The massive blue sword, almost taller than Muria's young body, stood firmly embedded in the metal platform. The moment Muria grasped its hilt, the engravings on the God Machine ignited with blinding brilliance, and the weapon began to tremble violently.
A faint yet menacing howl emanated from the sword, as a savage consciousness surged from it through Muria's hand, attempting to invade his mind. If Muria failed to resist, he would be devoured by the God Machine and transformed into a pitiful monster.
But such an outcome was utterly impossible. The violent will of the God Machine, compared to Muria's own, was like a trickle of water futilely splashing against a towering dam. It was meaningless.
The moment the God Machine's invasive consciousness made contact with Muria's formidable will, it disintegrated completely. Muria didn't even need to exert any effort—he allowed the God Machine to futilely struggle on its own while he simply gripped the weapon and pulled it free.
Instantly, all movement ceased. The God Machine stopped trembling, and its once-brilliant glow dimmed. The entire room fell silent, and the observing officials of the base were left in stunned disbelief.
"Does this mean I've successfully mastered the God Machine?" Muria held the massive weapon—now docile and still as a regular sword—with one hand. He tilted his head up, gazing at the observation window above as he calmly posed his question.
"Does this count as mastering a God Machine?" Inside the observation room, a disoriented officer turned to a nearby researcher clad in a white lab coat.
"Uh… probably? I suppose it does," replied the researcher, a middle-aged man whose thinning hair gave him a slightly frazzled appearance. His expression was equally perplexed, as what had just transpired defied his understanding.
"Are you sure this God Machine isn't defective? A dud, maybe?" The officer's expression remained skeptical as he posed the question, pointing towards Muria below. He had never seen someone master a God Machine with such ease.
The officer had witnessed numerous candidates attempting to master God Machines. Some screamed in pain, others roared in agony, and many succumbed to despair before being consumed by the weapon.
But never before had he seen such a lighthearted, effortless display—Muria's mastery seemed almost like child's play. The weapon in his hand appeared no different from an ordinary piece of metal.
"We're certain it's not defective," the researcher replied stiffly, his professional pride briefly flaring. "Every God Machine we deliver is thoroughly inspected and meets all quality standards."
"Then why did this happen?" The officer gestured towards Muria, who was still standing below, waiting for their response.
"Maybe the problem lies not with the God Machine, but with the candidate himself," the researcher countered, his brow furrowing.
"What could possibly be wrong with Fenrir?" The officer frowned, momentarily at a loss. He reviewed Muria's profile on his terminal, finding nothing particularly unusual. Fenrir was noted for his love of reading and decent combat aptitude—traits common among many candidates.
"Nothing about him stands out," the officer admitted reluctantly. "He's just another ordinary candidate—there's nothing in his file to explain what we just witnessed."
"Hey, why aren't you answering me?" Down below, Muria's voice broke the room's silence. His patience was wearing thin; though time meant little to him, he disliked pointless delays.
"Fenrir," the officer finally responded, "your process of mastering the God Machine was unlike anything we've seen before. Therefore, we'll now proceed with a live combat test."
"Live combat?" Muria asked, swinging the now docile God Machine in his hand as his golden eyes narrowed slightly.
"Fine."
A live combat test didn't bother Muria in the slightest. In fact, he welcomed it—he was curious about the God Machine's capabilities.
From his observations, Muria had already gleaned much about the state of this small world. It was a typical, mundane world without any developed system of supernatural forces.
This lack of extraordinary power systems was precisely why, when heretic god minions began to appear, they spread like wildfire, swiftly dismantling the civilization that had once flourished here.
However, the heretic god's invasion also triggered the world's countermeasure: the creation of God Machines. As with all worlds, this one possessed the inherent ability to resist and assimilate external forces. The God Machines represented humanity's desperate attempt to weaponize fragments of the heretic god's minions and merge them with their technological prowess.
To Muria, this act of defiance was both laughable and tragic. Using the heretic god's own power to resist its minions was akin to plucking a single thorn from the heretic god's vast, destructive form and expecting to stand a chance.
Without external intervention, this world was destined to perish. The moment the heretic god's true form descended, it would mark the end. Humanity's resistance would be but a fleeting, futile struggle.
But with Muria's arrival, everything would change.
"Fenrir, we'll release a Razor Wolf into the arena as your opponent. Focus your attention and use your full strength to eliminate it as quickly as possible."
A dry male voice echoed throughout the training chamber. Moments later, the sound of machinery rumbled as the metallic platform Muria stood on lowered to align with the ground.
Ahead of him, the wall split open, revealing a dark corridor. From within, a low growl emanated. Soon, a wolf-like creature covered in spiked chitinous armor emerged, its crimson eyes glowing ominously as foul-smelling saliva dripped from its jagged maw.
"Fenrir, don't be afraid," the voice from the observation room reassured him. "You're a God Machine user now. You have the power to slay these beasts."
Clang!
Muria ignored the voice, gripping the God Machine firmly. He channeled its power, unleashing a three-meter-long blade of pale blue energy. The energy slash effortlessly cleaved through the Razor Wolf mid-leap, bisecting it cleanly along its spine.
The energy blade continued its trajectory, embedding itself into the reinforced steel wall behind the creature, leaving a deep gash.
"Trash."
Muria spat out the word as he sheathed the God Machine, his voice echoing throughout the now eerily silent arena.
The so-called "Razor Wolf" lay in two lifeless halves on the floor—its presence in the arena had been utterly meaningless. It was nothing more than fodder, incapable of providing any real challenge.
To Muria, this beast was laughable. It wasn't even a true heretic god minion. At most, it was the minion of a minion—a pitiful creature unworthy of the heretic god's attention.
Meanwhile, in the observation room, the officers and researchers were equally stunned.
"This is what you called 'ordinary'?" one researcher asked, glancing incredulously at the bewildered officer beside him.
"Alright, I admit it—he's a bit special," the officer conceded. "We should proceed with further combat tests."
"Ask Fenrir for his consent first," the researcher advised. "He's already proven himself as a qualified God Machine user."
When asked if he was willing to continue the tests, Muria agreed without hesitation.
He needed more time to study the God Machine—specifically, how to replace its core with something far more worthy of his abilities.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/INNIT
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.