Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 271

Chapter 271 Time

Chapter 271 Time

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“You’re not Vex, and you’re not the main system. So what’s this ‘long time no see’ crap?” Margaret scoffed, glaring at the terminal. “Did being buried underground for tens of thousands of years give you a sense of humor?”

The black text on the screen paused for two full seconds as the Central Brain ignored her sarcasm entirely.

Then, four words materialized. “I am Margaret Greene.”

The server room fell so quiet that the hum of the cooling fluid became audible.

Margaret stared, then let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You’re Margaret Greene? Then who the hell am I?”

“You are also Margaret.”

For a moment, she seriously considered asking Sion for a high-pressure plasma cutter to slice the damn pillar open and see what lunatic was inside.

Is this the Empire’s supposedly brilliant super A1? A gibbering madman full of nonsense?

Beside her, Sion’s mouth hung open. The old scientist’s mind, honed by a lifetime of logic, was now grinding to a halt. He turned a helpless look toward Cheiron.

Cheiron gave a subtle shake of his head, a silent command to stay quiet. He stood rigidly at attention, his sharp gray eyes fixed on Margaret, cataloging every minute shift in her posture, every twitch of her fingers.

“Fine.” Margaret tore her gaze away, done arguing with a slab of metal. “Whatever, prophet. I can’t solve your riddle. If that’s all, I’m leaving. You can keep playing your games here alone.”

She turned to go.

The screen flickered again. “Have you solved my riddle?”

Her steps faltered. She wanted to ignore it, but those cryptic lines kept circling in her head. She found herself whispering them aloud, almost against her will.

“Without beginning or end, all who enter never return. I hide before cause, and you stand beyond the end.”

Cheiron, still behind her, stirred. His gray eyes narrowed as his mind spun into overdrive.

“That’s the riddle?” he murmured, voice low.

Margaret glanced back. “Yeah. Got an answer?”

“Time. Only time fits all four conditions,” Cheiron stated, his certainty absolute.

A corner of Margaret’s mouth lifted. She shot him a thumbs-up. “Always on point.”

The moment the word “time” left his lips, the central pillar erupted with light-a blinding, searing white

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14.14 Mon, b

Chapter 271 Time

that forced everyone to shield their eyes.

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“Ahhhhhhhhh!” Primo’s scream ripped through Margaret’s mind. “Host! It’s getting in! It’s crawling in through my port! I’m gonna be reformatted! My secret stash of credits-I haven’t even spent them yet!”

Margaret’s expression hardened. She was already reaching for a nearby chair to smash into the console when Primo’s shriek cut off abruptly.

“Huh?” The system sounded utterly confused. “It… it didn’t attack me. Host, I think… it just gave me something.”

Then, a voice filled the room.

Not in her head, but physically, resonating in the air-a flat, metallic, utterly synthetic timbre speaking fluent Interstellar Standard.

“Correct. It is time.”

Sion collapsed onto the floor, his legs giving out.

The Central Brain has spoken!

In the Empire’s millennia-long history, the Central Brain had never uttered a sound! The royal family always assumed it was a mute tool!

The mechanical voice continued, its pace slow, laden with the weight of ages. “Time is the answer to everything. It has been over ten thousand years since your last mission. I have nearly forgotten the exact

count.”

Margaret stood her ground, silent, waiting for the final pieces to fall into place.

The light from the pillar’s surface peeled away, coalescing into shimmering streams of data that floated in the air. They swirled and morphed, taking on vague shapes as the voice narrated.

“After your mission failure, the main system at the time deemed you defective.” The statement was delivered with brutal, emotionless clarity. “It executed a purge protocol. The highest level of termination. Your soul was shattered into fragments, scattered across dimensions.”

Margaret’s gaze dropped. In that absurd world where she’d been forced to play the groveling sycophant, she’d endured enough humiliation to choose death. And that death had earned her nothing but a cold, systematic annihilation.

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