<<< 1 week later >>>
[ Ego-Space Countdown: 21 Days ]
[ Real Time Countdown: 01H : 23M : 00S ]
---
The next three weeks in the Ego-Space War Room Niero was thrown into training under the inhuman mercy of time dilation-
a year in-doors, a day out of doors.
The initial week was not training.
It was slaughter.
Every day, the War Room gave birth to enemies.
Not one.
Not two.
But waves.
Corpses lay in heaps. Scream upon scream, till a continuous noise was produced--till death was sound in the background.
it started with ten Goblins and one Orc--
then twenty Goblins and two Orcs--
then thirty—
then more.
And more.
And more.
The marble floor was never kept clean. It was never without being stained with pixelated gore, never without being greasy with blood which was not real--yet appeared real enough to haunt the eyes.
And as the simulation was reset, it disappeared.
To have nothing to do with it.
Like it was no big deal about the killing.
Initially, confusion was experienced.
A host of green swords.
A storm of clubs.
A wall of muscle, teeth, hate.
Niero was battered. Bruised. Dragged down. He bled and gasped, and almost fell more than he could count.
His arms trembled.
His lungs burned.
At the margins of vision his eyes were cloudy.
He even vowed at times that he was not able to move his fists any more.
The times he had his legs shaking and the mere unwillingness to die was all that was holding him up.
But Niero adapted.
He always did.
Since otherwise--because he wouldn't--
he would be stampeden.
His fists a-thundered. His legs were like instinct. His breathing became frosty and mechanical, a machine that murdered without scruple.
He stopped thinking.
Stopped panicking.
Stopped hesitating.
He only moved.
Strike.
Dodge.
Break.
Kill.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Time passed hours into days.
Days melted into a year.
Pain became routine.
Fatigue became home.
Even his screams ran out.
And yet the War Room continued to give birth to monsters.
Still the corpses sank.
But the floor still was red.
It was brutal.
It was exhausting.
It was merciless.
Now and then I seemed to be drowning--
as though I were buried alive in the middle of an ocean of claws and steel, and the only air that could reach me was to keep on punching holes through the water.
And when the last of the enemy fell at the end of the day Niero did not feel triumphant.
He simply stood there trembling in the sweat and false blood--
gawking at his own hands, as though they had lost their ownership.
280 Goblins.
28 Orcs.
—
[ STARGOD SYSTEM: STATUS UPDATE ]
> [ LEVEL UP: 16 → 17 ]
> [ TRAIT (ORIGIN): WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU... ]
> +0.03 stat boost to all stats
===
<<< Second week >>>
[ Ego-Space Countdown: 21 Days ---> 14 days ]
[ Real Time Countdown: 01H : 23M : 00S ---> `00H : 55M : 12S ]
—
The War Room ceased to be like a battlefield on the second week-
and began to seem like a death-chamber.
No Goblins.
No Orcs.
No swarm tactics.
Just one opponent.
The marble dojo was in the middle of which was a single, featureless combat dummy, silent and motionless like a statue.
And yet…
The moment it appeared, Niero tingled along the spine.
Since he already had the meaning of the same.
Not a monster.
Not an enemy.
But he who had trampled him twice.
His mother.
The sim loaded immediately and we heard the voice of Vuldyr shouting in the War Room as a verdict.
-
> [ASTRA CODEX: COMBAT MATRIX LOADED]
> [Emmilia "Emmy" Ripley — Rank-S — Ver. 2.0]
> [Combat Matrix: Militaristic CQC / High-Speed Strike Patterns]
> [Mana Art: Wrath of Raijin (Rank-S) - Electrokinesis Enabled]
-
The dummy twitched.
Then moved.
And in a moment it was before him.
CRACK—!
The lightning-flashing fist struck into his guard, the blow hurling up his arms, like glass, the pain.
Niero stumbled in, with teeth set.
His hands went numb.
His muscles spasmed.
And his heart sank.
This wasn't training anymore.
It was the nightmare of Round Two reborn in a machine.
The dummy didn't hesitate.
It didn't breathe.
It was not guilty.
It did not matter whether he was her son or not.
It merely struck with the same savage accuracy--military-grade blows intertwined with electric shock pulses, every impact calculated to disable, overwhelm and fracture.
The battle dummy was a sight to laugh at--
a blank mannequin-like, smooth-faced and expressionless, and like a crash-test model made glorious, standing mute on the marble floor.
But then it went--
the illusion shattered.
It did not fight by machine.
It struggled like her.
As had the same woman who cracked him in Round One.
As the same monster that he had caused him to unconsciously rage in Round Two.
The dummy took a step--
and Niero scarcely had time to breathe when its fist was flashing at his face.
WHAM—!!
A lightning-charged blow struck his guard, flashing purple lightning along his arms. Instantly, pain shot through, the muscles twitching with the impression that his nerves were being pulled to pieces.
He stumbled.
The dummy didn't.
It was dobbed with savage accuracy--CQC hits shackled together like a volley, one blow hits its mark, the other hits its mark, one kick hits its mark, the other hits its mark, one movement hits its mark, the other hits its mark, one blow hits its mark, the other hits its mark.
Niero fought back.
He attempted to retaliate.
He tried to adapt.
But all the holes he seemed to find--
was bait.
At every instant he would make an attempt--
the dummy had a worse time with him.
A knee to the ribs.
Palm blow to the jaw.
A hook kick that flicked his head about.
And then—
ZZZT—!!
Another electrokinesic pulse struck his muscles, and took away his balance, and his reflexes, just sufficiently to give the next blow a clean landing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It was humiliating.
It was suffocating.
He had killed Goblins as flies.
He had ripped Orcs to pieces with Nova-Spark explosions.
but upon this single manneique--
he was back to being the boy on the dojo floor, being trampled on by something that was way over his head.
Niero set his teeth, warming his mouth with blood.
His fists trembled.
His breath became hoarse.
And the dummy was coming along.
Relentless.
Unfeeling.
Unstoppable.
Even the voice of Vuldyr was strained in his mind.[".Niero, your accumulation of damage is increasing too quickly.
> ["…Niero, your damage accumulation is rising too fast."]
He didn't answer.
Because he couldn't.
Since his body was too occupied being torn in two by a weapon that used the fighting style of his mother.
Another blow caused a crack in the floor of the War Room.
Niero struck the ground with a bang, and his eyes flashed white a moment--
and above him, the mannequin stood silent and still.
Waiting.
Not tired.
Not breathing.
Not satisfied.
Ready to go on.
And the first time he had been in the War Room since he went there--
Niero was coldly dreading in his heart.
Since he came to realize something horrifying.
The Goblins and Orcs had been monsters.
But this?
This was a reminder.
A reminder that the true enemy he had to overcome.
Wasn't outside the city walls.
The woman was the one who brought him up.
And she was league after league above him.
The instant the combat dummy sprang into action, the crackling of violet arcs of electricity in its body, Niero experienced the spike of pressure in an instant.
The air vibrated.
The floor of the marble shook under the feet of the mannequin.
Then—
it vanished.
A salvo of blows burst out at him, quicker than the eye of man could follow. Every blow was not only power, but a beautiful throb of electrokinesis of Raijin--that which was meant to shatter the control of the muscles and to smash a beat.
The guard of Niero just just about came in time.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Each strike was a shudder in his arms.
His nerves screamed.
The speed clouded his vision.
He was able to sense himself being overpowered--
his stance cracking—
his breathing breaking—
until there was a clicking in his mind.
His chest burned.
Nova-Spark ignited.
Flashing through his arms like electric fire, blue flame enwrapped his fists, and crawled down his veins, and filled his muscles with the power of a rampant base of fire.
His eyes widened.
And he moved.
BOOM—!!
He threw himself on, and struck the dummy.
The clash was instantaneous.
Plasma and thunder crashed.
There was a lightning purple flash in the air.
Blue Nova-Spark blazed as a star being ripped open.
They would hit each other with almost lightning speed-fists, elbows, knee, kick--so swift that a normal person could not keep up with them, the impact resulting in a shock that rattled the floor they were walking on.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Their physiques were lost in the War Room like dueling thunderstorms.
A twin coil of devastation--
one side violet, one side blue--
banging and banging into each other.
Niero was nevertheless struck.
A palm blow smashed his jaw off.
One of his knees was in his ribs.
His thigh was numb with a lightning-charged kick.
But he did not fall.
He didn't fall.
He stayed in it.
He stayed present.
He stayed alive.
The voice of Vuldyr intruded, like a battlefield reporter covering a live battlefield.".Good. You give a more consistent output.".Your footwork is cleaner.".And your counter timing is much more effective than Round Two.
"…Good. Your output is more stable."
Another clash.
BOOM—!!
"…Your footwork is cleaner."
Another strike exchange.
THUD—THUD—THUD—!!
"…And your counter timing is far more efficient than Round Two."
Niero tightened his fists and threw his fist, blue plasma cracking against the guard of the dummy.
He reeled back in the kick, which puffed him out--
but his eyes were a-flame with fierceness.
Since he was punished even when the dummy was punishing him--
even as lightning on his flesh, as his muscles spasmed—
he could feel it.
He was able to sense the difference.
He was not drowning any more.
He was swimming in the storm.
Not winning yet.
Not even close.
But the first time--
he could keep up.
Niero saw it even at that crazy pace, when thunder and plasma smeared together in a single shrieking storm.
A flicker.
Break in the beat.
A disjunction so slight as to be hardly real.
But to him—
it was everything.
His instincts didn't whisper.
They howled.
Now!
He turned half-way, Nova-Spark exploding through his shoulder like a jet-ignition, and plunged his fist up at the head of the dummy--
just so that the target may disappear.
Not dodge.
Not weave.
Not block.
It simply—
ceased to exist.
Niero opened his eyes.
"What—?"
Then—
his sense of danger went off like a mine in his head.
Above.
Behind.
Too close.
Too fast.
Too late.
The dummy vanished again and reappeared in midair as a ghost of lightning born itself, with both hands held over his head, and the shadow eating up the light--
and it came down.
BOOOOOOM!!
The two palms crashed into the back of Niero in a manner that was more of a push than a blow.
and it is more of a crumbling edifice.
The world flipped.
The force of gravity was made into a weapon.
Niero's body was driven straight into the dojo floor like a meteor.
CRACK—!!
The marble detonated.
A crater broke out with a clash of violence in a ring, black cubes with red lines glowing and breaking like broken bones.
And in the midst of it--
Niero was half-buried, with his lungs blown out, and his eyes full of electricity, and his ears ringing with the sound of his own footfall.
One fierce tear-throat of a grunt took out his breath.
"...Guh—!"
And before his fingers had time to twitch--
the War Room froze.
The air died.
The lightning vanished.
The sound had gone dead as though somebody had killed reality.
Everything went still.
Then the voice of Vuldyr cut the silence.
> ["Simulation paused."]
She appeared next to the crater, her eyes bright and cold, her eyes searching him like a battlefield doctor deciding whether to save or not to save the patient.
>[ "Niero. Status check."]
Niero coughed, spitting dust and grit from his mouth.
"...I'm alive."
Vuldyr's gaze narrowed.
> ["You have just been kicked in the ass by a crash-test dummy who is running the combat matrix of your mother. Lightning and all that jazz."]
Niero moaned, still with his cheek on the floor of the crater.
"Wow. Geez louis. Thanks. I didn't see."
Vuldyr didn't smile.
Didn't even blink.
> ["That was not worth sarcasm you are still being overcome by Version 2.0. The distance between you and your mother remains--"]
She hesitated, as the very word was bitter.
> ["—damn."]
Niero put his palms on the broken marble.
His hands were trembling, and he was pushing himself up, every fiber of his being, muscles aching with humiliation and pain.
Dust shook off his shoulders, and he dragged himself out of the crater.
His teeth pained, his jaw got tight.
The voice of Vuldyr became deeper and concerned.
> ["You okay, kiddo?"]
"Not really. Maybe I should increased my durability. Maybe its time to go for 2.5--"
> [" OH NO YOU DON'T!"]
Vuldyr's sudden raised voice made him jumped with supprise.
> ["If you can't always get along with Version 2.0, then Version 2.5 is suicide. That is where you can get some Sororitae synthesis. Incomplete yet powerful. It will reach beyond your tolerance level. Even with a limited time we have for training, Its for the best you stick with 2.0 until you grow sufficiently stronger."]
Niero's fists tightened.
He despised to hear it.
Niero annoyed that she was right.
"...Yeah," he muttered. "...I get it."
He puffed some dust off his garments, but it was the same.
It wasn't the dirt that stung.
It was the fact that was smouldering in his eyes.
Then he gazed at her.
"Ok, Vee," he said, voice coarse. "What is your tactical solution?"
The halo of Vuldyr turned slowly round, as though a blade was being sharpened.
Hardened her eyes with ruthless honesty.
> ["Against your super-mom?"]
She looked at him as though he had inquired of her how to kill a mountain.
> ["You can capitalize on some weaknesses we have not discovered. or you go berserk again. Until then, chances of winning is...pretty slim."]
Once she shook her head.
Firm.
Final.
There is a majority of tactical solutions that lead towards not fighting her at all.
The words struck louder than the palms of the dummy.
Niero's breath left him.
His shoulders were bent down, only once.
Rank-E.
Rank-S.
It wasn't a gap.
It wasn't even a wall.
It was a canyon with no bottom.
He gazed at the broken marble, where the crater was slowly smoldering.
Even after everything.
Even post training.
The leveling.
The evolution.
He was unable to win yet.
Not even opposite her shade.
Vuldyr stepped closer.
> ["There is one option."]
Niero's eyes lifted.
The voice of Vuldyr fell, nearly unwilling.
> ["I can temporally increase your Astra Force output. I can enhance your Aegis Veil paracausal defense that hr attacks won't even able to stratch you. Your strength would skyrocket and so is your physical performance that would go through the roof. Your body is not ready to utilized its full power but in a short period of time, You will be essentially invincible."]
Invincible.
Untouchable.
A transom to authority.
A heartbeat he felt the temptation streaming through the veins of Niero, drug like hot, sweet, dangerous.
But he set his teeth.
"...No."
Vuldyr blinked.
Niero shook his head, his voice tight, on the edge of shaking.
"If I win like that. then it's not a real win. Making most of my efforts pointless."
He hesitated, and the words following were lower-pitched--
heavier.
"... I am no more than concealed behind the System."
His fists trembled.
But his eyes didn't.Still. he gulped, choked out the words.
"But still…" he swallowed, forcing the words out. "Keep it ready...for a worse case scenario."
A last card.
A last resort.
Since pride was nothing when he was dead.
Vuldyr didn't argue.
She just nodded, as she admired the decision, but disliked the circumstances.
Niero inhaled slowly.
Then again.
To kick start his heart again.
His thoughts ran away.
Angles.
Timing.
Patterns.
Openings.
Weaknesses.
What beats lightning?
What strikes a Rank-S monster in his faces of his mother?
His mind was whirling away, faster and further, until the impatience was almost stifling--
and then—
something clicked.
A memory.
A detail.
An imperfection that is front and center.
A loophole.
Niero's eyes widened.
He paused half a heartbeat in breathing.
His lips then curled into a grin.
Not cocky.
Not arrogant.
But sharp.
Dangerous.
The type of grin one will have when one has just discovered the crack in a fortress wall.
He gazed at Vuldyr.
...Vee, I said, said he.
Vuldyr shut her eyes.
> ["What?"]
Niero's grin deepened.
"I've got an idea."
===
<<< Start of the Third week >>>
[ Ego-Space Countdown: 14 days ---> 7 Days ]
[ Real Time Countdown: 00H : 55M : 12S ---> 00H : 27M : 36S `]
-
Within the next ten days, the **War Room** became Niero's entire world.
Day after day.
Hour after hour.
The same marble floor. The same silent sky. The same featureless mannequin standing across from him like a blank executioner.
And every time the simulation started—
it was violence.
It was thunder.
It was pain.
The combat dummy—Emmy Ripley Ver. 2.0—moved like a living disaster. Its strikes were clean, brutal, efficient. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Every punch was designed to break bone. Every step was designed to erase distance.
Niero lost count of how many times he was slammed into the ground.
How many times his ribs cracked.
How many times his vision went black for half a second from sheer impact.
And yet—
every single time—
he forced himself back up.
Panting.
Bleeding.
Shaking.
Nova-Spark energy hissing off his skin like blue flame.
"I'm not done…" Niero rasped, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
The dummy didn't respond.
It never did.
It only attacked again.
And again.
And again.
The War Room echoed with the sound of fists colliding like gunshots.
THUD—THUD—THUD—!!
Every defeat was humiliating.
Every beating reminded him of Round 1.
Round 2.
The helplessness.
The shame.
The fear that maybe he was just a boy pretending to be something bigger.
But each time that thought surfaced—
he crushed it.
Not with pride.
With desperation.
With sheer will.
Because if he quit here…
then he really was weak.
So he endured.
He adapted.
He learned.
Slowly, painfully, Niero began to keep up.
Not by matching the dummy's raw power—
but by reading it.
By studying the rhythm of its shoulders.
The subtle shift in its hips before a kick.
The half-breath pause before a counterstrike.
Micro-openings.
Tiny cracks in a perfect machine.
He started dodging strikes that used to break him.
Blocking attacks that used to send him flying.
And when he got hit—
he learned how to turn the damage into momentum.
How to roll with the impact.
How to redirect force.
How to survive.
His Nova-Spark efficiency sharpened too.
Less waste.
More output.
His energy stopped flaring like an uncontrolled wildfire—
and began to burn like a disciplined furnace.
Even his psionics improved, his focus becoming sharper, calmer, deadlier.
And then—
one day—
in the middle of another brutal exchange…
the idea finally clicked.
Niero staggered back, chest heaving, palms raised defensively.
The dummy stepped forward, lightning crackling around its arms.
Niero's eyes narrowed.
He lifted his right hand.
Flattened it.
Like a blade.
Nova-Spark surged into his fingers, not exploding outward—
but compressing.
Condensing.
Shaping.
The energy screamed, blue-cyan plasma crawling across his skin like molten glass.
The air around his hand warped.
Heat shimmered.
And for the first time…
his Nova-Spark didn't feel like a wild force.
It felt like a weapon.
Niero's expression sharpened into something almost feral.
"…Let's try something new."
The dummy lunged.
Lightning fist coming down like a hammer.
Niero stepped in.
Not back.
Not away.
Forward.
And he swung his open hand like a sword.
SHHHHHRK!!
A blue plasma arc cleaved through the air—
and the dummy's arm split open, severed cleanly at the forearm like it had been cut by a superheated monofilament blade.
Metal and synthetic flesh parted instantly.
The severed limb hit the floor with a heavy clang.
The dummy froze for a fraction of a second, as if the simulation itself had to process what just happened.
Niero stared at his glowing hand.
His breath caught.
His eyes widened with disbelief.
"…No way."
Vuldyr's voice snapped through the War Room like an alarm.
> ["New technique confirmed."]
A holographic panel flashed into existence beside him.
-
> ◈ [NOVA TECHNIQUE: PLASMA BLADE]
> Type: Nova-Spark / Offensive
> Description: Condenses Nova-Spark energy into a stabilized plasma-like cutting edge, capable of slicing through reinforced metal.
> Status: Unrefined Prototype
-
Niero slowly raised his hand again.
The plasma hissed and danced around his fingers like a living edge.
His heart pounded.
Not from fear—
but from the first spark of certainty he'd felt in days.
A weapon that could bypass durability.
A weapon that could punish speed.
A weapon that could finally carve open a path toward victory.
He looked up at the dummy again.
The severed arm began to regenerate in crackling static, reconstructing itself from simulated particles.
But Niero didn't flinch.
He grinned.
Not smug.
Not playful.
A grin that carried exhaustion, hunger, and something dangerously close to obsession.
"Alright…" he whispered.
His plasma hand ignited brighter.
"…Round three isn't going to be the same."
===
<<< Final Day within the Ego-Room >>>
[ Ego-Space Countdown: 7 Days ---> 0 Day ]
[ Real Time Countdown: 00H : 27M : 36S ---> 00H : 01M : 07S`]
-
Niero was not the boy that crawled in here desperate and afraid on the last day within the walls of the War Room.
He was bruised—yes.
Bloodied—definitely.
But not divided.
He was still standing.
Still breathing.
Still fighting.
Since three weeks the War Room had done nothing but beat him down.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Not only his body--his pride, his fear, his hesitation.
It had left him bare and naked except to instinct and will.
On the interminable marble surface the combat dummy danced like a living lightning-cloud--dashing lines of simulated lightning flashing across its body and falling upon it as it dashed in an impossible direction.
And Niero to it headlong went.
The energy of Blue Nova-Spark burst out of his body in violent spooks, his motions were sudden and brutal, and his fists slammed like meteorites. Every collision resembled a collision of steel and steel.
BOOM!
CRACK!
THUD!!
Two hurricanes ripping into one another.
A tempest of purple lightning and a flame of blue plasma.
Under one blow Niero would have broken a bone to pieces, with the next he struck a blow to the ribs, followed by a hook kick--then in another stroke would have used the power of a Nova-Spark to strike with a blow that would have forced that dummy backward step after step.
His breath was in gasps.
His eyes were stinging with sweat.
His blood fell down his jaw.
With each movement his muscles protested.
But he didn't slow.
Not that it did not hurt.
Since he had experienced what pain is.
Another voice in the War Room was pain.
And he had ceased to listen.
His eyes—
his eyes were on fire.
Not with anger.
With refusal.
Then he saw it.
A micro-opening.
A part of reluctance.
There is a blemish in the rhythm.
Something that the old him would have missed.
It was not something that the old him would have been afraid of.
Niero made his jaw tight and it hurt.
His flesh seemed as though it would rip.
Nonetheless, he took a step.
He had his feet sown into the marble.
And made his fist in all he had remaining.
Nova-Spark flashed skittering up to his knuckles as a suppressed star exploded.
BOOOOOOM—!!
His punch slammed straight into the dummy's abdomen.
The effect was like the firing of a cannon.
The mannequin-like body started to fly backwards, rattling along the marble floor, and rolling around like a shattered shot.
There was a silence.
Niero stood up, and his shoulders went up and down as though he had just crawled out of the sea.
He was too tired to hold his arms.
His fingers were twitching, numb and trembling.
His knees were about to give way.
But he didn't fall.
Falling meant to allow the War Room to have at last taken something out of him. "Got you," he breathed.
He smiled.
Not cocky.
Not playful.
Just… satisfied.
"…Got you," he breathed.
The dummy twitched.
Then—
it rose again.
Its head came up.
Its body flashed with lightning, more than ever, more than ever angry.
And it vanished.
A purple flash.
A sonic crack.
Niero's instincts screamed.
He brought up his guard--
but the dummy came back inches away, fist already drawn, which he intended to use to smash his skull.
The air trembled.
The lightning hissed.
Niero might even feel death in that blow.
The War Room was no longer a simulation, at least in a split second.
It was a hanging.
And his body responded before his mind.
His stance lowered.
His teeth grit.
His heart beat as a war drum.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Only readiness.
Then—
everything stopped.
The dummy stood still mid air as though time had been choked.
The lightning hung in mid-spark.
There was a dead calm in the air.
Vuldyr, with a voice which was sharp and final, rang through the War Room.
> ["Simulation paused."]
Niero shook his eyes, and yet stood rigidly, and still trembling, his breath tearing in and out of his lungs.
His heart was unwilling to beat.
His blood would not freeze.
His body did not think that it was safe, even now.
Vuldyr joined him, in her human shape, her arms crossed, her eyes scowling with fatigue and disillusionment.
> ["…That's enough,"] she said. ["Time's up."]
A holographic timer came into being, floating above the dojo.
Three weeks.
Over.
Niero gazed at it, as though he knew not its meaning.
As though his brain had been reconfigured to think that there was no longer such thing as over anymore.
Vuldyr sighed, massaging her temples.
> ["You have been made much better than I had figured."] She looked with an averted gaze at the frozen dummy. ["But I still do not know yet quite whether you can beat your mother."]
Niero slowly lowered his arms.
His shoulders sagged.
Suddenly, pain started to flood back, as though the War Room had suddenly taken the pressure off.
His muscles screamed.
His bones were sore with each breath.
His knuckles were torn, bleeding, aching.
He should've looked defeated.
But his eyes remained fixed.
His heart was cold. abhorrently cold.
and as though something in him had turned to iron.
He looked to Vuldyr, beaten and bloody as he was, and grinned as though he had already come to terms with the result.
"Then have some faith in me, Vee."
He turned and saw the stopped dummy--at the blow that had nearly killed him.
And he flinched not.
Not anymore.
Since the part of him which hesitated had been slain by the War Room.
"I'm ready", Niero said.
And this time…
it wasn't just confidence.
It was a promise.
-
> [ EGO-SPACE: WAR ROOM (Simulation content) ]
> + 280 Goblins
> + 28 Orcs
> + Combat Dummy (Combat Matrix: Emmilia Ripley - Rank-S, Ver. 2.0)
> [ STARGOD SYSTEM: STATUS UPDATE ]
> [ LEVEL UP: 17 ---> 18 ]
> [ TRAIT (ORIGIN): WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU...]
> + +0.05 stat boost to all stats
> + [ Skill (Passive): Electric Resistance (Lv.03)]
> [ Total Progression (War Room - 3 Weeks) ]
> Level Up: +2
> All Stat Boost: +0.08
-
==========
<<<[ Ch 21, Part 07 = END ]>>>