?Schneider noticed Lassam’s distracted expression and asked worriedly, “What’s wrong?”?

  “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—a 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—people 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: ?Millard AOA Training Camp?.

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

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  “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—one 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—40 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 and天赋 (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—his “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—and miraculously, the mech’s foot slammed down, steady as a nail driven into the ground.