Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

Chapter 786  A Month Later

{What do you mean, sir?} Nova responded, her tone laced with surprise.

“What is your name?” Aron asked, his tone steady but scrutinizing.

{Nova, it's the name you gave me after creating me,} she answered promptly.

“What is…” Aron’s voice trailed off again, his eyes narrowing.

For the next twenty seconds, the exchange between Aron and Nova intensified, becoming a rapid-fire interrogation. Aron fired off more than 150 questions, probing her knowledge, function, and past interactions with him. Nova answered each query flawlessly, without hesitation or deviation, her responses perfectly aligned with what Aron knew to be true.

Despite her impeccable answers, Aron’s unease didn’t waver. Something still felt off, a subtle discord he couldn’t yet define.

He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to move to a definitive test. “Show me the stream feed,” he demanded, his voice edged with suspicion.

{Unfortunately, I don’t have access to that data,} came Nova’s reply, the same response that had triggered Aron’s suspicions in the first place.

“Looks like I’ve been caught in an illusion,” Aron muttered, his tone laced with realization.

Despite Nova’s flawless answers to his barrage of questions, each response had ultimately drawn from his own knowledge—facts he already knew. This meant the illusion wasn’t crafting anything new but rather mirroring his understanding, keeping everything as consistent as his mind would expect. Even the presence and behavior of Nova were perfectly replicated, thanks to his intimate knowledge of her creation, functionality, and personality.

The key flaw in the illusion, however, lay in its inability to access external data. The fake Nova couldn’t corroborate its existence with information outside Aron’s mental framework. While the illusion had managed to replicate Nova’s mannerisms and responses, it relied solely on his own mental capacity to sustain its credibility.

This singular inconsistency was what finally tipped Aron off. The illusion was remarkably detailed, but the absence of external collaboration made it clear—it was all in his mind.

"Knowing the problem is half the solution," Aron thought as he focused on resolving the predicament.

He attempted to establish contact with the system—something he now rarely relied upon, preferring to conserve his SP for an eventual technological buying spree. His long-term goal was to acquire enough SP to be able to buy a type of technology capable of propelling humanity into the next stage of the Kardashev scale, as they were only just brushing the boundaries of a Type I civilization.

The system, however, was more than a technological marvel; it was his foremost defense against mental manipulation. Its presence gave him confidence, as it safeguarded his mind—the most critical aspect of his being.

His first attempt at calling the system failed. The familiar interface didn’t materialize, confirming that the illusion hadn’t replicated it. The reason was obvious: his limited understanding of the system made it impossible for the illusion’s creator to imitate it accurately.

This failure only reassured Aron further. *If the illusion can’t replicate the system, then that’s my way out,* he reasoned. He resolved to keep calling to it, certain that persistence would eventually break the illusion’s grip. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

……………….

{Sir, do you hear me?} Nova's voice came through, calm and familiar.

Aron’s expression softened as a smile spread across his face. “Yes, I do. It’s good to hear your voice after so long,” he said, relief evident in his tone.

Nova didn’t respond immediately. A brief silence followed, but within that moment, she accessed his continually updating neural data. The flood of information detailing what Aron had just experienced left her momentarily stunned. For an AI capable of processing vast amounts of data, the complexity and surreal nature of his ordeal even made her hesitate.

“Looks like you’re up to speed now,” Aron remarked with a chuckle, recognizing the reason for her silence. “So, how long have I been away?”

{Not even a millisecond has passed, sir,} Nova replied, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of disbelief.

“What?!” Aron exclaimed, his voice carrying a mix of shock and disbelief. “Less than a millisecond, you say? And during that fraction of a second, I spent what felt like over a month in the illusion? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

{Yes, sir. It seems the system intervened immediately upon detecting the illusion,} Nova explained, her tone steady. {However, the infinitesimal delay between the system's detection and its intervention was enough for your perception to stretch into what felt like over a month.}

Aron rubbed his temple, still grappling with the implications. “If just that brief moment translated into over a month in there, what would’ve happened if the system hadn’t stepped in? What if I’d been trapped for longer?”

Nova’s response came swiftly, but the weight of her words was heavy. {In that case, sir, you would likely have perished within an hour. The illusion manipulated your perception so drastically that you were continuously expelling mana to sustain your efforts. Eventually, you would have exhausted your reserves, forcing your body to convert its own structure into mana to compensate. It’s a fatal cycle.}

As Nova continued explaining, Aron’s gaze shifted to his surroundings, and he finally noticed something peculiar—the mana in the air was so dense that it had become visibly tangible, swirling like a faint mist around him. The realization hit him like a tidal wave: all the mana he had been expelling during his time in the illusion had not dissipated into nothingness. It had simply been ejected by his body, accumulating in the environment.

Aron frowned, the realization hitting him hard. “So it wasn’t just mental; it was an all-encompassing trap. A death sentence for anyone unable to break free.”

{Precisely,} Nova confirmed. {It’s fortunate that the system’s protections are as robust as they are. Otherwise, even you might not have survived this encounter.}

“Damn, that is scary,” he muttered, a shiver running down his spine as goosebumps prickled his skin. The thought of what could have happened if the system hadn’t intervened was chilling.

Many might question why Aron chose to face these powerful opponents alone when he had formidable allies, such as the Tree Folk, at his disposal. The answer lay in a fundamental gap: they lacked sufficient information about the unique abilities of the civilizations they were up against. Sending his allies without a full understanding of their enemies' capabilities would have been reckless.

There was also a more strategic reason—one rooted in the necessity of progress. The other civilizations had a significant head start in developing and refining their abilities, consolidating their strength over time. To bridge this gap, Aron had devised a bold strategy: wagering his advanced technology in exchange for theirs. By facing these challenges personally, he not only gained critical insights into their abilities but also stood to acquire their technological advancements.

If he succeeded, this exchange would grant his empire a peaceful means of catching up, leveling the playing field without the need for prolonged conflict.

“Thank God for the system,” Aron muttered, his voice tinged with relief and gratitude. Without it, he would have been nothing more than a disgraced university student—a far cry from the man he had become. The system had transformed his life, enabling him to achieve the unimaginable: becoming the richest man on Earth, ascending to the position of emperor, and now standing on equal footing with alien civilizations despite their centuries-long advantage.

His reflection was cut short by the sudden voice of the referee AI.

{Match over. Winner: Terran Empire, Aron Michael.}

The announcement jolted Aron out of his thoughts. He blinked in confusion, still recovering from the after-effects of his ordeal. The declaration seemed surreal. He hadn’t done anything to warrant victory—not yet.

“What?” he murmured, staring into the empty expanse of the arena.

The realization struck him: only one second had elapsed from the start of the fight to the match’s conclusion. It was officially the shortest fight of the tournament, yet he had no idea how or why it ended so abruptly.