Chapter 162: Martin's Guilt

Polly covered her mouth with both hands, her mind blank for a brief moment.

"To bloom with the final radiance..."

Only at this moment did Polly realize the cruelty of the "true side" of the world.

Heroes were never as easy to be as they were in Hollywood movies, and no one could guarantee that a hero's ending would be as perfect as those portrayed in films and television.

Those two words in themselves represented a crushing weight.

Without these people, what would the world look like today?

To put it simply, what would happen to the world if the former US President and former Soviet leader "were not human"?

While deeply chilled by this line of thought, Polly also felt a profound sense of respect for these guardians behind the scenes.

Compared to his daughter, Dr. Albenson felt an even greater sense of responsibility.

Raising his head to look at Martin Wilson, and seeing the emotions reflected in the old professor's eyes, Sissox Albenson believed that his own expression at that moment must be identical.

"Professor Wilson, I think I can get to work right away. After all, compared to pure physics, a weapon guy like me should be much more suited to translating this miraculous "Source Energy" into actual power."

Martin let out a hearty laugh.

"You fellow, you show no mercy whatsoever to a theoretical physicist like me! But I think we're going to be great friends!"

"No, no, no, Professor, I've studied all your papers, and those are definitely not things a purely theoretical scholar could write..."

Sissox Albenson was delighted by Professor Wilson's easygoing nature. Frequent relocations and long-term concealment had made him somewhat reclusive in the past.

"Well then, Sissox, you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Of course Sissox wouldn't mind; it indicated that Professor Wilson had truly accepted him.

"Not at all, I'm honored that you address me that way!"

Even as he spoke to Martin, Sissox's gaze kept drifting toward the "Source Energy" cellular specimen in the glass vessel.

Martin Wilson noticed this as well. Far from finding Sissox impolite, he regarded it as a respectable trait in Sissox Albenson.

To be honest, before coming here, Martin Wilson had never even heard of someone named Sissox Albenson.

There were simply too many national-level doctoral experts and freelance scientists in North America; not everyone was of genuine consequence like himself.

Capable scientists, no matter how outwardly humble, remained proud at their core—much like the mutual disdain historically found among traditional scholars.

The fact that Sissox Albenson had made it here proved he possessed genuine substance. His proactive attitude and the burning sense of responsibility he displayed convinced Martin that Sissox was a trustworthy man.

Ability coupled with the right attitude was more than enough to earn Martin's respect.

"Then Sissox, if you want to dive right into your work, follow me. Before we arrived, the Source cells had been studied for nearly two centuries, and we haven't been without results."

Martin Wilson continued leading Albenson and his daughter deeper into the laboratory toward a small compartment, a smile unconsciously forming at the corners of his mouth.

To be able to understand the truth of the world in his twilight years and contribute his strength to justice was something worthy of lifelong pride.

This justice was not as hollow as the Iraq War launched by the United States; it was a true faith worth any human being fighting for.

Martin could not help but recall the night several days ago.

That night, the appearance of the Gloomy Sanctuary had completely subverted Martin's worldview.

Although he had originally been considered a Catholic, it was merely a family tradition. For decades, apart from attending weddings, the times he had stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand.

Martin fundamentally disbelieved in myths, legends, and anything outside the bounds of modern scientific theory.

When Carl and three other individuals dressed in casual wear suddenly appeared inside his Washington apartment, his first reaction was that he was being targeted by home invaders.

Living alone, he immediately declared that they could take whatever money they wanted, as long as they didn't hurt him.

To his surprise, the fellow named Carl stated that they didn't want money and claimed to be a Knight of the Gloomy Sanctuary.

At that point, the hitherto composed old professor began to panic.

Robbers only wanted money; an old man like him, clearly in his seventies or eighties, posed no threat at all.

As long as he cooperated, they generally wouldn't harm him.

However, if four lunatics had broken in, that would be f***ing dangerous—you never knew when they might suddenly go deranged and start a bloody massacre.

After a brief self-introduction, these individuals, whom Professor Martin Wilson had mentally categorized as madmen, stated that they were responding to a temporary mission.

With a severe shortage of manpower, an unknown threat level, and no time to waste, they needed to take Martin to a safe place immediately.

Martin could tell that the four of them knew he didn't trust them, so their "escort" carried a semi-coercive nature.

Once the six of them boarded the sedan parked downstairs, the driver floored the accelerator, speeding wildly down the road.

Even at the time, Martin had to admit that the young man driving possessed superb skills; if he were to star in *The Fast and the Furious*, he would undoubtedly outperform the original lead actor.

Inside the car, Martin tried his best to remain compliant and cautious, careful not to provoke Carl and his companions, while secretly plotting an opportunity to call the police or escape.

Soon enough, their group paid the price for Martin's mindset.

A price that would fill Martin Wilson with lifelong guilt.

Because of his compliant behavior along the way, the guards beside him had slightly relaxed their vigilance, shifting their focus to the surrounding environment as if expecting some unknown enemy to materialize at any moment.

Their route was heading toward the outskirts. As they passed a gas station on the urban fringe, the car stopped to refuel, and two police cars happened to be parked there.

Since they were traveling deeper into remote areas, Martin had almost given up hope, never expecting that heaven would leave a door open.

Even better, aside from Carl, the fellow who had stepped out to pump gas, the remaining three men in the car seemed to grow tense upon seeing the police, though oddly enough, their attention remained directed outward.

This played right into Martin's hands. Originally sandwiched between two guards, not only was one of them now absent, but the remaining one wasn't paying attention to him.

Martin inched his way toward the car door, then opened it and bolted with an agility that belied his age.

The young man on his side was "caught off guard" and failed to grab him.

Martin ran stride for stride toward the police, screaming for help.

Just as he thought he was saved, he caught a glimpse of the cruel reality of the real world.

The police did indeed notice him, but right within Martin's field of vision, the air beside an officer began to warp.

In a mere half-second, he saw numerous terrifying, giant praying-mantis-like monsters materialize all around the gas station.

Before he could even react, just as a monster's blade-like forelimb was about to cleave Martin in two,

A shout of "Get back!" accompanied by a massive force from behind dragged him out of the jaws of death.

The one who saved him was none other than Carl, the man who called himself a Silver-Fist Knight of the Gloomy Sanctuary.

The monster slashing at Martin had half of its pincer smashed apart by a single punch and was kicked flying, but Carl's right arm hung down unnaturally.

Through deep, bone-visible lacerations, fractured white bones were exposed.

What followed was a surreal battle entirely outside Martin's comprehension.

The four men he had previously dismissed as lunatics fought off a massive horde of monsters, centering entirely around him.

The brutal combat—punches connecting with flesh and blades drawing blood—did not evoke excitement or adrenaline in Martin; it filled him only with inner terror.

He was strapped to someone's back with a safety rope, nearly choked unconscious by the violent, high-speed maneuvering.

Before passing out, Martin vaguely heard a sharp, piercing, and hair-raising voice echo from the direction where the police cars had been parked.

"With a crippled right arm and having lost so much blood, how much strength does the Silver-Fist Knight of the Gloomy Sanctuary have left?"

...

When Martin regained consciousness, he was already inside the above-ground structures of the laboratory, surrounded by people who were tending to him with meticulous care.

Only after his repeated questioning did he learn the truth.

Of the four men who had escorted him, including Carl of the Knight rank, three had made the ultimate sacrifice.

Over the period that followed, Martin Wilson gradually came to understand what the Gloomy Sanctuary was and what the real world truly looked like.

Martin learned the significance carried by every single Knight of the Gloomy Sanctuary, and he understood even better what his own foolishness had caused.

This filled him with guilt, while also inspiring him to unleash a fierce passion for his work in the days to come.