Chapter 95
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: The Royal Indoor Racetrack
“This turns out to be a royal indoor racetrack!”
“Kirin, White Tiger.” The emperor walked over and patted the two sleek racers in satisfaction. The Bixi on his wrist beeped twice, and at the same time, the dome lights on both racers flashed, as if a few 3S mechs were greeting each other.
“The virtual spirit bolts for Bixi and Gryphon were direct copies of the Alliance’s Phoenix, but Kirin and White Tiger were independently developed by the Empire. They completely abandoned neural bands in favor of optoelectronic transmission and simulated consciousness control, which greatly reduces the difficulty of piloting. This has a huge advantage: even people with lower mental thresholds can pilot these advanced mechs. If this technology becomes widespread, the Empire’s mech legions will dominate the entire universe in the future.”
Celia circled the racers once, rubbing his chin as he asked, “They must cost a fortune, right?”
“Price is indeed the main reason they can’t be popularized…” The emperor pondered how to describe their cost, then nodded affirmatively after a moment. “They’re twelve point four six times the cost of a Gryphon.”
Gryphon: “…”
Gryphon poked its head out of Celia’s pocket, angrily raising a fist in protest. “Nonsense! How can the value of a smart and adorable little mech like me be measured in money?!”
You’re the exception… The emperor silently turned his head away. Gryphon’s virtual spirit bolt was originally 3S-grade, but after being carried close to Celia’s body for so long and luxuriously powered by pure marrow fluid, no one could measure its current level anymore. They only knew its performance was indistinguishable from a human’s—possibly exceeding the upper limit of AI ratings.
But the emperor certainly wouldn’t show that in front of the dumb Gryphon. He just shrugged regretfully at it.
“Nonsense! Favoritism!” Gryphon wailed and dove back into Celia’s pocket.
Celia casually patted his pants pocket to comfort it, but Heinrich shot it a victorious look and asked, “Fancy a race?”
“How would it work?”
“Mech racers are powered by mental energy. The higher the mental threshold and the more proficient the technique, the faster the speed. Each of us picks a racer, starts from the track’s beginning, goes through the entire course, and returns here. Whoever’s faster wins.” The emperor flashed a somewhat wicked smile. “What do you say?”
“…” Celia narrowed his eyes slightly, staring thoughtfully at Heinrich for a long moment before saying, “Sounds good… What’s the wager?”
Though his momentum was strong, Heinrich knew his chances of winning were slim. Rather than asking about the wager, Celia was essentially asking how much blood he was willing to spill for this race. The emperor thus waved his hand extravagantly. “Darling, what’s mine isn’t yours? Take whatever you want! —Oh, right, not Empire assets. The Empire belongs to the people.”
Celia teasingly gave him a thumbs-up, signaling his surrender—the gesture was remarkably similar to Karyan’s. His gaze then swept between the two racers before he walked up to the black one and patted the door. “Kirin?”
Kirin cautiously flashed its dome light.
Celia opened the door and sat inside. “I’ll take this one.”
The racer’s interior was actually a compact mech cockpit, with no steering wheel—only a helmet and brain-link device. Celia slipped into the form-fitting protective suit, zipping it up to his chin, then pulled on ultra-tight black leather gloves and flexed his fingers. Just then, Heinrich strode over and knocked on his window. “Empire’s top mech intelligence! Way stronger than Gryphon!”
Gryphon’s head shot out. “I’m gonna regicide the emperor—!!”
Celia shoved it back into his pocket and donned the helmet-style brain-link device. The scenery before his eyes shifted instantly. His view moved from inside the racer to the outside track, and his surroundings turned into a vast hall—he’d merged his consciousness with the mech, becoming one with it!
With a thought from Celia, the racer began powering up, emitting a deep, powerful rumble!
—Impressive indeed. This virtual consciousness tech is at least twenty years ahead of the Alliance… Celia frowned slightly, only to hear a calm voice in the depths of his mind. “I am indeed the Empire’s top mech intelligence.”
“…Kirin?”
“Greetings, Marshal Celia,” Kirin replied. “I have a favor to ask: that dumb Gryphon might drag down my IQ. Could you toss it out the window later?”
Celia: “…”
·
The emperor settled into White Tiger’s cockpit. His first move was to extend his palm; the Bixi bracelet transformed into a light brain and leaped onto it. “Your Majesty?”
“Run a blood test for me.”
Bixi glanced at the emperor’s expression and pricked his wrist artery with a probe. Seconds later, the medical system spat out the analysis. Bixi said cautiously, “It’s definitely inhibitors—the extra-strong kind.”
…If he took inhibitors, that means no pregnancy, right…? If conception had succeeded, an Omega’s pheromones would naturally change, and no drug could suppress them…
He’d had Gryphon test earlier so Celia wouldn’t feel distrusted, but both knew the truth: when it came to children, they were hunter and prey in a chase full of deception—more like a hunt, really.
So why no child? Two one-in-a-million chances both failing was too coincidental… Maybe there had been one, but Celia…?
No, no—the emperor immediately dismissed the thought. No one knew better than him how soft-hearted Celia was. Fortunately, his strength let others call it the mercy of a compassionate powerhouse. On an ordinary person, it’d be severe Madonna syndrome… By Celia’s style, even if he took emergency contraceptives right away, he’d never bring himself to abort a living child.
So, maybe emergency pills…?
But that shouldn’t be—by the timing, they wouldn’t have worked anyway…
“What’re you thinking about, Heinrich?” Celia’s voice suddenly came through the earpiece.
“Hm? Oh,” the emperor stood and put on his helmet. “You ready?”
A massive timer rose at the track entrance as both racers emitted low rumbles. The red second hand counted down: nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two—
Heinrich and Celia both drew a breath.
Zero!
The instant the second hand hit zero, a deafening bang rang out. The black and white racers shot forward like arrows!
In that moment, both Heinrich and Celia displayed absolute prowess. The racers tore through the first ninety-degree turn neck-and-neck, then howled past, leaving only blurred afterimages!
The trackside counter flashed rapidly, red letters showing acceleration from the bend to straightaway exceeding 500 km/h—the number still climbing. Their mental thresholds rose steadily too, starting even. Heinrich hit one hundred a few seconds before Celia, but after surpassing 150, Celia’s value surged, overtaking and breaking 200!
“Thrusters to max!” Kirin barked. “Prepare for liftoff!”
Whoosh—a sharp whine as both racers rocketed upward, instantly climbing to a track perpendicular to the ground!
The terrain here twisted wildly, with 360-degree irregular flips at every turn. The hover-racers, topping 1,000 km/h, streaked like lightning bolts across the sky. Cameras barely caught the long trails of smoke they left. White Tiger and Kirin blasted through a six-loop helix bend almost simultaneously. As they plunged from the heights, Kirin suddenly accelerated; White Tiger roared from inside. “—Opponent’s mental threshold breaks 300!”
Heinrich’s pupils contracted. In the blur of speed, he glimpsed the gauge: 293!
—That number was already elite. Before marking Celia, his own max had been 264—enough to dominate the Empire.
Yet now Celia broke 300 effortlessly while he hovered in the high 290s. That 7-8% gap seemed small, but he knew he was nearing his limit!
He was maxed out—Celia wasn’t!
White Tiger thundered on like a meteor. Heinrich even felt the fierce wind slicing his skin with faint stings. —Was he really losing like this? By such a razor-thin margin? His opponent was Gavin Celia, and losing at near-300% was honorable, but…
But he knew he didn’t want that.
Celia lacked for nothing except family, lovers, friends, personal wealth, freedom, space. His emotions were barren, but he never lacked defeated foes or admiring gazes from below.
His followers chased him forever, but Heinrich had never seen himself as one. He wanted to be like Celia, to speak as equals, to make him face his beliefs squarely. They still clashed, but if he could topple Celia, he’d prove his path right—erasing those ideological rifts.
Heinrich gritted his teeth. In that instant, fierce conviction overpowered everything. His brain screamed with unbearable pain as mental power shattered his limit, forcing a savage roar!
Boom—!
White Tiger surged, catching Kirin’s tail in a mighty roar!
“Marshal!” Kirin bellowed!
Heinrich ignored the gauge. At this life-or-death speed, all scenery blurred into dazzling light-arrows; even the Kirin ahead faded from view. He fixed on his path, pouring every ounce of mind and will into it—nothing else existed.
He didn’t even notice he wasn’t falling further behind—just half a car length!
The race was past halfway, and they’d stayed half a length apart!
“Gavin!” From inside Kirin, even Gryphon burst out. “Accelerate! Accelerate! White Tiger’s just 12 milliseconds back! Accelerate—!”
At the same time, White Tiger roared: “57 seconds to finish! Entering straightaway! Prepare full sprint!!”
The racers’ acceleration merged into one thunderous roar, synced to the millisecond. Black-and-white meteors dove side-by-side from the sky as the trackside timer counted down: ten, nine, eight, seven…
At the peak of mental focus, Heinrich’s mind flashed fragmented images: as a guard, forever gazing at Marshal Celia’s white uniform back; Phoenix’s brilliant stand against the solar storm at Venus Fortress; its final smoky plunge into Proxima’s red deserts…
Memories flickered like a montage, but the second hand barely moved.
Then, the racers plummeted, blasting across the finish line!
Ding!!
The system chimed through the channel: “Race complete. Mech Kirin wins. Racers, reduce speed!”
Still lost… Heinrich slowly halted White Tiger at the track’s end. The earpiece reported: “Mech Kirin: 3 minutes 9 seconds 434 ms, peak mental threshold 309%. Mech White Tiger: 3 minutes 9 seconds 422 ms, peak 307%. Kirin wins by 12 ms!”
Only 12 ms behind?
Did that mean in the second half, his mental threshold growth matched Celia’s?!
Heinrich was stunned. He shoved open the door; his legs nearly buckled on landing—mental overuse had taken its toll. Staggering against the racer, exhaustion gripped his body, but fulfillment and triumph filled his spirit. He panted slowly, feeling energy trickle back into his limbs.
“Celia?” Heinrich strode toward Kirin, lips curving upward unconsciously. “Congrats on winning, but you only beat me by 12 ms—”
He yanked open the front hood, then froze mid-bend.
—Celia was pale and drenched in sweat, one hand braced on the dash, the other clamped over his mouth with veins bulging. He was curled in agony!
Heinrich’s face drained of color. He scooped Celia from the cockpit, furious. “What’s wrong?! What happened?! Bixi!”
Bixi’s light brain shot out like an arrow, ready to form a med pod around Celia. But suddenly, Celia shoved it away, followed by an uncontrollable:
“Urp!”
The emperor: “……………”
Heinrich stood there, twitching, as Celia puked all over him without warning.
Silence.
Dead silence.
“Sorry, I’m not… urp!” Celia bent over and heaved again, retching until even the last bit of stomach water was gone. Only then did he feel a bit better. He waved weakly, staggering back to lean against the door, utterly spent. “Bit of motion sickness. The turns were too sharp… How’re you? Need to wash up?”
“…” A hundred mythical beasts thundered through Heinrich’s heart. He snapped, “How can you get motion sickness?!”
·
But Celia did have motion sickness—badly. Even carried by Heinrich to the track’s changing room, he was still dazed and listless.
Heinrich didn’t bother changing himself first. He grabbed the med kit, found a soothing agent for Celia, watched him down it with water, then forced a cup of saline-sugar solution on him. No need for a med pod with something this minor. The emperor personally laid Celia on the changing room’s huge sofa, propped with a comfy pillow, confirmed no more nausea, then turned to change.
The smell wasn’t too bad, and numbness had set in from the ordeal, so Heinrich lazily skipped a shower—just wiped his toned upper body, grabbed Aaron’s old jacket left there, and hurried back to Celia.
The Alliance marshal lay curled on the vast sofa, color finally returning to his cheeks. Seeing Heinrich, he hooked his lips in faint amusement. “Where’s my prize?”
“…” That line choked back a thousand words. After a beat, Heinrich deadpanned, “12 ms counts as a win?”
“A microsecond counts. Where’s my prize?”
Heinrich’s powerful legs strode over the coffee table to the sofa, plopping down without ceremony. He stared at Celia with pride-tinged reluctance. Anyone could guess his thoughts. Sure enough, after a long pause, he murmured, “Only 12 ms…”
12 ms. 2% mental threshold gap. A little more effort, and he’d have won?
That victory—unprecedented in a century—had been so close, within reach!
Seeing the faint hunger in the emperor’s eyes, Celia finally looked away, sighing almost inaudibly. “You’ve improved massively. That surge isn’t just from the mark. Keep honing your mental power at this rate, and it won’t be long before your threshold surpasses mine.”
How long to close a 2% gap?
—It’d take no time at all!
2% wasn’t even a gap—sleep, food, mood could cause that in humans. Machines often couldn’t detect it; it was normal variance.
So the emperor ignored the “won’t be long”—subconsciously deeming it Celia saving face, excusing himself.
The young Alliance marshal clearly saw through it but didn’t call it out, just smiling faintly. “But that’s the future. Right now, I won. So what’ll you offer to please me?”