A few hours later…
As the cocoon of light gradually contracted and approached stillness, a thunderous roar suddenly erupted.
The sound reverberated throughout the entire chamber.
Invisible shockwaves rippled outward from its source in all directions.
Then—
The cocoon shattered into countless motes of light, scattering gently around the room.
A blood-red cross-shaped beam of light surged upward, piercing from ground to sky.
From within, a massive figure slowly emerged, its entire body wrapped in golden polygonal force fields.
It extended a hand and gently lifted Orsaga, placing him upon its chest.
The cockpit door automatically opened. Like the steps of a throne, a ramp extended from the chest down to his feet, guiding him to his seat.
As he sat down, there was no need to rely on his eyes—everything the mech saw instantly flowed into Orsaga's mind.
Countless data streams began categorizing and analyzing the surroundings.
It felt as if Orsaga had stepped into a world constructed entirely of data and information.
Because this mech had already been corrupted and rebuilt by him, it was no longer purely mechanical. It had become a bio-mechanical hybrid.
Connected to it via the cockpit interface, Orsaga could clearly feel its pulse of life.
Thanks to the fusion between them, they were now one and the same.
Two sides of the same lifeform—a true external incarnation.
If he was the primary entity, this mech was his extension.
With a single thought, the mech raised its arms and summoned weapons into its hands—two massive blades, each around fifteen meters long, and two enormous handguns with 90mm caliber.
These were custom-designed by Orsaga specifically for the mech and stored in its internal dimensional space for easy access.
[High-Frequency Anti-Ship Blade]: Vibrates at a rate of 100,000 times per second. It destabilizes the molecular structure of objects, weakening them from within. Even diamond shatters on contact—cutting isn't required; mere contact is enough.
[Electromagnetic Railgun]: 90mm caliber. Fires solid slugs at 20 times the speed of sound. Each slug is threaded for high penetration and loaded with powerful explosives. Even without considering the velocity or penetration, its raw explosive power alone is enough to destroy standard armor.
With a casual swing of the blade, the mech launched a blindingly fast slash at several times the speed of sound.
A massive gust tore through the chamber, and a crescent-shaped energy wave shot out like a shockwave.
It cleanly bisected a nearby hill as if it were nothing more than tofu.
Next came the gun test.
Boom!
The sound was like a mortar firing.
The round burrowed hundreds of meters into the ground.
Then the explosives inside detonated.
Dust billowed upward, and a fresh mound of earth formed at the site of the blast.
Watching this, Orsaga, who didn't set high standards, nodded in satisfaction.
"Not bad. Good enough to deal with bottom-feeder enemies."
The weapons were mainly for fun—added flair more than essential tools.
Compared to the mech's raw capabilities, the swords and railguns were just accessories.
For larger monsters, it was more entertaining to rip them apart barehanded.
After completing the tests, Orsaga thought for a moment, and the private chamber's environment reset.
All the destruction was instantly restored.
His account was automatically debited a few points for the repair.
He then turned his thoughts to another issue.
The cockpit opened once more, and Orsaga stepped onto the mech's palm, observing the full figure from a distance.
Despite its cold, emotionless metallic eyes, he knew the truth.
Beneath its exterior, behind those steel plates, there was a maw lined with fangs—one that could devour life without hesitation.
To all lifeforms other than Orsaga, it harbored an inherent malice.
That malice originated from Orsaga's true self.
As its creator and origin, Orsaga's own brutality and madness had been carved into this artificial lifeform.
In fact, lacking human rationality or restraint, this creature was even more savage than Orsaga himself.
It was like a version of him stripped of all morality, pure instinct and destruction.
After a while of silently examining his creation, Orsaga scratched his head.
"Now… what should I name you?"
To him, this was a genuine problem.
He had a terrible case of name-choosing paralysis.
After pondering for a bit, he climbed back into the cockpit.
Within seconds, he coded a random name generator on the spot.
"Well," he muttered, "guess I'll leave it to fate."
He pressed the "Start" button, and the screen began frantically cycling through names at random—as if on drugs.
One-word names, two-word names, even strings of gibberish dozens of characters long flashed by.
After a few seconds, Orsaga closed his eyes and casually said, "Stop."
The generator halted, freezing on a three-character name:
[Aeon Cronos]
Orsaga rubbed his chin and muttered,
"...Doesn't seem to mean anything in particular. Whatever. Doesn't sound bad, at least. I'll just let its future define the meaning."
As the name was finalized, a subtle red glow flickered across Aeon's cold mechanical eyes.
Its golden polygonal force field darkened slightly, and the aura it emitted intensified—
Just standing there, it exuded the majesty of a descending god.
Orsaga didn't react much to the dramatic flair. He simply waved a hand and stored Aeon Cronos into his personal spatial artifact.
The spatial ring he had originally used had since been modified.
Now, it existed as a death-curse rune tattoo fused into his body.
Its capacity had expanded to a full 1,000 cubic meters, making it vastly more efficient for storing items.
Once all essentials were packed away, his gaze drifted toward a nearby container.
It held the leftover meat paste he had made earlier.
He casually stirred it with a spoon, then sighed with a twinge of regret and placed it on the stove.
He planned to cook it into a meal later—after all, it was his own flesh.
No point in letting it go to waste.
---
One hour later.
Fed and satisfied, Orsaga finally left the private room he'd holed up in for days and headed toward a certain place in the neutral zone.
He wasn't on a mission or in search of danger.
He just wanted to have some fun.
His destination?
The Red-Light District of Matrix Purgatory.
Despite the brutal, high-pressure nature of life here, humanity's oldest profession had never been forgotten.
Orsaga couldn't help but feel a bit of admiration.
"A true sign of civilization."
And so, he decided to support the economy.
After finishing up his mech Aeon Cronos and securing all necessary provisions, he still had over 200,000 reward points burning a hole in his pocket.
If he didn't spend them, wouldn't that be a waste?
Thus, as he stepped into that indescribable district...
A new storm quietly brewed within Matrix Purgatory.
A storm of legend.
An epic tale of the strongest client in red-light history.
Rumor had it that the scenes were so extreme they bordered on 404 error territory. From high-tier female Purgators seeking thrills, to captured female characters from narrative worlds like one piece and dragon Ball—if Orsaga set his sights on them, none escaped.
In just three days, he'd blown through more than 200,000 reward points without blinking.
Even the seasoned madams and brothel managers were moved to tears.
That figure, radiating with wealth and generosity, wasn't just a man—
He was a god to them.
A client beyond their wildest dreams.
And so, the tale of this legendary spree spread like wildfire, leaving every man who heard it wiping away silent tears of envy.
Tears of jealousy.
___
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