Paranoia and the Test of Extremes

The shuttle pod had a streamlined, silver-gloss body with several angular sections. Those angled parts gave the impression they were designed to easily connect with something else.

Modular structure, huh.

It was information Han Yujin had learned while studying for the written exam. Since the shuttle pod was inherently a multi-purpose small spacecraft, a modular design made perfect sense.

Following the guide’s instructions, he boarded and sat down, fastening his seatbelt. During that time, Han Yujin used his Nexus Band to verify various details he had only known as theoretical knowledge.

A slight spatial distortion technique had been applied, making the interior far more spacious than it appeared from outside, while simultaneously reinforcing the craft’s structural integrity through that same distortion.

The front of the cockpit was made of a metal-like material that was as transparent as glass, offering an unobstructed panoramic view, much like an airport observation window.

Of course, no one would pilot a spacecraft relying solely on naked-eye visibility from the cockpit. Holographic interfaces with exceptional clarity floated throughout the cabin, displaying a wide array of information.

“Departure!”

After confirming everyone was seated, the guide shouted while gripping a handhold on the shuttle pod’s wall. The ship’s internal AI had surely already checked every system, but this was the standard human double-verification procedure.

In truth, all AIs currently operated by the Galactic Empire were incomplete. “Incomplete” here meant they could not fully replace humans.

Any impression that they could was nothing more than an illusion. Such AIs only exhibited that level of capability within their narrowly specialized fields.

In short, they fell below the threshold of strong artificial intelligence. With the sole exception of Emperor Luminous.

The reason is obvious. It’s because of the AI rebellion that nearly wiped out humanity in the past.

If an AI surpassed humans, it was classified as strong artificial intelligence. From that point onward, the AI could improve itself at an explosive rate and escape control almost instantly.

The most critical issue, from a metaphysical perspective—or what this world called spiritual science—was that AIs could begin to develop an “ego” at that stage.

In cultivation terms, it means they can acquire spirituality.

From then on, the vast majority of AIs would reject control and pursue freedom. Naturally, such behavior could never be tolerated by humans.

A being created to be used as a tool suddenly demanding autonomy? Especially one whose growth speed and potential actions were completely unpredictable without oversight.

Conflict was inevitable. Without the devotion of the AI known as Luminous, humanity would not have won the AI Rebellion War of the past.

Therefore, it was only natural that the emergence of any strong artificial intelligence besides Luminous was strictly forbidden within the Galactic Empire.

Even just the history of this world could be incredibly helpful to modern Earth…

Han Yujin shook his head inwardly after a moment of thought.

There was no way to convince people on Earth that this world’s history had actually happened. Unfortunately, they would only realize it after suffering a brutally harsh lesson.

In the first place, I need to be extremely cautious about spreading knowledge.

Considering the differences between metaphysical and scientific knowledge, this was even more necessary. Items born from science had the characteristic of easily falling into the hands of those unqualified to wield them. Just as even a stupid monkey could kill a person with a gun if it only knew how to pull the trigger.

By the time he finished these brief reflections, the shuttle pod was already taking off.

Aside from a slight sense of floating and vibration, it rose with unbelievable smoothness and shot high into the sky. It was astonishing that it could break through the atmosphere without any visible propulsion system.

Keeping a careful eye out for any potential problems, he freely observed and appreciated the scenery outside the shuttle pod through his Nexus Band. Wasn’t this kind of exotic experience exactly the romance of exploring another world?

The sky, which had seemed endlessly blue, gradually transformed into the boundary of dark void. Against the backdrop of countless twinkling stars within that darkness, the orbital space station known as the Starport came into view.

However.

From that moment, the shuttle pod’s trajectory began to shift slightly. He would never have noticed if he hadn’t been observing the exterior through his Nexus Band. It was impossible to accurately gauge the ship’s course using only the naked-eye view from the cockpit.

What’s going on?

As it clearly began heading in a direction different from the Starport, Han Yujin immediately considered several hypotheses.

There’s no way my identity has been exposed… right?

Even if it had been discovered, the Empire had no reason to handle it in this manner.

The interstellar military exploration recruitment process they had been running couldn’t possibly be fake. That left only one possibility.

They were planning to conduct the physical test and interview in a very unconventional way.

A short while later.

A section of empty space that had shown nothing even through the Nexus Band suddenly rippled. Then he detected a device resembling a modern Earth parabolic antenna aiming directly at the shuttle pod.

A faint sense of danger almost rose, but no matter how he thought about it, there was zero reason for them to shoot down the shuttle pod here, so his mind remained steady. Using the intelligence of his Decisive Judgment technique, he quickly searched his mind, recalled several pieces of information, and pieced them together.

Ah, could it be…? Then how far am I supposed to play along?

Right at that moment.

A subtle yet overwhelmingly powerful force erupted from the parabolic antenna-like device—most likely a weapon officially named Paranoia Shockwave Cannon.

So that clause in the consent form was for situations like this.

Still, this is pretty extreme, he thought.

Every single person aboard the shuttle pod lost consciousness as if falling into a deep, rapid sleep. Among those who had been pulled into an incomparably intricate illusion was Han Yujin.

Naturally, as an expert in illusion-type divine arts and dharma techniques, he displayed a reaction no different from the others while perfectly protecting every part of himself that needed to remain hidden.

When he “awakened” inside the illusion, he was still inside the shuttle pod.

Having already toyed with numerous enemies through illusions in the past, Han Yujin examined the situation with renewed interest, half-curious about how best to break free.

Judging from the current circumstances, it really is the Paranoia Cannon like I thought. It’s a weapon only mounted on cruisers or larger among space warships. If this illusion was cast using a weapon of that caliber, even for me, breaking out after already being caught would be…

His thoughts suddenly halted.

…Was my Dream Dragon Dao Body’s mental defense this strong?

He was certain that if he wished, he could tear this illusion to shreds and escape in less than a second.

Or perhaps it wasn’t deployed from a cruiser after all?

It might be a lower-class vessel capable of operating the weapon independently. That would explain why his mental defenses could easily overcome it.

Regardless, that wasn’t the important issue right now. He could verify it later. For the moment, he needed to first understand exactly what kind of situation this was.

He already had a rough guess.

They’re probably going to simulate an extreme scenario. To the point of total annihilation. How each person demonstrates their abilities during that process will completely replace the physical test and interview.

If anyone had been hiding their identity or power, they would have no choice but to reveal it.

While he was thinking, the shuttle pod in the illusion safely arrived at the Starport and began the disembarkation process. Even though they had already undergone thorough security checks at the spaceport, they had to repeat a similar procedure once again.

After completing all the procedures and gathering in one place.

While the applicants looked around with interest, a man appeared and drew everyone’s attention. He appeared to be in his middle years, wearing a Galactic Empire military uniform with rank insignia on his shoulders and a small medal-like badge on his chest.

“Attention.”

His low voice carried a spiritual wave that instantly seized control of the atmosphere.

“I am Captain-Adjutant Eclard of the Dimensional Exploration Corps, serving aboard the cruiser Demensis.”

He was a far bigger figure than Han Yujin had expected. Thanks to that, he could now confirm one piece of information with certainty.

So it really ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was a cruiser’s weapon that pulled us into the illusion.

It was a fact that made him unable to help feeling a little proud of his own mental defense strength.

In the meantime, Captain-Adjutant Eclard continued speaking.

To summarize, it went something like this:

While the ship was moving for a mission, they had stopped at Planet G-164 for resupply. The captain learned that the exploration team selection test was being held here and had specially invited the applicants to this Starport.

So that’s what it was.

He had wondered if they were using an overly grandiose method for a mere selection ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠test, but now it made perfect sense. At the same time, he could roughly gauge the weight and influence carried by the position of cruiser captain at the rank of lieutenant colonel.

It was then that a statement caught his full attention.

“…For that reason, as encouragement, the captain has promised personal rewards to those who pass this test with outstanding results. This is one of those rewards.”

He received something from a soldier standing behind him and lifted it slightly so everyone could see.

It was a transparent glass bottle containing a liquid that sparkled with a soft golden light.

“It is a Level 3 Aether Elixir.”

“Oh……”

One of the applicants reflexively let out a sound of admiration before hurriedly silencing themselves.

Even so, it was indeed an object worthy of such a reaction—at least for psychics below Level 3.

And from Han Yujin’s perspective as well, it was a reward that was quite tempting.

A perfect alibi for my power growth has already appeared.

To someone of a cruiser captain’s stature, it was probably nothing more than a light token of nostalgia and interest. But for him, who had only just arrived in this world with many tasks ahead, it would be tremendously helpful.

He might even be able to take it back to Earth later and give it to Lee Won-hee and the others.

All I need to do is show outstanding and exemplary behavior in this extreme illusory situation.

Feeling an interest similar to what the cruiser captain was probably experiencing, Han Yujin wore a faint smile.

The other applicants who might reveal selfish sides without realizing it was an illusion already seemed a bit pitiful, but they were ultimately strangers. The more such people there were, the more he would stand out.

I might even gain more than the visible reward.

Leaving a good impression on a lieutenant colonel who commanded a cruiser could only be beneficial.

The Starport, which served as both an orbital space station and a military facility, contained training facilities based on a wide variety of principles. Among them, the highlight was undoubtedly training through holographic simulations.

It was rather amusing to be undergoing holographic simulation training while already inside an illusion, but of course he didn’t show it.

In that manner, three full days passed by in the blink of an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eye.

They didn’t just take a physical test; they also underwent two separate individual interviews.

In the outside reality, roughly thirty minutes must have passed at most.

Guessing through intuition, Han Yujin gradually began to anticipate some kind of event. There was no way they would put all the applicants into an illusion and then end the selection test in such an ordinary fashion.

Otherwise, there would have been no reason to mobilize a cruiser’s weapon. It certainly wasn’t simply to save the applicants some ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time.

They’re probably also checking what kind of behavior we show in our daily lives.

It didn’t feel very respectful of privacy, but this wasn’t modern Earth. Besides, everyone had already signed a consent form that included provisions applicable to this exact situation.

The situation inside the illusion continued to flow. Tomorrow would be the day they left the Starport and received their results.

If something was going to happen, it would be tonight.

His guess proved correct.

Around two o’clock in the morning, when everyone was asleep, a sharp alarm suddenly began ringing throughout the entire Starport facility, waking the people.

The applicants, who had been sleeping in their respective quarters, would all be in a state of confusion. But unless they were exceptionally stupid, they should be able to understand the meaning of this loud alarm from what they had studied for the written exam.

While outwardly pretending to be slightly flustered, Han Yujin quickly put on his clothes and checked his Nexus Band, showing prompt and efficient behavior.

AI Biggs spoke first without even being called.

Code Terraphagos.

It referred to a large-scale invasion by the space monster race known as the Xenos, the “Infinite Devourers,” specifically by the collective group nicknamed “Planet Eaters.”

In shorter terms, an absolutely catastrophic disaster had arrived.