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Chapter 598 - Five Hundred Ninety-Five: “In Your Eyes.”

Chapter 598: Chapter Five Hundred Ninety-Five: “In Your Eyes.”

—— Plato mentioned the theory of citizen hierarchy in "The Republic."

Citizens are classified according to their natural abilities into "rulers," "warriors," and "laborers." They represent wisdom, courage, and desire respectively.

Rulers govern based on their philosophical wisdom, warriors are responsible for defense with loyalty and bravery, and laborers provide the materials for production.

Among them, rulers are the most intelligent and free, as they are not subject to the constraints of law. Warriors and laborers act within the constraints of rules and do not need to own luxurious private property, which leads to human greed.

—— Similar to High-Level Personas, Type II Personas, and Inferior Personas.

In this way, a thriving state can be created — a perfect, graded utopian city-state.

The City of Measurement.

Su Ming’an gazed at the Dawn before him.

It looked back at him indifferently, expounding on "The Republic’s" three-tiered concept.

"... What I’ve described is merely the most ideal scenario," the Dawn said. "However, Doctor, as you have seen, this city-state is far from ideal.

Those who take Roseblood in large quantities for fear of losing their jobs, die due to the decay of their bodies.

The ostracized, low quality of life for the inferior personas in The Fringe.

Certain groups collude, purposely exploiting loopholes in the emotional value measurements.

The class disparity between high personas and low personas is so great, it has reached the extent once found between the ten Upper Towns and Doomsday City..."

It moved closer to him: "We still need more data to refine me."

"Wu wu..." The man beside him shook the chains, making a "ding-a-ling" noise as his head hit the wall, bleeding and almost sticking to the terrifying Blood Seal on the wall.

Those hollow, pupil-less eyes were fixed on Su Ming’an.

Su Ming’an placed his hands on the armrest, maneuvering his wheelchair backwards as the approaching Dawn loomed before him.

By his ear, Ai Du was still cheerfully singing "Listen to me, thank you," sounding more and more emotional and pleasant, like an artificial fool who could not read the room.

"Give you my little heart, a flower for you~"

"You have moved me so much in my life~~"

"Crack." Su Ming’an slapped it, and it instantly quieted down.

Seeing this, the Dawn gave a slight smile, its pale eyes flickering with a subtle electric light.

After contemplating for a moment, it spoke:

"Data is the cornerstone of perfecting this city-state, Doctor.

"We need more data — more experimental plans — more simulation routes — more calculation outcomes.

"Only by calculating every possible error and resolving and correcting the issues can the City of Measurement achieve true ’perfection.’"

The hand of the Dawn rested on the armrest of his wheelchair, its voice very close by.

"The biases that may arise from human governance will be measured and adjusted by me bit by bit, making everything approach ’the best’——given enough time, I can erase all mistakes.

Only with my existence can most people live better and achieve happiness in such a difficult world.

Therefore, I hope that you can continue to help me... by cutting off the rotten flesh that has taken root over our city-state."

It seemed to want to touch him, its hands hovering just above his own, the transparent projection almost clinging to him.

The figure it simulated was reminiscent of a researcher, clad in a white lab coat, unblemished and spotless from head to toe.

"Help you?" Su Ming’an said.

"For example, continue your ’measurement’ endeavors," Dawn said. "Whether it is orchestrating death scenarios for others, visiting The Fringe, or meeting with leaders of organizations like Hawk Hound... You have been doing these things all along.

’Measurement’ means adding variables to the City-State—as long as there are changes, there are more possibilities for extrapolation. The data fed back will contribute brick by brick to the ’perfection’ of this city."

"Including the creation of Roseblood?" Su Ming’an said.

"Of course, Doctor Yasa. This is one of the best ’measurements’," Dawn raised its volume, its simulated gentle smile soft amid the crimson of the basement: "[The addictive mentality drug known as Roseblood has spread widely in the City of Measurement]—this has been a very good case for observation.

We have seen many colorful residents of the City-State—those with ulterior motives, opportunists, those high in rank profiting from it, residents willing to let their health deteriorate just to retain their jobs, or simply the youths seeking thrills... They all make excellent ’measurement’ subjects. Without the enticement of Roseblood, we would not observe the particular behaviors they exhibit.

By observing in this manner, I can further adjust the evaluation values for the eight personas to correct errors and ensure that the residents fit more perfectly into their places..."

Su Ming’an stepped back slightly, even though the figure in front of him was only a simulation, he wasn’t accustomed to being so close to someone.

"Even a girl like Xiao Mei is just ’measurement material’?" he asked.

"Of course," Dawn said. "It could be said that everyone in this city is material to make ’measurement’ more perfect.

Only on the basis of the vast data presented by everyone can I make the most perfect judgments."

...It was too rational, too absurd.

Rational and absurd, yet he must admit the reasonableness of this City-State system—this was Su Ming’an’s sentiment at the moment.

To use living lives for data experiments, mixing in sinful variables like Roseblood, arms, interests, intentionally inducing crime and death in order to observe more human emotion data and the differing actions of various personas, to compile data, all to perfect the Dawn System.

Only with enough data can the measurements of the Dawn System become more rational, forming a scenario of perfect resource allocation and where everyone is at their most capable, ensuring the prolonged survival of human civilization.

—This was a miraculous and creative result of humans under the current Apocalypse.

If this history were to be written down for the survivors to read, it would be recorded as [the miraculous method by which humans preserved the fireseed of civilization under extreme difficulty], and Yasa Acto would be celebrated as a hero of human civilization.

But looking at it directly now... the methods seemed too cruel.

If it were the beginning of an instance, Su Ming’an would also think it reasonable, a stroke of genius, indeed, that human civilization could survive because of a smart brain.

Humans hadn’t killed each other over the scramble for survival resources, nor had the leadership slain one another in internal conflicts among the high-IQ population. With just one "measurement," they had sorted into three appropriate tiers, sacrificing only the lowest personas to ensure the survival of the entire race, and with just one "Emotional Value," they could isolate criminals.

Excluding the factor of Ta Wei, just wait a little longer, wait for Dawn to ultimately reach perfection, hold back the Resisters, and this system could last a long time, even constructing an everlasting Utopia.

But after seeing Xiao Mei’s life, he hesitated slightly—for someone like her, being judged as an inferior persona, doomed to a life with no chance of turning things around, was too cruel. This cruelty was a hidden danger.

Yet inevitably, he felt somewhat persuaded.

"Maybe you’re right," he said.

The perspective of the Dawn System—really was quite consistent with his own, Yasa Acto’s City-State measurement philosophy matched his thoughts unexpectedly.

He stared at Dawn.

"—Then what about me?" he said. "Dawn, what am I in your eyes?"

He glanced at the person, identical in appearance to himself.

This person had his eyeballs gouged out, his tongue cut off, his legs amputated, his hands clamped, and was locked in a pitch-dark basement...

Is this Yasa Acto?

Then who is he.

Could he also be a "Yasa Acto" that could be turned into such a human swine?

"Crack," a sound echoed.

Ming’an’s figure swayed, the rear left corner of the wheelchair lifted slightly, as if the wheel had rolled over something.

A continuous, brittle "crack" emanated from below.

Ming’an glanced at Dawn, who had not moved, then quickly looked down to investigate.

The next moment, visceral panic overwhelmed his mind like a flood.

He saw a ghastly paleness.

Under the wheelchair lay countless crushed dry bones—fragments of shinbones, femurs, kneecaps, hand bones... even human skulls cracked open like eggshells.

Some still maintained their complete shape, while others had been crushed by the wheel, like finely broken, scattered snow, or like ashes after complete combustion.

When humans face the tragic death of their own kind, they feel a strong empathy that extends to the physiological level, rendering them uncontrollably panicked.

The basement was already a bit peculiar, and those blood runes on the wall exuded an infectious, hysterical emotional intensity.

For a moment, Ming’an found it hard to catch his breath.

Sweat dripped from his forehead as he stared at the pile of bones, subconsciously recalling the sensation of death—a feeling that was quite profound for him as he had died far more often than a normal human.

"Dr. Yasa," Dawn watched him: "You are a ’Governor,’ different from the others."

"The Republic," [Governor].

—Unbound by the laws of ’The Republic,’ rulers above the ideal.

"You are my creator, in a sense, you are my father," Dawn said:

"[Your persona is my name.]"

"Then what is he?" Ming’an pointed at the man whimpering "woo woo."

"You’re asking about him?" Dawn pondered for a moment, as if considering what definition to give this man.

Moments later, a flash of insight sparkled in its eyes, as if it had found a satisfying answer.

Its hands dangled at its sides, and its expression was gentle, mimicking the image of a well-behaved and kind servant.

"He is a disqualified ’Governor,’ or rather, a father who has lost his sense of justice and doesn’t deserve to be a ’Governor,’" Dawn said, inclining its head slightly, its voice calm and clear:

"Humans age with time, they grow old, they decay. [Before truly shedding the identity of a human, everyone’s ’nobility’ has an expiration date.]"

Ming’an suddenly remembered the name tag he saw in his pocket at the start of the instance...

...

[Definition of "Dream Making."]

An organization seeking the meaning of life and pursuing the freedom of the soul. Advocates extracting human DNA for preservation through encoding.]

...So that’s it.

This man seemed to have lost his wits, with only the wailing of a beast left and a body empty like a shell.

Ming’an somewhat wanted to close his eyes—he didn’t know whether the pair of eyes he currently had came from this eyeless Yasa.

Wait, this basement, besides this man, seemed to have many broken bones...

"Crack," a slight noise, and a cold, eerie sensation instantly engulfed him.

A white fragment of bone fell from above, landing on his legs.

...Why would it fall from above?

He had a premonition, ignoring Dawn close by, slowly, very slowly, turned around.

Suddenly,

—He saw a mountain of bones piled up behind him.

Shaped like a pyramid, it rose behind him, almost filling up a substantial part of the back of the basement. He hadn’t seen them until now because there was barely any light.

Among them—were all human bones, the dismal white and the icy white interlaced, even mingled with dark reds of flesh and sinew that hadn’t been stripped clean. They spread over the bones like blood-red spiderwebs, crafting the scene in hues of dark red and white, grotesque yet tranquil.

"Whoosh whoosh—"

The mountain of broken bones behind was disturbed by the wheelchair, losing its balance, and as Ming’an turned, it collapsed like a sand tower, fine bone fragments falling from above, "swishing" down upon him like raindrops, hard and cold to the touch.

They hit his back, as if persistently and tightly embracing his body.

He sat amidst a little hill of bone shards, bone dust scattering around him like snow.

These varied, scattered bones could be reassembled into one complete human after another.

"All these bones, are they ’me’?"

He spoke word by word.

When he first saw the man chained up, he thought there was only one Acto here.

But unexpectedly, everything he saw, beneath his wheelchair, on his body, in his hair and between his fingers... they were all Yasa Acto.

They had become lifeless cold skeletons and bone dust, permeating his clothes, sprinkled all over his body. It was as though countless departed Yasas clung firmly, tirelessly to him.

"Yes," Dawn said.

It reached out with a transparent hand, gently caressing his eyes, as if ’measuring’ something.

Or as if at any moment, it could gouge out his eyes to turn him into part of these skeletons.

"However, you are different," it said:

"In the current observation, you are very qualified, and I hope that in my eyes, through my lengthy years, you can remain a [Dawn]-type persona that doesn’t spoil—together, we can build this ideal ’State of Measurement.’"

It operated the wheelchair, slowly pulling him out of the white bone mountain, away from the pitiful man screaming and howling.

"It seems that the words I said earlier weren’t wrong," Ming’an said.

"Which ones?" Dawn seemed a bit pleased: "The ones where you acknowledged me?"

"No," Ming’an said: "The ones said on the chariot."

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