《Empire of Death》


 exhibition hall

    "Good afternoon, distinguished guests." The elegant and melodious voice echoed through the electronic loudspeakers: "Today is the last opening of the exhibition hall. Starting tomorrow, several of the ancient artifacts here will be moved to the Federal Museum for collection. Please..."


    The exhibition hall was packed with people. Although it wasn¡¯t exactly shoulder-to-shoulder, it was close enough.


    ¡°Latham, do you think all this effort to squeeze in here was worth it?¡± A clear voice complained from the outskirts of the exhibition hall.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s worth it, all I know is this is an assignment from the professor. If we don¡¯t finish it, we¡¯ll be in trouble,¡± another young voice replied, sounding equally disgruntled about the visit.


    After parting with his companion, Latham sighed and braced himself to squeeze into the overcrowded exhibition hall, which hadn¡¯t been this full in decades.


    Latham was only fifteen years old. In this grand universe age where the average lifespan had reached three hundred years, he wasn¡¯t even considered an adult yet.


    His home was on the planet Millard, a beautiful planet among the thousands suitable for human habitation within the Federation. Since there weren¡¯t many humans on the planet, everyone owned a large plot of private land. There were no traffic jams, and the air was always fresh.


    However, this lack of competition also led to a lack of urgency. As a popular saying in the Federation went, it was a place suitable for retirement, not for ambitious young people looking to make their mark in the world.


    Latham was somewhat fond of this saying, though his heart didn¡¯t burn with grand ambitions. All he longed for was to go out and see the world. Unfortunately, for someone his age, such a wish was still rather extravagant.


    His parents would never agree with this desire, and without their financial support, Latham would end up becoming one of the many people needing assistance.


    Inside the exhibition hall, all he could see were people. Latham couldn¡¯t help but grumble. This kind of crowded situation would never happen on Millard, but this time, it was an exception¡ªan unprecedented exception in the planet''s history since its transformation by humanity thousands of years ago.


    A month ago, a batch of ancient artifacts was discovered on this planet, rumored to be extremely valuable. The planetary governor made a big deal of it, using it to gain political capital.


    However, somehow, through unknown channels, the Federation Museum had gotten wind of the discovery. After an inspection by several assessors, they decided to collect these artifacts for their museum. Although the governor wasn¡¯t happy about it, he had no choice but to comply with an order from the Federation capital.


    However, to respect the wishes of the people of Millard, the artifacts were to remain on display in the planet''s largest exhibition hall for one last week, with today being the final day.


    Latham¡¯s professor was a knowledgeable individual, but for some reason, last week he gave an assignment to write an observational report on these artifacts, instructing all students to conduct firsthand examinations.


    For the past week, people from all over the planet had come to see these rare items one last time. Latham, however, wasn¡¯t fond of being squeezed in with so many others, but with today being the last opportunity, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and enter.


    Inside, the crowd was still large. It was clear that the discovery had sparked the curiosity of everyone on Millard. Thankfully, people were maintaining good order, queuing up to enter the hall.


    The newly unearthed artifacts were said to belong to the planet¡¯s original inhabitants, who had vanished billions of years ago, which was why they attracted so much attention.


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    The real treasures were displayed at the center of the hall, with some ordinary exhibits placed around the perimeter. Naturally, no one was particularly interested in the peripheral displays, as those were items that could be interacted with in virtual space.


    Latham patiently moved with the crowd and finally reached the large display platform in the center. There weren¡¯t many items separated from the rocks, but only a few could be called valuable artifacts. The small display platform contained all of them.


    The crowd hadn¡¯t yet moved close enough for Latham to get a clear view, so from a distance, all he saw was a blur.


    As the crowd moved slowly, Latham finally found himself in front of the display. On it were some strange and mysterious items, both large and small, and no one could say exactly what they were.


    At this moment, a soft voice from the loudspeakers came through: "The newly unearthed artifacts all contain a mysterious energy, one that no instrument can identify in terms of its origin or purpose..."


    Unconsciously, Latham¡¯s gaze locked onto a small round bead among the items. He couldn¡¯t understand why, but he suddenly felt an intense and inexplicable interest in it. Somehow, it felt strangely familiar, as though it was something that should rightfully belong to him.


    Despite this, his eyes were glued to the bead, yet his feet moved instinctively with the flow of the crowd.


    Around him, he could hear astonished murmurs: "As expected, they are truly one of a kind. You can only really appreciate them in person."


    "Yes, this must be a gift from the Master, Amen!"


    Though Latham was a staunch atheist, he couldn¡¯t help but feel some recognition of that statement.


    In this society, we are in the era of a complete "SkyNet." In the territory of the Human Federation, SkyNet is everywhere, like a spider¡¯s web. Information is readily available to anyone.


    When these ancient artifacts were first unearthed, their photos and videos were quickly spread across SkyNet. But what really stirred people was the unanimous statement of everyone who had seen them¡ªonly by witnessing them in person could one realize how different they truly were.


    As mentioned in the broadcast, these items possessed an inexplicable power that current human technology could not explain. It was precisely because of this that the powerful figures in the Federation capital were interested. This was also why the exhibition hall had become so crowded.


    Latham¡¯s attention never strayed from the small round bead. From beginning to end, his eyes remained fixed on it, as if he could gaze at it forever without interruption.


    However, the movement of the crowd was not centered around his will, and soon, he had no choice but to walk past the center of the exhibition hall.


    As he reluctantly tore his gaze away, a strong sense of loss washed over him, as though he had suddenly forgotten something incredibly important, leaving him bewildered.


    "Bang¡­"


    A loud crash of glass shattered the silence, and then, all the lights in the exhibition hall went out.


    "Ah¡­"


    The crowd erupted in a series of screams, a mix of high-pitched female voices and deep male shouts.


    Latham and others at the corner were plunged into complete darkness, and soon someone called out, "What happened?"


    "Who knows, what¡¯s going on with this exhibition hall?"


    "Why is it so dark? What happened?"


    "Why are the lights out? I want lights! I want to complain."


    After a moment, a strong male voice spoke: "Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive us. There has been an unexpected incident, and the exhibition hall has lost power."


    The voice wasn¡¯t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the massive hall to hear.


    "Power outage?"


    "Are you kidding?"


    "Ah! We¡¯re lucky enough to experience the legendary power outage¡­"


    People in the crowd murmured, surprised and irritated. In this highly advanced technological society, the term "power outage" had long become something that had nothing to do with people¡¯s lives.


    Aside from those living on extreme planets with harsh environments, almost no one had ever experienced a power outage from the moment they were born until the day they died.


    Yet today, those in the exhibition hall had the rare privilege of enjoying this special treatment. From now on, they could boast about it to others.


    Just as Latham was laughing helplessly, he heard footsteps nearby. The person seemed unaffected by the darkness, stepping around the crowd and moving quickly toward the exit.


    Latham didn¡¯t pay much attention at first, but as the person walked past him, he suddenly sensed something familiar about them. The feeling was identical to when he first saw the small round bead.


    His heart skipped a beat, and a terrifying thought flashed through his mind.


    That person¡¯s steps didn¡¯t stop and soon passed by Latham. At that moment, the same sense of loss returned. Without understanding why, Latham instantly concluded that the small round bead was now on that person.


    A strong sense of unwillingness surged in his chest. Deep down, it felt like something was calling out to him, telling him that the bead belonged to him, that it was his.


    Suddenly, the small round bead disappeared from the person¡¯s body without anyone noticing. Even the mysterious person, unaware, continued walking on.


    The round bead silently and without a sound flew to Latham¡¯s side, unnoticed by anyone and undetected by any instruments, landing softly near his ear.

 Inheritance of the Undead

    Rathom instinctively covered his left ear. The small round bead had just flown to his ear and quickly sank into it.


    Yes, it sank in just like that. Soon, a small bump seemed to appear near his ear, like a tiny birthmark that had always been there. After waiting for a moment, the lights suddenly flickered back on, signaling that the power supply in the exhibition hall had been fully restored.


    However, what followed was a sudden commotion behind him, which grew louder and louder.


    "The item is gone..."


    "The item was stolen..."


    Almost everyone was talking about the same thing. Soon, the news that all the ancient artifacts from this excavation had disappeared spread throughout the hall. A few more observant individuals immediately took out their portable sensors, recording the scene in front of them and connecting to the net to transmit what had happened here. The atmosphere in the hall immediately grew tense, as groups of staff rushed in to maintain order. But it was clear¡ªthe thief had already escaped.


    As Rathom left the exhibition hall, his expression was not good. It wasn¡¯t just because of the mysterious bump on his ear that made him feel uneasy, but also the strange feeling it gave him.


    However, the one thing that comforted him was that the vast majority of people were encountering such an event for the first time. While some people were excited and red-faced, there were also many who looked pale with shock. Rathom¡¯s reaction clearly resembled the second group of people, so after his identity was verified and the security checks passed, he returned home safely.


    As for why he passed through the checks so smoothly, Rathom honestly had no idea.


    When he got home, his parents still hadn¡¯t returned. Rathom casually gave the robotic maid an order before heading to his room. For some reason, he suddenly felt extremely tired, so he didn¡¯t even eat dinner and just went straight to bed.


    While sleeping, an unknown wave of energy slowly spread from his ear and gradually entered his brain cortex, linking with his brainwaves. However, in his sleeping state, Rathom didn¡¯t feel anything until the next morning when he woke up naturally.


    He opened his eyes and lazily lay in bed. Last night, he seemed to have had a dream¡ªa dream that felt both surreal and strangely real.


    In the dream, he was a mage. Yes, a long-extinct and now forgotten title: a mage, and not just any mage, but a necromancer.


    In the dream, he was immensely powerful, to the point that he could traverse the universe. However, even the mightiest beings meet their end one day, and his life eventually came to a close due to some reason. So, he sealed his power inside a memory stone, leaving it for someone worthy.


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    According to his dream-self, the memory stone could only be unlocked by someone whose brainwaves exactly matched his own. And that person, in this lifetime, was Rathom, whose brainwaves perfectly aligned with his dream-self.


    The dream ended there, leaving behind a few inexplicable spells and a strange cultivation method in his mind.


    Rathom didn¡¯t know what the spells were, but he felt a deep curiosity about this cultivation method.


    By the time human society had advanced to the modern era, one thing had become clear: humanity harbored untapped potential. Since entering the space age, countless methods for developing human potential had emerged like bamboo shoots after rain.


    After tens of thousands of years of experimentation, human potential had developed along two main paths: one physical, the other mental.


    It¡¯s hard to say which path was more advanced, but aside from a few rare individuals, most humans practiced both. It was only through the combination of the two that one could achieve the greatest safety.


    The information Rathom received in his mind told him that this was a method for cultivating mental strength. If he remembered correctly, it didn¡¯t belong to any of the publicly available methods in the net.


    Of course, the net only recorded the most basic, popular versions. True advanced methods were never available to the general public, and Rathom, without a doubt, was one of those ordinary people.


    He muttered the cultivation mantra in his mind, and without hesitation, he began to practice. He half-lay in bed, his eyes half-closed, in a posture that seemed like normal meditation, but its true essence was worlds apart.


    It felt as if a century had passed, yet it was only a blink of an eye. When Rathom finally woke up, everything before him felt different.


    His mind was clear, and it seemed as if he had experienced a qualitative improvement, filling him with confidence.


    He turned over, glancing at the clock on the wall and was surprised to find that only two hours had passed.


    The voice of the intelligent robot calling from the door reminded him that it was time for breakfast. Stepping out of his room and into the dining area, his parents still hadn¡¯t come back. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to this life.


    He picked up his knife and fork, beginning to eat the hearty breakfast in front of him. After biting into a piece of bread, he suddenly had a strong craving for jam. Looking up, he saw a jar of jam at the corner of the table. Just as he was about to stand up to grab it, he suddenly had a strange thought.


    Instinctively, his gaze sharpened, and the small jam jar seemed to move slightly.


    Rathom¡¯s eyes widened in shock, but just as his mind wavered, the jam jar immediately stopped moving.


    His hands, holding the knife and fork, trembled slightly. The sight he had just witnessed filled him with intense astonishment.


    ¡°Oh my god, could it be that I¡¯m still dreaming?¡± he muttered to himself, almost unable to believe what he had just seen.


    If what he saw just now was real...


    Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of joy flooded his heart.


    Taking a deep breath, Rathom lowered his head and whispered softly, "Calm down, calm down..."


    But his heart was pounding like a drum, and it was impossible for him to keep calm.


    Slamming his hand on the table, an idea suddenly flashed in his mind. With his eyes half-closed, the mysterious mantra appeared again in his head. In the blink of an eye, Rathom had completely calmed down.

 The power of the human spirit

    It was as if he had entered a strange and mysterious state, and he could even feel every subtle change in his body.


    His gaze gradually deepened as he fixed his eyes on the jam jar in front of him. Suddenly, it seemed as though a flash of brilliance passed through him.


    The jam jar seemed to be manipulated by an invisible hand, flying rapidly toward him.


    "Ah..."


    A loud, excited scream burst out of his mouth without restraint as Rassam leaped high into the air, fists clenched, his face flushed with excitement.


    "Level six, it must be above level six mental energy!"


    After calming down, Rassam picked up the jam jar, but he no longer had any appetite.


    At that moment, he had just proven something¡ªhis mental energy had reached the recognized level of six or above.


    Human mental energy and physical strength on Earth were classified into twenty levels. From a modern perspective, the first five levels of mental power and physical strength were easy to achieve for almost anyone.


    However, as the levels increased, the difficulty of cultivation grew exponentially.


    According to the official statistics of the Human Federation, ninety percent of humans stagnate at level five throughout their lives.


    Level five was a threshold. Every five levels represented a significant checkpoint, and those who could pass it could continue to improve through hard work. But those who couldn''t... simply couldn''t¡ª their cultivation would stay at that level, unable to advance further.


    When it came to either physical strength or mental energy, reaching level six had a distinct marker: the ability to move objects with the mind.


    Being able to do this meant that one''s mental energy or physical strength had reached at least level six.


    Until today, Rassam''s physical strength and mental energy were both at level two.


    Considering his age, being able to train both his mental and physical abilities to level two was already quite impressive.


    But now, he had proven that he could use mental energy to move objects, which meant that his mental strength had surpassed the level five threshold and reached above level six. This achievement was truly hard to believe.


    There were, of course, some rare prodigies who broke through the level five limit before the age of twenty, but every one of them was considered an extraordinary talent, hailed as "the chosen ones" by the Federation. They were a privileged class within the Federation, with a bright future that everyone envied.


    Rassam would never have dared to imagine this before. But in this moment... the thought of possibly becoming one of these "chosen ones" made him feel uncontrollably excited.


    Level six¡ªwhat a concept! Though there were countless humans with level six or higher mental energy, it was important to remember that the vast majority of Earth''s humans would never break through level five in their lifetime.


    Once someone surpassed this limit, it meant they would gain numerous advantages. At the very least, by the time he graduated at fifty, Rassam would easily land a high-paying job.


    Rubbing his hands together, he had already decided that when he returned to the academy, the first thing he would do was find a detector to verify whether he had truly reached this level.


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    Although he trusted his own feelings, in this age where everything was measured by data, having machine confirmation was essential.


    "Beep beep..."


    The communicator on his wrist buzzed with a message.


    Rassam looked down and saw that it was from a friend at the academy. He opened it casually and asked, "What''s up?"


    "Did you write the report?"


    "What report?"


    "Come on, did you forget? The observation report that Dr. Raka assigned in class! You have to read it aloud this afternoon. Don''t tell me you forgot!"


    "Oh, I really forgot."


    Rassam quickly replied, "Thanks for the reminder. I''ll do it right now, bye."


    He closed the communication and hurried back to his room, putting on the sensor.


    With the arrival of the space age, everyone had their own personal sensor. This device, which resembled an ordinary pair of glasses, had replaced the 21st century''s most popular tool¡ªthe computer. All tasks could be completed in virtual space, and it could still connect to the Net.


    However, Rassam had no intention of logging into the Net right now. He was short on time.


    The sensor was very quick, and in an instant, he found himself in his personal virtual space.


    Everything in this space had been arranged by him¡ªcomfortable sofas, basic home configurations, and of course, the most valuable item: the giant fluorescent screen in front of him, which had cost him five thousand virtual coins.


    Even in virtual space, the system could capture the most subtle facial expressions. Rassam frowned and muttered, "What should I write?"


    In virtual space, there was no need to physically write. The sensor could instantly convert his brainwaves into text that appeared on the screen.


    He thought of a few sentences, but erased them. Writing about yesterday''s experience in full?


    If he really did that, he''d probably end up on an operating table within a few days. He certainly wasn''t ready to become a lab rat.


    Helpless, he exited the virtual space and stared at the sensor in his hand. It seemed like he''d definitely get scolded by Dr. Raka for forgetting the report. However, his mood wasn''t downcast¡ªafter all, breaking through the fifth-level mental energy limit was far more exciting than writing a small report.


    Thinking back on what had happened yesterday, Rassam knew that his dream had not been a hallucination.


    He touched his left ear, where a small, unnoticeable bump had appeared. This tiny thing had completely changed his life.


    Were there such things as necromancers?


    It seemed there had never been any records of this in human history. Of course, records in fantasy books didn''t count.


    But whether such beings existed or not, the strange training manual he had found was definitely a treasure.


    And then, the incantations¡ªwhat were those?


    Rassam thought back to the descriptions of necromancers in fantasy books. Yes, controlling corpses.


    He searched around his room, but found no half-decayed bodies.


    Oh, he slapped his forehead lightly. He''d been too overwhelmed by everything today and had lost his clarity. This was his own room¡ªif he really found a corpse, things would get ugly.


    He¡¯d either be arrested by the police or get beaten to death by his parents...

 Sensor Awareness

    Looking out of the window, Ratham saw a small earth mound in the backyard of his neighbor''s house. His heart stirred.


    Millard Planet was vast and sparsely populated, with each family having a large plot of land. However, humans were social "animals," and not many people were willing to settle in places far from others.


    Ratham¡¯s house was large, but it still had quite a few neighbors. He clearly remembered that just two days ago, his neighbor Uncle Arthur''s old yellow dog had died and was buried in that small earth mound in the backyard.


    Driven by intense curiosity, Ratham quickly walked to the mound. He clasped his hands together, said a prayer, and checked to make sure no one was around. Then, he silently began chanting a spell.


    The incantations didn''t need to be read aloud; as long as his mental energy was synchronized with the words, it would work. However, reality swiftly shattered his fantasy. He had already been standing at the mound for half an hour, and despite reciting every spell he knew, the body of the old yellow dog beneath the earth showed no signs of movement.


    "Little Ratham, thank you," came a hoarse voice from behind him.


    Ratham shivered and turned around. He saw old Arthur had silently approached him, gently patting his shoulder and saying, "I didn''t expect you to have such affection for old yellow. On its behalf, thank you."


    "Ah... um, it¡¯s nothing!" Ratham stammered.


    "Sigh, old yellow accompanied me for over a hundred years. If not for the failed life extension surgery, it wouldn''t have died."


    Ratham couldn''t help but smile awkwardly and said, "Yes, please accept my condolences."


    Old Arthur sighed deeply, gave Ratham''s shoulder another affectionate pat, and walked away without saying another word.


    Excited at first, but now disappointed, Ratham returned to his room, suddenly recalling something. When had old Arthur come up behind him? If he remembered correctly, Arthur had appeared suddenly. Such things wouldn''t be strange if it happened a few days ago, but today, Ratham¡¯s mental powers had surpassed the sixth level, and yet he hadn''t heard Arthur approach.


    Could it be that old Arthur was a hidden expert? But looking at his frail, aged appearance, that seemed unlikely.


    Forget it, Ratham thought. He grabbed his sensor, disappointed with the spells, but still a bit reluctant to give up. Had he possibly recited the wrong words?


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    "Chit-chit, crackle-crackle..."


    A series of incomprehensible words¡ªones he didn''t even understand himself¡ªcame from his mouth, as his mental energy pulsed in sync with the chant.


    That''s right¡­ Ratham was absolutely sure that he hadn¡¯t made a mistake with a single word. Yet still, no body appeared in front of him. Suddenly, it dawned on him, and he shook his head in frustration. He hadn¡¯t even directed the spell at any corpse, so how could there have been any miracle?


    However, the next moment, Ratham¡¯s smile froze on his face. He glanced at the sensor in his hand, and a strange feeling washed over him. In his mind, he sensed an unusual fluctuation¡ªa mental entity that seemed to be born from his own consciousness but entirely independent. This mysterious mental entity gave him a unique sensation, like it was intricately connected to him in an inseparable bond.


    The energy waves were coming from the sensor in his hand. His eyes widened as he realized something. The chant he had just muttered had been directed at the sensor.


    What was going on? He stared at the sensor, suddenly struck by a peculiar feeling. It seemed as though this device had become his personal possession, something he could control at will. He even felt like he could make it... explode.


    Quietly, Ratham sat down, his mind swirling with a strange sensation. Could it be that the chant couldn¡¯t summon a corpse, but could instead summon an electronic consciousness?


    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Ratham put on the sensor. The next instant, he found himself in his private space again.


    What should he do now? He thought, then ordered, "Write an observation report about the ancient relics found on Millard Planet."


    "Tap-tap... tap-tap-tap..."


    Bright points flashed on the screen, and in no time, a flawless observation report appeared.


    "My god..." Ratham could no longer hold back his astonishment. "Does it really have intelligence?"


    Although human technology was highly advanced, no one had yet developed a supercomputer that could replace human existence.


    The best computers, the most advanced self-operating systems, still couldn''t replace the human brain.


    But what was going on now? Ratham knew clearly that the sensor in his hand was an outdated model and didn¡¯t have any advanced writing functions. The only explanation was that the sensor had evolved on its own.


    He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the mysterious entity in his mind. He could clearly sense its presence, but frustratingly, he could only sense it and not communicate with it in any way.


    He gave a few random commands, and his private space immediately transformed. Ratham was now completely certain: this was the consciousness formed by the sensor.


    "Beep beep..." A red light beside his desk lit up, followed by a buzzing sound.


    Ratham immediately exited the sensor. He knew he had to go to school.


    He walked out the door, got into his hover car, and set it to auto-pilot. The car flew off with a whoosh.


    Inside the planet, when traveling by hover car, people usually allowed the planet''s network computer to control the vehicle. With its supercomputing powers, accidents rarely happened unless someone intentionally interfered. Moreover, the car was equipped with the safest protective measures, so even if an accident occurred, it wouldn¡¯t endanger their lives.


    Thus, most people chose auto-pilot when getting into their hover cars.


    It was half an hour to get to school, and if it were any other day, Ratham would either relax or watch a short video. But today, he had a lot to think about...

 Outstanding?

    Half an hour later, Latham finally gained some understanding of the weak consciousness in his mind.


    It was indeed a faint consciousness generated by the sensor, but it still had a huge gap compared to what one might imagine as self-awareness.


    One could only say that this entity had some traits of human intelligence, with a certain ability to make logical judgments.


    Of course, it was far superior to the completely program-driven judgments made by a computer.


    Latham''s feeling was that this was still a person¡ªa lifeform capable of independent thought¡ªbut this lifeform was not complete. It was like a puppet that had no thoughts of its own and could only act according to orders.


    It was like a strange combination of some features of a computer and some human-like judgment abilities.


    With this deduction, Latham was fully satisfied.


    The reason computers can''t replace the human brain is because they lack two things.


    One is emotion, though this factor is not worth mentioning since Latham could never believe that two machines could develop any intense emotions like romantic love.


    The other is judgment ability, and this refers not to programmatic judgment, but to the kind of subjective judgment that humans have.


    No matter how advanced human science becomes, these two major problems remain unsolved.


    However, now it seemed that the second issue might be on the verge of being solved.


    ¡°Phew...¡± The hovering car finally came to a stop.


    Latham jumped out, not wanting to stay inside any longer, as he had already spotted Dr. Raka heading toward the classroom.


    ¡°This is some magical mineral, and I can clearly feel it telling me a heart-wrenching, yet true story that has been buried beneath the dust of history...¡±


    Ten minutes later, a sporadic applause came from the audience as Schneider finished his speech.


    Dr. Raka stood up from his chair, nodded toward the speaker, and then pursed his thick lips. His deep voice came through: ¡°Schneider, thank you for your speech, but if I remember correctly, the assignment I gave was an observation report, not a fantasy novel.¡±


    ¡°Haha¡­¡±


    The audience erupted in laughter.


    ¡°Oh, sorry, Doctor.¡± Schneider shrugged nervously and said, ¡°But Doctor, this is my genuine feeling after seeing those minerals.¡±


    ¡°Haha¡­¡± The laughter grew louder.


    Dr. Raka shook his head and said, ¡°Alright, since you insist, you¡¯ve failed this time. Next one¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Schneider held his head, looking dejected. However, few people showed sympathy, including Latham, who was about to stand up to read.


    Schneider was universally recognized as a genius in the school, and his credits had already far surpassed the excellent standard, so even if his score was zero this time, it wouldn''t affect his future. But for others, aside from the geniuses, not many dared to waste opportunities.


    ¡°Ahem¡­¡± Latham cleared his throat and began reading his observation report in as calm a tone as he could: ¡°Entering the exhibition hall, the first thing I saw was an antique box, surrounded by inscriptions that were completely different from modern craftsmanship¡­¡±


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    Ten minutes later, after Latham finished reading his report, he received some sparse applause.


    ¡°Very good,¡± Dr. Raka sighed and said, ¡°Latham, I believe you truly prepared well and put in a lot of effort.¡±


    ¡°Ah, thank you, Doctor.¡± Latham smiled broadly, feeling extremely fortunate for his decision to have the sensor write the report for him.


    But then, Dr. Raka looked at him intently and asked, ¡°However, can you tell me the truth? Did you really see the exhibits?¡±


    Latham froze, and his smile instantly stiffened. Of course, he had seen the exhibits, but his attention had been entirely on the small memory orb. He hadn¡¯t cared at all about the other items. So this question was actually quite difficult to answer!


    ¡°If I¡¯m not mistaken, this report of yours includes at least twenty-eight pieces of material from the SkyNet, perhaps even more. I admit, you¡¯ve worked very hard, but what I need is the truth, understand?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Latham looked at Raka¡¯s expression and knew very well that the stern doctor would likely give him a failing grade now.


    Before today, Latham would have never dared to argue, because anyone else, except Schneider, would have been terrified by Dr. Raka¡¯s sharp gaze. The boldness would vanish instantly.


    But now it was different. Since his mental power had reached level five, Latham had unexpectedly noticed that Dr. Raka''s gaze wasn¡¯t so fierce anymore.


    ¡°Doctor!¡± Latham, unwilling to accept his fate, immediately called out.


    ¡°What?¡± Dr. Raka was a bit surprised. In his impression, no one, except Schneider, dared to interrupt his decisions.


    After hesitating for a moment, Latham lifted his head and spoke with the most sincere tone he could muster: ¡°Doctor, there were too many people in the exhibition hall this week. I wasn¡¯t able to go until yesterday. But when I arrived, the items had already been stolen, and I didn¡¯t see anything. I don¡¯t want to deceive you, but I thought you¡¯d prefer not to see an entirely blank observation report.¡±


    Looking into Latham¡¯s clear eyes, Dr. Raka nodded slightly. He was, of course, aware of the theft of the ancient artifacts and had even cursed the shameless thief with his colleagues. After hearing Latham¡¯s explanation, he chose to believe him.


    ¡°Alright, this is an exception. I won¡¯t hold it against you. Hmm, you¡¯ve searched and organized so much information, showing your effort. So this time¡­¡± Dr. Raka stretched his words, building suspense before finally smiling and slowly saying, ¡°Your grade is excellent.¡±


    ¡°Wow¡­¡±


    A gasp followed by a burst of applause filled the hall. All the students cheered for Latham¡¯s courage to argue and win.


    After all, to receive an excellent grade from Dr. Raka was an unimaginable feat. Throughout the entire school year, aside from a few recognized geniuses like Schneider, no one had ever heard of such a thing.

 ?The strength at the seventh level

    "Ding..."


    The bell signaling the end of class rang. Dr. Raka gave a few instructions and walked out of the hall.


    One by one, students came forward to congratulate him, and Latham responded with a calm smile to each one.


    With the prolongation of human life, the way education is delivered has also undergone significant changes. Generally speaking, people receive a wide range of knowledge education in schools until they are 50 years old.


    Aside from a few mandatory courses, all students can choose from a variety of subjects to further their education in whatever they enjoy.


    Only after earning a certain number of credits can one graduate and seek work in society. Of course, continuing to study at school is also a good option. After all, with the highly developed productivity, human society generally no longer faces the problem of hunger.


    The cost of schooling is very low, and all subjects are free to study. As long as students are not pursuing indulgence, they can study here forever. Just like Schneider, despite earning enough credits by the age of 30, he still had no intention of leaving.


    However, truly content people are rare. Few can spend their entire lives in an academic environment like this.


    Leaving the classroom, Latham stretched lazily. Since he had no more classes to attend in the morning, he wasted no time in heading straight for the experimental building.


    His school, Millard Planet Public Academy, was vast in size, with more than a dozen teaching buildings, as well as many other facilities, including the experimental building where physical and mental ability levels could be tested.


    The experimental building was a multifunctional complex, with high-end dance halls and restaurants inside. However, Latham''s purpose was only the testing hall on the first floor.


    The academy naturally possessed the best testing equipment, and there was more than one set. Of course, using these facilities required paying credit points. Generally speaking, there was no need, and no one would waste time here casually.


    But for Latham, this expense was necessary.


    Testing physical ability required actual action and was quite complex, but testing mental ability was simpler and could be completed with just a testing device.


    He casually selected one of the testing devices, sat down, swiped his card at the reader, and paid ten credit points.


    He then picked up the device, which resembled a sensor, and put it on his head, selecting the test button.


    The tester was a sealed cockpit, and the results could only be seen by the person being tested unless they chose to share it. Under privacy protection laws, no one, except government agencies, had the right to access these records.


    As soon as the test began, a dazzling array of light points appeared before his eyes, forming a beautiful meteor shower.


    Latham didn''t know how the machine worked, but after watching the unforgettable meteor shower, the test was over.


    He opened his multifunctional communicator on his wrist, and the results were already entered.


    The moment the display appeared, Latham hesitated for a split second. But it was only for that brief moment; he quickly lowered his head and focused on the screen.


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    On the watch-like display, a row of small characters was clearly visible:


    Mental Energy Level: 7th Rank.


    "Clank, clank, clank..."


    There was a sound from above the testing chamber, and Latham looked up to see a staff member impatiently tapping on the lid. Embarrassed, he smiled at the person above. It was then that he realized the test had already finished.


    He pressed the switch, the door opened, and quickly left the chamber. But just as he stepped out, he heard someone call his name: "Latham."


    Surprised, he turned around and saw that it was Schneider.


    "Oh, hello."


    Schneider walked up slowly, glanced at the testing hall behind him, and asked with a smile, "Did you just finish your test?"


    "Yes."


    "Did you break level five?"


    "How did you know?"


    "Because when I surpassed level five three years ago, I had the same expression you''re wearing right now."


    Latham paused. Was his expression really that strange?


    "I think it''s time for us to reintroduce ourselves." Schneider extended his hand and said, "Schneider, level five in physical, level six in mental."


    After a brief hesitation, Latham extended his hand and shook it firmly. "Latham, level two in physical, level... seven in mental."


    "Seven?" Schneider''s face changed, and he scrutinized him carefully before saying, "A five-level gap between physical and mental? Heh... that''s quite rare."


    Latham tried to keep a calm smile. "I''ll level up."


    "I believe you."


    "Oh?"


    "To get mental ability to level seven before twenty, you''re the first guy I''ve met like that." Schneider shrugged. "You used to keep a low profile. If I hadn¡¯t asked you today, I bet you would have stayed unnoticed."


    Latham thought for a moment, then couldn''t help but laugh softly. He nodded, as if acknowledging Schneider¡¯s words.


    His mental ability was quite unique and, one might say, somewhat hidden from the public eye. If Schneider hadn¡¯t asked today, he might have continued to stay under the radar.


    What an odd guy!


    That was Schneider¡¯s evaluation of Latham, but no matter what, a level seven mental ability was rare talent, at least one rank higher than his own.


    "Hey, what''s your AOA level?"


    "AOA?" Latham was startled and smiled wryly. "I haven¡¯t played it."


    "What?" Schneider looked puzzled and asked, "Don¡¯t you like to play?"


    Latham scratched his nose, unsure how to answer.


    AOA was a mecha game on SkyNet, known for its high degree of simulation and mecha data. It was one of the most popular and enduring games on the network.


    For a young guy like Latham, it was natural to like the game. But there was a prerequisite to playing it: your mental or physical ability had to reach at least level three. Otherwise, the massive influx of information would either cause a nervous breakdown or physical collapse.


    Level three in mental and physical abilities wasn¡¯t that high. As long as one was a Federation citizen and had received system training, most people could reach this level by the age of thirty, except for a few with severe disabilities. But for Latham, at eighteen, until yesterday, he had only been a level two "waste" in both areas. How could he join AOA¡¯s virtual world?

 Sky Net?

    Of course, Latham knew he couldn¡¯t tell anyone this, so he came up with an answer that he himself didn¡¯t quite believe: "I¡¯ve never played any mecha games. Hmm, I¡¯m not really interested in them."


    "Not interested?" Schneider looked at him with an expression as if examining a prehistoric monster, then suddenly smiled and pulled him toward the elevator of the experimental building, saying, "Come on, give it a try. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll get hooked, just like falling for a beautiful and captivating woman."


    Latham struggled a little but didn¡¯t refuse any longer. Not only did he have a huge curiosity about it, but even if he didn¡¯t want to try, with his level two physical strength, once Schneider¡ªwho was level five¡ªgrabbed hold of him, there was no escaping.


    The experimental building had high-end testing cabins, but on the 18th floor, it also housed the most luxurious game cabins on Millard Planet.


    While connecting to SkyNet could be done with a simple sensor, to experience a high-simulation environment that felt just like reality, such game cabins were indispensable.


    Clearly, Schneider was a regular here. He led Latham directly into the VIP room on the 18th floor.


    Compared to the lower floors, this room was filled with a neat row of one hundred game cabins, most of which were unoccupied. Two people were sitting in the nearby lounge area, chatting away.


    Schneider greeted them, and Latham quickly recognized them as prominent figures from the academy.


    Since it was Latham¡¯s first time in such a high-end place, he felt a bit awkward. However, Schneider, who knew Latham¡¯s mental strength was level seven, didn¡¯t mock him at all. Instead, he carefully guided him through the process.


    After fumbling with the game cabin, Latham swiped his card, but a pleasant synthesized female voice suddenly rang out: "Sir, we¡¯re sorry, but your card balance is insufficient by 1,000 credit points. You cannot use this game cabin at the moment. Please forgive us."


    Latham¡¯s face immediately flushed red. He was taken aback by the high cost. 1,000 credit points¡ªhe muttered to himself¡ªwas the equivalent of his living expenses for an entire month. Wasn¡¯t this just a blatant money grab?


    Schneider, already lying in a nearby game cabin, saw Latham outside, smiling and waving at him. He quickly reopened the cabin, which hadn¡¯t been closed for even half a minute, and asked in confusion, "What¡¯s wrong?"


    Latham lowered his head and, in the softest voice possible, said, "Schneider, I forgot to bring my credit card."


    Schneider paused, clearly surprised by this situation. He quickly said, "Oh, sorry! I should have treated you. Don¡¯t worry, go ahead and use it."


    Smiling in satisfaction, Latham returned to the game cabin. Sure enough, the card slot next to him slowly retracted, indicating that the payment had been made for the cabin.


    Latham lay down, adjusted his position to a comfortable one, and put on the sensor.


    Although the game cabins provided standard sensors, most people who came here brought their personal devices. As long as the sensor¡¯s connector was plugged into the game cabin, everything would work just fine.


    The familiar scenery reappeared before his eyes, and Latham knew that he had successfully entered the virtual world of SkyNet.


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    While a sensor alone could allow him to see the same sights and be in the same place, using the game cabin was an entirely different experience. It was like comparing the earliest 12-inch black-and-white televisions to today¡¯s high-definition plasma TVs¡ªthe difference was vast.


    He waved his hand, and it felt as if the wind was blowing. Taking a deep breath, he could almost smell the faint fragrance of jasmine. He silently marveled, "This is indeed extravagant!"


    No wonder so many people preferred to use game cabins to log into SkyNet. After experiencing the difference, trying to log in with just a sensor was almost unbearable.


    "Hey... so, how is it? Stay here, or go to the intermediate zone?" A hand rested on his shoulder. Without asking, Latham knew it was Schneider.


    "Intermediate zone?"


    "Yeah, if you want to have fun, that¡¯s where you need to go," Schneider shrugged. "The people here are all newbies, it¡¯s boring."


    "Intermediate zone? Right, I can enter the intermediate zone now," Latham muttered to himself. If Schneider hadn¡¯t reminded him, he might not have thought of it.


    With technological advancements, human development had reached its peak. Thousands of years of survival of the fittest had widened the gap in human physical condition, reflexes, and mental strength.


    Among them, humans with high-level mental strength had an overwhelming advantage when using computer devices.


    A powerful mental strength allowed them to withstand the intense shocks caused by high-speed operations of light brains. To put it more simply, they were like the latest Pentium computers, while the majority of humans with mental strength below level five were like old 286 systems.


    If these two computers were connected to the same network, the only possible outcome would be either the Pentium user couldn¡¯t stand the snail-paced speed and destroyed the computer, or the 286 would collapse under the stress of high-speed operation.


    To address this issue, the United Human Alliance tried many solutions and eventually decided to adopt a ranking system.


    Although this system was heavily criticized by politicians, especially those representing the common people, it remained in place due to the lack of better solutions.


    SkyNet was the largest wireless network for humanity, and its largest area was the ordinary zone, where people with mental strength or physical abilities between levels 2 and 5 resided¡ªthese were the majority of the population.


    The next tier was the intermediate zone, for people with mental strength between levels 6 and 10, followed by the advanced zone with levels 11-15, and the legendary special zone, for levels above 16.


    Level 16 was the dream of all humans. Once someone¡¯s physical or mental abilities reached this level, they could no longer simply be called human.


    People who reached this level, when equipped with appropriate gear, would be strong enough to take on a battleship by themselves. Once a person¡¯s power reached this level, a single battleship could no longer deal with them.


    However, the comforting thing was that very few people reached this level. It was so rare that it could be described as a phoenix feather or a unicorn¡¯s horn.

 Middle-Level Area?

    <mark>?Schneider noticed Lassam¡¯s distracted expression and asked worriedly, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±?</mark>


    ¡°Ah, nothing. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    Schneider moved swiftly, vanishing in an instant.


    Lassam¡¯s gaze swept the surroundings, as if imprinting the scene into his memory, before stepping into the Intermediate Zone. The next moment, the scenery shifted abruptly. He felt as though he were sliding through a high-speed space, the world around him flying past like streaks of light.


    His mind raced across the Sky Net. Such extreme speed brought him immense exhilaration¡ªa privilege unlocked after his mental strength had broken through Level Five, granting him the thrill of the virtual realm¡¯s velocity. Though this was his first time in the Intermediate Zone¡¯s virtual space, Lassam felt no discomfort controlling his avatar. With Level Seven mental power, adapting to this intensity was effortless.


    As the surroundings stabilized, he studied the area. The architecture here mirrored the Common Zone, but the atmosphere differed starkly¡ªpeople moved purposefully, rarely idling in groups. So this is the divide between ordinary life and the Intermediate Zone, he mused.


    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± Schneider grumbled, materializing behind him like a ghost.


    ¡°Felt fast to me.¡±


    Schneider shrugged, opting not to argue, and tugged him toward a familiar virtual cabin. Above its entrance glowed the words: <mark>?Millard AOA Training Camp?</mark>.


    Inside stretched a vast hall lined with transparent rooms, each hosting sparring mechs.


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    ¡°Hey¡­ Schneider!¡±


    ¡°Hey¡­ Zhang! You here too?¡± Schneider laughed, approaching a burly man. The two embraced with virtual force, their camaraderie evident.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your mentor?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t come.¡±


    ¡°Up for a match?¡±


    ¡°Nah. Brought a friend.¡± Schneider grinned. ¡°Plus, I¡¯d rather not get pummeled.¡±


    The man finally noticed Lassam and extended a hand. ¡°Kade.¡±


    ¡°Lassam.¡± They shook firmly.


    ¡°New?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Any experience?¡±


    ¡°None.¡±


    Kade smiled. ¡°No worries. Everyone starts somewhere. You¡¯ll adapt.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    With a wave, Kade entered a training room, his movements in the virtual mech swift and panther-like.


    ¡°He¡¯s solid¡ªone of Millard¡¯s top mech pilots in the Intermediate Zone,¡± Schneider remarked.


    ¡°I can tell,¡± Lassam said, impressed.


    Schneider led him to a new training room and handed him a helmet. ¡°Basics first. Put this on.¡±


    Lassam complied. Light cascaded over him, materializing a standard training mech¡ª40 tons in reality, weightless here. The model balanced offense and defense, ideal for rookies.


    ¡°Try moving,¡± Schneider instructed.


    Modern mechs responded to neural commands, not manual controls. Higher mental tiers meant faster reflexes, though skill andÌ츳 (aptitude) mattered too.


    Lassam¡¯s first attempt mirrored every novice: the mech¡¯s arm jerked up like a puppet¡¯s, comically uncoordinated. Schneider chuckled, recalling his own clumsy debut years ago.


    Somehow, the mech wobbled upright.


    Not bad for a Level Seven mentalist, Schneider thought. Took me half an hour just to stand back then.


    But Lassam struggled. Walking felt alien¡ªhis ¡°legs¡± dragged like lead or buckled like jelly.


    ¡°Damn, this is impossible!¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Step forward, buddy! Don¡¯t freeze up!¡± Schneider teased.


    When Lassam stayed rooted, Schneider materialized in front of him. ¡°Move, you coward!¡±


    Enraged, Lassam stomped¡ªand miraculously, the mech¡¯s foot slammed down, steady as a nail driven into the ground.

 He is practicing walking

    <mark>?¡°Ah, brilliant! You¡¯re a genius, an absolute¡ª¡±?</mark> Schneider¡¯s eyes sparkled as he shouted unsparingly, <mark>?¡°You¡¯re the best prodigy I¡¯ve ever seen¡ªstill a notch below me, but impressive. Now, take another step¡­ slowly¡­ forward¡­¡±?</mark>


    Emboldened by his first success, Lassam eagerly stomped ahead. But as his foot landed, the supporting leg suddenly softened, as though a gust of wind had toppled the hollow steel giant.


    <mark>?¡°Great, just like that! Come on, dar¡ªoh no¡ª¡±?</mark>


    Schneider, frantically directing from the front, froze as the ten-meter mech swayed. With veteran reflexes, he rolled backward¡ªonly to curse inwardly. The towering machine didn¡¯t collapse forward as expected. Instead, it crashed straight toward him.


    He reacted swiftly, but his miscalculation left him staring at an expanding shadow.


    <mark>?BOOM!?</mark>


    The impact echoed through the training chamber. Schneider¡¯s avatar dissolved into streams of data.


    <mark>?¡°HAHAHA!¡±?</mark>


    A roar of laughter erupted from spectators drawn by the commotion. <mark>?¡°Well done, kid! You took Schneider out!¡±?</mark> <mark>?¡°Woo! Do it again!¡±?</mark>


    Ripples shimmered in the air as Schneider¡¯s avatar reformed. <mark>?¡°Enough! Stop laughing!¡±?</mark> he bellowed, his fury reverberating through the camp. The jeers only intensified, fuel to the fire.


    Schneider shrugged, muttering <mark>?¡°Freaks,¡±?</mark> before storming into his training pod. He slapped on a helmet, and white light enveloped him, materializing a mech identical to Lassam¡¯s. <mark>?¡°Forgot one rule: trainers need mechs too. Safety first,¡±?</mark> he explained with exaggerated gestures.


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    <mark>?¡°I know,¡±?</mark> Lassam said guiltily. <mark>?¡°Schneider¡­ I¡¯m sorry. Didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Drop it. Let¡¯s move on.¡±?</mark> Schneider cut him off. <mark>?¡°Try another step.¡±?</mark>


    Lassam hesitated.


    <mark>?¡°Watch me.¡±?</mark> Schneider paced steadily across the room, demonstrating basics. <mark>?¡°No fancy tricks. Just walk. Every rookie falls. No shame.¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Alright¡­ I¡¯ll try.¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Go on.¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Really doing it.¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Yes!¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°I mean it.¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°For stars¡¯ sake¡ªMOVE!¡±?</mark>


    The mech¡¯s leg rose, and Lassam lumbered forward.


    <mark>?¡°Yes! Perfect! Steady¡­ no, wait¡ªrelax! Let instinct take over. There! Goo¡ª¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?CRASH!?</mark>


    Schneider, bent backward mid-gesture, slammed into the virtual chamber¡¯s energy barrier. He glanced at the wall, then at Lassam¡¯s mech, and blurted: <mark>?¡°Who¡­ are you?¡±?</mark>


    Inside the cockpit, Lassam tilted his mech¡¯s head. <mark>?¡°Who¡¯re you asking?¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Lassam¡­ is that REALLY you?¡±?</mark> Schneider gaped.


    <mark>?¡°Who else?¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°But¡­¡±?</mark> Schneider swallowed. Something had felt off. Now he realized: Lassam¡¯s movements were too smooth, too controlled for a rookie.


    <mark>?¡°How¡­ can you already walk?¡±?</mark> he muttered, staring.


    Lassam nearly kicked him¡ªbut held back, remembering Schneider¡¯s generosity with the training credits.


    <mark>?¡°No, friend,¡±?</mark> Schneider backtracked, <mark>?¡°I meant¡­ how¡¯d you master walking so fast?¡±?</mark>


    Lassam paused, then smirked. <mark>?¡°Maybe I¡¯m a genius.¡±?</mark>


    Schneider stared at the identical mech. <mark>?¡°Maybe you are,¡±?</mark> he conceded. <mark>?¡°¡­Almost as good as me.¡±?</mark>


    Lassam knew he wasn¡¯t a genius. His sudden skill came not from talent, but from relinquishing control. During his first fall, panic had severed his connection¡ªand the mech¡¯s dormant AI interface seized command.


    Schneider¡¯s initial prediction was right: the mech should¡¯ve collapsed forward. But the AI adjusted mid-fall, channeling reactor energy to recover. When Lassam¡¯s consciousness abruptly reclaimed control, the mech froze mid-air for 0.1 seconds before crashing sideways.


    By the time Schneider respawned, Lassam had pieced it together. He surrendered control again, letting the AI guide the mech with effortless precision. Its movements¡ªfluid, natural¡ªleft Schneider baffled. How could a rookie mimic veteran grace?

 genius

    <mark>?¡°Alright, frien¡ªno, brother¡­ I mean, you¡¯ve passed. Yeah, I swear you¡¯ve mastered walking,¡±?</mark> Schneider declared with exaggerated solemnity.


    Lassam smiled faintly. Friends to brothers in a heartbeat¡ªSchneider¡¯s standards sure shift fast. From his observations, Schneider was notoriously aloof, with only a handful of fellow ¡°geniuses¡± in the academy earning his camaraderie. Strangely, Lassam felt a flicker of pride. Before today, he¡¯d never have qualified. Yet beneath it simmered unease¡ªthankfully masked.


    <mark>?¡°Isn¡¯t walking¡­ normal?¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Normal? Oh, totally normal,¡±?</mark> Schneider mumbled, staring blankly.


    When a self-proclaimed genius encounters someone leagues ahead, bitterness often follows. But Schneider, to his credit, swallowed his pride swiftly. Lassam¡¯s heightened mental sensitivity caught the fleeting envy in his voice, though he felt no triumph. After all, he wasn¡¯t piloting the mech.


    <mark>?¡°What now?¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Now¡­¡±?</mark>


    A video request popped up. Schneider¡¯s face filled the screen, grinning slyly. <mark>?¡°Ever raised a kid?¡±?</mark>


    Lassam relaxed as Schneider¡¯s tension dissolved¡ªbut the question baffled him. Eighteen and parenting? Pets, maybe? <mark>?¡°No,¡±?</mark> he answered firmly.


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    <mark>?¡°Know what kids want after walking?¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Run¡­?¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°No¡ªjump!¡±?</mark> Schneider crowed.


    <mark>?¡°Jump? Seriously?¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Dead serious. Time for leap drills.¡±?</mark>


    Schneider ended the call, smirking. Who cares if kids actually run first?


    He demonstrated: arms out, knees bent, the mech launching a meter high¡ªits thrusters humming¡ªbefore landing gracefully meters away. <mark>?¡°See? Start small. Don¡¯t expect my flair without a year¡¯s pra¡ªWHA¡ªHOW?!¡±?</mark>


    Mid-lecture, Lassam¡¯s mech mirrored the motion flawlessly, soaring in a fluid arc. The landing? Steady as a veteran¡¯s. Schneider gaped. Had he not witnessed Lassam¡¯s earlier wobbles, he¡¯d never believe this rookie had never touched a virtual mech before.


    Lassam, however, panicked internally. Too perfect. He¡¯d meant to falter, but the sensor consciousness ignored his mental pleas to ¡°tone it down.¡± It obeyed commands¡ªnot subtleties.


    <mark>?¡°Genius¡­¡±?</mark> Schneider thumped Lassam¡¯s mech shoulder, awed. <mark>?¡°You¡¯re a natural.¡±?</mark>


    <mark>?¡°Genius, huh?¡±?</mark> Lassam muttered bitterly.


    Trapped in this charade, he faced two paths: reclaim control (and expose his ineptitude) or let the AI play ¡°genius¡± indefinitely. The latter meant enduring undeserved praise¡ªbut the alternative? Suspicion, ridicule.


    Screw it, he decided. Let the AI handle the game. Play the prodigy.


    His gaze pierced the virtual armor, picturing Schneider¡¯s stunned face. So what if they call me a genius? For once, I¡¯ll take it.

 basic posture

    ¡°Walk like this¡ªremember, an ?S-shape?.¡± Schneider demonstrated a textbook S-shaped evasion maneuver, then said, ¡°Go on, try it.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Latham replied curtly. Without any manual input from him, the training mech flawlessly traced Schneider¡¯s earlier path.


    ¡°Done? If there¡¯s nothing new, I¡¯m logging off.¡± Latham said casually.


    Staying inside the mech was tedious, especially without control. He couldn¡¯t even touch the sensory interface¡ªany interference would crash the system instantly.


    Latham wanted to end the session, but Schneider, on the other hand, was addicted to teaching.


    With three years in the training camp, Schneider was a veteran. Yet, in the intermediate zone, everyone was seasoned¡ªexcept Latham, the only one who¡¯d never touched a mech before reaching ?Level 6 psychic energy?.


    Though Schneider was a rookie instructor, even he knew he¡¯d stumbled upon a genius.


    Every textbook move he demonstrated, Latham replicated perfectly after one glance. This surreal skill shattered Schneider¡¯s confidence. For a moment, he wondered if he was the incompetent one.


    Most first-timers struggled to stand or take a few steps. But Schneider, driven mad, kept escalating the difficulty.


    As a mech fanatic, he¡¯d spent years mastering 108 basic stances¡ªgrueling effort that propelled him to become the camp¡¯s fastest-rising star. Today, that title no longer belonged to him.


    ¡°108¡­ All 108 basic stances. Done.¡± Schneider¡¯s eyes burned. He was losing it. Mastering everything in four hours? He didn¡¯t know whether to feel lucky or cursed.


    ¡°Done?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Basics are done.¡±


    ¡°Can I leave now?¡±


    ¡°Leave? ?No!?¡± Schneider snapped.


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    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Latham shrugged. Hanging with Schneider boosted his social cred, so he didn¡¯t mind staying¡ªthough watching the instructor bounce around was getting dull.


    ¡°Alright! You¡¯ve passed all basics. Next¡­ Next is¡ª¡± Schneider paused, dizzy, then checked the manual. ¡°Combo stances.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡± Latham asked, ¡°How many combos?¡±


    ¡°2,436 Level 1, 1,864 Level 2, 1,100 Level 3¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Latham interrupted. ¡°You¡¯re saying thousands?¡±


    ¡°Yep. Over 10,000 combos from Level 1 to 10. Master them all, and you¡¯ll crack the global top 10k.¡±


    ¡°10,000?¡± Latham grimaced. ¡°You expect me to learn all that today?¡±


    ¡°If possible, yes.¡±


    Latham rolled his eyes. The 108 basics took four hours¡ª10k combos would trap him here forever.


    A question struck him: ¡°Schneider, how many have you mastered?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Schneider puffed his chest. ¡°In three years since reaching the intermediate zone, I¡¯ve nailed 60% of Levels 1-5.¡±


    ¡°Only 60% in three years? Why not all 10k?¡±


    Schneider gaped. If any other student asked that, he¡¯d have kicked them. But Latham¡¯s terrifying progress stopped him. Even if Schneider won today, this freak would surpass him soon. The thought of such a monster lingering nearby kept him in check.


    In the camp¡¯s main hall, two observers had monitored the training room for hours. Both accessed Schneider and Latham¡¯s public records.


    Schneider, 28, had 15 years of mech training¡ªstarting at age 13 when his psychic energy hit Level 3. His stellar record hinted at future ace pilot potential.


    Latham¡¯s file was horrifying:


    ?Age: 18. Mech Experience: 0.?


    Unless falsified, no one would leave that field blank.


    From the moment Latham ¡°accidentally¡± crushed Schneider in the sim, one observer had locked onto him. After four hours of flawless performance, the observer summoned a colleague. Together, they watched¡ªand linked to the outside world via ?Skynet?.

 Talent (Part 1)

    Flashes of white light continually appeared in the void, each representing a revived or departing user.


    A shifty-eyed man suddenly entered through the main door and approached the two observers.


    ¡°Gentlemen, we¡¯ve completed your requested investigation.¡±


    ¡°Why so slow? Couldn¡¯t trace him?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you jest. Only we at Millard could compile a full background check this quickly. But since you insisted on physical delivery instead of Skynet transmission, the delay was unavoidable¡ª¡±


    One observer raised a hand to cut off the excuse. ¡°The files?¡±


    The man produced two virtual Card magnetic strips. The observers inserted them into their multifunctional wristbands. Moments later, one said coldly, ¡°Payment will be transferred.¡±


    ¡°Thank you! We hope to serve you again.¡± A white flash engulfed the man as he logged off.


    ¡°Card, your thoughts?¡±


    The man removed his sunglasses¡ªrevealing himself as Card¡ªand answered slowly, ¡°I think we¡¯ve found a true genius.¡±


    ¡°If this report¡¯s accurate, the kid¡¯s never touched a mech before. Skynet logs confirm this is his first time in the intermediate zone.¡±


    ¡°Strange,¡± Card frowned. ¡°He reached Level 5 psychic energy long ago. Why wait until now?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps because he¡¯s poor,¡± Harry smirked like a fox. ¡°Eighteen years old, no income except parental allowance. Schneider paid his intermediate zone fees today.¡±


    The intermediate zone¡ªnicknamed ¡°Richman¡¯s Playground¡±¡ªcost 100 credits daily. For a broke teenager, it was unthinkable luxury.


    Card¡¯s rugged face lit up. ¡°We¡¯ve struck gold.¡±


    ¡°The CEO agrees. His orders: recruit the boy at any cost.¡±


    As they spoke, another figure entered. Harry grinned. ¡°Look who¡¯s here.¡±


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    ¡°Larry? That old ghost!¡± Card chuckled. The two had been friends for decades.


    Harry whispered, ¡°Remember the report? Latham¡¯s taking human history electives at Millard Public College¡ª¡±


    ¡°Human history? Larry¡¯s class?¡±


    ¡°An opportunity.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Card rose, beaming, as Larry approached.


    Meanwhile in the training room...


    ¡°Watch¡ªhalf-turn with a diagonal S-shaped acceleration. A basic Level 1 combo. Try it.¡±


    The towering mech pivoted smoothly, executing the S-maneuver.


    ¡°Seems simple enough,¡± Latham remarked. Though the AI handled the controls, the movements appeared effortless.


    Schneider bit his lip. Nothing about Latham shocked him anymore, though he recalled spending two years mastering basic stances before attempting combos.


    Beep-beep!


    A comms request flashed. Schneider answered hastily. ¡°Doctor, what¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Open the door.¡±


    Schneider turned to find Larry and Card outside the private training chamber. He granted access, and the newcomers entered wearing neural helmets.


    Two customized mechs materialized¡ªLarry¡¯s 5-meter humanoid frame and Card¡¯s 7-meter hybrid. Their privately modified units prioritized agility over bulk, contrasting with Latham¡¯s standard training mech.


    ¡°Doctor!¡± Schneider greeted nervously.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to see you here, boy,¡± Larry¡¯s mech crouched to eye-level with Latham¡¯s cockpit. ¡°Not bad for your first combo attempt.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, but it¡¯s just luck.¡±


    ¡°Modesty doesn¡¯t suit talent. How long have you trained?¡±


    Schneider interjected softly, ¡°He started today, Doctor.¡±


    ¡°TODAY?!¡± Larry¡¯s mech jerked backward. ¡°You¡¯re attempting combos after half a day?!¡±


    He loomed closer. ¡°Basics first! Show me your stances.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve mastered all 108 basics, Doctor.¡±


    ¡°Mastered? Let¡¯s see your real proficiency.¡± Larry¡¯s mech suddenly erupted into motion¡ªa blur of precision maneuvers.

 Talent (Part 2)

    ?Walk, run, jump, sidestep, roll, S-shaped acceleration¡­?


    Though the mechs differed in models, the foundational stances remained universal.


    ?1 minute, 21 seconds.?


    Larry¡¯s mech straightened as the timer froze.


    ¡°See? Master these stances fluidly, and you can chain them freely. Typically, completing all basics under five minutes qualifies you for Level 1 combos.¡±


    ¡°Understood, Doctor.¡± Latham replied humbly.


    Larry ignored him, turning to Card. ¡°Your turn?¡±


    ¡°Gladly.¡±


    Card¡¯s mech performed the same stances in a different sequence.


    ?1 minute, 32 seconds.?


    ¡°Eleven seconds slower, old friend!¡± Larry crowed.


    ¡°My mech¡¯s heavier. Match this time in a training unit, and I¡¯ll call you master.¡± Card retorted.


    Larry deflected. ¡°Schneider! Let¡¯s see if you¡¯ve slacked off.¡±


    Schneider¡¯s 10-meter training mech executed yet another variation.


    ?2 minutes, 28 seconds.?


    ¡°Not bad!¡± Larry clapped. ¡°Consistently sub-2:30. Keep it up.¡±


    Card abruptly addressed Latham. ¡°Now you.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Do it!¡± Larry barked. ¡°Ten minutes or less. That¡¯s your pass mark.¡±


    Card coughed. Schneider snorted.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you two?¡±


    ¡°Dry throat.¡±


    ¡°Skin rash.¡±


    ¡°Ridiculous.¡± Larry muttered.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Latham hesitated. ¡°Doctor¡­ your sequences were all different.¡±


    ¡°Sequences?!¡± Larry¡¯s mech loomed. ¡°You ignorant fool! Basics aren¡¯t choreographed! Chain them freely! Fail to finish under ten minutes, and you¡¯re banned from combos for six months!¡±


    The training mech trudged to the center. ¡°Begin?¡±


    ¡°?Go!? Oh. My. God¡ª¡±


    The mech became a blur.


    ?Walk, run, jump, sidestep, roll, S-shaped acceleration¡­?


    ?1 minute, 20 seconds.?


    Card whispered, ¡°A natural.¡±


    Next sequence: Card¡¯s variation.


    ?1 minute, 20 seconds.?


    Schneider¡¯s voice trembled. ¡°Same time.¡±


    Third round: Schneider¡¯s pattern.


    ?1 minute, 19 seconds.?


    Larry¡¯s pulse thundered. ¡°Impossible¡­ must be a glitch¡­¡±


    <hr>


    Outside the training room¡­


    Two passersby froze at the observation window.


    ¡°?1:20 flat!?¡± one shouted into the public channel.


    The camp erupted. Crowds swarmed, sealing the room in a human barricade.


    By Latham¡¯s third run (?1:19?), the hall fell deathly silent.


    <hr>


    Inside:


    ¡°¡­Schneider. Confirm he started training this year?¡±


    ¡°No, Doctor. He didn¡¯t.¡±


    Larry exhaled. ¡°Good. No one masters Level 1 combos in months unless they¡¯ve trained for decades. How old is he? Fifty?¡±


    ¡°Eighteen.¡±


    ¡°?Eighteen?!? Was he practicing in the womb?!¡±


    ¡°He began four hours ago.¡±


    Larry¡¯s mech staggered. Now he understood Schneider and Card¡¯s earlier smirks.


    They¡¯d been pitying a fool¡ªand that fool was him.

 blockbuster

    ?"1:19? God, is he from the advanced zone?"?


    Outside, the crowd erupted into chaos. Voices shouted: "Open the door! Let us in!"


    Schneider paled. The mob¡¯s frenzy made opening the door unthinkable.


    Card strode to the entrance, retracting his mech. Over the public channel, he barked: "Disperse. Don¡¯t embarrass our training camp."


    The crowd hesitated¡ªCard was one of the camp¡¯s legends.


    ?"I guarantee this pilot will train here regularly,"? Card declared, ?"but only if he¡¯s not harassed. Want to scare him off? Keep crowding."?


    The threat worked. Observers scattered, though covert glances lingered.


    Harry sipped virtual black coffee¡ªa luxury imported from Tengu Galaxy. In reality, it cost a fortune; here, mere credits. As training camp director, he¡¯d erased Schneider and Latham¡¯s logs. A wise move¡ªSchneider would¡¯ve been mobbed otherwise.


    ?"Schneider, activate blackout mode,"? Card ordered.


    The training room plunged into darkness. Outside, curses rippled.


    <hr>


    Inside:


    ?"Latham."? Card smiled warmly. ?"Mind stepping out of that clunker?"?


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    Latham complied. The mech dissolved into light. Larry and Schneider followed suit.


    ?"You¡¯re a prodigy."? Card extended a hand. ?"Card. Security Manager, Black Phage Group¡¯s Millard branch."?


    ?"Black Phage?"? Latham blinked. His parents worked there¡ªthe report said so.


    ?"You know us?"? Card feigned surprise.


    ?"My parents are in your company."?


    ?"Wonderful! We¡¯re practically family!"? Card beamed, already planning to "accidentally" promote Latham¡¯s parents.


    Larry shoved between them. ?"Enough buttering up. I¡¯m his professor. Latham¡ªjoin Millard Public College¡¯s Mech Enthusiasts Association. I¡¯ll guarantee straight A¡¯s."?


    ?"All subjects?!"? Latham gasped.


    ?"Every. Single. One."? Larry glared at Schneider, who muttered: "I never got that deal¡­"


    ?"Quiet!"?


    Card interjected: ?"Larry, your club needs sponsors. Black Phage could¡ª"?


    ?"We¡¯ll secure better sponsors!"? Larry snapped. ?"BaoLing Group. Spiritual Arms Division. Real players."?


    ?"His parents work for us,"? Card countered. ?"No one values loyalty like Black Phage."? He turned to Latham. ?"No pressure. Just¡­ think where your family thrives best."?


    Larry¡¯s eyes gleamed like a jeweler appraising a diamond. ?"He¡¯ll be an ace pilot. The best."?


    Outside, Harry chuckled. This bidding war had only begun.

 dream

    ?Larry seemed to ponder for a moment before finally saying, "Fine. What are your terms?"?


    ?"He can join your association, but he must also sign with our company."?


    ?"You forget,"? Larry countered, ?"Federal law prohibits hiring child laborers under twenty."?


    Latham frowned, interjecting hesitantly: ?"Dr. Raqqa¡­ the law specifies minors under twenty can¡¯t be employed, not just ¡®child laborers¡¯..."?


    Larry chuckled. ?"Semantics. Point stands."?


    Card sighed. He knew the law but pressed on: ?"We can draft a pre-contract agreement."?


    ?"Useless,"? Larry snapped. ?"Pre-contracts aren¡¯t binding. Bigger players than Black Phage will swarm him once word spreads. You think your terms can outbid them?"?


    Card¡¯s brow furrowed. ?"Let¡¯s discuss this privately."?


    ?"No."? Larry¡¯s tone hardened. ?"He¡¯s the most gifted pilot I¡¯ve seen. I won¡¯t let him resent me later for selling him short. Earn him with real³ÏÒ⡪or walk."?


    ?"Fine."? Card relented. ?"I¡¯ll consult our CEO. Give me time."?


    ?"Seven days,"? Larry declared. ?"That¡¯s all I can suppress the rumors for."?


    ?"Done."? Card nodded, then clapped Latham¡¯s shoulder. ?"Hope we¡¯ll work together, kid."? A flash of light marked his logout.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Larry turned to Schneider. ?"Not a word of this. To anyone."?


    ?"Even the association?"?


    ?"Especially them."?


    Latham remained silent, a flicker of resentment brewing. A day ago, he¡¯d have leapt at any opportunity. Now, the idea of others dictating his future soured his stomach.


    Larry noticed. ?"You¡¯re unhappy with our¡­ arrangements?"?


    ?"I¡­ don¡¯t understand,"? Latham deflected.


    ?"Good."? Larry grinned. ?"Only true talents chafe at being puppeteered. You¡¯re meant to own your destiny."?


    Latham nearly laughed. Talent? If only you knew it¡¯s the sensor¡¯s AI doing the work¡­


    ?"Four hours,"? Larry marveled. ?"You mastered basics others grind at for years. Even surpassed us. You¡¯re not just gifted¡ªyou¡¯re historic."?


    ?"But talent¡¯s fragile,"? Larry warned, his voice grave. ?"The world will tempt you¡ªfame, credits, shortcuts. I¡¯ve seen prodigies crumble under it. Stay focused. Become the king of mechs, and then taste the world¡¯s rewards."?


    Latham¡¯s breath hitched. The promise of glory tugged at him, undeniable.


    ?"Think on it,"? Larry said, checking his wrist display. ?"It¡¯s late. We¡¯ll reconvene."?


    Schneider nudged Latham. Mimicking Card, both logged out instantly¡ªescaping the mob that would¡¯ve mobbed their avatars.


    <hr>


    Reality:


    The game pod hatch hissed open. Latham blinked, dazed, as Schneider tapped his shoulder. ?"Welcome back."?


    ?"Thanks¡­"? Latham removed his archaic neural sensor headset.


    Schneider stared. ?"You logged into Skynet with that relic?"?


    ?"Yeah? Everyone at college uses these."?


    ?"That model was phased out ages ago."

 Gift

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 Millions of temptations

    Latham absently turned the sensor over in his hands, his pulse still racing. A million credits monthly? It felt surreal. Both his parents worked for Black Phage Group¡¯s subsidiaries as mid-level white-collar employees, their combined salaries barely scraping 100k monthly. Yet Schneider made a million sound like pocket change.


    When Latham fell silent, Schneider frowned. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Latham forced a laugh. This is just speculation. Don¡¯t jinx it. The tension dissolved. His gaze drifted to the sensor¡¯s sleek surface¡ªthen froze. Tiny characters etched near the rim caught his eye.


    ¡°Schneider¡­ I still can¡¯t accept this.¡±


    ¡°Still doubting me?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Latham pushed the sensor across the table. ¡°But I¡¯ll take a different one.¡±


    Schneider squinted at the engraved characters: ?¡°XI¡±?.


    ¡°Shit.¡± He groaned. ¡°Of course the priciest model¡¯s locked to Level XI.¡±


    Latham smirked. ¡°I¡¯d need a decade to grow mold on this thing before I could use it.¡± The ¡°XI¡± mark meant only those with psychic or combat skills above Level 11 could activate it¡ªa badge of elite status. At Level 7, Latham might as well strap a brick to his wrist.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°My bad,¡± Schneider muttered. ¡°Didn¡¯t check the specs.¡±


    ¡°You never check specs, do you?¡±


    ¡°Be right back.¡± Schneider bolted from the booth. ¡°I¡¯ll handpick one this time!¡±


    Alone, Latham refilled his glass. The wine¡ª?Voltaire?¡ªburned smooth down his throat. A luxury he¡¯d never afford himself: 15,000 credits per bottle. Schneider¡¯s casual extravagance baffled him.


    His parents¡¯ faces flickered in memory. They¡¯d married at 50¡ªyoung by modern standards¡ªand thrown themselves into careers once he turned 16. Solitude had become his norm.


    Schneider barged back in twenty minutes flat.


    ¡°Done. They¡¯re delivering it to your place.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but I should head home.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± Schneider tapped his wrist device. A program blinked onto Latham¡¯s interface.


    ¡°Combat simulator. Drills for mech piloting. Basic stances won¡¯t cut it against live opponents.¡±


    As theÐü¸¡³µ hummed homeward, Latham replayed Schneider¡¯s parting words:


    ¡°When Black Phage¡¯s offer hits, don¡¯t settle for scraps. Your skills are worth eight figures minimum.¡±


    The empty apartment greeted him as always. He activated the simulator¡ªand froze.


    The holographic menu glowed: ?ADVANCED COMBAT MODULES - LEVEL XI COMPATIBILITY REQUIRED?.


    Schneider¡¯s laughter seemed to echo through the sterile room.


    ¡°Oops,¡± Latham muttered. ¡°This friendship¡¯s going to bankrupt me.¡±

 one hundred sensor

    Ding-dong.


    The doorbell chimed, followed by the AI housekeeper¡¯s voice: ¡°Express delivery from Millard Public Academy. Shall I accept it?¡±


    Express indeed.


    After instructing the bot, Latham retreated to his room for a long shower. When he stepped into his bedroom, he froze. A massive crate dominated the floor.


    ¡°Double Zero Seven, what is this?¡±


    ¡°The Millard Academy express parcel,¡± the housekeeper replied. ¡°Per your instructions, it was placed in your bedroom.¡±


    Latham circled the crate, muttering as he tore open the packaging: ¡°I said that, but what¡¯s inside? A sensor the size of a¡ªholy hell.¡±


    The box contained ?one hundred sensors?¡ªevery model from sleek wristbands to neural-interface visors.


    No wonder Schneider said I¡¯d like this batch. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut in this haul.


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    He hauled the crate to his workstation, syncing the combat simulator program from his wrist device to his private terminal. Modern sensors usually had enough built-in storage for basic apps, but heavyweight programs demanded full computing power.


    He strapped on his old sensor out of habit. The training arena materialized¡ªa barren landscape dotted with mechs. Data streams flickered beside the practice unit he¡¯d used earlier.


    Dash. Abrupt halt. Punch. Pivot.


    ?1:19? flashed on the timer. Consistent as clockwork.


    Switching to a new Level 7-compatible sensor from Schneider¡¯s haul, he re-entered the sim. The environment felt smoother, reactions sharper. But when he willed the sensor consciousness to activate¡­


    Silence.


    The AI pilot¡ªhis crutch since day one¡ªlay dormant. Without its guidance, Latham faceplanted mid-stride.


    Panic clawed his throat. Raqqa and Schneider¡¯s interest hinges on my mech control. If this fails¡­


    Visions of lab rats and exposed secrets flashed through his mind. That ?Necromancer?-granted power boost from Level 2 to 7? Too unnatural to explain.


    His gaze landed on the discarded old sensor.


    One last try.


    Reattaching the familiar device, he launched the program.


    Dash. Halt. Punch. Pivot.


    ?1:19.? Flawless.


    Relief flooded him. The revelation crystallized: Sensor consciousness is hardware-locked. Swap devices, lose the ghost in the machine.


    For now, his secret¡ªand Schneider¡¯s million-credit dreams¡ªremained intact.

 improve

    Latham exhaled, tension dissolving. So the sensor consciousness is device-bound. Without this revelation, he¡¯d have spiraled into panic.


    He disconnected, removed the new sensor, and murmured an arcane incantation¡ªthe same cryptic chant that had awakened the first sensor¡¯s AI pilot.


    Success.


    A second consciousness flickered to life in his mindscape, joining the original as obedient code-blobs awaiting commands.


    Retesting with the upgraded sensor, the training mech¡¯s dash-punch-pivot sequence clocked ?1:11?¡ª?8 seconds faster? than his old gear.


    Better hardware = better performance.


    He rifled through Schneider¡¯s crate, selecting five additional Level 7-compatible sensors across brands. One hour of chanting later, five new AI pilots nested in his neural periphery.


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    Trials revealed nuanced variations:


    <ul>


    <li>?Fastest?: 1:10 (new high-end model)</li>


    <li>?Slowest?: 1:14 (budget unit)</li>


    </ul>


    The 5-second spread offered plausible deniability¡ªno more machine-like consistency to raise eyebrows.


    Satisfied, he strapped the fastest sensor and booted the combat simulator. The virtual arena now hosted attack/defense drills. A holographic instructor demonstrated grappling combos, which the sensor consciousness replicated flawlessly on first try.


    Cheat code unlocked.


    While normal trainees needed months to master duel protocols, Latham¡¯s stolen AI absorbed entire fight libraries via 2x speed playback. By dawn, his sensor ghosts had memorized half the tactical database¡ªlethal techniques Latham himself couldn¡¯t name, yet could now execute on command.


    The mech instructor bowed out, replaced by sparring drones. Latham hesitated, then selected "Drill Partner."


    A crimson training mech materialized, launching textbook jabs. His sensor consciousness countered automatically¡ªparry, sidestep, liver punch.


    Clang.


    The drone crumpled. Victory prompt blazing, Latham grinned.


    Schneider¡¯s "gift" just became an army.

 First battle (Part 1)

    Only now did Latham fully believe Schneider''s claims.


    Mech piloting was no trivial skill¡ªeven a prodigy like Schneider needed over a decade of grueling practice to excel. Merely reviewing these combat recordings demanded staggering time investment, let alone mastering every maneuver to instinctual perfection.


    Guided by the sensor consciousness, he entered the training chamber and selected a sparring partner.


    "Bring it on!"


    The two training mechs clashed in a blur of calibrated violence. Within minutes, their positions had swapped multiple times. To any observer, distinguishing Latham''s unit from the AI-controlled opponent would''ve been impossible.


    A seasoned pilot witnessing this duel would''ve gaped in awe. Every feint, parry, and strike mirrored archived recordings of legendary mech masters. The bout flowed with such textbook precision, it resembled a playback of historical matches rather than live combat.


    Ten minutes later, both mechs froze in synchronized stillness.


    Latham clenched trembling fists, exhilaration surging through him.


    Beep-beep-beep¡ª


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    He mindlessly accepted the incoming call.


    "Buddy, heh, it''s me."


    Latham grinned at Schneider''s familiar voice. "Miss me already?"


    "Smartass." Schneider''s tone turned urgent. "You tried the program?"


    "Loved it. Already running sparring drills."


    "Sparring?!" Schneider''s breath hitched. After weighted silence, he spoke gravely: "Listen¡ªyou''re the most gifted rookie I''ve seen. But take this advice: stop sparring. Now."


    "Why?"


    "My mentor drilled this into me: Foundations first. Always."


    Latham''s smile faded. Though logical, the warning chafed¡ªwhy grind basics when the sensor consciousness handled everything?


    "Latham? You there?"


    After a beat, he replied: "I appreciate it, but I know my limits."


    The line crackled with tension before Schneider sighed. "Fine. Then let''s duel."


    "Duels already?"


    "Just casual practice. Link through your local program, not Skynet''s main servers."


    Within minutes, Schneider materialized in the virtual training hall. His gaze locked onto Latham''s sparring mech.


    "You really went straight to live combat..."


    "Not a big deal."


    Schneider shook his head ruefully. "Let''s begin."


    "No warmup? You don''t need to familiarize¡ª"


    "I''ve trained in this sim for twelve years." Schneider cut in, donning his helmet. Armor plates materialized over his avatar¡ªdeliberately matching Latham''s basic training mech model.


    "Wait." Latham frowned. "You''re using the wrong rig."


    Schneider glanced at his standardized armor. "This is correct."


    "You should be in your custom battlemech."


    "Wouldn''t be fair." Schneider''s hologram smiled grimly. "I''ve got decades of advantage. This levels the field."


    Latham nodded, respect tempering his confidence. The duel commenced¡ªa baptism by fire where raw talent collided with honed experience.

 First Battle (Part 2

    They each retreated a distance, creating a buffer zone between them.


    "Beep¡ª"


    A sharp, ear-piercing whistle sounded the next instant.


    Latham entrusted everything to his sensor-enhanced consciousness while withdrawing his own awareness completely into his mind, not daring to let it extend outward.


    Two colossal steel behemoths charged toward each other almost simultaneously.


    This scene wasn''t unfamiliar to Latham. One particularly dazzling sequence in the training footage had shown exactly this: two elite mech pilots initiating synchronized attacks from equal distances, meeting at the arena''s center to perform a series of classical offensive and defensive maneuvers.


    Ten, nine... three, two, one. Begin.


    Latham watched the massive silhouette rapidly approaching while silently counting in his mind. When the two titans finally collided, a faint smirk curled his lips. So Schneider claims fundamentals are everything? Let him witness the true power of sensor-enhanced consciousness now.


    Straight punch. Block. Elbow strike. Evasion. Side kick. Leaping dash...


    Every movement unfolded as if pre-choreographed, executed with textbook precision.


    Latham couldn''t help feeling genuine admiration for his opponent. He knew full well his own flawless performance relied entirely on the sensor systems, yet Schneider''s seamless execution of these complex maneuvers could only result from years of grueling practice. Those decade-long drills certainly hadn''t been in vain.


    As their mechs leaped skyward, Latham recognized the climax of this simulation was approaching. The mid-air combat sequence from the training footage¡ªspectacular, visually stunning, heart-stopping, and notoriously difficult to execute¡ªwould leave Schneider no grounds for objection if perfectly replicated.


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    His mech soared upward, sensors locked on Schneider''s unit. All he needed was for the opposing machine to jump, and he''d initiate the aerial assault.


    But unexpectedly, Schneider''s mech remained rooted to the ground, completely motionless.


    Confusion flooded Latham''s mind. System malfunction? Network latency? Or... could he actually be stunned by my performance?


    As these thoughts swirled, Schneider finally moved. A massive hydraulic arm shot upward with precise timing, clamping around the ankle of Latham''s airborne mech.


    A powerful half-pivot followed, the training mech''s full power channeled through its actuators. With a thunderous crash, Latham''s machine slammed into the steel-plated floor.


    Thud...


    The impact sent chaotic static through his neural interface. Latham knew with cold certainty: in real combat, this single move would have crippled his mech.


    No flashy techniques. No elaborate maneuvers. Just a textbook shoulder throw had obliterated all his follow-up strategies.


    Climbing mechanically to his feet, Latham noticed his holographic armor had dissolved. In the virtual arena, this meant only one thing¡ªcatastrophic system-diagnosed damage. Complete defeat.


    He stared at his now-ordinary training suit, then at Schneider''s intact war machine. Bitter disbelief flooded through him. Though he''d known his single day of training and reliance on sensor systems made victory unlikely, the brutal suddenness of this failure crushed him. The meteoric fall from "prodigy" to "novice" left him reeling.


    Hsss¡ª


    The cockpit hissed open as Schneider emerged, quickly approaching. "Latham... you alright?"


    Forcing a strained smile, Latham gestured dismissively. "Just some dizziness."


    Schneider visibly relaxed. "Normal after sudden armor purge. Happens to everyone." His gaze intensified. "Feeling gutted?"


    "...Yes."


    A calloused hand clapped his shoulder. "First times always sting." Schneider''s usually stern features softened. "My debut match? Lasted two seconds. Two."


    Latham blinked, the number cutting through his gloom.


    "Second try: four seconds. Third: ten. Now?" A fierce pride lit Schneider''s eyes. "Now I can floor that same opponent in under ten."


    Something in Latham''s chest loosened at the admission.


    The veteran pilot''s grin turned conspiratorial. "Cheer up, rookie. Everyone eats dirt their first time. Grind through it."


    Latham''s choked laugh surprised even himself. However unorthodox, Schneider''s blunt encouragement worked¡ªthe weight lifting slightly from his shoulders.

 First Battle (Part 3)

    "The most crucial aspect of piloting a mech isn¡¯t flashy techniques, but the combination of micro-movements," Schneider said, his playful demeanor vanishing as he grew serious.


    Latham blinked, struggling to keep up with Schneider¡¯s sudden shift in tone.


    "Basic stances, transitional postures¡ªthese micro-movements are the foundation," Schneider continued, demonstrating fluid hand motions. "Mech combat demands adaptability. To make the right split-second decisions during clashes, you need both combat experience and¡­ fundamentals so deeply ingrained they become instinct."


    "Deeply ingrained?" Latham echoed, puzzled.


    "Yes. You drill these movements until they¡¯re etched into your bones, fused with your soul. Until you can execute them flawlessly blindfolded, purely by reflex."


    Latham inhaled sharply, hesitating before asking, "Is this¡­ the only way to reach the pinnacle of mech piloting?"


    "No." Schneider cracked a grin. "This is just the bare minimum. If you can¡¯t master this, you don¡¯t deserve to touch a mech."


    "Then how do you become elite?"


    "Experience. Talent. Grind."


    Latham¡¯s eyes sharpened, uncertainty replaced by resolve. "Understood. I¡¯ll drill the basics. And study the footage."


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    Schneider nodded approvingly, a genuine smile breaking through. "Keep at it. I¡¯ve got things to handle."


    As Schneider left the training room, Latham¡¯s lips barely moved as he whispered, "Thanks."


    <hr>


    Removing his neural sensors, Schneider stretched luxuriously in his living room, sighing in relief.


    "Enjoy bullying the rookie?" A middle-aged man settled beside him, swirling two glasses of crimson wine.


    "Uncle Raqqa." Schneider straightened instinctively. Though this was his home, Raqqa¡ªhis mentor and uncle¡ªcommanded respect.


    Raqqa¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver. "Well?"


    "Incredible." Schneider accepted a wineglass, downing it in one gulp. "Latham¡¯s a freak of nature. A genius who¡¯ll outpace me within a year. Mark my words¡ªif I don¡¯t spar him now, I¡¯ll be the one eating dirt later."


    Raqqa arched an eyebrow. "Coming from you? That¡¯s¡­ unexpected."


    "Because it¡¯s true." Schneider leaned back, covering his face with a hand. His voice turned hollow. "After seeing him today? You either grow up or get left behind."


    Raqqa patted his nephew¡¯s shoulder, recognizing the ache of dethroned brilliance. He¡¯d seen this before¡ªprodigies eclipsed by greater flames.


    "How long until he surpasses you?" Raqqa redirected.


    "A year. Maybe less." Schneider groaned. "Then I¡¯ll avoid sparring him like the plague."


    "Up." Raqqa slapped his back. "Skynet. Now."


    "Why? Training¡¯s done! I¡¯m not getting pummeled today¡ª"


    "You told Latham you can floor your first opponent in ten seconds." Raqqa¡¯s grin turned predatory. "Prove it."


    Schneider froze. "That was a motivational lie!"


    "Skynet. Now."


    "Can¡¯t we¡ª"


    "Alternatively," Raqqa tapped his wrist-com, "we¡¯ll book the academy¡¯s live combat arena. Loser covers the rental."


    Schneider paled. "Uncle¡ª"


    "Move."

 Chase

    Walking down the tranquil streets, Latham''s mind churned with turmoil.


    The arrogance he''d displayed earlier toward Schneider had completely evaporated. What was I thinking, acting so confident? He gritted his teeth. Schneider didn''t know the truth - that the sensor-enhanced consciousness had been puppeteering his every move. Stripped of that crutch, Latham knew himself to be nothing but a raw novice. Without assistance, even basic maneuvers would prove impossible, let alone replicating those dazzling moves from the training footage.


    The evening air of Millard Planet carried crisp clarity, artificial streetlights weaving geometric patterns across the sky. Though lacking the neon spectacle of metropolitan worlds, this pastoral nightscape soothed most souls - but not Latham''s. Taking a shuddering breath, he resolved to tell Schneider he''d lost interest in mech piloting. The flimsy excuse might cost him newfound friendships with Schneider, Dr. Raqqa, and that Card fellow, but it beat exposing his shameful secret.


    If I practice privately with my seventh-level mental powers... His thoughts froze as the night exploded.


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    A thunderous roar split the air. Streetlamps shattered simultaneously, raining phosphorescent shards that harmlessly dissolved against impact-resistant pavement - modern safety measures sparing citizens from injury. Latham instinctively clamped hands over ears, his enhanced mental resilience barely dampening the sonic assault.


    When he dared look up, reality fractured.


    A spider-legged war machine cratered the street ahead, its carapace smoking. Before Latham could process this, the mech''s cephalic unit raised a massive barrel. White annihilation lanced skyward, momentarily illuminating a hovering humanoid mech shielding against the blast with a buckler the size of a shuttle door.


    Military-grade armaments. The realization chilled him. Civilian mechs were tractors with limbs - these were predators.


    The spider-mech scuttled sideways with joint-grinding urgency, clearly damaged yet still mobile. Its pilot''s desperation showed in jerky evasions as energy rain fell from above. Three bolts slipped through defenses, melting armor into gaping wounds. With final death-rattle screech, the arachnid war machine stilled.


    The victor descended like wrath incarnate, anti-grav systems allowing impossible midair suspension above its prey. Latham stood transfixed, civilian reality rupturing before weapons-grade theater.

 absorb

    The rumble of engines approached as several hovercars arrived at the scene, validating the age-old adage: The police always arrive after the battle¡¯s over. Millard¡¯s security forces were renowned for their rapid response, yet even they couldn¡¯t intercept a confrontation this brief. The spider mech¡¯s inferior specs had doomed it from the start.


    Latham lay prone in the shadows 100 meters away, unnoticed by the warring titans. As the hovercars¡¯ floodlights illuminated the wreckage, his gaze locked onto an anomaly¡ªa wisp of ghostly white light rising from the spider mech¡¯s carcass.


    Impossible. Even at this distance, the glow burned brighter in his mind than in his retinas. A primal understanding surfaced¡ªthis wasn¡¯t light, but a resonance only his seventh-level mental acuity could perceive.


    Unbidden, guttural syllables spilled from his lips in silent invocation: ?"Jiriligu, Milimala..."? The words felt ancestral, etched into his DNA. The spectral light streaked across the battlefield, piercing his forehead like a neural spike. Agony flared¡ªthen darkness.


    <hr>


    ?"Latham... Latham!"?


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    The voice swam through oblivion. His eyelids fluttered open to reveal a face preserved by rejuvenation tech yet etched with worry¡ªhis mother¡¯s.


    ?"Mom?"?


    Tears glistened in her eyes¡ªa sight as alien as the mechs he¡¯d witnessed. ?"The doctors said you collapsed from shock and residual energy pulses."? Her fingers trembled against his temple.


    The door burst open. His father froze mid-stride, face cycling through shock, disbelief, then dizzying relief. ?"You¡¯re awake?? I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯ll fetch Dr. Vorn!"


    ?"Dad, wait¡ª"? The man already vanished down the corridor.


    Latham studied his mother¡¯s forced calm. This wasn¡¯t about a mere blackout. His parents¡ªboth level-headed corporate auditors¡ªradiated the panic of people who¡¯d stared into an abyss.


    The returning entourage included a silver-haired physician whose twinkling eyes belied his age. ?"Remarkable recovery, young man!"? He affixed a neural monitor to Latham¡¯s forehead.


    ?"What¡¯s this for?"?


    ?"Standard procedure after psionic exposure."? The doctor¡¯s chuckle faded as readings flickered. ?"Though I must say, your neural oscillations are... unusually stable for someone who channeled a Class-3 spectral residue."?


    Latham¡¯s blood chilled. They know.


    His mother¡¯s hand tightened around his. The monitor beeped rhythmically, each pulse echoing the mystery now coiled in his synapses.

 discharged

    Though he resented the strange device clamped to his head, resistance proved futile¡ªeven his parents sided with the doctors. Latham grumbled internally about life¡¯s injustices as he complied.


    The machine hummed to life. Ten minutes later, the elderly physician squinted at the readouts, eyebrows skyrocketing.


    ?"Doctor?"? His parents leaned forward in unison, tension crackling.


    The man waved them off, holding up two fingers. ?"How many?"?


    ?"Two,"? Latham snapped.


    ?"Outstanding!"? The doctor beamed. ?"No cognitive impairment. Just a stubborn case of bad luck."?


    <hr>


    Outside the hospital, Latham stormed into the family hovercar, arms crossed. ?"That ¡®humorous genius¡¯ nearly gave me an aneurysm."?


    ?"Dr. Vorn saved your life,"? his mother chided gently from the backseat. ?"When they brought you in, he said your neural pathways looked like¡­"? She trailed off, swallowing hard.


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    ?"Like a fusion reactor meltdown,"? his father finished grimly. ?"We thought¡ª"?


    ?"I¡¯m fine,"? Latham interrupted, startled by their uncharacteristic fragility. His parents¡ªcareer-driven auditors who¡¯d missed half his childhood milestones¡ªnow clung to him like survivors to a life raft.


    The hovercar dipped into their driveway. A horn blared.


    Card leaned against a black armored vehicle, grinning beside a stiff-backed man in a Black Phage Group pin-striped suit¡ªDenlambu, their parents¡¯ corporate overseer.


    ?"Surprise audit?"? Latham¡¯s father paled.


    ?"Relax,"? Card boomed. ?"I¡¯m here for the kid."?


    Silence.


    ?"You didn¡¯t tell them?"? Card arched a brow at Latham.


    ?"Been a bit busy not dying,"? Latham deadpanned.


    Card¡¯s humor vanished when hearing about the»ú¼× collision. ?"You¡¯re the civilian casualty from the fugitive takedown?? Skynet reported the idiot tried hijacking a mining mech." He barked a laugh. ?"Should¡¯ve seen the spider-mech¡¯s pilot¡ªflailed like a drunk in zero-g."?


    ?"You find this amusing?"? Latham¡¯s mother bristled.


    ?"No,"? Card said, suddenly solemn. ?"But your boy here¡­"? He leaned forward, eyes glinting. ?"He survived a psionic backwash that liquefies most brains. That¡¯s not luck¡ªthat¡¯s a calling card."?


    Denlambu cleared his throat. ?"What my colleague means is¡­"?


    ?"We want him in Black Phage¡¯s pilot program,"? Card cut in. ?"Trial by fire. Starting tomorrow."?


    Latham¡¯s fingers twitched. The spider-mech¡¯s spectral light pulsed in his memory¡ªnot a curse, but a key.

 the truth

    Latham made no effort to mask his yearning. Card seized the opening. "Ever wanted to pilot one yourself?" The security chief¡¯s voice dripped honeyed temptation.


    Before Latham could respond, his father cut in. "Out of the question."


    Card blinked. "Why?"


    "Those were military-grade mechs," the older man said tightly. "Requiring sixth-tier physical or psychic potential. My boy hasn¡¯t..."


    ?"I¡¯ve broken through."?


    The declaration hung like a shock grenade. His mother¡¯s hands flew to her mouth. Father¡¯s skepticism hardened. "Fifth tier? When?"


    Latham channeled his newfound mental discipline, projecting conviction. "Months ago. Tried telling you during our last family dinner. Remember? The one you left early for a quarterly audit."


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    Guilt flickered across both parents¡¯ faces. Card watched with predatory interest as the boy weaponized their neglect.


    ?"We¡¯re... we¡¯re sorry, son."? Father¡¯s admission came rusted with disuse.


    Latham shrugged, the gesture perfected through years of lonely meals. "Doesn¡¯t matter now."


    Card stepped between them, a human buffer against awkwardness. "What matters is your boy¡¯s raw talent." He launched into vivid descriptions of Latham¡¯s training facility triumphs¡ªthe fluid stance transitions, the instinctive interface syncs.


    ?"With proper conditioning,"? Card concluded, ?"he could contend for the Grand Alliance¡¯s Mech Sovereign title."?


    The parents paled. Mother gripped the sofa¡¯s anti-grav upholstery. Father¡¯s corporate-calm facade cracked. ?"You¡¯re suggesting our son¡ª"?


    ?"¡ªis a once-in-a-generation psychic prodigy?"? Card finished. ?"Skynet¡¯s biometric logs don¡¯t lie. His neural flux spiked at 7.3 teraunits during yesterday¡¯s simulator run."?


    Latham fought a smirk. 7.3 teraunits¡ªthe exact output threshold for military pilot certification. The spectral light¡¯s gift kept giving.

 reject

    The title of "Mecha King" represented the undisputed No. 1 among all mecha pilots in The Human Grand Alliance.


    Since humanity entered the cosmic era, mecha piloting had become the most popular sport. Though most civilians couldn¡¯t operate actual military-grade mecha, this did nothing to dampen public enthusiasm.


    The Mecha King reigned supreme across all piloting competitions¡ªa crown of honor revered in The Human Grand Alliance, comparable to the glory of a 21st-century Ballon d''Or winner.


    Such prestige naturally came with astronomical earnings. The annual income from competition prizes and endorsements for such a figure defied imagination.


    No one could have predicted that their son possessed this "once-in-a-millennium" talent.


    "Is... this true?" Father asked cautiously, unaware his voice trembled slightly.


    "Yes, Dad," Latham replied calmly. Yet no one noticed the cold sweat soaking his back.


    Only now did his suspended heart settle. When Father asked that question, Latham knew he¡¯d passed the test¡ªafter today¡¯s conversation, no one would ever doubt his psychic capabilities again.


    Seizing the moment, Card produced a contract. "Mr. and Mrs. Fang, this is our corporation¡¯s proposal for your son. Please review it."


    The parents numbly accepted the multi-page document, skimming its contents.


    "We foresee extraordinary potential in Latham," Card elaborated. "He¡¯ll receive top-tier resources¡ªthe finest mecha, elite coaches, premium benefits. We guarantee the optimal environment for his growth. Upon signing, we¡¯ll immediately provide a weekly sponsorship fee of one million credits until he turns twenty, after which his formal contract will include substantially upgraded terms."


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    Father struggled to tear his eyes from the contract. The couple exchanged wry smiles¡ªtheir annual earnings barely matched that weekly sum. Factoring in the free training facilities and coaching costs, Black Phage Group¡¯s total investment became unimaginable.


    Though tempted to accept immediately, Father remembered Latham¡¯s earlier passionate declaration. "What do you think, Latham?" he asked, expecting an obvious answer.


    Yet against all expectations, the youth hesitated before announcing under four pairs of eager eyes: "I refuse."


    "Excellent! Wait... what did you say?" Card¡¯s smile froze mid-transformation.


    "Mr. Card, I won¡¯t join the mecha training program yet."


    "Why?" The executive¡¯s voice sharpened. "If terms are unsatisfactory, we can negotiate! The million-credit weekly sponsorship already hits the legal cap for minors, but..." He glanced meaningfully at the parents, "...certain supplemental benefits could be arranged off-record."


    Even their supervisor watching nearby burned with envy.


    Latham grimaced. Were it not for his fatal hidden flaw, he¡¯d have accepted without hesitation. Steadying himself, he countered: "You misunderstand¡ªthe offer surpasses all reason. My refusal stems from having no current interest in professional mecha piloting."


    Card¡¯s arm hung suspended in disbelief. "But our training camp records show you demonstrated exceptional enthusiasm during Skynet simulations!"


    "True," Latham conceded. "But witnessing real mecha combat¡¯s brutality yesterday... I¡¯m psychologically unprepared for that reality."


    Understanding dawned¡ªthe collateral damage from yesterday¡¯s mecha accident had traumatized him. Latham inwardly cheered at this flawless excuse.


    After a weighted pause, Card pressed: "Authentic combat does demand mental fortitude, but we have resources to¡ª"


    "Enough!" Father interrupted, fury flashing in his eyes.


    "¡ªconsultants," Card hastily amended. "Not therapists. Specialists to help process challenges."


    "No." Latham¡¯s tone brooked no argument. "When I¡¯m ready to engage with mecha again, you¡¯ll be my first choice. But not now."


    "Son, perhaps we¡ª"


    "Forgive me, I need rest." Latham gestured to his temple and exited without another word.

 Level 8

    Half an hour later, Card and Denlambu boarded their hovercar.


    "Manager Card, what should we..."


    "Nothing to see here!" Card slammed his fist onto the hovercar''s dashboard, leaving a distinct dent. "Damn, which idiot injured him? That absolute moron! Imbecile! Complete buffoon!"


    Denlambu stared wide-eyed at the damaged console - this latest model hovercar had cost him a year''s salary. But Card''s furious roars made clear the Black Phage Group''s Millard branch security chief was in dangerous form. Rubbing his neck, Denlambu felt icy dread creeping up his spine.


    "Are you unwell?" Card finally noticed his companion''s odd expression.


    "Nothing."


    "You look pale."


    "Ah... I was just thinking about that idiot mecha pilot who injured the boy," Denlambu gritted through clenched teeth while staring pointedly at Card.


    "Your gaze seems strange."


    "Merely furious at certain imbeciles."


    "..."


    Unbeknownst to Card, the "idiot" in question stood in the very hospital where Latham had been treated.


    The young man wore crisp military attire, his posture ramrod straight like a spear. When white-haired Dr. Zellman - the neurologist who treated Latham - entered, the officer addressed him: "Uncle, how''s the patient?"


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    "Discharged fully recovered."


    "Good. Thank you for your trouble."


    "Interesting case though. The mecha''s shockwave not only left him unharmed but boosted his psychic energy by one level."


    The officer froze. "He gained a psychic tier?"


    "Precisely. Initial tests showed Level 7, but post-recovery he reached Level 8. The energy surge must have triggered latent potential."


    The soldier''s expression turned comical. "Uncle... you''re saying he originally had Level 7 psychic power?"


    "Eighteen years old with Level 7? Remarkable. Now Level 8? Even elite family heirs rarely achieve this."


    A strange light flashed in the officer''s eyes. "Uncle... could others replicate this... breakthrough through energy impacts?"


    "Possible." The doctor chuckled. "That boy''s living proof."


    Lieutenant Liad''s gaze intensified. Having plateaued at Level 9 psychic energy for a decade, temptation overwhelmed caution.


    Noticing his nephew''s hunger, Dr. Zellman suddenly produced a baseball bat. "Come here, boy."


    "Uncle? What..."


    WHOOSH The bat barely missed Liad''s skull.


    "Wha-?!"


    "Your experiment!" The doctor swung again. "This impact''s weaker than mecha shockwaves!"


    "But I only meant-"


    "Silence! Should''ve known you''d seek shortcuts!" The bat arced wildly. "Your grandfather would- Stay still!"


    Chaos erupted. After dodging multiple swings, Liad fled the hospital inÀDZ· fashion.


    Watching his escape, Dr. Zellman calmly sipped tea. "Level 8 breakthrough from mecha shockwaves... Now that''s intriguing."

 Absorption of the soul

    Returning to his room, Latham repeatedly reassured his anxious parents outside the door that there was no serious health issue ¨C he simply needed rest. Only after hearing their retreating footsteps did he approach the miniature computer.


    A million weekly salary... The contract''s allure was undeniable. Were it not for his deteriorating physical condition, he''d have accepted immediately. Yet this didn''t equate to surrender. His core issue remained inadequate organic mecha piloting skills ¨C solve that, and the fortune would be his.


    Donning neural sensors, he resolved to drill fundamental maneuvers until muscle memory transcended technological aids. Confidence surged through him; with his seventh-level psychic prowess, mastery was inevitable.


    But as eyelids fluttered shut, his body jerked involuntarily. A foreign luminescent speck materialized in his mind''s eye. Bewildered, he mentally inventoried his sensor-linked consciousnesses ¨C all present, none mutated. This intruder bore different signatures entirely.


    Trepidation crystallized into icy dread. Cautiously, he extended mental tendrils toward the anomaly.


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    Information detonated behind his eyes ¨C a hypercompressed biographical montage. Perspective shifted jarringly, visual clarity oscillating between crystalline precision and myopic blur. Despite playback speeds defying natural perception, every frame imprinted vividly.


    The narrative unfolded as a mechanic prodigy''s life ¨C an orphan excelling in machinery manipulation, culminating in mecha piloting prowess eclipsing standard training protocols. Final frames froze on a hauntingly familiar tableau: humanoid battle armor suspended mid-air, crimson energy beam erupting from its arm cannon.


    Recognition struck like lightning ¨C this was the very mecha from his lakeside encounter! Those "camera angles" weren''t cinematic tricks, but literal eyewitness perspectives. The chilling epiphany arrived: that absorbed white light contained a human soul''s entire lived experience.


    Fingertips grazed his forehead as phantom itches crawled beneath the skin. Modern science couldn''t prove souls'' existence, yet here irrefutable evidence pulsed within his cranium. Necromancer techniques had crossed dangerous thresholds ¨C sensor consciousness integration paled against housing an entire foreign psyche.


    His gaze flicked to a gleaming utility knife. Macabre fantasies of cranial excavation surfaced briefly before being quashed. Whatever this spectral hitchhiker portended, he vowed never to let anyone know about the strange occurrences happening to him. The path forward demanded absolute secrecy... and perhaps, reluctant symbiosis.

 blend

    Latham attempted to maneuver the foreign soul-spark out of his consciousness. When passing near one of the sensor-linked consciousnesses, something extraordinary occurred ¨C the two differently colored light particles abruptly fused together.


    This unexpected fusion startled him. Through concentrated effort, he managed to separate the entangled entities. Questions flooded his mind ¨C could human souls interface with artificial sensor consciousnesses? The implications cascaded like uncontained floodwaters.


    Glancing between his compact computer and neural interface gear, Latham set his jaw. He settled into the chair and activated the virtual rig. Within his mindscape, the two sparks reunited, their blended glow creating an eerie harmony.


    The world dissolved into digital static. Rather than accessing Skynet, he materialized within Schneider''s proprietary training program. Muscle memory guided him to the combat arena. After brief hesitation, he selected the entry-level training mech.


    Against all conventional wisdom, he initiated live combat simulation.


    Five difficulty tiers materialized before him. Tier One replicated basic instructional holos ¨C movements any second-year cadet could counter. Higher tiers shed scripted patterns, their AI instructors evolving into ruthless improvisers. Schneider''s warnings echoed ¨C even after a decade''s training, the man barely managed Tier Four.


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    Latham''s finger hovered over the fifth tier.


    "Confirm selection: Highest difficulty AI instructor?" The synthetic voice carried programmed skepticism.


    "Affirmative." Resolve hardened his tone.


    Light flared. A spider-like mechanoid materialized ¨C obsidian chassis mimicking prehistoric arthropods. Eight hydraulic limbs tapped the arena floor with predatory grace. Twin blackened barrels atop its carapace hinted at concealed weaponry.


    It struck like lightning.


    The training mech danced backward with impossible precision, each evasion calibrated to millimeter perfection. Latham observed dispassionately as the spider-mech''s assault found only air. This wasn''t his skill, nor the sensor consciousness'' rigid programming ¨C this was the hybrid entity''s work.


    The deceased pilot''s expertise unfolded through their merged consciousness. Where sensor protocols once demanded maximum output for simple tasks, the soul-infused system now interpreted nuanced commands. Latham''s current directive ¨C pure defense ¨C executed with martial artistry.


    Hydraulic claws grazed his mech''s plating. The fused consciousness maintained discipline, never retaliating despite multiple kill opportunities. Latham''s pulse quickened ¨C not from fear, but exhilaration. This symbiosis solved his greatest weakness. No longer limited to binary commands, the enhanced system could simulate human performance variance. The million-credit contract suddenly felt within reach.


    As the spider-mech overextended another strike, Latham''s lips curved. For the first time, he glimpsed true mastery ¨C not borrowed power, but harmonized potential. The path forward crystallized: refine this fusion, balance the soul''s instincts with mechanical precision.


    The arena''s artificial sun glinted off retreating mechs. Somewhere between death and circuitry, a partnership was born.

 promise

    Latham observed the opponent''s assault patterns with exhilaration, experimentally issuing a mental command: Slow down further.


    The training mech''s movements decelerated marginally. This subtle adjustment confirmed his theory ¨C the fused soul-sensor consciousness enabled precise control gradients. A triumphant grin spread across his face. With this breakthrough, Card''s million-credit weekly contract became attainable. His pulse quickened at the prospect.


    Yet fortune''s wheel turned abruptly. Distracted by visions of wealth, he failed to notice the eight-legged mech''s whip-like limb arcing toward his cockpit.


    ?CRASH!?


    The training mech reeled backward, hydraulic fluid spraying from a fresh dent in its torso. The fused consciousness had mitigated damage through expert weight redistribution, but the humiliation stung. Latham glared at the spider-mech through his viewscreen.


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    "Think I''m some wounded kitten?" he snarled.


    A mental command detonated like ordnance ¨C Dismantle it.


    The training mech erupted into lethal motion. Piston-driven fists became blurs, targeting hydraulic joints with surgical malice. Latham gaped as his mechanized proxy overwhelmed the tier-five instructor. Where Schneider needed decades to challenge tier four, this fusion consciousness toyed with tier five like a cat with crippled prey.


    ?KER-THUNK!?


    The spider-mech''s central chassis imploded, its wreckage dissolving into stardust ¨C the simulation''s traditional victory display. Latham stared at the fading sparks, awestruck by his proxy''s brutality.


    His wristcom chimed. Schneider''s hologram materialized, brows knitted in concern. "You refused Card''s offer?"


    "Changed my mind. I''ll sign."


    Schneider''s jaw slackened. Behind him, a servant whispered, "Master only persuaded him once..."


    The transmission died on Schneider''s sputtered protests. Latham leaned back, fingertips tracing the cockpit''s control panel. Somewhere between stolen souls and machine code, a monster had been born ¨C and it hungered for more.

 Signing Fee

    The weather was clear and cloudless, a rare perfect day that mirrored Latham¡¯s jubilant mood. Holding the pale gold card in his hand, he felt, for the first time, truly wealthy. Though this wealth paled in comparison to real tycoons, for a penniless student just three days prior, it was a staggering windfall.


    A million credits¡ªa signing bonus handed to him like a dream. After Schneider¡¯s call, Card himself had arrived at Latham¡¯s home within an hour, speeding through three traffic violations in his hovercar. Before anyone could process it, the contract was signed. Now, Latham held his first payment from Black Phage Group: a million credits.


    What to do with the money? His parents urged investment¡ª"Let money breed money," his father, a finance scholar, insisted. But Card, visibly relieved after sealing the deal, offered starkly different advice: Spend it. Under his parents¡¯ baffled glares, Card argued that Latham¡¯s future would eclipse such trivial sums. Learning to spend, he claimed, was part of growing into independence. After a heated debate, his parents reluctantly relented, letting Latham stride out with the golden card.


    Driving aimlessly through the city, he realized he had no idea how to splurge. Shopping bored him; arcades felt childish. Bars? Tempting, but the risk of parental wrath outweighed fleeting thrills. His gaze drifted until it landed on the towering structure in the west¡ªthe famed racetrack complex.


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    Entry wasn¡¯t cheap¡ª500 credits an hour, a sum he¡¯d never have considered before. Now, patting the card in his pocket, he steered his beat-up hovercar toward the glittering entrance. His rust-bucket of a vehicle, worth less than 3,000 credits, drew sneers from valets as he parked beside luxury models.


    Inside, a receptionist greeted him with polished professionalism, showcasing rental options on a holographic display. Three mid-tier racers caught his eye¡ªeach 1,500 credits an hour. As he hesitated, a collective gasp erupted behind him. A sleek black hovercar streaked past the track, its custom modifications gleaming.


    ¡°Private vehicle,¡± the receptionist explained. ¡°Anyone can bring their own, as long as it¡¯s weapon-free.¡± Latham glanced back at his eyesore of a hovercar and shuddered. ¡°I¡¯ll take the rental,¡± he said, swiping his card.


    The racetrack sprawled across fifteen levels¡ªfive underground for parking, ten above for racing. Each tier represented escalating difficulty, its mobile tracks reconfigured every ten days to maintain challenge without repetition. On marginal planets like Millard, such extravagance was feasible; in the capital, this scale would¡¯ve cost a galactic fortune.


    As Latham collected his rented racer, the roar of engines above echoed his thrumming pulse. Today, he¡¯d learn what it meant to burn credits¡ªand maybe, just maybe, taste the rush reserved for the elite.

 red Carey

    The ash-gray T-20 sedan glided into the racetrack from the underground exit, its bulkier frame looking almost comically out of place among sleeker models. Latham had chosen this entry-level racer precisely for its reinforced chassis ¨C while sluggish compared to premium vehicles, its armor-grade plating could withstand impacts that would crumple most competitors.


    He synced his neural interface with the car''s control matrix. Instantly, the machine became an extension of his consciousness. Manual controls had been obsolete for decades; modern racing demanded this seamless fusion of mind and machine, where reaction times measured in milliseconds decided victories.


    The T-20 accelerated cautiously along the first-tier track, its speedometer climbing to 60 km/h ¨C the safety ceiling for novice lanes. Through his neural feed, Latham monitored the holographic displays projecting real-time race data. The lower three tiers swarmed with rental vehicles like his, while custom-modified beasts prowled the upper levels, their owners'' vanity projects gleaming with illegal performance enhancers.


    As he guided the sedan into a branching path toward Tier 2, disaster struck. A scarlet Carey Hyperblade materialized like a vengeful comet, its stabilizer fins grazing the T-20''s rear quarter with a shriek of tortured metal. The impact sent Latham''s vehicle careening into safety barriers, the collision dampeners whining under sudden stress.


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    Through the racetrack''s shared neural network, replays flooded his awareness. The Hyperblade had been clocked at 200 km/h in a 80 km/h zone ¨C a reckless stunt that triggered chain collisions across three lanes. Angry protests bloomed across public chat channels, but the red menace simply ascended to Tier 3, leaving chaos in its wake.


    Latham''s fingers tightened on the control yoke. Deep within his consciousness, the fused soul-sensor entity stirred, its predatory instincts resonating with the challenge. He relinquished control.


    The T-20''s engines roared to life with uncharacteristic ferocity. Where human operators needed seconds to reach maximum velocity, the hybrid consciousness brute-forced the acceleration curve. The speedometer needle pinned itself at 80 km/h before other drivers could blink.


    Gasps rippled through Tier 2''s comm channels as the boxy sedan transformed. It wove through still-recovering vehicles with inhuman precision, its reinforced bumper clearing debris from the track. Racers gaped at the anomaly ¨C a lumbering tank matching their speed through sheer computational brutality.


    "Warning: Tier 2 Speed Limit Exceeded" flashed across Latham''s vision. The hybrid consciousness ignored it, already calculating the optimal trajectory toward Tier 3''s access ramp. Somewhere between stolen memories and machine logic, it recognized the scarlet Hyperblade''s signature ¨C not merely a vehicle, but the digital fingerprint of its augmented driver.


    The real hunt was about to begin.

 Avoid

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 Gambling Cars

    The collective exhale from the crowd reverberated through Tier 4. Reckless collisions at overspeed weren''t celebrated here ¨C just the desperate act of a humiliated driver. As the T-20 slid unscathed through the chaos, thunderous applause erupted across the complex.


    Without warning, every holographic display snapped focus from the scarlet Carey to the unassuming gray sedan. Newcomers rarely stole the spotlight here, yet the T-20''s uncanny precision sparked electric anticipation. Cameras zoomed in as it breached Tier 5 at 200 km/h, tires barely kissing the access ramp.


    Latham''s pulse hammered, yet his augmented consciousness remained ice-cold. Eighth-tier mental energy coursed through neural pathways, digesting terabytes of track data ¨C every skid mark, every micro-adjustment of the red Carey''s suspension. The fused soul-driver entity processed it all, its directives singular: Catch the Hyperblade.


    Tier 6''s 300 km/h barrier shattered beneath them. At this velocity, ordinary minds would dissolve into sensory overload. Screens across the complex lit with biometric readouts ¨C Latham''s neural activity spiking beyond Level 5 thresholds. Gasps rippled through betting pools as odds recalculated in real-time.


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    By Tier 9, the gray sedan moved through vacuum. Twenty-three custom racers ¨C including the crimson Hyperblade ¨C formed a glittering blockade across eight parallel lanes. Challenge pings flooded Latham''s feed:


    "Fresh meat wants glory?" sneered a chrome-winged Vortex rider.


    The Carey''s driver finally spoke, voice lacquered with aristocratic boredom: "Shall we educate him, gentlemen?"


    Odds flickered on the central megascreen:


    <ul>


    <li>?Carey Hyperblade (Scarlet Ghost)?: 1.2:1</li>


    <li>?Vortex XT-9 (Silver Serpent)?: 3:1</li>


    <li>?T-20 Rental (Unknown)?: 50:1</li>


    </ul>


    Latham''s answer boomed through stadium speakers: "All lanes. One lap."


    The soul-entity flexed within his mind, its hunger mirroring his own. As starting lights pulsed crimson, the T-20''s reinforced frame groaned under sudden G-forces ¨C not acceleration, but the computational weight of twenty-three predator minds converging.


    Somewhere in the blur of screaming turbines and holographic waypoints, Latham stopped breathing. Became the algorithm.


    The Carey never saw the gray shadow slip through its blind spot.

 Disadvantages

    The odds for each vehicle varied wildly, but the crimson Carey and obsidian Galaxy predictably held the lowest payouts. These track titans dominated the leaderboards, their 1:1.2 odds reflecting years of dominance. Latham''s T-20 languished at the bottom with 15:1 odds - a humiliating margin amplified by the pathetic 200,000 credits wagered on it versus the frontrunners'' 50-million-credit pools.


    He gritted his teeth, transferring 900,000 credits from his gold card (10,000 already deducted for the T-20 rental). The sudden bet spike drew murmurs, but when bettors realized the wager came from the driver himself, laughter rippled through the crowd.


    Twenty-three engines snarled toward the staggered starting grid. By qualifying order, the scarlet Carey claimed pole position, Latham''s boxy sedan relegated to last place. Launch intervals stretched like eternity - 10 seconds between each vehicle.


    The Carey erupted forward at 500 km/h, its stabilizer array shimmering with illegal aftermarket mods. Latham''s stomach dropped as subsequent racers matched that velocity, their custom frames howling past speed traps. When his green light finally flashed, the T-20''s factory-limited 500 km/h felt glacial by comparison.


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    Reality crystallized: no amount of driving genius could compensate for hardware deficits. On the ninth-tier straightaways, the Carey''s shadow dwindled as it hit 700 km/h through sections the T-20''s governors physically blocked.


    Then came the salvation curve.


    The tenth-tier access ramp yawned like a steel serpent''s maw - a nightmare of switchbacks and 270-degree corkscrews where raw speed became liability. Latham''s lips peeled into a feral grin. Here, the soul-driver entity''s true value would manifest.


    As the Carey''s driver white-knuckled through the first hairpin at 300 km/h (forced to halve velocity), the T-20''s sensors blazed crimson. Latham''s neural feed overloaded with collision warnings... then went preternaturally calm.


    "Hold 500," he whispered.


    The fused consciousness obliged. The sedan''s suspension screamed through a 180-degree inversion, centrifugal force threatening to pancake Latham against his harness. Gritting through eighth-tier mental strain, he watched the Carey''s lead evaporate turn by impossible turn.


    Somewhere in the maze of steel, the scarlet racer''s aristocratic driver finally checked his rear cam - and saw death in gray steel.

 hope

    All participating racers were veterans. The ninth-tier challenges felt routine to them ¨C only Latham trailed by nearly 100 kilometers here.


    The tenth-tier entry stretch ranked among the circuit''s most brutal sections. Latham''s entire focus narrowed on the crimson Carey. If that machine maintained 500+ km/h here, he might as well wave a white flag.


    "Slow down... slow down..." he hissed through clenched teeth, willing the scarlet racer''s downfall. Miraculously, the Carey''s speedometer dipped ¨C 400 km/h. Hope flared in Latham''s eyes.


    As the obsidian Galaxy entered the serpentine section, its velocity settled at 398 km/h. The underdog''s path grew clearer ¨C even the frontrunners couldn''t sustain 500 km/h here. Subsequent racers fared worse, their speeds dwindling further.


    When the T-20 finally breached tenth-tier asphalt, Latham''s throat went dry. This nightmare stretch ¨C all hairpins and zero straights ¨C demanded perfection. Yet the soul-driver entity executed flawlessly: left turn, right flick, momentary straight, another left... The speedometer''s needle remained welded at 500 km/h.


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    Cold sweat dripped down Latham''s neck. Though not physically piloting, the mental strain of processing sensor data through eighth-tier mental energy left him drained. Other drivers ¨C including a ninth-tier mentalist ¨C fought for survival, their consciousnesses overwhelmed by calculus: traction vectors, G-force compensation, predictive braking.


    Meanwhile, Latham''s unique arrangement granted eerie clarity. The soul-driver entity operated without adrenaline or doubt, its decisions surgically precise. While rivals gnashed teeth and white-knuckled controls, Latham even ran victory probability calculations mid-corner.


    The T-20''s factory limitations became irrelevant. Through every diabolical switchback, it carved paths no biological mind could conceive ¨C apexes shaved to atomic tolerances, acceleration pulses timed to nanosecond perfection. The rental sedan shouldn''t have survived tenth-tier physics... yet here it danced, rewriting reality through borrowed genius.

 evaluate

    "Fuck!"


    The curse echoed through the T-20''s cramped cockpit, swallowed by its soundproofed walls. Latham had just fed race data to the onboard computer for victory probability calculations, only to receive an infuriating prompt: INSUFFICIENT DATA - UNABLE TO COMPUTE.


    In the track''s elevated control suite, three men stared at holographic projections. Harrison, the silver-haired track owner, swirled brandy in his glass. "That T-20''s taking gold," he declared, eyes gleaming. "Who the hell is this driver?"


    Beside him, operations director Akita (razor-sharp black hair framing East Asian features) and personnel chief David (burly with whiskey-ruined nose) exchanged glances.


    "Level 11 mentalist minimum," David rasped, scratching stubble. "Probably ex-military mech pilot. No civilian handles 500km/h through Hell''s Corkscrew otherwise."


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    Akita''s console chimed. A synthesized female voice announced: Driver identification complete.


    The wall screen lit with surveillance composites - Latham entering the track''s perimeter, renting the T-20, every micro-expression during pre-race checks.


    "Latham. 18. Millard Public Academy." David snorted. "Since when do prep school brats pull G-forces that''d liquefy astronauts?"


    Harrison''s brow furrowed. "Energy monitor readings just updated."


    The screen flashed crimson text:


    ?MENTAL ENERGY LEVEL: 8?


    David''s whiskey tumbler shattered on marble. "Bullshit! That''s¨C"


    "¨Cour own sensor data," Akita interrupted coldly. "Calibrated yesterday."


    For ten heartbeats, only the T-20''s live feed broke the silence - the gray sedan now threading through Tier 10''s Avalanche Turn at suicidal angles.


    "There''s only one explanation," Harrison finally breathed. "Prodigy. A once-per-generation talent."


    Outside, the crowd''s roar shook the observation glass as the T-20 emerged from the death turn - still locked at 500km/h.

 overtake

    "?Yes!?"


    Latham''s triumphant shout echoed through the cockpit. The onboard computer had finally crunched the numbers: if all racers maintained their current tenth-tier lap times over ten circuits, he''d not only erase his 100-kilometer deficit but clinch victory by a razor-thin margin.


    His mind briefly drifted to the 900,000-credit bet¡ªnow poised to multiply fifteenfold into 13.5 million. For a teenager who''d once considered 100,000 credits life-changing, this windfall bordered on surreal. A phantom itch at the base of his skull snapped him back¡ªthe neural interface implant. Right, he thought grimly, ordinary kids don''t harvest rogue AI souls to win races.


    A shadow flickered ahead. The 22nd-place racer¡ªa matte-black custom job¡ªloomed like prey. Its driver, assuming the pursuing engine roar belonged to frontrunner Carey, nearly veered off-track when the T-20''s boxy silhouette filled his rear cam.


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    ?"Impossible..."?


    The black racer''s momentary hesitation at 200 km/h proved fatal. In the split-second between two hairpins, the T-20¡ªlocked at 500 km/h¡ªslipped through like mercury through fingers. The overtake played across every trackside megascreen, spectators roaring as the black car careened into energy-absorbent barriers.


    Latham felt no pity. These vultures had circled when they thought him easy prey; let them choke on their hubris.


    By lap seven, the T-20 carved through the field like a monomolecular blade. Nineteenth... twelfth... fifth... Each victim''s cockpit cam captured the same tableau: drivers white-knuckling controls, jaws slack as the "grocery-getter" sedan devoured tenth-tier switchbacks with machine-gun precision.


    The leaderboard ignited pandemonium. Odds recalibrated in real-time¡ª1:15 shrinking to 1:3 as desperate bettors flooded the T-20''s wager pool. In the control suite, Harrison''s brandy sat forgotten. "He''s toying with them," the old man breathed. "Like a goddamn orchestra conductor."


    When the T-20 muscled past fourth place¡ªa cobalt-blue turbine beast¡ªits path cleared to the ultimate prey: the blood-red Carey and obsidian Galaxy, now mere specks in the distance.

 ending

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