Master of the System

Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard and leaned back in his seat. As expected, the competition was crushed underneath his feet. From the start to the finish, his battlesuit golem had never left the arena. By that point, Mr. Metal was throwing everything he could at the golem, but it was invincible. After all, if a random entertainment company could bring out enough firepower to defeat a golem equivalent to a soul-seed cultivator, soul-seed cultivators would be worthless. Now that it was over, and his golem had been given the title Dominator, he was told to wait a while because some people wanted to speak with him. Of course, if it weren’t for the fact the reward for winning was coming with the people, Grandpa Vremya wouldn’t have bothered sticking around. Beside him, Azalea was looking at her bracelet, reviewing all the winnings she had made through the bets. It wasn’t a lot, but it was still enough to pay rent for a year. As for the place, she had found one while the competition was happening. Watching Grandpa Vremya’s golem pummel lesser golems didn’t really get her blood pumping.

“Hello! Sorry for keeping the two of you waiting,” a familiar voice said. The door opened, and Mr. Metal walked inside. He was carrying a golden trophy, one that he could’ve stored inside his interspacial ring and taken out later. “Some of my sponsors were throwing a fit because the competition ended way sooner than expected. I had to refund them because their advertisements didn’t get a chance to play.” His gaze swept over Grandpa Vremya and Azalea. “I’m not blaming you, but it really is your fault, isn’t it? Anyway, here’s your reward. A thousand credits have been wired to your bank account, and”—Mr. Metal placed the golden trophy on the table in front of Grandpa Vremya—“you get this year’s trophy.”

On the plaque attached to the trophy’s base, there were three words engraved: Dominator Metal Buttkicker. Grandpa Vremya passed the trophy to Azalea, who stored it away in her interspacial ring. Although it was made of pure gold, it was still pretty worthless compared to the value of spirit stones and credits. “Goodbye,” Grandpa Vremya said, standing up to take his leave. Now that he had received what he had stuck around for, it didn’t make sense to linger any longer. Although the rewards weren’t the greatest, the most important thing was establishing his reputation in the intergalactic society. With his battlesuit’s performance, he expected some people would be interested in his particular set of skills.

“Wait a minute,” Mr. Metal said. “Why don’t we discuss some appearance fees? Don’t you think it’d be a shame for Metal Buttkicker to not display its prowess all the time? Other than the annual competition of Metal Warbots, there are some battles we set up throughout the year to keep the flame lit beneath our audience. We’d be willing to pay you to enter those battles.”

“If you want, I’ll sell my battlesuit golem to you,” Grandpa Vremya said, causing Mr. Metal to freeze in place. It didn’t take a lot to produce his battlesuit golem. All he needed was a battlesuit, twenty-seven titan hearts, and sixty-three bottles of titan blood. For him, titan hearts and titan blood were practically free.

“Really?” Mr. Metal asked, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. “You’ll really sell me Metal Buttkicker?” He swallowed and took in a deep breath, calming himself down. “How much?”

Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard. If he charged too much, he’d get negative karma from scamming the poor fellow. The only problem was he had no idea what was too much or too little. Although the base materials didn’t cost much, his expertise had to be taken into consideration. An artist could turn a piece of paper and some bottles of ink into a work of art worth tens of thousands of dollars. Obviously, the price of the artwork didn’t depend on the base materials. With the wine he sold before, he could estimate its price by judging its effects and comparing it to other attribute enhancers. Should he just sell the golem based on its combat prowess? “I’ll sell it to you for nine battlesuits fit for nascent-soul cultivators.” If there were nine Joanne’s, the result of a fight between them and the battlesuit would likely end in mutual destruction.

“It’s a deal!” Mr. Metal said, agreeing the instant Grandpa Vremya had finished his sentence. It made the old man wonder whether or not the price was too low. “I was afraid you’d ask for credits or something,” Mr. Metal said, noticing the hint of bewilderment on Grandpa Vremya’s face. “My dad happens to be pretty high up there in the military. When it comes to military-grade weapons and battlesuits, no one else would be as willing as me to trade them for things.”

“That’s because they’d probably be worried about their parents getting fired,” Azalea said. “Aren’t there any rules against giving civilians military-grade weapons?”

“Oh, the things I have are last-generation goods,” Mr. Metal said. “Once the military makes a breakthrough in technology, they replace everything they have, and the old goods are sold to local law enforcement. Some remain unsold, and they get thrown away to be destroyed. My dad lets me know when these things are going to be destroyed, and when a new batch of military goods are tossed out, I purchase them from the ones in charge of destroying them. If anyone’ll get in trouble, it’s the ones in charge of destroying them, not my father.” A grin appeared on Mr. Metal’s face. “After all, it’s only illegal to sell these weapons; it isn’t illegal to possess them.”

“Do the federation’s laws actually do anything?” Azalea asked with a dark expression. “What’s the point of having laws against selling weapons if it isn’t illegal to possess them?”

Mr. Metal scratched his head. “Does it matter? Someone probably lobbied a politician to add in a loophole.” He shrugged. “So, we have a deal? Nine battlesuits for Metal Buttkicker? Are you sure you want to go through with this deal? What if I reverse engineer your biotechnology? You’d be making a huge loss.”

“We’ve already sent in a patent,” Azalea said. “Joanne insisted on us doing it, but I don’t really understand why. If someone stole our sect’s secret, wouldn’t it be better to simply annihilate them and their entire family down to the last chicken and dog? We’ll see who else dares to steal from us then.”

Mr. Metal stared at Azalea as if she were insane. He was a fan of senseless violence, but Azalea’s violence was simply too coldblooded for him! “She’s joking, right?” Mr. Metal asked Grandpa Vremya.

“Battlesuits,” Grandpa Vremya said, holding out his palm. Metal Buttkicker appeared behind Grandpa Vremya, waiting to be transferred to its new owner. “Do you have them with you?”

“Coincidentally, I happen to have nine battlesuits right here,” Mr. Metal said, taking them out of his interspacial ring. As for why the man had nine battlesuits when an ordinary person only needed one, Grandpa Vremya didn’t care. The old man stood up and inspected all the battlesuits, making sure they were satisfactory before nodding his head. Metal Buttkicker walked over to Mr. Metal’s side, and Grandpa Vremya tossed Mr. Metal a circular button.

“Bind it with your spiritual energy,” Grandpa Vremya said and pointed at the button. “That’s the golem’s core.”

A moment later, Metal Buttkicker’s formation veins lit up, and its visor flashed a few times. Mr. Metal swallowed down his excitement and attempted to move his newfound golem. Controlling Metal Buttkicker was as easy as controlling his own limbs; however, after a few movements, a strong sense of lethargy washed over him. “What’s going on?”

“You’re only a foundation-establishment cultivator,” Azalea said and rolled her eyes. “Do you really think it’s that easy to control a soul-seed golem? You’ll have to be a nascent-soul cultivator to pilot it for long amounts of time.” There was a beeping sound, and Azalea reached inside her robes—which she had changed back into the moment the competition was over. “It’s Joanne.” A strange expression appeared on her face as she glanced at Grandpa Vremya. “She sent a message saying no matter what, we shouldn’t sell anyone the technology used to make your battlesuit golem.”

“Tell her it’s too late; I already sold it.” Grandpa Vremya swept up the nine battlesuits into his interspacial ring and left the room, leaving Azalea and Mr. Metal behind.

Azalea shot a look at Mr. Metal. “There’s no warranty, and we don’t accept refunds. If the government takes the golem away from you in the future, it isn’t our problem. Goodbye.”