Ryan walked through the IPC base on Aerido Star.
Company employees and various robots bustled everywhere.
Small cleaning robots.
Security robots maintaining order.
Even those traffic-light robots that looked sturdy and were supposedly incredibly tough.
The kind that, with their skill activated, could supposedly tank a hit even from an Aeon.
(Just kidding.)
The structures of these mechanical creations were transparent to him—not complex, even crude.
He felt like a single thought could trigger an electromagnetic storm sweeping the entire base.
Or more directly, a small-yield fusion explosion right here to return everything to silence.
But the thought flickered past and vanished.
Revenge?
For what?
For this hometown that had long since changed beyond recognition?
For those who’d died in war and had little connection to him?
It was meaningless.
Destruction brought only emptiness, not release.
He shook his head and suppressed the dangerous impulse.
The day before leaving Aerido Star, he went alone to an empty wilderness at the base’s outskirts.
He wanted to test his ability’s limits on a planet with unusually strong gravity and complex ring systems.
He slowly raised both hands and focused.
This time, he wasn’t guiding—he was forcefully altering.
With himself as the center, he forcibly distorted and extracted the surrounding magnetic field structures over a wide area.
In an instant, the clear sky darkened visibly.
Thick clouds gathered from nowhere, churning.
Within them, muffled thunder rolled, and blue electrical serpents slithered between the clouds.
A oppressive atmosphere blanketed the wilderness.
More astonishing: above the darkened sky, a faint but unmistakable multicolored band of light began flickering in and out of view.
An aurora!
On a planet that had never had natural auroras, he’d forcibly created one through sheer magnetic manipulation.
It was far less magnificent than Canglan Star’s—small in range, its light unsteady and strained—but it existed.
It proved his influence over magnetic fields had reached the level of locally rewriting a planet’s magnetic field, creating artificial celestial phenomena.
The cost was enormous and mentally draining, but he’d done it.
The commotion naturally alerted the company base.
Soon, several hover cars raced over. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
A team of company personnel emerged, led by a middle-aged man in a well-tailored suit wearing a practiced smile.
They showed no hostility; instead, they politely presented an electronic contract.
“Mr. Ryan, we’ve noticed your remarkable abilities.” The man smiled.
“The company sincerely invites you to become our honorary technical consultant. No specific duties required—just the title—and you’ll enjoy generous compensation and resources.”
Ryan glanced at the contract and refused directly.
“No thanks.”
His tone was flat.
“Honorary title? If I’m hanging my name anywhere, it’ll be under Madam Herta first. Hanging it under your company? That’s a downgrade.”
He turned and walked away without ceremony, leaving the company representatives awkwardly behind.
Over the next month, Ryan didn’t immediately return to Canglan Star.
He stayed on Aerido Star—partly to spend more time with this familiar yet foreign homeland, partly to continue ability testing and develop new equipment.
Based on his understanding of Aerido Star’s unique mineral deposits, he designed and built a new weapon.
The principle was simple, but execution was extraordinarily difficult.
Forcefully extract and extreme-compress surrounding magnetic field energy into a high-density magnetic domain “projectile,” then accelerate and launch it using electromagnetic railgun principles.
He tested it in the wilderness, aiming at a massive boulder in the distance.
No deafening roar—only a sharp tearing sound through the air.
An invisible magnetic beam crossed hundreds of meters.
A bowl-sized hole appeared instantly in the boulder’s center, as if pierced by something impossibly sharp.
Even more impressively, the attack penetrated the rock with almost no energy dissipation—extraordinary cohesion.
He even tried wall-penetrating strikes.
Hidden behind a thick alloy wall, he fired the railgun.
The invisible magnetic projectile easily pierced the wall and shattered the target instruments behind it, while the wall itself showed only a tiny mark.
This railgun—developed from his unique abilities—had considerable power, stealthy firing, and was nearly impossible to defend against.
But he also knew the weapon demanded too much from its user.
Besides himself, few could operate it.
During that month, he also produced some small inventions on the side.
High-efficiency energy converters that could charge using Aerido Star’s unique background radiation.
Improved environmental adaptation devices to help humans operate on this gravity-anomalous planet.
These items cleverly incorporated his electromagnetic manipulation and energy guidance abilities, achieving extremely high energy efficiency.
The company people came knocking again—this time to purchase patents or production licenses for these inventions.
Ryan didn’t refuse.
These things were just casual creations to him.
He sold several non-core technologies at a considerable price, and his account suddenly held a large sum of credits.
He knew that even with the blueprints, the company couldn’t achieve the same results without his precise energy control.
Their products would be, at best, efficient ordinary technology.
But the money was a windfall—the first real wealth he’d accumulated in this universe. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
With the credits from patent sales, Ryan didn’t rush to spend.
Instead, he built himself a simple laboratory in a remote corner of Aerido Star.
The place was rough, but the equipment barely sufficed.
He knew knowledge was fundamental.
Abilities required theoretical support.
Learning never ended.
Why not use the company facilities?
He couldn’t understand their instruments—too low-level.
And he didn’t want to look at them again.
He dove into deeper electromagnetic texts, researched the coupling effects between imaginary energy and real space, even tried to understand whether Aeons could be explained through higher-dimensional field theory.
Though the latter was pure speculation—just thinking about it gave him headaches.
The practical sessions…
remained full of “surprises.”
“This should work now, right?” He looked at a device combining local gravity manipulation and electromagnetic shielding, then pressed the activation button hopefully.
Bzzz—BOOM!
After intense energy fluctuations, another chunk of the lab roof blew off.
Through the smoke, Ryan walked out calmly, brushing dust off his coat, an electromagnetic shield flickering around him—unharmed.
He checked the burnt components while casually recording failure data in his notebook.
The company technicians next door had grown used to it.
Initially, they’d bring robots when hearing explosions.
Now they just shouted from a distance: “Mr. Ryan, doing science again? Need us to call engineering robots to fix the roof?”
Ryan usually waved them off.
“No need. Minor situation. I can handle it.”
He felt like he’d become a pyrotechnics director, specializing in explosion effects—except he starred in person without a stunt double.
Despite frequent explosions, his precise field control ensured no casualties or major property damage.
At most, the roof needed regular patching, or some instrument required resetting.
The company people even started taking bets on the scale and color of his next explosion.
Thus was born Aerido Star’s largest gambling venue.
Ryan didn’t care.
Failure was the mother of success.
Explosions were the soundtrack of research.
As long as knowledge grew and abilities improved, the explosions would eventually yield something real.