The capsule's persistent hum faded into the background of Shen Liang's awareness. Inside the confined space, he exhaled a long, slow breath, as if releasing the very tension coiled within his bones.
He was not one to obsess over statistics; his results had always spoken for themselves. Yet, on the cusp of the Guardian Selection Simulation, even he felt the pull of a cold, clinical curiosity.
A flick of his fingers in the air summoned a faint chime in his mind. A translucent blue panel unfolded before his eyes, data shimmering into existence.
[User: Shen Liang]
Health: 150 / 150
Physical Condition: 100%
Mental Condition: 100% — Fully Emerged
STR: 15
AGI: 24
STM: 12
DEX: 15
INT: 52
"Fifty-two…" he murmured, the number hanging in the air. He leaned closer, as if expecting the digits to shift under his scrutiny. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. "No wonder I never needed to rely on brute force."
Where others boasted superior strength or stamina, this was his true edge—calculation, prediction, foresight. Numbers did not lie.
A swift swipe of his hand brought another screen to the fore.
[Tactical Analysis] — Mastery: 0%
A passive comprehension skill. Increases strategic awareness and calculation efficiency.
[Basic Sword Techniques] — Mastery: 3%
The most common sword form among Climbers. Sufficient to parry; insufficient to kill.
[Spatial Awareness Buff] — Mastery: 1%
A passive skill granting perception of trajectories and motion. Currently minor.
[Shen Liang's Fists] — Mastery: ???%
An incomplete martial art. Origin: [Secret Asura Manual].
[Crazy Bastard] — Mastery: 0%
Description: "Shen Liang, you are batshit insane."
A title personally granted by the System. Effects unknown.
Shen Liang's brows twitched at the final entry.
"…Is the System mocking me now?"
His lips curled, not in annoyance, but in genuine amusement. Titles were typically rewards for grand achievements. This felt less like an honor and more like a challenge—or an diagnosis.
Above, the Vice-Grandmaster's amplified voice cut through the chamber, stern and clear. "Attention, participants! Synchronization levels must not exceed 55%. Beyond this threshold, mental stability deteriorates. Proceed with caution."
A palpable wave of tension passed through the other capsules. The warning was rooted in grim fact—everyone knew the stories of shattered minds.
Shen Liang's gaze, however, fell upon the glowing control dial of his own capsule. His reflection stared back, calm and utterly unimpressed.
"Fifty-five percent…" he mused, his tone laced with lazy derision. "A conveniently low ceiling."
His finger tapped the console. The sync rate climbed: 45%.
50%.
A low vibration thrummed through the frame.
His finger continued its turn.
60%.
A warning blinked: [CAUTION: NEURAL LOAD RISING.]
He didn't pause.
75%.
Another alert, red and urgent: [DANGER: RISK OF PERMANENT DAMAGE.]
A smirk. "You think I care?"
90%.
The capsule began to glow with a harsh, actinic blue, arcs of simulated energy crawling like lightning across its shell.
100%.
[WARNING: Synchronization Maximum Achieved]
[Neural Link — Fully Bound]
"Let's make this interesting."
The world did not fade—it shattered into pure, blinding light. The sensation was not pain, but a terrifying, exhilarating expansion. Every synapse fired with crystalline clarity; every thought was a razor's edge.
From a great distance, he heard the system's final, mechanical whisper:
[Sync Successful.]
[Entering Simulation.]
Silence.
Then—the battlefield roared to life before him.