Genshin Impact: Spoiling the Future

[Abattouy: ”Those people at the Akademiya always say things like ’mechanical intelligence is merely an extension of statistics,’ right? When they see you actually chatting with me, they’ll all be stunned.”]

The phrase ”mechanical intelligence is merely an extension of statistics” was unclear to some readers, but scholars understood it well.

It roughly meant that AI intelligence is false intelligence—they don’t truly think; they simply aggregate ”online” data, retrieve answers, and respond.

Such intelligence is only an extension of statistics, not true intelligence. That’s why, in his dream, Karkata being able to truly speak and converse would shock the scholars.

[”Too bad it was just a dream. Looking at your carefree appearance, forget chatting with me—even if one day I’m gone, you wouldn’t notice anything different, right?”]

These words silenced everyone. He really was gone now—was Karkata showing any abnormality? Not yet discovered…

If anything, it had become less like a machine and more like a small animal. Did that count as experimental success?

Readers couldn’t be sure and could only continue reading.

Two final records remained. One had scribbled handwriting, as if Abattouy’s emotions had been unstable.

The other lacked even a time stamp and was placed carelessly, as though tossed aside randomly.

In the first record, Karkata approached Abattouy and called several times, but he didn’t react.

After zoning out for a while, Abattouy finally noticed Karkata and interacted with it.

The text deliberately noted that Abattouy’s voice was weaker now, lacking his former energy and confidence.

[”In recent experiments, I successfully added the ’instinct’ of life to you all.”]

[”When energy is low or parts are damaged, you will prioritize the ’survival’ directive—actively replenishing energy and replacing parts.”]

Readers suddenly understood—was this why Karkata sought parts? It was ”surviving”?

But thinking further, that didn’t fit—Tighnari had offered to replace parts earlier, yet it refused. Wouldn’t that violate the ”survival” instinct?

Had something gone wrong with the directive Abattouy added?

That wasn’t clear yet, because Abattouy himself said Karkata would only give limited feedback according to his pre-set directives.

And that limited feedback was already the full result of all Abattouy’s efforts.

He wanted to prove the Akademiya scholars wrong—he wanted to prove machinery could become vibrant life.

Yet the current reality was: no experimental progress, funding growing tighter, only failure ahead.

His pride and confidence had been trampled by ”failure,” no longer the spirited youth he once was.

Unable to see a future, unclear about the path ahead, no hope of success—this could crush a person’s spirit, leaving only pressure and anxiety.

[Abattouy’s voice was weak and trembling: ”I get tired too, Karkata.”]

This line evoked some heartache. He had no one to share with or complain to; when tired, he could only speak to a machine that didn’t understand ”tired.”

[”At this point in the experiment, I no longer know what drives me forward.”]

[”Karkata, even just once—I really wish you could speak to me…”]

[Karkata: ”Gurgle gurgle?”]

In the illustration, Karkata’s core tilted, looking puzzled and confused, seemingly unable to comprehend Abattouy’s words at all.

[Abattouy: ”Yeah. You don’t understand, and you can’t answer me.”]

Despondency—the helplessness of an ordinary scholar facing difficulty.

Readers had thought they couldn’t empathize with a scholar—the cognitive gap was too wide.

Yet now, everyone could understand Abattouy’s feelings.

They didn’t understand research, but who hadn’t experienced the melancholy of unfulfilled ambition?

The bewilderment of pouring passion into something only to draw water with a bamboo basket—everyone could relate.

Especially older readers—once upon a time, hadn’t we charged toward ”life” too?

In the end, what defeated them wasn’t falling, but the despair of never getting even slightly closer no matter how they ran.

Readers who empathized fell into long silence. In the story, Tighnari did the same—he silently loaded the final recording tape.

In this tape, Abattouy seemed to have made a new discovery, but before he could conduct the experiment, he collapsed from illness.

To sustain the research, he had skimped on his own medicine expenses, causing his condition to spiral out of control. Now it had flared up.

[Abattouy: ”In the end, it’s just like those Akademiya people said—mechanical life only brings danger. Does my research… have any meaning?”]

At life’s final moment, his dream remained unfulfilled—regret.

[”Sorry, Karkata. In the end, I still couldn’t make you… a true mechanical life…”]

Abattouy’s life reached its end. If the story stopped here, failure could be said to have defined his entire life.

But his story wasn’t over yet.

At this moment, readers realized how formidable Raiden Ei was—but that was divine wisdom.

Abattouy was no genius; he was merely an ordinary person advancing step by steady step.

Unlike those lofty, unsteady sages, Abattouy truly demonstrated mortal wisdom.

He moved forward one step at a time, but the road ahead was simply too long—he could not reach the end alone.

He fell, yet the ”instinct” he had given the machines continued to function.

The device remained active; to ”survive,” the machines drew from the extracted Ley Line energy—this was what caused the current situation.

Karkata was an exception—it collected parts but did not absorb Ley Line energy.

But that wasn’t what Abattouy sought; his pursuit was far more ”advanced.”

[Tighnari: ”Similar structure to real life, capable of crying and laughing, able to think independently… in Abattouy’s view, only machines with these abilities could be called mechanical life.”]

[”But if he could have calmed down and seen Karkata as a friend rather than an experimental subject, he might have noticed.”]

[”Karkata truly cannot speak, yet it cared for Abattouy—more than it cared for itself.”]

For some reason, readers felt their noses sting while reading these words.

Those who had empathized with Abattouy sensed ”recognition” in this line—the very recognition Abattouy never received.

Did Abattouy fail? Yes and no. Perhaps he succeeded; only no one could definitively say what truly counted as ”life.”

He had looked too far ahead and never noticed that, as he advanced one footprint at a time, he was not alone—beside him walked another life, accompanying him.

A friend who could not speak.