me, but I just smiled at them and didn’t have the courage to ask for directions until I saw you sitting on a bench in the corridor eating something.”

"Such a thing happened?" The doctor desperately searched his memory for the fragments of Provence's words.

“You were eating a box of food that looked completely green, and you looked utterly miserable,” Provence said cheerfully. “Seeing you like that, I couldn’t help but laugh.”

"Then you heard my laughter and looked up at me." Her voice seemed to echo back to that moment, distant and long. "So, to ease the awkwardness of this rude behavior, I had no choice but to bite the bullet and ask you for directions, and then I left immediately. At that time, I didn't even know that you were the Doctor from Rhodes Island."

"Later," Provence said with a smile, "I met you again and learned who you were, but I still asked you about that day."

"What problem?" The doctor felt he couldn't remember the trivial things she had mentioned.

“I asked, ‘Since that stuff tastes so bad, why do you still put it in your mouth?’” Provence replied, “If you don’t like it, why don’t you just not eat it?”

"What was my answer?"

“You told me that it was the operator’s birthday that day, so you couldn’t refuse her kind request.” Provence’s voice flowed calmly through the communicator.

"It seems there really is such a thing." The doctor nodded.

"And this—is what I'm about to say."

The doctor heard Provence on the other end take a deep breath.

She was brewing something.

Then she spoke.

"Doctor, today is also my birthday."

Upon hearing this, the doctor's first reaction was to search his memory for personnel information about Provence to see exactly what her birthday was.

But Provence's words interrupted the doctor's thoughts.

“You don’t need to care what day it is, you just need to know that it’s my birthday.” Her voice carried an emotion that the doctor had almost never heard before. “And I, too, have a kind gift I want to give you—you can’t refuse it.”

"...A gift? Provence, calm down!" Although he didn't know what Provence meant by "gift," the Doctor had already sensed the danger behind him. "If you're talking about the refugee incident, I absolutely will not agree, and I don't think it's out of goodwill!"

“No, no,” Provence laughed. “I really do have a gift for you, and it’s right here under the floor tile on your desk in your room.”

"A gift? What is it?" The doctor rose from the bed and strode towards the elevator. "Provence—"