Chapter 862: The First Day of Life in the Federation

Humans are insignificant, and the desire for eternity has been etched into their bones by forces even they are unaware of.

Since the moment humans first gained intelligence—however long ago that was—from ignorance to science, they’ve been chasing immortality.

But clearly, immortality is not within human reach. Humanity hasn’t even conquered nature; what right do they have to touch forces that transcend it?

So reproduction became the way for cells to pursue eternity—the only way.

From a certain pseudo-scientific perspective, every release of life’s essence can be seen as an attempt by life to break its shackles and escape toward eternity.

Most of these escapes are futile. But succeed just once, and it’s all worth it.

In fact, this is how humanity is achieving eternity. The only reason we don’t realize it is because the successful escaping cell doesn’t carry any of our memories.

Everything starts over. He or she forgets they were ever part of our body—or that they were us.

And for reasons we ourselves cannot fully grasp, we have used things like ethics to sever the I from the essence, turning them into offspring and the self.”

The old priest was a learned man. His knowledge wasn’t used for scientific research, but leaned more toward idealist philosophy.

He too sought immortality. When he realized his own children were unreliable, he decided to spend his remaining time cultivating a true heir.

He wanted to watch another version of himself grow—and live on forever.

Rika had no idea he was facing the most terrifying threat of his life. He was partying with a group of young people.

Federation culture was steeped in hedonism. Maybe it was that very hedonism that gave rise to escapism.

“Your father’s not like how you described him,” said a girl sitting in the corner, holding a mixed-color cigarette, her body swaying to the rhythm.

These mixed-color cigarettes had several times the nicotine of regular ones, but less than the pure varieties. They were suitable for inhalation but not for everyone.

The packaging clearly stated: not for those under 22. Some ingredients could inhibit adolescent development.

In the view of the EveryMoment Company, no one should like such intense tobacco products. Regular raw tobacco was strong enough. Why would anyone want something this extreme?

But people did like it. Just like alcoholics, who quickly moved from 20% to 30%, then 40% or higher alcohol content.

The body’s tolerance demanded higher doses of addictive substances to achieve the same pleasure.

That was true for alcohol. And for nicotine.

Each harsh throat hit brought a lingering afterglow. Inhaling and exhaling, the body seemed to relax.

She smiled—half mocking, half amused. Rika always made his father sound impressive.

But seeing him in person, he was just a short, skinny old man. Apart from the intimidating face tattoos, there was nothing special about him—he seemed even less remarkable than the average person.

In their late teens or early twenties, these kids were at the peak of rebellion. Their bodies were maturing, allowing them to do what they couldn’t as children, but their minds were still far from grown.

They’d do stupid things, reckless things. If nothing went seriously wrong, they’d laugh about it later as part of their wild youth.

But if something did go wrong, those memories would become lifelong regrets.

“Shut up, whore.”

The girl just smiled indifferently. She came from a broken home. After her parents divorced, the court gave custody to her mother.

Later, her mother got a boyfriend. One night, that bastard climbed into her bed.

Her mother didn’t say a word about it—acted like nothing happened.

But she knew. She just didn’t know how to deal with it.

That man was a scumbag. But he provided them with a place to survive.

He had a house, clean rooms and beds, food, a place to bathe, TV, even some pocket money.

Without him, her mother had nowhere to go. She might’ve had to sell herself just to support them both.

In tough situations, some people become noble. Others become selfish.

So the girl ran away—and started hanging out with street kids.

When they were tired, they broke into abandoned buildings to sleep.

When they were hungry, they scavenged. If that didn’t work, she sold her body for a little money.

Rika was just a walking meal ticket. The group followed him, pretending to be believers—free food, free shelter.

On holidays, he even gave them gifts. Life felt like paradise.

Sound familiar?

In truth, during this era, one in three girls on the street faced the same problem.

Looking at her expression, Rika unzipped his pants. The girl casually stubbed out her cigarette on the wall. Serving others—or sleeping with them—was just one of her survival strategies.

Sometimes she felt a bit of regret, some hesitation. Maybe if she hadn’t run away, she’d only have had to sleep with one man. Now, almost anyone could.

She didn’t know if her choice was right. All she knew was: this was an era raised by whores.

Moments later, she spat on the ground, picked up the stubbed cigarette, and took another drag.

The heavy nicotine relaxed her completely. On the mold-covered wall behind her, a beam of sunlight shot through from above.

Outside was the street of Eminence—the Federation’s most prosperous area, known to some as heaven.

She was less than two meters away from heaven, yet for some reason, it felt forever out of reach.

That night, Rika came home in a foul mood. He had pawned all the gems—got 220,000 total.

He’d told the antique shop owner they weren’t stolen, but the man still treated them like hot goods and gave a lowball price.

He tried several places—same result. So he had to sell the legally acquired gems for dirt cheap.

Still, it was enough to keep him afloat for a while.

When he got home, the old priest was watching TV. He glanced at Rika, then looked away.

Agitated, Rika took off his priest’s robe, shot a sidelong glare at the old priest, walked to the bar, and poured himself a glass of hard liquor.

“We’re almost out of money…” He downed a mouthful, the burn hitting his stomach like fire.

He said what had been on his mind. “Do you still talk to my brothers?”

“If you do, tell them to send some money!”

All of Rika’s brothers were priests. And priests were always rich.

They paid no taxes, were immune to prosecution, and no one dared offend them. They were all loaded.

Every year, believers would offer them gold.

The old priest didn’t even turn his head. “I didn’t pass the position to any of them, so they won’t send me a single coin.”

For one last grab at wealth, he hadn’t passed the title down like his own father did. Instead, he sold it off through a selection process.

Whoever offered the most gold became the next High Priest.

Naturally, the priests dreaming of that position went mad, offering everything they had in gold.

The High Priest picked the one who gave the most—then handed all the gold over to Lynch.

“I remember giving you a bag of gems just yesterday. Where are they?”

Through conversations with Lynch, he’d come to understand the Federation’s cost of living.

One million was enough for an average person to live comfortably for a lifetime.

Most families couldn’t earn that in two or three generations.

That bag of gems—at the very least—should have fetched four or five hundred thousand. More than enough for a comfortable retirement in the Federation.

Rika was getting impatient. “I put them in a bank vault…” He didn’t bother correcting the old priest’s phrasing of giving—maybe because it eased a bit of his guilt.

If he had any.

The more he looked at the old priest, the more irritated he got. He had never been a filial son.

Back in Nagaryll, he often tortured the temple virgins to death. Killing for fun wasn’t just an expression—it was literally his form of entertainment.

Whenever he started selecting virgins, even those who had spent years in the temple, numbed by suffering, would show raw fear—some even soiling themselves in hopes of being spared.

Such a cruel person was never going to be a good man.

The old priest had arrived empty-handed—completely different from what Rika had expected.

He had imagined the old priest bringing all of his and his brothers’ wealth with him. It had to be a fortune. So he always told the others, once his father arrived, heaven would descend.

Wasn’t it true?

Millions in wealth were supposed to be his inheritance. That was heaven coming to earth.

He even fantasized about calling himself a pope or patriarch. With enough followers, no one would question it.

But now, he had nothing. No gold, no riches—only deep disappointment, and the mocking, sneering looks from his peers.

He felt deeply hurt.

Somewhere in his mind, he was sure the old priest was lying. Maybe he did have money—he just wasn’t giving it up.

With that thought, Rika downed the rest of his drink, then walked over and turned off the TV.

“We’re tight on money now. Watching TV racks up the electric bill. You don’t need it.”

“Now go to your room and sleep. You need to get used to life here.”