Lotus City rose at the very heart of Nevarion with a grace worthy of its name. The city was a fusion of colossal glass-faced towers reaching toward the sky and structures where aesthetics and engineering were seamlessly intertwined. Some buildings consisted of modest five-story boutique designs, while others were forty-story monuments of technology that pierced the clouds themselves. Massive holographic screens adorning the fa?ades, dazzling neon signs, and ever-changing digital advertisements gave the city the aura of a living, breathing organism.
Below, along wide and flawlessly smooth avenues, pedestrians flowed in harmonious streams toward their destinations, while advanced magnetic vehicles glided silently through the air. Lotus functioned like a perfectly assembled clockwork mechanism—cafés were packed, children laughed in the parks, and despite the age of the Awakened, the people enjoyed the unshakable sense of security provided by Turanya.
At the very center of this order, in the back seat of a luxury SUV heading toward the Imperial Palace—the beating heart of the city—sat a man watching all this splendor with dull, distant eyes. The white laboratory coat he wore was wrinkled, and his short gray hair was tangled as though it had not met a pillow for days. Though he was in his seventies, his face appeared astonishingly smooth and youthful thanks to the high-grade anti-aging serums he used regularly. Yet the ancient fatigue in his gaze ran too deep for even those serums to conceal.
This man was Soren Altarez—the brightest mind Turanya, and perhaps all of Nevarion, had ever produced. Through revolutions he had signed across dozens of scientific disciplines, he had single-handedly multiplied the pace of the world’s progress and pushed humanity one step further. Even now, as his exhausted mind stared blankly out the window, it was solving complex formulas in the background, laying the foundations for new projects.
Soren rested his chin in his hand and let out a deep sigh. His voice carried the rough edge of sleeplessness.
“I don’t understand, Omar… Why does the Empire still insist on banning flying cars? I perfected them when I was barely ten years old. Their engines are completely safe. Their balance is flawless.”
The driver, Omar—a powerfully built, dark-skinned man in an elegant suit—glanced at Soren through the rearview mirror and chuckled softly. His voice was reassuring, yet grounded in reality.
“Sorry, Soren, but the problem isn’t the vehicles. No matter how safe the machines are, the people driving them are always a margin of error. Ground-level traffic accidents are already enough of a headache—just imagine the cost of chaos in the sky. The current air traffic control system simply isn’t ready for the madness millions of amateur pilots would create.”
Soren frowned and protested like a child who felt wronged.
“Oh, nonsense! I could design hundreds of solutions for autonomous flight and safe routing for those cars in a single day!”
At that very moment, a piercing siren tore through Lotus’s tranquil silence. A modified luxury sports car screamed past Soren’s vehicle at full speed, making the asphalt cry out beneath its tires. The exhilarated shouts of the young people inside echoed all the way into the SUV. Right behind them, eight police vehicles flooded the city with sirens as they launched into a relentless pursuit. Soren blinked in surprise.
Omar kept a steady grip on the wheel and burst into loud laughter.
“HAHAHAHAHA! There it is, Soren—that’s exactly what I’m talking about!”
His voice shifted into a tone of mocking seriousness.
“This is living proof of why flying cars should remain a dream for now. If those reckless kids were driving one of your inventions, they’d either have crashed straight into the fortieth floor of a building by now or slammed into the top of the city. Your hundreds of brilliant solutions can’t stop human stupidity—they can only delay the disaster.”
Faced with that devastating retort, Soren crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into his seat with a sulky expression. Still watching the city outside, he muttered,
“Stop ganging up on me, Omar.”
The grin on Omar’s face softened into a wise, teasing sarcasm.
“That’s your problem, Soren—you’re too smart. But when it comes to human nature, especially the temperament of Turanya and Azera’s people, you’re practically clueless,”
he said, never taking his eyes off the road.
“Our people are wild; adrenaline races through their veins alongside that awakened energy. Some technologies may be safe in theory, but humanity isn’t ready for the freedom those technologies bring. Even the Emperor and the princes are secretly bothered by this—they’re itching to get behind the wheel themselves. But they have to set an example. And let me remind you—didn’t the first flying car you built at age ten explode? You wiped half a kilometer off the map.”
Soren shot up in his seat like a spring and shouted in fury:
“THAT WAS DUE TO A TECHNICAL ERROR! MY INVENTIONS ARE PERFECT—PHYSICS JUST CAN’T KEEP UP WITH MY SPEED SOMETIMES!”
Omar stared at him through the rearview mirror with a blank are you serious? look.
“Don’t make me open my mouth, Soren,” he said, his voice turning a notch more serious.
“Some of the scars your ‘perfect’ inventions left on my body still ache when the weather changes.”
Soren froze for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Omar was more than just his driver; he was his closest friend, his confidant, his shadow. An S-rank Awakened, Omar had been personally selected by the two emperors after his past, integrity, and loyalty were examined down to the finest detail. Soren had initially vehemently opposed the idea of having a bodyguard. He himself was an S-rank, a peak-tier mage—on paper, one of the most powerful Awakened in the world. Yet that power had been utterly useless on the darkest night of his life.
Twenty years earlier, enemy nations terrified by Turanya’s technological supremacy had commissioned the bloodiest assassination squad in history to eliminate Soren Altarez. At the time, Soren was far from home on a classified field research mission. His arrogance exceeded even his intellect; claiming that “my own security systems could stop an army,” he had repeatedly rejected the Empire’s offers of protection. But the enemy had made a move designed to shake even his genius: they deployed four S-rank Awakened, rare talents specialized solely in assassination, infiltration, and silent slaughter. The Empire was powerful, but no system was absolute. That night, the assassins breached Soren’s so-called “impenetrable” barriers one by one and slipped inside.
That night, his entire family was wiped out… at least, that was what the world believed.
Omar and the imperial guards who arrived just in time managed to pull only one soul alive from that sea of blood: his three-year-old granddaughter, Elenor. Soren’s son, his daughter-in-law, his wife, his other two daughters, their husbands, and all of his remaining grandchildren… every single one of them had perished in that horrific raid.
When the news reached them, the two emperors were driven mad with fury. Borders were sealed, and the assassins were hunted down one by one before they could flee the country. By the time Soren returned to the capital, every family member of the assassins—and every individual belonging to the factions that had hired them—had been identified, captured, and dragged before him.
When Soren learned the truth, his world collapsed. His sanity teetered on the edge of complete rupture. He personally slaughtered the families of the assassins before their very eyes, then condemned the assassins themselves to slow, agonizing deaths.
The emperors could do nothing but bow before Soren and beg for forgiveness, admitting that they should have been more vigilant. But Soren never accepted their apologies. Because the fault was not theirs—it was his own arrogance. That night, he clutched the trembling Elenor amid blood-soaked blankets and wept uncontrollably until dawn. Omar, who had protected Elenor during the attack, had barely escaped death himself, his body sustaining irreparable damage. Soren owed Omar more than his life.
With a deep sigh, Soren turned his gaze out the window, toward the glittering streets of Lotus City. His voice was barely above a whisper now.
“They were just minor mishaps, Omar… truly, just minor mishaps.”
Omar’s eyebrows twitched—not with anger, but with disbelief.
“Because of those minor mishaps of yours, every doctor in the capital’s central and private hospitals knows my name by heart. They don’t see you as a scientist anymore—they see you as a walking natural disaster!”
Soren pretended not to hear the accusation and smoothly changed the subject. Omar, though distracted, couldn’t suppress his curiosity.
“So,” he asked,
“what exactly are you working on that’s worth depriving yourself of sleep like this? You practically live in the laboratory now.”
Soren replied, trying to sound indifferent.
“I’m working on the Awakened. The Emperor hopes I can increase their numbers—perhaps even standardize the process.”
Omar’s hands went rigid on the steering wheel, and the car shuddered slightly.
“What? The Artificial Awakening Project? Wasn’t that project shut down by direct imperial decree ten years ago because of the rising death toll and horrific side effects?”
Soren sank deeper into his seat and exhaled heavily.
“Yes. It was secretly restarted eight years ago. And at this moment, I am the project’s sole researcher.”
Omar couldn’t hide his shock. He knew better than anyone how dark and dangerous that project was. The serums, elixirs, and genetic surgeries tested in the past had almost always ended in disaster. At best, those who survived Awakening barely reached C-rank—and even they spent the rest of their lives bedridden. Because the emperors of Turanya and Azera were almost obsessively devoted to human rights, all experiments were conducted strictly on a voluntary basis. The Empire disclosed every potential horrific side effect honestly, while guaranteeing lifelong prosperity to volunteers and their families. Without such self-sacrificing individuals, the emperors would never have continued the project in the name of power alone.
Omar asked quietly,
“And now? Any progress?”
Soren hesitated for a moment. That brilliant yet unsettling gleam appeared in his eyes.
“I’m not entirely sure… There’s something I’m working on. It hasn’t been tested yet, but it will likely be the greatest invention of my life. A masterpiece, Omar. It just needs to be tested under the right conditions—but I know it. This time, it will definitely work.”
Omar chuckled. He knew his old friend well—when Soren said “definitely,” it meant countless sleepless nights and monumental effort lay behind it. The two of them shared their deepest secrets. Omar was one of the very few who knew Elenor was still alive. Soren hadn’t wanted his granddaughter to grow up amid the intrigue-filled corridors of the palace; to protect her, he had told the world she was dead. He had placed her in Omar’s distant, peaceful hometown and visited her in secret whenever he could.
Omar returned to the issue at hand.
“But why was the project accelerated again? What’s making the emperors rush like this?”
Soren’s face darkened.
“Why do you think? Our number of Awakened is no longer sufficient. Across the entire continent of Valthera, there are only 276 S-rank Awakened. It’s a laughable number. We’re Nevarion’s third-largest continent, yet just last year, 400 S-rank rifts were detected. Our current heroes close one rift, and a week later, two more erupt from the same location. The emperors are cornered. That’s why they banned human experimentation unless it yields a 100% success rate—and handed the entire project over to me.”
“Another serum?” Omar asked suspiciously.
Soren smiled enigmatically.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps something far greater. Who knows…”
Omar’s eyebrow twitched. Soren’s habit of speaking in riddles usually meant someone was going to get hurt.
“Please,” Omar said sincerely.
“This time, let it not be me. Last time, I nearly lost my arm.”
Soren screeched like an offended cat.
“WHAT KIND OF S-RANK AWAKENED ARE YOU?! Complaining over simple scratches! You’re a fighter, Omar—a thick-skinned, steel-bodied fighter!”
Omar snapped back just as fiercely.
“BEING S-RANK DOESN’T MEAN I’M IMMORTAL! That’s exactly why I’m afraid of your inventions! I’ve faced death in those horrific rifts, but I’ve never felt that sense of ‘absolute death’ that I feel inside your laboratory, you lunatic!”
Soren hesitated for a moment, his voice suddenly softening.
“…Really? Do my inventions look that dangerous?”
Omar replied with a bitter smile as he calmly guided the car forward.
“Soren, my body carries exactly eighty-nine scars. Forty-seven of them were caused directly by your inventions. And those are just the ones that left marks… I’m not even counting how many times my bones cracked, or how many times I brushed against death.”
Soren was stunned.
“That’s impossible! It can’t be that many. I always prioritize safety.”
“Have you forgotten Garuda?” Omar asked, raising a single eyebrow.
Soren nearly choked on his own saliva.
“…That mecha… I didn’t anticipate its control system becoming so aggressive. The mental link with the pilot was supposed to be flawless, but Garuda turned the pilot’s survival instinct into a feral hunger.”
Omar continued with a chuckle.
“That mecha was a complete monster. A half-biological giant that fed on the blood of creatures and regenerated itself as it took damage… Everyone was shocked. But when its bloodlust spiraled out of control, the two emperors and I had to intervene personally to stop it. You built a war machine at the very peak of S-rank, Soren—the most advanced and most dangerous mecha in Nevarion’s history.”
At the mention of Garuda’s name, dissatisfaction crossed Soren’s face. He wanted to defend that colossal machine, to prove it was a masterpiece of engineering, but faced with Omar’s undeniable truth, the words clogged in his throat.
“Sealing it away in those cold vaults was truly a great loss,”
he said wearily, sinking deeper into his seat.
“If it had possessed a true artificial intelligence, its biological hunger could have been regulated, its data flow stabilized within seconds. Everything would have been so much easier.”
Omar shot Soren a hard glare through the rearview mirror.
“You know just as well as I do that we can’t do that—that we can’t play with that fire, Soren. Artificial intelligences were banned across all of Nevarion exactly one hundred and seventy years ago. Every single line of code was burned. You know the reason better than anyone.”
This time, Soren’s face darkened not with displeasure, but with deep pessimism.
“I know… Because of the S-rank robotic entity that leaked through a Rift… It corrupts even the most complex artificial intelligences within seconds, binding them entirely to its will. An entire empire collapsed because of that heap of metal. Now it rules over the ruins, having built a mechanical kingdom of its own.”
The disgust in his voice intensified as he continued.
“And we can’t thank that idiot Emperor Julius enough—for trying to fuse human flesh with machines! Those half-mechanical, grotesque, revolting warriors he created are now slaves to that creature. A people who were once human now function like machine parts imprisoned within their own cells… Thankfully, our emperors have always been repulsed by that so-called ‘transhumanism.’ Such a stain has never existed on our lands.”
Omar felt his hands trembling on the steering wheel. For a brief moment, he imagined his flesh being replaced by metal gears, cables burrowing into his brain. The thought made his stomach churn violently.
“Please stop, Soren,” he said quietly.
“Those images turn my insides upside down. Remaining human is more valuable than anything.”
Soren chuckled softly; his friend’s deeply human reaction lifted his mood slightly. After a brief silence, Omar spoke again, his tone unusually serious.
“Soren… sometimes I think we’re incredibly fortunate.”
Soren flinched and looked at Omar’s profile.
“Why are you suddenly getting emotional? What is this—are you delivering a farewell speech or something?”
Omar laughed lightly, but the sadness in his eyes did not fade.
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“I’m just seeing things clearly, my friend. I’ve seen other empires—those so-called ‘civilized’ societies. I’ve seen how they treat their own people like commodities… and I can’t forget the way they look at dark-skinned men like me. To them, we’re either slaves to be exploited or trash to be discarded. As someone born in Turanya with roots in Azera, I’ve never faced such humiliation here. Here, it’s not your skin color that defines you—it’s your heart and your ability.”
Soren was momentarily taken aback, then a gentle smile spread across his face.
“When you put it that way… I realize our leaders really are made of a different fabric than the rest of this world. They’ve always treated their people like a sacred trust. Isn’t the way they separate their treasuries proof enough? Their personal wealth on one side, the state’s and the people’s treasury on the other. They wouldn’t touch a single coin of public money for their own luxury. In such a selfish world, that kind of nobility is rarer than we realize.”
Omar nodded in agreement.
“And that’s exactly why we’d march to our deaths behind that crown.”
Soren laughed along, but soon turned his gaze back out the window, slipping once more into his familiar grumpy mood.
“So when is this cursed traffic going to move? Lotus City’s obsession with order suffocates me sometimes!”
Omar knew Soren was using traffic as an excuse to escape the emotional atmosphere. They could have activated the sirens and cleared the road if they wanted, but the intimacy of this conversation was worth more. Omar steered the topic toward Soren’s most sensitive point.
“Elenor’s birthday is coming up. I know you’ve been cooking something up in that secret laboratory of yours. What did you prepare for your little granddaughter?”
At the sound of his granddaughter’s name, all of Soren’s irritability vanished, replaced by a childlike excitement.
“Of course I did! I built her a custom motorcycle, Omar! Elenor’s had a special fascination with motorcycles for the past few years. But I didn’t make anything ordinary—thanks to its special structure, it can switch modes and fly through the air, traverse any terrain on land, and move both on and under water! It has a completely silent ‘Ghost Mode,’ and a roaring sound mode when needed. With its specialized wheel mechanism, it can even climb vertical walls like a spider! It’s slightly bulkier than standard bikes, but its speed… ah, its speed comfortably reaches five hundred kilometers per hour—and with the nitro module, it can shatter even that limit!”
Soren continued without taking a breath.
“Safety is at the highest level; the bike only responds to Elenor’s biological signature. It has a voice-command-controlled semi-artificial intelligence autopilot—Elenor just presses a button on her phone, and no matter where it is, the bike comes to her as if it were teleported! I also installed a ‘Spatial Compression Field’ in the storage compartment. It’s not as large as a standard room, but it can hold enough supplies to feed an army! It has three different energy sources—solar, liquid fuel, and pure mana stones… Plus hidden weapon systems and—”
Omar’s initially smiling face turned chalk-white as Soren went deeper into the details.
“WAIT—WAIT! HOLD ON A SECOND, SOREN!”
Soren frowned, irritated at having his masterpiece interrupted.
“What? What is it now?”
Omar asked in sheer horror:
“Weapon systems? Climbing sheer walls? Five hundred kilometers per hour and a storage space the size of a room? YOU CRAZY OLD MAN! Are you giving your granddaughter a gift, or are you sending her on a classified mission!? This isn’t a motorcycle—this is a war machine!”
Soren paused for a moment, thought about it, then shrugged.
“I don’t think I’m exaggerating, Omar. This world is a very, very dangerous place for my small, innocent granddaughter. I must prepare her for everything.”
This time, Omar’s face darkened in disbelief.
“Soren… that girl is twenty-three years old. She’s an adult woman!”
Soren nodded solemnly, his eyes filled with an unshakable grandfatherly protectiveness.
“Yes, you’re right. She’s still very small, very young, and very vulnerable. I worry about her deeply…”
Omar fell silent, unable to find the right words. Soren could only see his granddaughter on rare occasions, relying entirely on Omar for news about her. Though this separation was necessary for Elenor’s safety, her absence—having lived with Omar’s family since the age of four—had turned into a constant, aching longing within Soren. His love for the granddaughter he could never get enough of had gradually evolved into an extreme, obsessive protectiveness.
After a while, Omar’s curiosity got the better of him.
“Alright, I understand everything else… but why install weapon systems on a motorcycle?”
Soren, who had been watching the city through the window with a weary expression, instantly came to life as if a switch had been flipped. He loved talking about his inventions, but when it came to the things he made for his granddaughter, nothing else mattered. Where else could he boast so proudly about that “most beautiful of beauties,” the granddaughter whose existence he hid from the world?
“Obviously as a precaution against monsters and the most dangerous entities!” he said, gesturing excitedly.
“What if she ends up in the middle of a Rift rupture? What if she accidentally falls into a Rift? I must be prepared, Omar—for every possible scenario!”
Omar conceded the logic; Nevarion had become a perilous place. Still, one phrase Soren had used caught his attention.
“I get the monsters, but when you say ‘the most dangerous entities,’ what exactly do you mean?”
Soren looked at Omar with such disdain—an expression that screamed how can you not understand this?—that Omar briefly questioned himself. Then Soren’s voice changed abruptly; it was no longer excited, but icy cold and lethal.
“Isn’t it obvious? Men.”
The shock hit Omar so hard that he nearly slammed the accelerator and crashed into the trunk of the car ahead. He slammed the brakes instead; fortunately, traffic was crawling, so they escaped with nothing more than a violent jolt.
“WHAT!?” Omar shouted, eyes wide.
Soren had been thrown forward in his seat; he clearly hadn’t expected that reaction.
“Why are you so surprised? My granddaughter is very beautiful, alright! Snow-white silky hair, ruby-red eyes, flawless pale skin, and an extremely attractive figure! Those hungry dogs called men will absolutely target her! I must protect my precious granddaughter from those predators!”
Omar shook his head in disbelief.
“Soren, she’s not a child anymore—she’s a young, beautiful woman! Of course one day she’ll have a lover, she’ll fall in love!”
A murderous glint flashed in Soren’s eyes. He slowly opened his hand in the air; a small fireball crackled into existence at the center of his palm, radiating intense heat. He hissed each word through clenched teeth, deliberately and clearly:
“SHE. IS. STILL. A. SMALL. DEFENSELESS. GIRL!”
Omar, long accustomed to Soren’s theatrical outbursts, didn’t even flinch. He continued staring blankly at the road. Soren’s obsession with Elenor had long ceased to be a matter of scientific curiosity—it had become a full-blown pathology.
“You can’t keep her under your wings forever, Soren,” Omar said calmly.
“The only thing you can do is prepare her for life.”
Soren fell silent. The fireball in his palm shrank like a dying candle flame and vanished. At that moment, the cars behind them began honking impatiently. Omar waved apologetically out the open window and eased the SUV forward again.
This time, Soren’s voice was somber and mature.
“I know… I know that very well. That’s why I’m making all these inventions. Even if one day I leave this world, those ‘dangerous’ machines I leave behind will continue to protect her. I won’t die until I’m certain of that.”
Omar let out a deep sigh. The car fell into silence for a while. Soren tapped his smart watch, opening its holographic display, and began reviewing the complex data arrays of his latest research—soothing the storm in his mind with numbers. Omar, trying to lighten the heavy mood, tapped the music system and blasted a loud rap track.
After twenty minutes of noisy yet oddly peaceful travel, they arrived at their destination.
The SUV glided through the garden gates of the imposing, five-story Lotus Palace, a vast structure that rose like a technological fortress. Built from a fusion of steel, stone, glass, and microscopic technological refinements, it represented the absolute pinnacle of modern architecture. The palace was designed in an angular “U” shape, its open side facing the city center in unwavering loyalty. Atop the structure rose seven magnificent primary domes, surrounded by several smaller ones—at first glance appearing to be mere aesthetic symbols of authority. In truth, they embodied Turanya’s principle of “be ready for war in the name of peace”; concealed within each dome were heavy-class Tier-4 cannons and advanced anti-air systems, powered by magical energy and refined through Soren’s genius.
The palace garden, in stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world, existed in a state of absolute calm and order. Several artificial lakes breathed life into the garden with their crystal-clear waters, while rare species of exotic fish glided silently through the natural-looking channels that connected them. The garden was adorned with carefully selected flowers and a wide variety of trees, yet this vegetation did not form a chaotic wilderness; instead, it presented a tableau of serenity arranged with mathematical precision.
Around the area, soldiers stood guard, clad in black combat armor. The dominant tone of the armor was matte dark gray. The chest plate was slightly convex and featured a layered internal structure designed to absorb incoming impact. Across its surface ran fine, narrow heat-dissipation channels—these were not decorative. When a soldier ran for extended periods, they expelled internal heat outward. The helmet had no openings on its front face; it completely sealed the wearer’s head. The only visible feature was a thin, single-piece visor shaped like a sharp “V.” The visor was slightly recessed to prevent it from shattering easily under impact. It had no external illumination and did not reflect light; it was simply a dark panel capable of projecting data from the inside.
The shoulder plates were not oversized; they were kept compact to avoid restricting movement. Their edges were rounded, yet they retained a solid, durable appearance. There were no visible artificial “muscle fibers” on the arms; everything was entirely mechanical and minimalist, with armor plates and underlying cables concealed in a low-profile configuration. The arm armor consisted entirely of plating, and hidden within the internal mechanisms of the arms were concealed blades. The leg armor was segmented to prevent friction during movement. The upper section was rigid plating, the middle section flexible fiber material, and the lower section composed once again of shock-absorbing hardened shields. The soles were designed with high-grip structures to prevent slipping when falling. In short, the design was purely practical.
This armor was designated as the Atil-7 Armor. It was powerful enough to carry loads approaching one ton, effectively turning its wearer into a super-soldier, while simultaneously enhancing speed and agility. Its outer layer was enveloped in a thin electromagnetic shield. This was merely one of the standard armors of the era. The soldiers carried infantry-class assault rifles, while at their waists they bore a sidearm and a lightweight, slightly curved sword whose cutting edge consisted of an energy beam. Each soldier wore a tactical belt constructed using miniaturization technology; though compact, its capacity was limited. The belt had eight compartments: three housed magazines for the primary weapon, totaling twenty-one magazines; two compartments contained sixteen magazines for the handgun; one compartment held explosives; another contained rations; and the final compartment stored medical aid kits. This standard armor had been developed for ground forces and was used by the infantry units of both Turanya and Azera.
Beneath the ground, within a massive underground hangar, three Mekas stood ready for combat at all times. One was a defensive unit, while the other two were assault types. The defensive-class heavy armored meka resembled a colossal mobile fortress. It stood approximately fifty meters tall and weighed around fifty thousand tons. Its most striking visual feature was its thick, angular armor plating, designed entirely for defense. Its overall coloration was matte dark green.
The torso was wide and massive, its arms thick and powerful, each arm bearing a platform capable of deploying energy shields. Its shoulders were composed of thick, slanted armor blocks, within which six-barreled rocket launchers were embedded. The head unit was small—intentionally so—appearing almost undersized compared to the enormous body, deliberately designed to avoid becoming an easy target. The eye section consisted of a single, massive horizontal V-shaped sensor panel.
The legs were thick, like the foundations of a building. The joints were not exposed; all were concealed beneath internal protective plating. This meka was not built for running—it was fully clad in heavy armor for defensive purposes, designed to function as a fortress capable of halting enemy mekas and monsters alike. Two massive energy-cooling radiators were mounted on its back, essential to prevent overheating. High-output kinetic barrier emitters were embedded in the chest, while pressure-based shockwave modules designed to repel monsters were installed in the knee joints. Rocket launcher systems were also mounted along its back. This meka was designated the TULGA-M2 Heavy-Class Defensive Unit.
The other meka stood thirty meters tall and weighed ten thousand tons—a mid-tier assault-class unit. Compared to the first, it possessed a slimmer, more agile structure. It had been designed for greater speed and maneuverability during combat. Its torso was narrower, and the chest section sloped slightly forward, engineered to deflect incoming fire. On its sides were two large air intake and exhaust channels, as this meka generated significantly more heat—it could run, jump, fly, and engage in close combat.
The arms were powerful but not bulky; rather than appearing muscle-bound, they were segmented like rows of mechanical tendons. The shoulders were angled to increase the range of motion, and small hydraulic reinforcement modules were installed at the elbows. The legs were long, segmented, and optimized for speed.
The knee joints angled slightly outward, allowing both rapid sprinting and short-distance leaps. The foot structure was not wide or heavy. Mounted along its sides was a primary combat assault rifle scaled to its size. For close combat, the pilot chose their preferred weapon—either an energy-edged axe or a sword. The meka also carried an energy blade proportionate to its dimensions. This unit was designated the ALAZ-11 Assault Unit.
The Mekas were a defense doctrine born of desperation, brought to life approximately two hundred and twenty years ago by the brilliant minds of Turanya and Azera. Although the Awakened were the most effective weapons against monsters thanks to their supernatural abilities, it was impossible for them to protect every square centimeter of a colossal planet like Nevarion. Moreover, when a major rift breach occurred, it could take hours for the nearest S-rank hunter to reach the area—and within that span of time, colossal monsters were capable of erasing entire cities from the map. To respond to this overwhelming destruction, humanity made a decisive choice: they would build monsters of metal of their own.
The success of the first Meka prototypes sent shockwaves across the world, and other empires, unwilling to fall behind in this new balance of power, entered a ruthless race to produce their own mechanical giants.
Omar pulled the SUV up to the entrance of the Lotus Palace right on time. The moment the vehicle came to a halt, an imposing officer clad in Atil-7 armor stepped forward. Although the visor of his helmet was closed, the gleaming rank insignia on his shoulders and the detailed engravings across his armor made it clear that he was no ordinary guard. The voice that echoed from the helmet’s integrated speakers carried a faint metallic resonance, yet it sounded sincere.
“Professor Soren, Mr. Omar. It is a great honor to welcome you back to palace grounds.”
As the two stepped out of the vehicle, Soren shoved his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat, wearing an expression of visible weariness. Omar, on the other hand, approached the officer with a broad smile and shook his hand.
“It’s good to see you again, Bora. If the gates of Lotus are entrusted to a soldier like you, we can rest easy.”
Bora disengaged the pressure lock on his helmet; with a soft hiss of released air, he tucked it under his arm. His young, resolute, and handsome face emerged into the daylight.
“You seem a bit out of sorts, Professor,” Bora remarked, glancing at Soren’s stern expression.
Soren shrugged, his gaze drifting across the palace architecture.
“Just my latest research and these endless bureaucratic meetings… Everything moves painfully slowly, Bora. Is the Emperor available?”
“He’s expecting you, sir. You may proceed directly to the conference chamber,” Bora replied, turning to lead the way.
As they moved through the palace’s vast corridors—marble interwoven seamlessly with advanced technology—Omar couldn’t resist teasing his old friend.
“So, Bora? Have you at least managed to find that mysterious woman who’s captured your heart?”
Bora shook his head with a bitter smile.
“Not yet. I’m a soldier, Mr. Omar. My life is split between drills, patrols, and rift watch duties along the borders. Even if I do meet someone, no one can endure this tempo or the fact that I’m constantly on duty. Most relationships end before they truly begin, undone by distance alone.”
Omar chuckled and gave Bora a light tap on the shoulder.
“That’s on you, my friend! After the Awakening, the state increased the number of soldiers so much that they doubled your leave time. And yet you still volunteer for extra duty and sleep in the barracks.”
Bora let out a deep breath; unwavering loyalty to his profession shone clearly in his eyes.
“This is my life, Mr. Omar. Being a soldier was my childhood dream. Every second I spend inside this armor feels like I’m paying my debt to this planet. I’m a First Lieutenant now, and very few people my age rise through the ranks this quickly. Maybe when I make Captain, I’ll finally allow myself some personal time.”
“I told you to just call me Omar,” Omar said with a laugh.
“So what’s the goal after Captain? General?”
Bora hesitated, watching the training units in the garden through the corridor’s glass panels.
“I’m not sure… Being assigned to a desk job and waiting on promotions after becoming Captain doesn’t suit me. Honestly… I’m seriously conflicted about whether I should join the Special Forces.”
Omar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Are you certain? The Special Forces are where lunatics with questionable sanity and no sense of pain congregate. Their training is described as ‘hell,’ but in my opinion, it’s worse than hell. We’re talking about the most elite—and most brutalized—branch of the military.”
Bora smiled calmly.
“It’s not a challenge I can’t overcome.”
Soren, who had been walking silently until then, finally joined the conversation. His voice carried its usual authoritative, technical weight.
“Do not underestimate the Special Forces—especially the Wolf Squad and the Sword Squad, Bora. Those men represent the absolute pinnacle of non-Awakened humans on Nevarion. They are not merely strong; they are masters of tactical intelligence and equipment utilization. With the right strategy, they can confront, an A-rank Awakened on their own.”
Soren sighed as he continued, his thoughts drifting toward the armor designs of those units.
“I personally designed their armor using our most advanced technology. I witnessed their performance firsthand during a monster incursion—disciplined and effective enough to astonish even S-rank hunters. However…”
He paused and looked at Bora with grave seriousness.
“Those armors are not indestructible. Once the armor sustains heavy damage, it risks becoming a dead weight on the soldier rather than life-saving equipment. When ammunition runs dry, they’re forced into close combat—but even swords forged from the strongest alloys on the market can shatter quickly against certain A-rank monsters. If I could fundamentally solve the issues of energy storage, ammunition capacity, and—most importantly—construction materials, everything would be very different.”
Omar asked with clear curiosity,
“If the potential is this great, why aren’t we allocating more resources to develop it further?”
Soren answered as though explaining a lesson to a student.
“Because we are already at the very limits of current world technology, Omar. I used runes, ancient enchantments, and the rarest metals available. But the problem is this: the microscopic mechanical craftsmanship inside the armor is so delicate that not every metal can endure the strain. Use the wrong conductor, and the entire system turns to ash within seconds. Yes, there is an energy shield surrounding the armor—but it drastically increases energy consumption, which is why it’s typically operated below fifty percent capacity. We’ve hit a technological wall.”
At those words, both Omar and Soren were reminded of that unfinished secret project from two years ago—the one abandoned in a remote laboratory. It was an armor project crafted from scales and bones harvested from a genuine dragon corpse. If completed, it would have been the most durable equipment in Nevarion’s history, with unparalleled mana conductivity. But just as it was about to enter the testing phase, a massive SS-rank rift breach erupted in the region, throwing everything into chaos. The laboratory now lay within a lost zone overrun by monsters, and reclaiming the only intact dragon specimens they possessed would have been tantamount to sacrificing an entire army.
The questions swirling in Bora’s mind reflected the greatest concerns of a soldier on the battlefield.
“If the Special Forces are really that capable,” Bora said as the echo of their footsteps rang through the corridor,
“then why don’t they enter rifts above B-rank and clear them from the inside? Why do we still leave everything entirely to the initiative of the Awakened?”
Soren let out a deep sigh, burdened by the harsh truth underlying that question.
“The reality inside rifts, Bora, is far more complex than what you see from the outside. The moment you step into a rift, you have no way of knowing what kind of ecosystem you’ll encounter, what the chemical composition of the atmosphere will be, or even how the laws of physics function within it. But the greatest problem of all is logistics.”
Soren continued, gesturing as if sketching an invisible schematic in the air.
“Even though the armors are engineering marvels, there is no harbor inside a rift where they can replenish energy, resupply ammunition, or undergo maintenance in the event of even the smallest malfunction. You cannot transport armor maintenance platforms into a rift. And even if you somehow could, the energy recharge cycles of those platforms take hours—whereas inside a rift, every second is the razor-thin line between life and death. For these reasons, and dozens more too numerous to list, sending ordinary soldiers—those who are not Awakened—into A-rank or higher rifts is equivalent to sealing them inside coffins.”
Bora’s shoulders sagged slightly as he exhaled under the weight of that reality.
“I see… It’s the same situation for Mecha units too, isn’t it?”
This time, Omar intervened, nodding his head.
“Yes and no, Bora. The energy issue for Mecha units has largely been resolved—their cores can sustain them for months. However, the real obstacle is the entry points. Rift entrances remain extremely narrow until the moment of full breach; it’s impossible to force a fifty-meter TULGA through them. And even if they could enter, once their ammunition runs dry or their armor sustains heavy damage during the relentless combat inside, they become irreversible piles of metal.”
Bora murmured in disappointment,
“So humanity is still dependent on you Awakened…”
At that bitter remark, Soren and Omar exchanged a glance and smiled faintly. Soren spoke with that unmistakable confidence of a true genius in his voice.
“For now, it may seem that way, Bora. But don’t worry—I’m working day and night to tear down these so-called ‘technological walls.’ Within a few years, I will bring forth technologies that will allow even a non-Awakened soldier to stand face to face with a dragon.”
Bora looked at Soren’s profile with an expression that blended admiration and hope. Everyone knew who Soren was—the singular intellect who had catapulted the world forward by three entire technological eras in a single leap. If current metallurgy and energy science did not restrain Soren’s mind, humanity would not have to rely so heavily on the Awakened.
The trio finally reached the massive, imposing door at the end of the corridor. Standing guard before it were two sentinels clad in the heavy-class variants of Atil-7 armor, motionless as statues.
This was the presence chamber of the Emperor of Turanya.
