The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 42

It felt like plunging into the depths of an icy sea, where endless cold and darkness enveloped the warmth of the body. No matter how much one struggled, reaching out upward, the distant glimmer overhead remained unreachable. A heavy sense of suffocation gripped the throat, and all one could do was continue to descend until reaching the bottom of this abyss.

In the end, there was nothing left but the cold and thoughts swirling in the darkness. Gradually, even consciousness faded into the black.

"Initiating will assessment."

"Electrodes activated... recording values..."

Someone whispered in the darkness, as if this wasn't yet the time for death. So, one opened their eyes, returning once more to this frenzied world.

Galahad coughed forcefully, a bit of blood escaping from under the semi-transparent breathing mask. He breathed heavily, the machines humming as they delivered painkillers into the mist-filled mask.

His weary gaze swept back and forth, revealing only steel walls and the depiction of intertwining serpents on the steel dome above. They bit each other's tails, their black scales resembling the dark of night until they formed an eternal circle.

They were Ouroboros, considered a symbol of cycles of life and death or perhaps reincarnation. In the mysterious alchemy, they were described as the crystallization of souls. But Galahad knew very well, in his mind, this symbol represented only one thing: infinity, perpetual motion.

It was a concept proposed by the first Chancellor of the Institute of Mechanics, who invented the great steam engine. He believed that there should be a machine in the world that, once activated, would work perpetually without the need for any additional energy. He used the symbol of Ouroboros and named the machine the Perpetual Engine.

Galahad had little expertise in mechanics, but even he knew this contradicted the law of energy conservation. Such a thing could not possibly exist. But like the wild fantasies of humans, that Chancellor was convinced the machine must exist. Thus, he established the Institute of Perpetual Motion above the Institute of Mechanics to pursue the ideal machine, until today.

"I thought you would be unconscious for at least a week. I didn't expect you to wake up so soon," a voice sounded nearby.

Nicolas approached with a cup, his pallid face adorned with dark circles under his eyes, walking lightly, always giving the impression he might collapse at any moment.

"How do you feel?"

Sitting beside him, Galahad tried to move, only then realizing he was encased in a semi-transparent tank, filled with a pale green liquid covering him. Leather and steel secured him firmly, and his fatal wounds were slowly healing in the soaking liquid, while on the other side, metallic cables protruded, also immersed in water.

"Like a nightmare," Galahad weakly uttered.

Seemingly noticing his gaze, Nicolas continued, "Forgive me, you've been corrupted by the Original Sin Armor. If you lose control again, we scientists won't be able to contain you."

Nicolas glanced around; a group of people similarly attired were present. They moved soundlessly, like ghosts, their footsteps making no noise. There was no unnecessary conversation, only the sound of keys being pressed and the scratch of calculations.

There were young and old among them, even some pushing giant external circulation machines to sustain life while diligently working. Each person here was a towering figure in their respective fields, pushing the boundaries of human understanding to its limits.

The Institute of Mechanics propelled mortal technology, while the Institute of Perpetual Motion pursued the power of gods.

This was the center of world technology, the hub of all intelligence in Englewick. Once these people passed away, Englewick's technology would stagnate for at least a decade.