Arknights: The Life Inside-Chapter 49

Then, Hemer explained the meaning of physiological tolerance and somatic cell activity. To put it simply, the former referred to the body's endurance, while the latter measured how actively somatic cells interacted with Originium material. In essence, the higher the somatic cell activity, the more suited an individual was to learning Originium arts.

As for Originium Arts Adaptability, the data remained inconclusive. That was to be expected—after all, Yoren was still a newcomer to the world of the Infected and had no knowledge of Originium arts.

What truly caught Yoren's attention, however, was the last statistic: the Originium Energy Conversion Rate. He had a gut feeling that everything else was just a prelude. This was the number that determined whether someone was truly powerful.

Pointing at the screen, Yoren asked, "Hemer, what exactly does this last one mean?"

Hemer adjusted his glasses, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "This is an incredibly important metric. Normally, we don't measure individuals with it—this test is meant to evaluate the strength of Originium arts themselves. Each Originium contains a massive amount of energy, especially S-class Originium, which holds enough power to sustain the entire Experimental Base No. 4. The Originium Energy Conversion Rate determines how much of this energy is consumed by Originium arts."

He continued, "Imagine an Originium unit has an energy value of 1,000. A standard Originium art might consume 1 point. Simultaneously, the caster must provide a proportional amount of their own power. This rate essentially determines how quickly an individual can consume Originium energy and, by extension, how much force they can exert."

Yoren recalled a moment from Mandel City. Every time Frost Nova cast an ice spell, she held an Originium in her hand. When she unleashed that immense frost covering an entire street, the Originium crumbled to dust.

This was what it meant to convert Originium energy.

Hemer continued, "One more thing—you should know that in Terra, the ability to use Originium arts isn't exclusive to the Infected. While the Infected have an inherent affinity, ordinary people can still wield Originium arts through training and talent. Take Miss Saria from the Defense Department, for example."

"Oh, I already know that."

"Well, some individuals have such precise control that they can store Originium energy within their bodies instead of using it immediately. But that energy can't stay there for long. For ordinary people, doing so drastically increases the risk of oripathy. Even the Infected must expel stored Originium energy within a certain timeframe, or they risk accelerating their infection."

After listening to Hemer's explanation, Yoren finally understood the data.

He scrolled down a few pages.

Rhine Life S-Level Confidential Data

Date: May 2, 1093

No.: 020-SP

Somatic cell and Originium fusion rate: 13%

Blood Originium crystal density: 0.48u/L

Abnormal substance state: Stable

Physical function test level: A6

Individual strength: 1104

Physiological tolerance: 207

Somatic cell activity: 234

Originium Arts Adaptability: Unknown

Originium Energy Conversion Rate: 947

Looking at the numbers, Yoren finally grasped what Hemer had told him yesterday.

In just one week, all of his physical parameters had nearly doubled.

He continued scrolling.

Day after day, his stats climbed at an alarming rate. Strangely, only physiological tolerance increased slowly. Just as Hemer had warned, his body's endurance would eventually fall behind, and when that happened—he would die.

His power was growing at an unnatural rate, faster even than oripathy.

Yoren skipped ahead to the last recorded entry—the day before he was quarantined.

Rhine Life S-Level Confidential Data

Date: May 13, 1093

No.: 020-SP

Somatic cell and Originium fusion rate: 14%

Blood Originium crystal density: 0.49u/L

Abnormal substance state: Unstable

Physical function test level: S1

Individual strength: 2860 (Close to Critical)

Physiological tolerance: 310

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Somatic cell activity: 237

Originium Arts Adaptability: Unknown

Originium Energy Conversion Rate: 1954 (Dangerous)

According to Rhine Life's projections, at his current rate of growth, Yoren's strength would reach a critical threshold in 11 days—beyond which his body would no longer be able to withstand itself.

Staring at the numbers, a cold sweat trickled down Yoren's cheek. Individual strength had skyrocketed to 2860, and his Originium Energy Conversion Rate was an astronomical 1954. He didn't need a deeper explanation—these values were terrifying.

In less than two weeks, his own power would kill him.

Hemer placed a hand on Yoren's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we still haven't found a way to stop this. In our previous experiments, we had you consume massive amounts of Originium during your mutations to prevent your body from tearing itself apart. You fought against the mechanical constructs Dr. Meier created, burning through all the excess energy. But now, those experiments are meaningless. Before we find a way to delay the inevitable, there's one last test we need to conduct."

Yoren swallowed back his unease, steadying himself. "What kind of test?"

"When you were sedated, we used artificial stimuli to provoke emotional responses and trigger your power. But now that you're awake, your emotions are more difficult to manipulate. We need to find a reliable way to activate that power at will. It's crucial for the future of the SP experiments."

Yoren fell into thought. Hemer was right. Emotions were unpredictable. Anger, for example, needed the right trigger—something specific to incite it. He could recall Dark Crow's face and feel his blood boil, but childhood memories, like being chased by a neighbor's dog, did nothing for him. If a stimulus became too familiar, it lost its effect. He couldn't rely on rage alone.

He leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how to draw it out yet, but if you have an idea, I'll cooperate."

Hemer slowly walked behind him. "I thought of a method before, but since you were always unconscious, we never had the chance to test it."

"What method?"

Without warning, Hemer grabbed Yoren's ear and yanked hard.

"OW—! DAMN IT, THAT HURTS!"

Letting go, Hemer nodded in satisfaction. "Pain. Physical pain stimulates the nervous system and forces the body into a heightened state. Your wounds will send distress signals to your brain, triggering emotional fluctuations. What do you think? Worth a try?"

30 Minutes Later

Yoren stood inside a sealed metal chamber. Through a reinforced observation window, he saw Hemer give him a thumbs-up. He nodded back.

A sharp dagger gleamed in his hand.

Taking a deep breath, Yoren braced himself. His mind replayed the moment he lost his hand. Compared to that, this was nothing.

He gritted his teeth, clenched the dagger, and—

"AHH!"

Steel sliced flesh. Blood sprayed through the air.

If this were a magical girl ritual, it was one too brutal for any children's channel.

The pain shot through him like lightning, searing through his veins.

Yoren winced, his voice trembling.

"Transform... Transform!"

As the dagger carved an arc through the air, blood spurted out, splattering against the cold metal walls.

It hurt. It really hurt.

Pain shot through Yoren's palm, so sharp it felt like his nerves were being seared. His fingers twitched instinctively, the agony traveling up his arm and sinking deep into his bones.

He gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply. Over the past few weeks, he had endured far worse. Pain had become a familiar companion. But there was a difference between surviving injuries and deliberately inflicting one upon yourself. Few had the resolve to pick up a blade and drive it into their own flesh.

Thin wires trailed from his body, feeding data to the monitors outside the room where Hemer stood observing. Yoren clenched his jaw, breathing through the pain, but then—

Boom. Boom.

A sound, deep and resonant, reverberated through him. At first, he thought it was his own heartbeat, but no—this was something else. Something buried within him, stirring awake.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Faster. Louder. It was coming. He could feel it—a restless force coiling within his left side, rising in response to the pain. His palm, which had been burning moments ago, grew numb. The numbness spread, creeping up his arm like an invasive parasite.

Then came the emotion.

Dark. Vicious. Hungry.

Anger. Destruction. The overwhelming desire to kill.

Black veins crawled through the sclera of his left eye, a thick, inky mist seeping from his wounded palm. Yoren stood still, letting the transformation take hold, feeling every pulse of power surging within him. But unlike before, he remained aware. Unlike the chaos in Mandel City, there was no threat here—no enemy to fight, no battle to lose himself in.

Through the reinforced glass, Hemer studied the rising numbers flashing on her screen, then lifted the intercom.

"020, respond. Are you conscious? Tell me your name."

Her voice echoed through the battle room. Yoren, now barely human in appearance, looked up. His lips were turning purple, his left eye dark as an abyss, only a faint crimson glint in the pupil. The mist coiling around him made him look like a specter pulled from the depths of hell.

Hemer's grip tightened on the emergency button. If she pressed it, the room's defenses would activate, flooding the space with hypnotic gas while summoning the Defense Department. Five minutes—if he lost control, that was all the time they had.

Then Yoren spoke, his voice hoarse but firm.

"My name isn't 020. It's Yoren, you little sleepy owl."

Relief flickered in Hemer's eyes. He was still in control. The experiment had worked—pain had triggered the transformation, but it hadn't consumed him.

Hemer quickly responded, "Yoren, how do you feel? Can you control it?"

Yoren clenched his fists, forcing his words out. "I can control it, but... I feel like I'm burning from the inside out. How do I stop this?"

The moment he finished speaking, his left hand began to tremble violently. Agony ripped through him, tearing apart whatever stability he had left.

"Ahhh!"

The pain was unbearable. He clutched his left arm, his body wracked with tremors. He knew this feeling—this power was eating him alive, just like before.

A mechanical arm extended from the wall, offering a translucent yellow crystal, an Originium. Hemer's voice came through the speaker.

"This is Originium. Take it. That power needs fuel, or it will destroy you. Hold the Originium, then try to calm yourself."

Yoren lifted his left hand, reaching for the crystal. But just as his fingers were about to touch it, he stopped.

A thought, irrational yet undeniable, took root in his mind.

Why should he feed this power?

Why should he bow to it?

It was inside his body. He was the host. He wasn't some desperate beggar handing out offerings to appease a beast.

This was like dealing with an old con artist—one who harassed you, made your life miserable, and then demanded money to go away. Most people would eventually cave, tossing a few bills just to be rid of him.

But Yoren? He refused to play that game.

Saria's words echoed in his mind:

"Strength is not the essence of battle. Strength does not mean recklessness. In the storm, only the firm stand tall."

Yes.

He had already learned how to summon this power. Now, he needed to master it. Control it.

Yoren withdrew his hand from the Originium and stood his ground. He clenched his fists, enduring the searing pain. Instead of feeding the force within him, he resisted it.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on something—anything—calm and beautiful.

But what?

His old world had been filled with disappointment and betrayal. Beauty there had always been an illusion. Even the girl he once loved had chosen a wealthy man over him. He and Zhang Yuan had drowned their frustrations in cheap beer that night at a roadside stall.

No, beauty had never truly existed for him—except, perhaps, in dreams.

A vision formed in his mind. A golden-haired girl, a lollipop lazily perched between her lips, leaning back in a plush chair at a private party. Vina.

A dream of a life he once saw. A life he could still make real.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Yoren's lips. The pain in his arm was still excruciating, but as he held onto that memory, something changed.

Hemer frowned, watching the screen. The numbers were dropping. Fast.

Individual strength—decreasing.

Originium energy conversion rate—stabilizing.

Inside the battle room, Yoren exhaled slowly, the black veins retreating from his eye. The inky mist dissipated, leaving behind only the sting of his wounded palm.

He had done it.

He had controlled the power—not with force, not with submission, but with sheer will.

Outside, Hemer stared at the monitor in disbelief. Yoren hadn't followed her instructions, yet he had still succeeded in suppressing the transformation.

Yoren looked down at his left hand, now trembling from exhaustion rather than unrestrained energy.

Today, he had fought back. Today, he had won.

But he knew the truth. The power within him was still growing. And in just 11 days, it would push his body past its limit once again.