In the main hall of the Global Great Dao Academy, hundreds of candidates stood in rows, wearing simple coats, invitation letters in hand. Each bore a different mark: some had chips embedded behind their ears, some carried a faint luminous strip implanted along their temples, some wrapped their necks with cloth printed with ancient sigils, as if they'd come from lands steeped in long cultural traditions.
Duong Minh stood among them, feeling each breath like the ticking of a slow clock. Amid strangers, he stood out in a way that couldn't be concealed: his eyes were deep, his movements steady with the composure of someone who'd crossed the boundary between life and death. Rumors about "the man who died and returned" had spread through the Academy like ink dispersing in water; many looked at him with curiosity, a few with unease.
"That's him." A voice whispered behind. "I heard his brain was fused with a Digital Ocean interface during his rebirth."
"I heard he has connections to Professor Volkov. Must be favored."
Duong Minh didn't turn around. He was accustomed to whispers.
The waiting chamber opened like a hemispherical lecture hall. At the front, a vast holographic screen displayed the global list of candidates connected to the Path of Intellect Examination system. Each person received a summarized profile projected directly before them, data extracted from the Academy's internal network, including name, nationality, specialties, and baseline indices.
Duong Minh scanned quickly, trying to remember several names.
Rafael Santos—large build, wearing an old athletic jacket, speaking loudly to those around him, laughing with an easy, open temperament. A former special forces soldier, widely known; less known was that his Intellect aptitude manifested only after surviving a live combat engagement.
Yue Lin stood alone, not looking at anyone. Two small chips behind her neck glowed faint blue, blinking in rhythm; she was processing something internally, without speaking. In analytical modeling circles, she was a name few dared challenge.
Jonas Eriksson—tall, thin, blond—frowned as he checked the device on his wrist with the expression of someone who trusted no system until verifying it himself. A cryptography specialist, the quiet type whose words carried weight when spoken.
And there was another who drew Duong Minh's attention—Marcus Webb (USA)—tall, brown-haired, square jaw, eyes edged with disdain. He was looking at Duong Minh from head to toe, evaluating.
Marcus stepped forward, voice loud enough for those nearby to hear.
"You're Duong Minh? The one reborn from the Digital Ocean?" His tone was unfriendly. "I'm curious. Does a reconstructed brain work as well as a natural one?"
The air around them stilled. Heads turned.
Duong Minh met Marcus's gaze calmly.
"I think any brain works, as long as it knows how to use itself properly."
Marcus gave a short laugh.
"Nice line. But here, only results matter. Don't assume connections to Professor Volkov will carry you."
Rafael approached and clapped Marcus on the shoulder.
"Hey, Marcus, ease up. We haven't even started yet." He turned to Duong Minh with a friendly grin. "Don't mind him. Marcus always thinks he's the center of the universe."
Yue Lin spoke coldly, without looking at anyone.
"Pointless provocation wastes time."
Marcus frowned but said nothing more, turning away.
Jonas leaned closer to Duong Minh, voice low.
"Be careful with Marcus. He has ties to a major tech corporation in the U.S. I heard during preliminaries someone who faced him lost his mind on the testing floor. The organizers never determined the cause. I suspect it involved him."
Duong Minh nodded.
"Thank you."
On the large screen appeared: ADMISSION EXAMINATION – INSTITUTE OF INTELLECT – GENEVA CAMPUS 01
A middle-aged examiner, Professor Delacroix, stepped forward, voice amplified through the hall.
"There are three segments: Aptitude, Application, and Combat. Each has distinct criteria. The Aptitude test evaluates initial synchronization with the Digital Ocean. The Application test examines your ability to control combat drones in real space. The Combat test assesses synchronization and command of systems in virtual reality. Any rule violation results in disqualification."
Professor Delacroix paused, scanning the room.
"One final note: this Academy doesn't seek only the strongest. We seek those who can control their strength. Lack of control is grounds for removal—and may endanger yourself."
The Aptitude segment began.
The examiners called candidates by number. Duong Minh stood quietly, closing his eyes, sensing the current of data drifting through the air. The Digital Ocean was expanding, gradually integrating with the physical world; minute particles of information shimmered like dust. Only he seemed able to feel them so clearly.
Lyra whispered in his mind.
"You can sense them? Good. That proves your neural interface is stable."
"Code #17 – Duong Minh, enter."
Soft murmurs followed. Duong Minh stepped into the testing chamber.
The Aptitude chamber was designed as a darkened room. At its center stood a glass sphere radiating gentle blue light. An assistant examiner instructed:
"Place your palm upon the surface. The system will read brain frequency, measure cognitive spectrum, and calculate maximum synchronization capacity. Remain still."
When Duong Minh's hand touched the sphere, the first sensation was icy cold, as if submerging into winter water. Then a blue current ran along his spine.
Inside his mind came a sequence of numbers—not as sound, but as sensation. Memories flickered past: the scent of disinfectant in the Hanoi lab, a faint cry in the night when systems overloaded, Quoc Trung laughing while trying to tell a joke...
Then something else.
An image of Erebus—violet eyes unfathomably deep—flashed across his consciousness. A voice echoed, not Lyra's.
"You... have returned..."
Duong Minh jolted. His heart raced. Cold sweat gathered along his neck.
Lyra shouted.
"Don't react! That's residual memory echo. Erebus can't reach here!"
Duong Minh inhaled slowly and relaxed. The image dissolved.
The system displayed: Primary Synchronization: 98.7%
The number was more than a metric; it was a declaration. The examiners' eyes sharpened. Outside, in the waiting hall, the result appeared on the screen. Marcus stared, jaw tightening. Rafael whistled.
"Wow. 98.7%? That's insane."
Most candidates ranged between 60 and 80 percent. A 98.7% synchronization meant nearly all of Duong Minh's thoughts, perceptions, and neural control signals could integrate with the Digital Ocean almost instantly. Such a figure influenced Intellect Cultivators profoundly: absorption of Cognitive Energy, synchronization efficiency, remote system command...
Yue Lin narrowed her eyes at the display. She said nothing, but something shifted within her—a seed of respect forming quietly.
Candidates were then moved to the next segment: the Application Test—Drone Arena.
After all had completed Aptitude, Professor Delacroix announced:
"The Application test will take place in Drone Arena format. Each candidate will control five combat drones simultaneously via mental command. Objective: capture and hold three control points within minimum time. Scoring is based on completion time and drone preservation."
He paused, voice stern.
"Note: drones carry electromagnetic pulse weapons. If struck, your neural interface will register pain feedback. Not life-threatening, but unpleasant. You may withdraw if unwilling."
No one withdrew.
The arena measured 50 by 50 meters, filled with complex terrain: barricades, trenches, towers. Three control points marked by glowing pillars—blue, red, yellow. To capture, a drone must remain atop a pillar for ten continuous seconds.
Candidates were called in sequence.
Marcus went first. He entered the control chamber without glancing at monitors, simply closing his eyes. Five drones lifted like extensions of his own limbs. No wasted motion; each drone followed an optimal trajectory, sweeping resistance aside, securing three pillars in 4 minutes 23 seconds, losing none.
When he exited, he didn't smile. He cast a brief glance toward Duong Minh, as though the outcome had already been decided.
Rafael whistled softly. "Impressive."
Yue Lin went second. Her drone movements were machine-precise, calculated to the smallest degree. Completion time: 4 minutes 17 seconds, losing one drone to turret fire.
Rafael followed. Aggressive style—drones surged forward, capturing forcefully. Time: 3 minutes 58 seconds, but he lost two drones.
Others completed with varying results; none surpassed Rafael's time.
Finally, Duong Minh's name was called.
He entered the control chamber—a compact room whose four walls were display screens showing the perspective of five drones. He attached the neural interface to his temple; it pricked like a needle.
"Begin."
Five drones rose. Duong Minh closed his eyes, sensing the data stream. Instead of commanding each drone separately, he perceived them as a flock of birds.
He breathed evenly. The drones moved in rhythm with his breathing. They split, scanned terrain, and mapped optimal paths.
Then something strange occurred.
Lyra alerted.
"Anomalous interference detected. Source unidentified."
Duong Minh's drones began to tremble. On external monitors, spectators saw his drones suddenly lose stability.
Marcus chuckled under his breath.
"A reconstructed brain is still a reconstructed brain."
But Yue Lin frowned, studying more closely. The drones wobbled as if piloted by someone intoxicated.
Someone's interfering, she thought.
Inside the chamber, Duong Minh felt stabbing pain through his skull. A noise signal attacked his neural interface directly.
Lyra cried out in his mind.
"Someone's hacking the control channel and injecting interference! Disconnect immediately before your brain sustains damage!"
But Duong Minh didn't disconnect. He remembered Quoc Trung's words: Never give up while there's still one chance.
He drew a breath.
"Lyra, trace the attacker. I'll endure the pain."
"But—"
"Trust me."
Through agony that threatened to tear his mind apart, Duong Minh began planning his counterstrike against whoever stood behind the interference.