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.
"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.