Now, with fresh Neural Data points in the bank, why not take another swing? Orren flicks open the Neural Matrix, fingers dancing on the neon interface.
[Though you’ve pushed Energy Slash to Lv10, you keep grinding to perfect this basic swordplay. Your brain screams into overdrive, replaying every trick and technique of the blade.]
[Your refinement attempt flops hard.]
[This refinement burned 10 Neural Data points.]
[Remaining points: 140]
Orren catches the system’s alert and grits his teeth, snarling. What the hell? Ten points flushed down the shitter?
“Maybe I didn’t throw enough at it?” Orren sucks in a jagged breath, then dumps a full 40 points into the gamble.
[Your brain kicks into hyperspeed, dissecting every fleeting detail of your blade work. Finally, you spot a glitch in the pattern—something extraordinary.]
[You’ve refined the skill, evolving it into Surge Blade (Pulse Slash).]
[This refinement torched 32 Neural Data points.]
[Remaining points: 108]
It fucking worked! Orren’s heart surges with glee, eyes locked on his data panel where a new line glows: Surge Blade (Pulse Slash).
Surge Blade Lv1: A unique martial art forged by Orren Bran, perfectly synced to his Neural Chip, unleashing devastating power far beyond standard techniques.
Neural Chips are the lifeblood of this society—without one, you’re nobody, not even cleared for basic ID scans. Shell out big credits to juice up a chip for combat, and you might claw your way to Spark Level warrior status. Every Neural Chip binds deep to its user, morphing uniquely as they grow. In short, once locked in, each chip’s one-of-a-kind, like a digital soul.
This body’s original owner dropped a fat 200,000 Federation credits to become a Spark Level warrior. For a normal citizen scraping by on 2,000 to 3,000 credits a month—barely enough after bills—that’s a fortune. The old Orren pulling that off? Impressive, but it was all blood money, the bastard.
Right now, Orren’s buzzing with joy—he’s got a custom skill, marked in bold red font. In this world, combat skills are tiered by rarity: green, red, purple, and gold. Most schlubs limp along with green skills. Red ones? Those are for the elite, the credit-soaked fat cats. A single red skill manual on the Federation Net could fetch 150,000 to 250,000 credits.
“Slaughtering that void bug? Jackpot, baby!” Orren’s practically cackling, itching to burn the rest of his Neural Data to Overclock Surge Blade from Lv1 to Lv10. But that’s just a reckless urge. Overclock now, with no monsters to kill for Neural Crystals? He’d be screwed with no way to recharge.
“Gotta bounce, crash at home, and chill,” Orren mutters, finally dragging his boots to leave the scum-crusted district.
He barely takes a few steps when a familiar kid’s voice pipes up behind him. “Lord Orren, did… did you let us go on purpose? Were you planning to waste that monster all along? You’re not the shit-stain villain everyone says—you came to save us, right?” The boy’s voice brims with desperate hope.
Orren blinks, dumbfounded. Kid, your imagination’s running wilder than a rogue AI. “Nah, I just pissed off the bug, that’s all,” Orren tosses over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “Now scram, or I’ll jack every last digital credit you’ve got!”
“No way! If you wanted to rob us, you’d have done it back there!” Drex, the kid, fires back, stubborn as hell. He could’ve fleeced them then—or now, called it “protection fees”—but he didn’t. He just walked. So Drex is dead-set: the rumors are bullshit. Orren’s a damn hero.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
With the danger gone, other slum rats creep out from their holes, eyeing Orren with mixed looks—half trust, half doubt. That monster had been lurking nearby forever, supposedly munching folks. Whispers pinned Orren as its handler, feeding it victims. But today? Looks like those were just lies. Orren, the big bad, slayed the beast and saved their asses. Could they have misjudged him?
Orren ditches the slum, hitting District 23 nearby. It’s just a wall away from Slum 324, but the vibe’s night and day—tight security, polished buildings, and folks strutting in crisp suits, all high-class and smug. Orren’s gig is Slum 324’s Enforcer, but his crash pad’s in this ritzy District 23. Sure, it’s just a dinky, forgettable house in the fancy zone. Still, it’s more than enough for him. Thank fuck he didn’t wake up in this body stuck in a trash heap.
Orren flops onto a creaky cot in his cramped pad, the hum of neon outside lulling him as he scrubs off the day’s grime, the stench of void ichor still clinging. But soon, a sharp knock rattles the door.
Orren swings it open, spotting a young guy in cheap, skin-tight combat leathers, urgency etched on his face. His eyes hold respect, but a flicker of disgust lurks beneath. “Well, well, Rookie Cop Kern. What’s your ass doing here? It’s my damn day off, you got business?” Orren snaps, leaning on the doorframe.
He vaguely recalls this guy—one of his underling rookie cops. As a full-fledged Enforcer, Orren’s got seven or eight grunts under him, all “rookie cops” scraping by on shit pay, no security, and a snowball’s chance in hell of going permanent. Even landing a rookie gig’s a slog. Take Kern here—Orren’s old self screwed him over, shaking him down for bribes. Word is, Kern borrowed 50,000 credits, grudgingly forking it over to Orren. Since then, Kern’s been all fake respect, but deep down, he loathes the guy.
From what Orren’s seen, Kern’s a solid kid, brimming with justice, the kind of hot-blooded hero you’d spot in a cheesy holo-drama. Too bad reality slapped him silly. Rumor has it Kern’s Neural Chip is prime for combat upgrades, perfect for Spark Level warrior status. But the kid’s broke as hell. No credits, no Spark Level. That’s why he’s still just a rookie cop.
“Lord Bran, I know you said no disturbances on your day off, but I’ve gotta report this. Just got a call from District 246—there’s a Voidspawn prowling, maybe even building a massive nest. That thing could start spawning offspring. I say we can’t let this slide. If it breeds, it’ll butcher everyone nearby. If you’re not up for it, sir, I’ll handle it myself,” Kern spits out the words in a rush, spinning to leave, his face tight with urgency.
Clearly, he doesn’t buy that Orren would touch this mess. It’s a rest day—nothing short of a star falling would drag Orren out. Slum folks getting eaten? Tough luck. Hell, Orren might even think, “Damn shame, could’ve sold those bugs some meat for a few credits first.”
But as Kern hops on his beat-up motorcycle, a figure leaps onto the back seat. “What’re you staring at? Gun it, let’s check out that damn bug nest!” Orren barks.
Vroom! The rickety bike’s roar echoes through the district, drawing scowls from rich pricks glaring at the fading duo. If Kern wasn’t in rookie cop gear, someone would’ve screamed for them to get the hell out of fancy District 23. As it is, they peel out fast, roaring toward Slum District 246.
Kern, gripping the handlebars, feels a knot of confusion. This is a dangerous gig—why’s Orren, of all people, tagging along? The Orren he knows wouldn’t touch a job this risky with no payout. His rookies have already died in droves, sent on similar suicide missions. Kern’s only survived this long by grinding combat skills, making him a shade tougher than the average joe.
“What’s this bastard’s angle? Is there some profit I’m missing? Is he cutting a deal with those Voidspawn? Are the rumors true?” Kern’s gut churns with suspicion, sensing a scheme.
But Orren, chilling on the bike’s back seat, is carefree. He taps his Neural Chip, jacking into the neural net, scouring for combat tricks. Soon, he drops credits on two basic skills:
- Skill 1: Neon Sprint—A speed-boosting run, juicing leg muscles with neural pulses for quick dashes.
- Skill 2: Shadow Weave—A dodge-and-strike move, syncing chip reflexes to slip past attacks with slick footwork.
Both are dirt-cheap green-tier basics, costing just a few thousand credits. Orren checks his balance—over 300,000 credits. A few grand? Pocket change. The old Orren didn’t fuck around as a crook—that 300,000 is a pipe dream for most folks in this world.
“Eight Neural Data points left. Can I bump these skills up a notch?” Orren tinkers with the Matrix. In no time, he pushes both Neon Sprint and Shadow Weave to Lv3. Green-tier basics, jumping from Lv1 to Lv3, don’t guzzle much Data, just as he figured. Rarer skills, higher levels—that’s when the point costs skyrocket.
No sweat. He’ll slaughter that Voidspawn Kern’s yapping about and score fresh points!