The offer hung in the air, a shimmering mirage of safety and wealth. On the holographic screen, the recruiter from Aegis Dynamics, a man named Mr. Li, smiled a predator's smile. "Think about it, Captain Lin. A full retirement package for you and your team. The best medical care for your injured comrades. You'll never have to set foot in a Rift again. All we need is the exclusive data on your method."
Lin Mei stared at the man's perfectly manicured face. He was offering her a gilded cage, a comfortable end to a brutal career. He was offering to buy her silence, to monopolize a discovery that could save countless lives, all to protect his corporation's market share in sonic defense technology. It was a deal made in hell, dressed up in the language of pragmatic concern.
Her gaze drifted down to her personal tablet. A single, stark message glowed on its screen, an invitation from an entity that felt more like a force of nature than a person. It offered no money, no safety. It offered only a chance to continue the fight, but on a different level. A chance to serve the truth, not to sell it.
She had spent her entire life on the front lines, fighting a war of attrition, trading blood for inches of ground. Oracle had just shown her that there was another way—a war of knowledge, fought with intellect instead of just brute force. The choice was not a choice at all.
"Mr. Li," Lin Mei said, her voice cutting through the recruiter's pitch with the sharp finality of a guillotine. "My data is not for sale. And neither is my squad's integrity. Good day."
She terminated the call before he could even sputter a protest, plunging the conference room into silence. Her heart was pounding, not with fear, but with a surge of adrenaline she hadn't felt in years. With a steady hand, she tapped the link in Oracle's message.
[Join Secure Channel]
Her screen flickered, then resolved into a new interface. It was brutally minimalist—a black background with clean, white text. There were no avatars, no user profiles, no distracting graphics. It was a space designed for pure, unadulterated information. At the top of the window, a single line of text read: [Channel: Zero].
In the user list, there were only two names: Oracle, and her own, Nomad-Lead.
She had taken the leap.
Miles away, in a sprawling, chaotic workshop that smelled of hot metal and ozone, a different kind of decision was being made. The workshop was a tinkerer's paradise, filled with half-finished energy rifles, glowing artifacts, and blueprints scrawled on every available surface.
At its center stood a formidable old man, his magnificent white beard stained with soot, his muscular arms glistening with sweat. This was a master craftsman known to the world's elite as 'Hephaestus,' a living legend who had forged weapons for S-Rank heroes. For the past twenty years, however, he had been utterly, profoundly bored. The world of spiritual technology had stagnated, endlessly iterating on the same old designs.
Then, he had seen Oracle's post. Specifically, the diagram. It was a work of art. The elegance, the efficiency, the sheer biological and mechanical genius of it... it was the first truly new idea he had seen in decades.
When Oracle's private message appeared on his workbench terminal, he didn't feel suspicion. He felt the thrill of a master recognizing the work of another, perhaps even greater, master. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag, strode over to the terminal, and joined the channel without a moment's hesitation. His gnarled fingers typed a gruff, immediate message into the chat.
Hephaestus: I'm here. What is it?
In yet another part of the city, in a tranquil, wood-paneled tea house, a third invitation was being contemplated. An elderly man with a gentle face and eyes that held the sharp, calculating depth of a grandmaster strategist sat before a Go board, playing a silent, intense game against himself.
This was General Jiang Wei, retired. On the forums, he was known only as Old-Man-Jiang, a handle he chose for its unassuming nature. He had led armies and planned campaigns that were now studied in military academies. He had retired in disillusionment, frustrated by the bureaucratic red tape and political maneuvering that consistently hampered the war effort.
He had read Oracle's post and immediately recognized its true significance. It wasn't just a monster's weakness. It was a demonstration of a strategic doctrine he had long advocated for: that wars are won not by the side with the most power, but by the side with the most actionable, precise intelligence. This Oracle understood that.
He received the message on his personal device. He read it once, then twice. A slow, faint smile touched his lips for the first time that day. He calmly picked up his porcelain teacup, took a final, contemplative sip of the fragrant oolong tea, and then accepted the invitation.
Back in the digital void of [Channel: Zero], two new names blinked into existence in the user list: Hephaestus and Old-Man-Jiang.
A tense, electric silence filled the virtual space.
Lin Mei's eyes widened slightly. She knew these names. Everyone in the inner circles knew them. Hephaestus was a legendary, notoriously difficult craftsman who rarely emerged from his workshop. Old-Man-Jiang was a respected military theorist whose essays on strategy were required reading. To see them both here, summoned by the same entity... what kind of being was this Oracle?
It was Oracle who broke the silence. The text appeared instantly, without the tell-tale "is typing..." indicator, as if it were a thought willed directly into existence.
Oracle: Welcome. Thank you for your punctuality.
Hephaestus, ever impatient, was the first to respond. Hephaestus: Cut the formalities. You've gathered a reclusive smith, a frontline captain, and a dusty strategist. This isn't a social call. State your purpose.
A new line of text appeared, this one from the old general. Old-Man-Jiang: An interesting assembly. A creator, an executor, and a planner. A well-balanced team. I presume this selection was quite intentional, Oracle?
Lin Mei added her own blunt query. Nomad-Lead: I need to know the objective. What is this group for?
The replies came swiftly, each sentence delivered with an unshakable, cold authority.
Oracle: The purpose is efficiency.
Oracle: The current war effort is compromised. It is hampered by corporate greed, political bureaucracy, and the deliberate hoarding of life-saving information. Humanity is bleeding resources and lives for reasons of profit and pride. This is an unacceptable inefficiency.
Oracle: We will rectify this.
The sheer audacity of the statement left the three of them momentarily speechless. We will rectify this. It was the statement of a god, not a man.
Oracle: This channel will serve as a clandestine hub for the dissemination and execution of high-level strategic intelligence. I will provide the data, the analysis, and the objective. You will use your respective expertise and resources to execute the plan.
Oracle: Anonymity is our shield. Results are our creed. Identity is irrelevant.
A pause hung in the chat, thick with unspoken questions. Then, Oracle continued, giving them no time to debate.
Oracle: We will begin with a first directive. It will serve as a proof of concept and a statement of our intent.
Oracle: The data on the Abyssal Shrieker vulnerability is a public good being treated as a private commodity. The major guilds are attempting to classify and monopolize it. We will not permit this.
Oracle: Hephaestus. The old smith felt a jolt, as if he had been personally addressed by a king.
Oracle: You possess the skill to reverse-engineer complex technology into simple, replicable forms. Your task is to design a blueprint for a low-cost sonic emitter capable of producing the 27.3 kHz frequency. It must be buildable using common, commercially available components.
Oracle: Nomad-Lead. Lin Mei straightened in her chair.
Oracle: You have the field credibility and the trust of the independent hunter community. Once the blueprint is complete, you will write a clear, concise tactical guide for its assembly and use, including optimal engagement distances and team strategies.
Oracle: Old-Man-Jiang. The old general nodded slowly at his screen.
Oracle: You understand the flow of information. Your task is to ensure these blueprints and guides are disseminated through untraceable, decentralized channels that the guilds and government cannot easily censor or suppress.
A final, chillingly simple directive appeared.
Oracle: The objective is to equip every willing independent hunter squad in the Asia-Pacific sector with this counter-measure within one week. Begin.
With that, the Oracle username went dim, indicating the user was offline.
He had left them with an impossible task, a declaration of war against the most powerful institutions in the world.
For a long moment, the three legendary figures sat in stunned silence, alone in the virtual room. Then, Hephaestus let out a short, barking laugh that echoed in his workshop. A wide, manic grin spread across his face.
Hephaestus: Hah! I like this kid's style. Alright, give me 24 hours. I'll have a blueprint so simple a child could build it.
Old-Man-Jiang: The underground networks are already in place. Just give me the materials to distribute.
Lin Mei looked at their replies, a slow, determined fire igniting in her chest, burning away the last of her exhaustion and despair. She began to type.
Nomad-Lead: I'll start writing the field guide immediately.
Project Zero had just held its first assembly. Its members didn't know each other's names, and they certainly didn't know they were being led by a "triple-zero" teenager. But for the first time in a long time, they all felt a flicker of the one thing they had thought was lost forever: hope.
Across the city, Qin Mo logged off the library terminal, packed his schoolbag, and began his walk home. His mind was already calculating the optimal distribution pathways for the blueprints, while another part of his mind was observing the birth of a new star in a distant nebula, a result of his Dragon Tamer avatar's actions. The weight of his new command was completely invisible on his young, unassuming shoulders