"Not just fascinating—also incredibly efficient and aggressively expansionist!"
Roya gave Vegapunk's body another sweeping look up and down.
"Let's start with your own body. Once you fully understand what this thing really is, you can decide for yourself whether to keep it or discard it."
Without hesitation, Vegapunk tore off the cumbersome robe in his way, revealing the metallic skeleton beneath—its frame wreathed in dark-green flames that only burned fiercer with time.
With a curl of his finger, Roya drew from him a small bead of that flame, no bigger than a green bean.
"This body of yours—and the modular seed consciousness currently gestating inside it—began from nothing more than a tiny spark like this."
"It can spread and parasitize even without a physical form—passing along merely as so-called 'knowledge.' From there, it gradually transforms the energy of its host and surroundings bit by bit, eventually achieving full conversion of both body and consciousness—making the host one of their kind."
Vegapunk's entire frame shuddered.
"No wonder! The tiny flame that first infected me must have been hidden inside that so-called lunar technology legacy!"
He had long suspected as much. Now, with Roya's confirmation, his research direction solidified all the more. His gaze toward Roya brimmed with even greater anticipation.
Roya paused in thought before continuing:
"This world already has primitive electrical applications, so you should understand the concept of electromagnetic waves."
Vegapunk furrowed his brow slightly and nodded.
"Electromagnetic waves? My lord—do you mean the special kind of energy that allows Den Den Mushi to transmit sound and images between each other?"
Roya nodded.
"Something like that. In your case, it's as if this alien race used an outpost they built on the far side of the moon to automatically beam at you an electromagnetic signal carrying a 'seed flame.'"
"This signal, while transmitting information, also acts as a fully automated starter system—and at the same time, it exists in a very special form of energy. Do you follow me?"
Vegapunk's brow had locked into a deep frown, but he nodded slowly.
"That special property of the electromagnetic wave must be what allows the seed flame to parasitize so covertly and yet be so versatile."
"Exactly," Roya said.
"It uses that minuscule, nearly undetectable initial energy to transform one of the stem cells in your body into one of the raw materials for this strange bio-metal."
"Then it waits—because the knowledge it has transmitted to you will inevitably lead you, over time, to make prolonged contact with the other two materials it needs to complete its self-hatching."
Vegapunk jolted again, blurting out,
"Those two materials… are they seastone and life-origin substance?"
"That's right—those two," Roya confirmed.
"Once you've come into contact with both, it moves the half-mature stem-cell embryo to a place where it can directly touch them—such as the mucous membranes of your eyes or nasal cavity."
"From there, things proceed naturally—it silently begins replacing your body parts from the inside out. By the time it finally sheds its disguise, at least half your body has already been converted, leaving you no way to turn back."
Vegapunk gave a wry smile.
"My lord, your deduction is exactly what happened to me—no doubt that's the truth."
"This conversion's most terrifying aspect," Roya went on, "is that while it appears to be nothing but metallic skeletal framework, in reality, it is a low-level lifeform possessing basic intelligence."
At that, Vegapunk trembled violently—as if he could, he'd have taken off his own head right then and abandoned this eerie rack of metal ribs without hesitation.
Roya chuckled reassuringly.
"No need to be so tense. Before it's fully activated, that basic intelligence will only act on instinct—constantly converting any flesh cells of the host it can reach."
Vegapunk had just begun to relax when Roya continued:
"And as far as 'intelligence' goes, its influence on the host's mind is limited to nudging their thoughts just enough to keep them in contact with seastone and life-origin substance—simply to facilitate the ongoing conversion of flesh cells."
Vegapunk drew a sharp breath.
"So once it fully converts my body, it will drop all pretense and take direct control of my consciousness?"
"And something that insidious and cunning—you say it's only low-level intelligence?"
As he spoke, his hand instinctively went to the life-origin-substance collar around his neck.
Had it not been for that one stroke of fortune—fitting himself with such a collar to block the upward spread of the dark-green flames—the consequences would have been unthinkable.
Roya only shrugged.
"Compared to some people in this world, sure—this thing would be considered very advanced."
"In areas like self-repair after damage or adaptive upgrades to survive in new environments, it's extremely formidable."
"But something entirely devoid of self-awareness—how could it be called advanced intelligence?"
"So I deduce that within its own species, it is among the lowest castes—akin to a worker bee."
Pointing toward the still-squirming stomach sac, Roya added:
"Your body and that thing are essentially no different—only their forms vary because their roles differ."
"Of course, perhaps the caste distinction depends on whether the host was a water buffalo… or a once-in-a-millennium genius like you."
Vegapunk's drooping face regained a bit of life. With a helpless shrug, he said,
"Looks like this race truly understands the principle of putting every resource—and every person—to its best use."
Still, the thought that he—Vegapunk, a scientist five centuries ahead of his time—had started from the same point as a water buffalo was hard to swallow.
What he didn't know was that Roya was merely sparing his pride.
In truth, once this so-called low-level lifeform devoured his primary consciousness, it would simply seal it away—uploading it into the race's collective data archives.
His past as a top scientist would not grant him any higher status among them after conversion.
In their hierarchy, the upper ranks were held only by the undying noble caste.
New recruits, after contributing all their scientific knowledge, would have their consciousnesses completely wiped—formatted—and be reduced to the most basic combat drone units.
A newly converted alien like Vegapunk would be nothing more than expendable cannon fodder—disposable in any battle against other civilizations of the same tier.
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