Chapter 35: A Janitor with Official Status
[Character]: Allen (2/10)
[Occupation]: Lv0 Alchemist
[Skills]: Lv0 Decomposition, Lv0 Refinement
[Time]: 1940, Hydra.
[Requirement]: Reach Lv120 in current occupation to return to the original timeline.
…
Glug glug glug…
Allen had his head submerged in the water, continuously blowing bubbles.
Ha!
After a while, he lifted his head to catch his breath before plunging back in.
Natasha gripped the steering stick, silently watching him act out his antics.
When Allen resurfaced for another breath, she asked expectantly, "How's my artificial turbo boost? The speed should be significantly faster, right?"
"The effect is excellent. Please continue."
Natasha wouldn't expose him. It was rare to have a moment of peace, so she let Allen torture himself.
"I really am an inventor—developing the first human engine! Prototype No. 1, ignition!"
Glug glug glug…
As the speedboat entered Soviet-controlled territory, a unit came to receive them.
"Good evening, comrades."
Allen put on an air of leadership. "You've all worked hard."
As soon as the speedboat docked, the Soviets wasted no time—they threw a hood over Allen's head and took him directly to an interrogation room.
"Oh, playing the mystery game? Exciting! Are you planning to use the honey trap on me? I have great endurance, but you'd better prepare at least ten beauties. If there are eleven, I might lose control and confess everything."
Allen added a reminder, "They must wear lace-embroidered stockings! My endurance will increase by 300%."
At that moment, a soldier yanked off his hood, pulled out a rope from his pocket, tied a few dead knots, and stuffed it into Allen's mouth, completely silencing him.
"Mmmph mmph…"
With his mouth gagged and his head covered, Allen looked utterly anxious.
"Natasha, welcome back safely."
A middle-aged lieutenant colonel greeted them with a smile. The special medal on his uniform signified his extraordinary status.
"It's an honor to see you again, Director Karpov."
Natasha straightened up with a solemn expression, showing no sign of carelessness.
The man belonged to the highest security agency in the Soviet Union—externally known as the infamous KGB (Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti). Departments like the Red Room and Red Guards, along with other intelligence and hero divisions, all fell under KGB jurisdiction.
Karpov was one of the most prestigious young officers in the organization.
"On the way back, did he exhibit any suspicious behavior?" Karpov asked casually.
"No."
Natasha maintained a professional demeanor and reported truthfully, "He might actually be mentally ill."
"Mental illness?"
Karpov's expression froze. He found it hard to believe that the Axis Powers would imprison both scientists and lunatics together.
"It's difficult to describe. You should judge for yourself, Director."
Natasha massaged her temples, recalling Allen's incessant chatter. She suddenly felt a wave of mental exhaustion and even suspected that the Axis Powers had locked him up with scientists just to torture them.
Upon arriving at the interrogation room, two interrogators were already waiting.
This was a necessary procedure to prevent enemy spies from infiltrating the Soviet Union.
Particularly for scientists, extra precautions were taken—any accidents could lead to unimaginable losses.
One of the interrogators was actually a mutant with psychic abilities, capable of detecting lies through speech.
At this moment, Allen sat in the interrogation chair, looking somewhat disappointed.
He was probably upset that there weren't ten beautiful women interrogating him both physically and mentally.
"Name?"
"Odumwilviennye Ertwenweumuben Ousas."
"…"
The interrogator was stunned.
Was that even a name?
It sounded more like a spell!
"What's your name?"
The interrogator repeated the question.
Allen answered naturally, "Odumwilviennye Ertwenweumuben Ousas."
The psychic interrogator shook his head—Allen wasn't lying.
How bizarre. How could Allen have a noble-sounding family name?
Simple. Back in Greenhill Rehabilitation Center, he had once watched a viral video about a man named Odell Piao, who transported bananas across Africa. Inspired, Allen unilaterally declared himself a member of the Odell family, aspiring to a life of riding a rickety old bicycle to transport bananas in the future.
Moving on to the next question.
"What are your special skills?"
Special skills?
Allen glanced between his legs and smiled confidently.
The interrogator immediately cut him off. "I mean, what can you do?"
"I specialize in research—and being researched." Allen replied candidly.
The two interrogators twitched their lips.
Since when was being researched considered a skill?!
Allen wasn't lying. Back at the Greenhill Rehabilitation Center, the doctors constantly studied him, and he also took it upon himself to study the cases of other patients.
"What field is Dr. Wilson Duke an expert in?"
"Never heard of him."
Allen asked back, "Where is this place?"
"You don't know, yet you escaped with them?" The interrogator rubbed his temples.
"They were all leaving, so I just followed."
In reality, Allen had been confused the entire time. He had no idea when the operation had started.
Dr. Zola had assigned the mission in such a cryptic way that Allen had simply followed along like a headless chicken.
"This is the Soviet Union. You're safe now." The interrogator reassured him.
At that moment, Allen's expression turned firm. "I am a three-no youth—no dreams, no savings, no romantic partner—who grew up under the red flag. I am willing to be a brick for my motherland—place me wherever I'm needed. Please, use me to your heart's content!"
"No thanks." The interrogator rejected him outright.
"I will use my hands to fulfill your dreams."
Allen raised both hands, lowering his voice for dramatic effect.
Interrogation over.
The interrogators couldn't handle Allen's twisted train of thought. Their mental processors nearly overheated.
Of course, Allen successfully passed the interrogation—not only because he didn't lie but also thanks to the secret efforts of Hydra agents.
After some covert maneuvering, Allen was gloriously assigned to the Weapons Development Bureau—as a janitor.
At least he had an official job now.
His daily duties were simple: go from office to office collecting trash, then incinerate it.
Sitting beside the burning garbage, Allen studied his occupation panel.
[Lv0 Decomposition]: Can decompose processed objects and restore their raw materials.
[Lv0 Refinement]: Can purify and enhance decomposed materials.
"So alchemists are just a lifestyle profession, huh? I've long since washed my hands of killing and bloodshed."
Allen reached into the back of his pants and pulled out the Redemption Blade, which he had obtained from the previous timeline.
Now came the question—where had he been hiding it?
Allen would never tell.
He had clenched it between his buttocks the whole time. And for hygiene reasons, he had kept it wrapped in his underwear.
Allen believed that if he set his mind to it, nothing was impossible.
"Decompose."
He stared intently at the Redemption Blade, waiting.
Nothing happened.
"Maybe the item's level is too high?"
He then pulled a test tube of Bacchus Factor from under his armpit.
He had stolen it from the League of Assassins base—seeing Hydra agents swipe some, he figured he might as well take a tube too, just in case.
He attempted to decompose it.
Still no reaction.
"Oh no, oh no! My magic isn't working anymore!"
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