A day later, in the resting area.
Another batch of players stumbled through the teleportation gate, their faces filled with confusion and curiosity as they entered this unfamiliar world. A pair of veteran players had just begun organizing the newcomers for a “genestealer hunting tour” when Archer’s appearance immediately drew everyone’s attention.
After all, this was the first time players had seen someone wearing the distinctive crimson robes of a Tech-Priest in a public area.
Archer carried a metal case in one hand as he walked steadily toward the crowd.
“Come on, everyone. Take a look.”
He set the case down and opened it, revealing a complete set of newly crafted Carapace Armor.
The armor was matte black, its sharp lines simple yet intimidating, giving off a cold sense of practicality and power.
The surrounding players instantly crowded around him.
“What the hell is that?”
“Wait—does this game actually have class advancement?”
“How did you become a Tech-Priest?”
“Can players change classes now?”
“Carapace Armor specifically modified for players,” Archer explained calmly as he lifted out each component. “Its primary purpose is to facilitate combat drug injection.”
He paused briefly before addressing the second question. His expression twitched ever so slightly, as though recalling something traumatic.
“As for becoming a Tech-Priest…” he said flatly, “I had to solve a full set of philosophical and mathematical examinations, spend two hours conducting a machine-spirit communion ritual, and personally design this armor set from scratch.”
He looked down at the armor for a moment.
“And after all that, I’m still only an apprentice.”
The surrounding players fell silent for a second.
Then—
“HOLY SHIT.”
“You actually have to study math to change classes?”
“Nope. Absolutely not. I’ll stay a cannon fodder grunt forever.”
Several players instinctively rubbed their arms as though physically intimidated by the idea.
Archer coughed lightly, steering the conversation back on track.
“So. Does anyone want to test the armor?”
“You must already have cybernetic modification and a brain-computer interface installed. Once connected, the system allows automatic stimulant injection through thought control.”
He paused.
“In simple terms—it turns you into a temporary superhuman.”
“I’ll do it!”
Name immediately stepped forward, practically vibrating with excitement. Ever since discovering that injection drugs could drastically enhance combat performance, he had become obsessed with combat augmentation.
“Take off the vest,” Archer said. “I’ll help you equip it.”
He carefully removed the armor components from the case one by one. But instead of immediately assembling them, he first pulled out a thick manual titled Machine Spirit Pacification and Equipment Maintenance Compendium from his storage pouch.
Following the diagrams and runic annotations with almost ritualistic precision, he began the assembly process.
Soft hydraulic hisses echoed through the resting area.
Metal locks clicked into place one after another.
Archer fitted the chestplate first, then the arm guards, leg armor, and finally the helmet. Occasionally, he tapped a connection node lightly with his finger, as if listening for feedback from the machine spirit—or perhaps simply ensuring every connection aligned perfectly.
The armor itself was minimalist in design. Matte black. No decorative insignias. No unnecessary ornamentation.
A compact backpack unit was mounted behind the armor, while the helmet’s gas mask connected directly into the filtration system.
Finally—
Click.
The armor sealed completely.
Name inhaled sharply.
Through the brain-computer interface, he could suddenly feel the armor responding to him, like an extension of his own nervous system.
“How is it?” Archer asked. “Any abnormalities?”
Name rolled his shoulders experimentally. The metal joints emitted a low grinding sound.
“A little heavy,” he admitted.
“That’s normal,” Archer replied. “Due to limited resources, this version is heavily simplified. No communication suite. No automatic targeting system. Life-support functions are reduced to basic air filtration.”
He tapped the backpack unit.
“All available power is reserved for fluid injection and circulation.”
He looked directly at Name.
“Now activate the injector.”
Name focused.
Several sharp stings suddenly pierced his back.
Cold liquid surged into his body under immense pressure.
Then—
Power exploded through him.
The heaviness vanished instantly, replaced by a terrifying sense of lightness and strength. His muscles tightened with explosive force, every movement suddenly feeling effortless.
His perception sharpened violently.
Dust drifting through the air became visible.
Distant whispers snapped into clarity.
His thoughts accelerated, cool and precise, processing information at astonishing speed.
For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had slowed down around him.
“How does it feel?” Archer’s voice sounded crystal clear in his ears.
Name slowly exhaled. Heat rolled from his breath.
“I feel…” He clenched his fist tightly.
“…amazing.”
Then he suddenly looked up, eyes blazing with excitement.
“Three people.”
He pointed at the surrounding veterans.
“Fight me.”
The crowd immediately erupted.
“Damn, he’s calling out three at once?”
“The drugs hit his ego harder than his muscles!”
“Seventh Squad, stop watching and go beat him up!”
Amid the laughter, three veteran players stepped into the open area at the center of the resting zone.
The surrounding players quickly backed away, forming a wide circle around them.
Everyone could tell this was about to become entertaining.
Archer raised a hand.
“Begin.”
The instant the signal was given, the three veterans felt their expressions change.
Name moved first.
No—
Exploded forward.
In less than a second, he crossed over fifteen meters like a charging predator.
The nearest player barely managed to react, instinctively crossing his arms to protect his chest.
A fist slammed into his guard.
CRACK.
The sound of breaking bone rang out immediately.
The player cried out as the impact hurled him backward, his arms visibly twisted out of shape.
The others instantly realized the difference in strength was overwhelming.
Fairness no longer mattered.
The second and third players rushed him simultaneously, attempting to restrain him through sheer numbers.
One locked onto Name’s leg despite the pain and chaos.
The other leapt toward his upper body, trying to pin his arms.
But under the enhancement drugs, Name’s strength had become monstrous.
He twisted violently.
The player clinging to his leg was kicked away instantly.
At the same time, Name drove an elbow backward into the second player’s temple.
The impact dropped him immediately.
But those few seconds had created an opening.
The third player seized it without hesitation.
His elbow came crashing toward Name’s neck with full force—a killing blow powerful enough to bend metal.
Yet the strike barely made Name flinch.
His neck tilted slightly.
Nothing more.
The third player’s eyes widened in horror.
The next moment, Name spun around like a whip.
His roundhouse kick slammed into the player’s chest.
The impact launched him across the resting area like a rag doll before he crashed heavily against the wall and collapsed to the floor.
Silence filled the room.
The entire fight had lasted less than eight seconds.