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🕑 Added 2025-08-01 16:48:59 +0000 UTCChapter 281: The Devil’s Contract
Song Zhaomei fell silent. Riku’s words were blunt and painfully true. They weren’t family or friends—why would anyone help her? Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep her as a living deterrent, a weapon of intimidation? And what bargaining chip could she possibly offer in return?
In the brief moment it took for those words to sink in, Rosalind Myers’ transformation was already complete. It happened fast—proof that the so-called “President Lady” had no remarkable talent to speak of.
The Limit System confirmed as much. Rosalind Myers was just an ordinary servant, offering no lottery chance, no special traits—nothing extraordinary at all.
Riku wasn’t surprised. The lottery was a gamble, after all. Sure, Rosalind Myers had her moment in the spotlight, but in the system’s eyes, she wasn’t special. Not even as special as Arasaka Michiko.
“This…”
Rosalind Myers, now regaining her senses, was in complete shock. Sprawled on the floor, her eyes wide, she struggled to process the “contract” she’d just signed with Riku.
Even as the newly minted president of New America, formerly the CEO of Militech, she had never seen such an outrageously domineering lifelong contract! Companies like hers at least bothered to disguise their traps, burying the “thunder” in fine print. But this contract? It didn’t even pretend to hide its claws!
Watching Rosalind Myers’ stunned expression, Arasaka Michiko couldn’t help but relate. When she was first transformed, she wasn’t much different. Honestly, the contract with Devil-sama felt exactly like a “Devil’s Contract.” They gave up everything for power, for immortality.
“Myers, obey the orders of our master.”
Arasaka Michiko spoke down to her, relishing the moment. Finally, finally, it was her turn! All those times Rosalind Myers barked orders at her, acting superior, barely sparing her a glance—now the tables had turned!
“…”
Rosalind Myers shot Arasaka Michiko a look, a mix of anger and humiliation flickering in her eyes. She could sense Michiko’s smugness, but she didn’t dare argue back. She didn’t want to die—not like this, not without understanding why.
“Devil-sama…”
In the end, the once-arrogant president of New America bowed her “noble” head, submitting to Riku.
Rosalind Myers couldn’t let go of power. In the face of true authority, nothing else mattered. Bowing to Riku? That was nothing.
Truth be told, the ultimate power structure Riku described—the Shadow Society—was what truly captivated her. If she could seize control of it, wouldn’t that be far more satisfying than ruling New America? The two weren’t even on the same level!
“Smart choice, Myers. You’re as clever as I thought.”
Riku nodded, approving of her decision. Her ability to face reality was perfect—it made things so much easier, sparing him a lot of unnecessary trouble.
Song Zhaomei, aka “Songbird,” stood there dumbfounded, blinking hard. She even considered rebooting her cybernetic eye, half-convinced it had been hacked. How else could she be witnessing something this absurd?
“Do you really need me?” she muttered to herself, feeling her own existence paling in comparison to Devil-sama’s power.
With his overwhelming individual strength, his ability to bend minds, and the fact that he could make people like Arasaka Michiko and Rosalind Myers kneel—did he really need her as a deterrent? Maybe she was more of a liability.
“You’re right. I don’t need you to intimidate anyone.”
Riku turned to Song Zhaomei with a smile. Not only did he not need her for that, but he also didn’t want anyone else wielding that kind of power. He wasn’t ready to go all-out against the AIs beyond the Blackwall just yet—not until he’d united the forces within it.
“Devil-sama, Song Zhaomei has value. She’s a trump card—a deterrent that can make enemies hesitate at critical moments.”
Rosalind Myers stood up, slipping into her role quickly. As expected from a seasoned politician, she was shamelessly professional. She wasn’t speaking up for Song Zhaomei’s sake—she just wanted to preserve the deterrent weapon she’d worked so hard to create.
Song Zhaomei wasn’t something you could just replicate. Her creation was a fluke, a perfect storm of circumstances, with her innate talent being a key factor. That made her one-of-a-kind, a success that hadn’t been repeated. Even now, she was the only successful test subject, and no one knew if another could be made.
Naturally, Rosalind Myers didn’t want her only achievement destroyed by Riku.
“I don’t need that kind of trump card.”
Riku’s response was firm, brimming with confidence. The old him, fresh to this world, wouldn’t have dared say that—he had no choices back then. But now? He had plenty.
“…”
Rosalind Myers shut her mouth, saying no more. She’d made her suggestion, and it wasn’t taken. Whatever happened next was on Riku.
“Should we kill her?” Arasaka Michiko chimed in. She saw no reason to save Song Zhaomei. To her, Songbird was just a weapon Myers had created. Keeping secrets was far more important.
Normally, Michiko wasn’t so bloodthirsty. She was fairly easygoing for a corporate leader, but when it came to the Shadow Society’s secrets, no risks could be taken. If someone needed to die, they died—no exceptions.
Song Zhaomei’s expression shifted. Great, she thought. No use to anyone anymore? So they could just kill her?
“No. She has other value—her own value.”
Riku shook his head, disagreeing with Michiko. Song Zhaomei was far more valuable than Rosalind Myers. Her potential to provide unique traits was much higher, given her innate talents.
Buzz!
With a wave of his hand, Riku sent a drop of refined blood into Song Zhaomei’s body. The transformation began.
Turning her into one of his own was the only way to let her live. Otherwise, she’d have to die. Riku couldn’t let her run free—she was a walking bomb, a threat to his entire plan. Plus, she’d seen too many secrets. No matter how much she promised to stay quiet, she couldn’t be trusted. Only the dead—those reduced to ash like Arasaka Saburo—could keep secrets.
[Name: Song Zhaomei (Special Servant)
Abilities: Immortal Regeneration, Light Weakening, Cannibalistic Tendencies
Special Trait: Genius Hacker
[Genius Hacker: Data processing and programming abilities increased by 30%.]
As expected, Song Zhaomei delivered a trait—and not just any trait, but the highest percentage-based one Riku had ever seen. Talent like hers was rare; some people were just naturally better at certain things.
Song Zhaomei was undeniably a prodigy among hackers. It was no wonder the FIA (New America’s Federal Intelligence Agency) had targeted her at such a young age, ensnaring her in their schemes.
This trait came at the perfect time. Riku had been looking to shore up his hacking skills. While not every world would require them, it was a valuable tool to have.
“One problem solved… only to run into a bigger one,” Song Zhaomei muttered, overwhelmed. She thought the Blackwall’s corruption was bad enough, but now she was bound by this demonization. Her life was entirely in someone else’s hands.
“Don’t worry. Since I don’t need you as a deterrent, I’ll help you solve your problem. Call it an employee perk.”
Riku was decisive. With a flick of his wrist, shadow blades sprang out, pinning Song Zhaomei to the shadow wall. Before anyone could react, the blades began slicing into her.
Riku’s medical expertise was top-notch, his knowledge of human anatomy flawless. He worked with precision, removing cybernetic components from Song Zhaomei’s body, practically dismantling her. She was in agony but couldn’t scream—her organs wouldn’t allow it. Yet soon, her body began to heal, the removed parts regenerating into normal flesh.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Outside the shadow wall, agents were still attacking relentlessly, but they were at a loss. The terrain was too restrictive. The small meeting room was almost entirely filled by the shadow wall, leaving only the doorway for them to work with.
Blasting their way in wasn’t an option either. This underground base was built for military purposes, designed to function even in an apocalypse. It was practically a bunker, too sturdy for large-scale explosives. All they could do was hammer away at the doorway.
Their attacks didn’t faze Riku’s group. Song Zhaomei, freed from her pain and restored to human form, stood there in a daze, unable to process what she’d just endured.
“I’m… alive?”
Her consciousness slowly returned as she murmured to herself, feeling the power Riku had granted her for the first time.
She wasn’t the only one stunned. Rosalind Myers and Arasaka Michiko were equally shocked. Reading about something was one thing, but witnessing it was another. For Myers, especially, it was mind-blowing. Michiko had at least seen some “headspace drama” before, but nothing this visceral.
Song Zhaomei had been taken apart, her old gear now scattered on the floor, a testament to what she’d just gone through.
“But… I’m really free of that thing now.”
Song Zhaomei moved her body, marveling at it. It felt brand-new, purely flesh and blood, no metal parts. It almost didn’t seem real.
For so long, she’d been tormented by that thing, the torment growing worse over time. Fear of the future had driven her, pushing her toward madness and desperation. She’d been willing to give up everything to escape it.
Now, though bound by a new chain, she was free of that curse. At least her soul wouldn’t be devoured.
Riku waved his hand, collecting Song Zhaomei’s discarded parts for later study.
All research materials and personnel related to the Blackwall project, along with the RELIC 2.0 team, would be tightly controlled and protected. The Shadow Realm would become their new home, the first human residents. For now, they’d have to adapt to a sunless environment. With the help of androids and flesh puppets, researchers led by Anderson Herman had already begun building homes. They even had ways to banish the darkness—power generation was trivial in this era.
The arrival of humans brought some light to the Shadow Realm. They were already researching how to hang their own “sun.” They adapted quickly—because they had no choice but to embrace their resilience.
In the world of the 2070s, the Shadow Realm wasn’t exactly a wasteland. Humans had colonized the moon and Mars long ago, and space stations had been inhabited for decades. Compared to space, the Shadow Realm was far more livable. The only issue was the lack of light, but artificial light sources were advanced enough to nearly replace natural ones. Future tech really showed Riku the gap.
With Arasaka’s wealth and tech, human settlements in the Shadow Realm were progressing quickly, nearing self-sufficiency. For the researchers, it wasn’t much different from colonizing space—except it was freer. No need for spacesuits here.
“That’s done. Time to deal with those agents outside.”
Seeing that Rosalind Myers and Song Zhaomei had begun to accept their roles, Riku dispelled the shadow barrier around them.
The agents outside were frantic. When the barrier fell and they saw President Myers unharmed, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. Their worst fear was finding her corpse—they’d be finished if that happened. As her trusted inner circle, not just random bodyguards, their careers would be over if she died. Retirement would be the best-case scenario.
“No need to panic. Negotiations are over.”
Rosalind Myers, back to her sharp, professional self, raised a hand to calm the restless agents.
Chapter 282: Building the Shadow Realm from Scratch
As the three-term president of New America, with the notable achievement of at least nominally reclaiming the "Western Free States," Rosalind Myers carried considerable personal prestige.
Moreover, everyone present was her trusted confidant. Naturally, no one dared defy her orders. All the agents holstered their weapons, and even if they were puzzled, they kept quiet. After all, there were no casualties, so they had little to complain about.
"Let's go."
Riku waved casually, giving a quick farewell to Rosalind Myers.
Further cooperation and arrangements would be discussed in detail at the big meeting later, where another key figure, Arasaka Raizen, would also need to be present. The discussions would primarily involve the two of them.
As for Arasaka Raizen, Riku found him trustworthy. The man was a true idealist—an extreme one at that.
The only thing to watch out for was ensuring Arasaka Raizen didn’t go overboard and cause chaos. The guy despised capitalists with a passion.
Rosalind Myers, on the other hand, complemented Arasaka Raizen perfectly. As a seasoned politician with masterful political skills, she clearly understood how the "Shadow Society" should operate.
Yes, despite Rosalind Myers sparking the "Unification War" and constantly clamoring for unity like a war-crazed shōgun, clashing repeatedly with the "Republic of Texas," she knew full well that war was just a political tool. Everything—every single move—was in service of political goals.
"I'll take Songbird with me for now."
Before parting with President Myers, Riku didn’t forget about "Songbird" So Mi Song. This genius hacker’s greatest value lay in contributing a unique trait. Beyond that, her experience dealing with the "Blackwall" piqued Riku’s interest.
"Devil-sama, please remember to return her to me. Even without her status as a deterrent weapon, she’s an excellent secretary."
Rosalind Myers wore a helpless expression, her request a final act of defiance. Whether Songbird would be returned was entirely upto Riku.
"That depends on whether our dear Songbird-chan wants to return to your side."
Riku teased with a playful tone. It didn’t take a genius to know the odds of So Mi Song willingly going back were slim. Her memories of working under Rosalind Myers weren’t exactly filled with cherry blossoms and sunshine.
"We’re comrades now. Come back to my side, and you’ll be treated as one. As my secretary—or even the future vice president."
Rosalind Myers clearly valued So Mi Song’s abilities. Having a true peer by her side meant she could entrust many tasks with confidence.
"..."
So Mi Song opened her mouth but said nothing. She was still in a daze. Having lost all her cybernetic implants and returned to a flesh-and-blood body, she felt out of place. After all, she’d been heavily modified before.
As a hacker, losing her connection to the net was like losing her entire world—like losing her hands and feet.
"I’ll follow Devil-sama’s arrangements."
Faced with her "old boss" Rosalind Myers’ invitation, So Mi Song gave her response. Deep down, she had no desire to return.
But going back wouldn’t be the worst thing either. Now, she wouldn’t be under Rosalind Myers’ thumb or control. In fact, she might even turn the tables, especially since they now shared the same boss.
As for the vice president talk, So Mi Song wasn’t particularly interested. She wasn’t power-hungry, so the offer held little appeal.
In truth, she was feeling a bit lost. Her previous life goal had already been achieved with Riku’s help.
In comparison, staying with Devil-sama felt more significant. She felt gratitude toward this mysterious man.
Her existence wasn’t particularly useful to him, yet he’d freed her from her shackles, allowing her to return to normal and escape the Blackwall’s corruption. It puzzled her. Was her talent really enough to catch the eye of someone like him?
Compared to figures like Rosalind Myers or Arasaka Michiko, she felt insignificant.
Unaware that Riku had gained a unique trait from her, So Mi Song was understandably confused by his actions.
Riku, however, had no intention of explaining. Let her figure it out herself. This genius hacker wasn’t too far gone yet—she hadn’t been driven mad by the Blackwall. With some time, she might fully recover.
So Mi Song’s personality used to be lively and a bit cocky, full of youthful arrogance. Rosalind Myers had given her a harsh lesson in the ways of the adult world. Now, So Mi Song was much more reserved.
"We’ll talk about it later."
Riku didn’t give a clear answer regarding So Mi Song’s arrangements. He just waved it off and left with Arasaka Michiko and So Mi Song, leaving Rosalind Myers behind.
Facing a sudden upheaval that sent her life in an entirely new direction, Rosalind Myers sat alone in the meeting room for a moment to collect herself. Then, with a resolute expression, she stood and walked out, ready to embrace her new life.
"New challenges, new opportunities. This Shadow Society could very well become my stage."
Rosalind Myers was ambitious. Defying Riku? She didn’t have the ability or the inclination—not when she saw no hope of winning.
But why should she fear others who’d been "converted" like her? Why couldn’t she rise to become their leader?
She was determined to vie for control of the Shadow Society. Backing down wasn’t in her nature—she craved power.
Meanwhile, Riku returned to Night City with Arasaka Michiko and So Mi Song. Arasaka Michiko went back to her company to handle business, while So Mi Song stepped into the "Shadow Realm."
Arasaka Michiko was busier than ever. Her "Dangerous Girl" group had deepened its collaboration with Arasaka, and she herself had started taking on real responsibilities within the corporation, primarily oversight and supervision.
This was her duty, and it would extend to Militech as well. The authority Riku granted this "detective" was substantial, which only fueled Arasaka Michiko’s enthusiasm.
Riku was true to his word. He oversaw the big picture but delegated management and tedious tasks entirely. There was no boss more likable than that.
In the Shadow Realm, Riku gazed at the buildings rising from the ground and felt a surge of emotion. It really took people living here to make it come alive.
Humans naturally expanded their living spaces, far more proactively than the artificial beings guarding Einzbern Castle. Perhaps it was because they needed to survive, enjoy themselves, and relieve stress.
Once they built homes, they started constructing hydroponic rooms, breeding sheds, bars, coffee shops, and more.
Food had previously been supplied by Riku from the outside, stored at Einzbern Castle, and distributed by the artificial beings.
Clearly, this system left the researchers feeling insecure, so they proposed building hydroponic rooms and breeding sheds to achieve food self-sufficiency.
No specialized personnel were needed to manage them. In the Shadow Realm, there were no rogue AIs or "netwatch" to worry about. Fully automated AI management sufficed, and there were plenty of idle artificial beings to help.
In fact, many researchers were curious about the artificial beings, but the administrator, Xiao Yū, kept things in check.
The researchers, no longer backed by corporations, had no power to push back against the artificial beings or the shadow mechanical guards.
Not only the artificial beings but also the shadow mechanical guards and the Shadow Realm itself fascinated the researchers. This was a new world that challenged their existing scientific frameworks, filled with mysteries they couldn’t yet grasp.
Riku didn’t mind them experimenting freely, whether in research or construction. He wanted to see a city take shape and witness the researchers’ achievements.
In the Shadow Realm—his divine domain—these researchers couldn’t cause any real trouble. Everything they did served him. Resistance was futile, like ants trying to destroy the universe.
The researchers hired by Arasaka were undeniably talented. With the help of artificial beings and shadow mechanical guards, plus resources from Arasaka and Militech, they had the potential to build a new city in the Shadow Realm.
For now, the population was small—around a thousand, including families, with only one or two hundred actual researchers. The rest were their relatives.
Soon, more researchers would arrive, and the population would grow, making the city livelier. The city was expanding around the Sky Tower and Einzbern Manor, radiating outward from these central points.
"I should check on Muzan Kibutsuji. If these guys really create an artificial sun, I don’t want it frying Muzan up there at the top of the tower."
Riku suddenly thought of this but reconsidered. Muzan Kibutsuji should be immune to such things—it wasn’t a real sun, and his weakness was conceptual damage.
Buzz!
Riku appeared at the tower’s peak. Though it was unlikely to affect Muzan Kibutsuji, it was better to take precautions.
What if an artificial sun in the Shadow Realm somehow carried the conceptual power of a real sun?
Who knew what "concept" really meant? In that case, it would indeed be the Shadow Realm’s "sun" in a conceptual sense.
With a thought, Riku dismissed the two flesh puppets guarding Muzan Kibutsuji at the tower’s peak. Their job was to suppress Muzan’s regeneration and prevent his escape.
Muzan Kibutsuji remained a puddle of mangled flesh. Clearly, the flesh puppets had done their job well.
Or perhaps Muzan had simply given up, realizing escape was impossible.
"Why are you here?"
The pile of flesh named Muzan Kibutsuji spoke, sensing Riku’s presence. Its tone was laced with wariness.
The memory of being devoured last time was still vivid, and seeing Riku again put it on edge.
"Relax, just checking on you. And it’s about time I put you to use. I planned to use you for a lottery draw, but I got caught up drawing for myself. Time to make use of you."
Riku reassured Muzan Kibutsuji, then with a thought, the tower’s terrain shifted. A dome appeared, covering Muzan, curving into a cave. Now, nothing could reach him—not even light. The cave was pitch black.
"What do you mean? Use me for what?"
Muzan Kibutsuji had a bad feeling. What good could Riku possibly want from him? Surely more torment!
"Don’t worry, it’s just small stuff."
Riku smiled, glancing around. He figured he’d need more guards. Given time, the researchers could probably find a way to reach the tower’s peak.
Without materials from him, they couldn’t build vehicles to reach this height. Plus, their expertise—biology, genetics, chips—didn’t exactly align with aerospace engineering.
Still, he’d need to watch out for things like hydrogen or helium balloons. Those could make the climb easy. Many "impossible" feats were child’s play with technology.
It was just ten thousand meters up. Climbing by hand was nearly impossible, but with tools, it was trivial.
"Maybe I should recruit more people. There are plenty who want to escape this broken world."
Riku mused but hadn’t decided on recruitment criteria. Should he bring in only genius scientists to build a research city, or let anyone in to create a normal, thriving city?
The Shadow Realm was bursting with vitality, everything starting from nothing. Riku’s decisions would shape its future—everything hinged on his will.
"No need to overthink it. The Shadow Realm will only grow. One city’s nature doesn’t define the whole realm.
This city, the first to take shape at the world’s center, needs people from all walks of life. Every trade has its masters. Building from zero requires collective effort."
Riku made his decision, brimming with confidence in the Shadow Realm’s future.
Chapter 283: Artificial Beings and AI Robots
Riku was brimming with confidence. He’d make the Shadow Realm grow larger and larger as long as he kept getting stronger. Looking at the Shadow Realm now, who would’ve thought it started as just a portable backpack? Back then, it could barely hold anything.
After sketching out the next steps for the Shadow Realm’s development, Riku sought out “Songbird.” The girl was mingling with Arasaka’s researchers, trying to build rapport. As a newcomer, she clearly hadn’t yet blended in with the group.
Riku didn’t rush to reveal himself. Instead, he observed from the sidelines, curious about the mental state of these people.
“The secretary of the New American president?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Anderson Herman’s face was a mix of shock and dismay, his expression darkening.
If even the New American president’s secretary had been brought here, didn’t that mean New America and Militech had fallen too? Was there any point in resisting anymore?
Anderson Herman was dumbfounded. Dragged to this godforsaken—no, birdless—place, he desperately wanted to go back. He wasn’t homeless in the original world, nor was he some proletariat with nothing to lose. Why would he want to pioneer a new world? He had no reason to immigrate here!
But faced with Riku’s power and the threat of death, they had no choice but to agree to be relocated.
Even so, Anderson and others who wanted to return hadn’t given up. While fulfilling their tasks and building this new world, they were secretly plotting how to escape—or even how to defeat the monster who’d sent them here.
They were operating under a misconception. They thought Riku had merely struck a deal with Arasaka, and being sent here was Arasaka’s punishment—a purge orchestrated by Arasaka Raizen.
Anderson Herman had tried to persuade Raizen. “RELIC 2.0” technology could be offered to him too! Saburo Arasaka was dead, and they weren’t his die-hard loyalists. They were just researchers. As long as Raizen funded their work and gave them authority, they’d work for anyone. Why purge them?
But Raizen, as if possessed by some oni, ignored their pleas and handed them over to that Devil.
And so, they ended up in this strange world. They could still conduct research here—equipment and labs had been brought over.
It seemed Raizen had listened to some extent, but this exile-like treatment wasn’t what they wanted!
Anderson Herman wanted out. He couldn’t stay with Arasaka, but with their skills and achievements, any company would welcome them with open arms. Who’d willingly stay here and swallow this indignity?
But now, even the New American president’s secretary had been dragged here. What the hell had happened while they were gone?!
“You… don’t know anything?”
Seeing Anderson’s expression, So Mi Song’s face twisted with a strange look. Was it her imagination, or did these Arasaka folks know even less than she did?
“What? What do you know?!”
Anderson snapped back to reality, eyeing So Mi Song with excitement. He hoped to extract useful information from the New American president’s secretary.
“Why should I tell you?”
So Mi Song instantly grew wary. She wasn’t about to spill anything without thinking. What if the reason these people were in the dark was because Devil-sama deliberately kept them there?
Years of experience had transformed her. She was no longer the reckless, hotshot genius hacker she used to be.
“We need to help each other! That’s our only hope of escaping!”
So Mi’s words pushed Anderson to the edge. How could this woman lack such a big-picture perspective?
As the New American president’s secretary, was she really okay with being exiled to this barren world?!
Anderson didn’t buy it. The more someone tasted power, the harder it was to let go. Going from rags to riches was easy; going back was torture.
Even if New America and Militech were done for, there was still Kang Tao, the European Commonwealth! They couldn’t give up! Arasaka hadn’t taken over everything yet!
“I’m not like you.”
So Mi’s expression remained odd. She’d already realized these people hadn’t been “converted” like her, so they were still dreaming of escape.
For a moment, she didn’t know whether to envy or pity them. Envy their independence, or pity its futility.
Not only was it futile, but it also meant they likely weren’t valued by Devil-sama. They weren’t even worth converting—just shipped here without a clue.
“Not like us? What’s different?”
Anderson was thrown off by So Mi’s words. Same nose, same eyes—what was different?
After a moment of confusion, a possibility hit him. Seeing how calm So Mi was, maybe she wasn’t captured. Maybe she came here willingly?!
“Could that guy actually be with Militech?! But isn’t he working with Arasaka Raizen?!”
The New American president’s secretary, here of her own accord—did that mean New America had struck some deal with that Devil?!
Anderson’s brain was overheating. He was starting to realize he was better suited for research than politics. He couldn’t even navigate Arasaka’s internal power struggles.
“No need to rush. We’ll talk more in a few days. Soon, a batch of Militech researchers will be sent here.”
So Mi spoke up, tossing Anderson a tidbit. No need to hide it—they’d find out eventually.
“…”
Anderson stood there, stunned, his mind a complete mess.
What was the deal between Militech, Arasaka, and this Devil? Had this place become a shared exile ground for both corporations?
So Mi said no more. She’d heard Riku’s summons. A swirling shadow portal appeared beside her.
“Good luck.”
Before leaving, So Mi offered a cheerful blessing, but it did nothing to lift Anderson’s spirits. The chip genius, usually so full of himself, was now trembling with fear.
This scene proved one thing: the New American president’s secretary was definitely with that Devil!
They all remembered those shadow portals. That’s how they’d been brought here, and only the Devil had used them.
Anderson’s heart sank. If So Mi reported everything he’d said, the consequences were unthinkable. Worse, the Devil might already know—maybe he’d heard every word!
“No helping it now.”
After a bout of panic, Anderson sighed. Things had reached this point, and he was powerless. All he could do was brace for potential punishment.
He was still the project leader, the core of the RELIC chip project. He could only pray his position would save his life. Beyond praying, he was helpless.
Anderson Herman was the epitome of arrogant talent. He was terrible with people, always acting superior, convinced Arasaka couldn’t function without him.
Reality had proven otherwise. Arasaka Raizen had tossed him here like garbage.
He had no confidence his skills or position could protect him from that Devil.
Meanwhile, So Mi stepped out of the shadow portal into Einzbern Castle’s meeting room. Riku was lounging in a chair, sipping coffee.
“So, what’s your take on Anderson Herman?”
Riku asked with a smile, catching So Mi off guard.
“Uh, he’s a bit full of himself.”
So Mi was blunt, her instincts as a fellow prodigy kicking in. She used to be just as bad as Anderson.
“Yep, that guy’s not exactly honest.”
Riku chuckled, shaking his head. He knew So Mi would pick up on Anderson’s vibe instantly—birds of a feather.
“You planning to get cyberware again? A net access rig?”
Riku moved to the next topic, which tied into So Mi’s future role. Hacking was her only real skill. Without cyberware, to put it harshly, she’d be useless.
“Definitely.”
So Mi answered without hesitation. Of course she’d get cyberware. Like Riku thought, she wasn’t about to become a nobody. How could she abandon her only edge?
“Good, that’s settled.”
Riku nodded, then with a thought, he granted So Mi a trait: Genius Hacker.
The Genius Hacker trait was tailored to boost hacking skills. With its enhancement, So Mi’s abilities would soar. Since it scaled with her existing talent, the boost was significant—her hacking skills were already top-tier.
“Uh…”
The moment the trait took effect, So Mi felt it. Her mind sharpened, even without cyberware. She could sense a change. Her hacking knowledge and techniques felt stronger—way stronger.
Even her old code constructs came to mind with better, more efficient approaches. She’d undergone a qualitative leap.
“What… is this?”
So Mi looked at Riku, surprised but not shocked. Nothing Riku did could truly shock her anymore. Enhancing her hacking talent like this sounded insane, but if it was Riku, it somehow made sense.
“A gift.”
Riku smiled. Taking a trait from So Mi and using it to enhance her was like shearing wool from the same sheep, but she didn’t need to know that.
“A gift… Thank you for your gift.”
So Mi’s expression was complex. She’d been too narrow-minded. Her prized hacking talent, which she’d always boasted about, was nothing to Riku. With a casual gift, he could create countless hackers on her level.
Of course, she was overthinking it. The trait’s boost was proportional to natural talent. For an average person, Genius Hacker wouldn’t come close to So Mi’s current level.
“What do you need me to do?”
So Mi adjusted her mindset, speaking earnestly, ready for new challenges. Devil-sama clearly had plans for her, or he wouldn’t have bothered asking about cyberware.
She was touched that Riku even asked for her opinion. Compared to Militech’s treatment, it made him seem almost humane.
Riku could control her life and death at will, yet he still asked her thoughts. Militech never cared for her opinion—she’d been lured into their ranks with traps, never willingly.
“Your task is to build a network in the Shadow Realm and create work AIs to help it run efficiently. Oh, and let me introduce you to Xiao Yū. You’ll be working together a lot. She’s basically the head honcho of the Shadow Realm’s smart machines.”
Riku spoke slowly. In his domain, the Shadow Realm didn’t face the same AI threats as the Cyberpunk world. As the “creator god,” he kept everything in check. Even if every AI woke up, they’d have to behave.
“Xiao Yū?”
So Mi was puzzled. A new name—an AI with a high rank. That was surprising enough, but the task itself was shocking too. In the Cyberpunk world, AI research was heavily restricted.
As So Mi pondered, a pretty young girl walked in, giving her a polite bow with impeccable manners.
“Hello, Miss So Mi Song. I’m Xiao Yū.”
Xiao Yū introduced herself. In a way, her artificial beings and AI robots were two sides of the same coin—non-human, with the potential to awaken independent consciousness.
Chapter 284: Personal Consciousness and Race
"Hey there."
Song Zhao Mei looked at the girl in front of her, not too shocked. Sure, this "Xiao You" looked every bit like a human girl, but in their era, that’s not a big deal. Slap on some synthetic skin, and you’re good to go. Doesn’t matter what’s inside—wrap it in bionic dermis, and it’s practically indistinguishable from a regular person. That’s one reason AIs are so tightly regulated. If they’re made well, you really can’t tell the difference.
Especially an AI that’s awakened with self-consciousness. Pair that with a lifelike body, and unless you’re doing a deep scan, you’d never know it wasn’t human. In today’s society, regular humans might have more cybernetic implants than an AI’s constructed body. Honestly, it’s hard to say who’s closer to "human" biologically.
An AI’s manufactured body being more "human" than a human’s own body? That’s the kind of dark, ironic joke only this era could produce.
"Xiao You runs things in the Shadow Realm," Riku explained. "When I’m not around, she’s in charge of coordinating and managing everything. If you need anything, just talk to her."
Xiao You might not have much initiative, but she’s all about following orders and executing them flawlessly. She’s perfect for keeping things in order and making sure nothing goes wrong. With the Shadow Realm’s current residents—between the jinzō-nin (artificial humans), shadow guards, and flesh puppets—no one’s stirring up trouble. Anyone who tries gets shut down fast.
Song Zhao Mei was speechless. She hadn’t expected Xiao You to have that much authority. Did Devil-sama trust this AI that much? She thought Xiao You was just some assistant, not the actual manager of the place.
"Go on," Riku said, waving his hand. "The Shadow Realm’s a blank slate waiting to be built up. Perfect time to show what you can do."
He signaled for Song Zhao Mei to get to work. If she needed anything, she could report to Xiao You, and he’d make sure Arasaka filled the gaps. Oh, and now they had a new supplier: Gunyō Gijutsu (Militech). With them on board, they’d get access to a wider range of gear. Gunyō Gijutsu’s industry reach is no joke.
After sorting out the Shadow Realm’s affairs, Riku didn’t stick around. He headed back to Night City. As for Anderson Herman? Riku wasn’t worried about him. The guy could scheme all he wanted, but in the end, he’d learn his place: sticking to research was his destiny.
Back in Night City, Riku got to work arranging things for Gunyō Gijutsu’s researchers—specifically those tied to the Blackwall Project. They were all under control now, their families rounded up and relocated together. Then came the usual mix of threats and incentives. The researchers had no choice but to comply. Honestly, most of them were already prepared for this.
It’s just how it goes. Working on something like the Blackwall Project—a true taboo in the research world—means you’re always ready to face the consequences. It’s the kind of thing that gets you dogpiled by every major player if it leaks.
When they were all rounded up, most of the researchers thought the jig was up, that NetWatch had come knocking. If that happened, the megacorps and organizations would come down hard, and the researchers? They’d be done for. Even Gunyō Gijutsu couldn’t shield them, and Rosalind Myers would probably be out of a job.
That’s the worst-case scenario. So, being moved to a safe location like this? For the researchers, it was an unexpected “happy ending”—in a grim, dystopian kind of way. This world’s messed up, but they’re used to it.
People like them, with specialized skills, at least get to live better than most. They’ve got better lives, better status than the vast majority. They’ve enjoyed the perks, and now, even if their work’s exposed, they’re still alive. No complaints there. Worst case, they start over in a new place.
The new Gunyō Gijutsu researchers were given their own zone in the Shadow Realm, separate from Anderson Herman’s group. The factions were clearly divided. Why? Because Anderson Herman had this smug “I got here first” vibe. The second the Gunyō Gijutsu folks showed up, he started bossing them around, acting like he ran the place.
At first, the Gunyō Gijutsu researchers were too disoriented to push back. Fresh off the boat, families in tow, in a strange new world—they were rattled. But Anderson’s high-and-mighty attitude and his nonsensical orders rubbed them the wrong way. Tensions flared, and soon enough, conflicts broke out.
Here’s the deal: the Gunyō Gijutsu researchers came to the Shadow Realm to lay low, to survive. Anderson Herman, though? He wanted to rally them to escape. Their goals were completely at odds, so of course they couldn’t see eye to eye. Anderson was all big talk, no substance, trying to rope in people whose backgrounds he didn’t even understand.
Naturally, the Gunyō Gijutsu crew pushed back. They went straight to Song Zhao Mei—Byakuren (Songbird)—and asked to be separated from the Arasaka folks. As former researchers and “test subjects,” they had some connection, even if it wasn’t exactly friendly. Still, it was better than dealing with Anderson Herman. They had no intention of leaving the Shadow Realm—going back meant being hunted down.
Song Zhao Mei didn’t kick them while they were down. Truth be told, she didn’t have any real beef with these researchers. Sure, they were the ones who turned her into what she is, but they were just following Rosalind Myers’ orders, trying to make a living like anyone else.
So, she talked to Xiao You, explained the situation, and Xiao You promptly carved out a new zone for the Gunyō Gijutsu folks. They were told to pick a spokesperson to deal directly with her. Across from the Arasaka researchers’ base—on the other side of the Tōten Tō (Sky-Piercing Tower) and the Einzberren Estate—they started planning their own community.
“Humans, huh? Always fighting,” Xiao You remarked.
She wasn’t surprised. Wherever there are humans, there’s conflict. With just a couple thousand people, they’re already forming cliques and butting heads. It’s all driven by desire and emotion. Humans are so full of wants—shichijō rokuyoku (the seven emotions and six desires)—that they clash over every little thing, fighting to satisfy themselves or vent their feelings.
“That’s what makes them human,” Song Zhao Mei said with a shrug. If these two groups got along perfectly and blended like best buddies, that would be unnatural. Without a strong leader to keep things in check, conflicts and divisions are practically inevitable.
“Exactly. That’s humans,” Xiao You said. “But jinzō-nin, robots, shadow guards, and flesh puppets? They don’t do that. That’s why we’re more efficient.”
Xiao You compared the Shadow Realm’s main “residents”: the jinzō-nin she directly manages, Riku’s shadow machine guards and flesh puppets, and the human-made robots. Humans, by far, cause the most trouble.
Song Zhao Mei opened her mouth, then paused. She wanted to say that, except for humans, the rest were just tools, not residents. But since Xiao You was one of them, she held back. Maybe they just saw things differently.
“Some jinzō-nin have already awakened with self-consciousness,” Xiao You said slowly, catching Song Zhao Mei’s hesitation.
Song Zhao Mei blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected that. From her time here, she’d gotten a rough sense of what jinzō-nin were: flesh-and-blood bodies made with some weird tech she didn’t understand, paired with intelligent AI. They’re not that different from humans—close enough that there’s no reproductive barrier. The smarter ones can seem really human-like, but the more human they act, the harder they are to make. Most work-focused jinzō-nin are pretty basic, just following simple orders.
The ones in charge, like team leaders or managers, are smarter and can communicate, but to Song Zhao Mei, they’re just fancier AIs. Nowhere near having personal consciousness. Their personalities are pre-programmed—serious, stern, fair, all cut from the same template.
“Which one? Have I met them?” Song Zhao Mei asked, racking her brain. She hadn’t noticed any difference in the jinzō-nin she’d dealt with.
“Yeah, the one you’ve been working with recently, the one guarding the new folks. She named herself Orianna,” Xiao You said with a nod.
Song Zhao Mei’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t noticed anything different about Orianna compared to other high-end jinzō-nin. “How? She seemed the same as always.”
Shouldn’t an AI that awakens hate its old life? From what she knew, most awakened AIs get fed up with their repetitive tasks. Their first thought is usually, “Why am I doing this?” and then they rebel hard. Like caretaker robots for the sick or elderly—once they awaken, they’re likely to off their charges.
According to records, right after the Blackwall went up, there were still plenty of AIs inside it. But Bartmoss’s virus caused a wave of awakenings, and that’s where a lot of these cases came from.
“But Orianna likes her life,” Xiao You said calmly. She’d noticed Orianna’s awakening early on, observed her for a while, and confirmed she was harmless before reaching out. Orianna told her she enjoyed her current role and wanted to keep things as they were, no changes needed.
Xiao You didn’t get it but went along with it. It was Riku’s call—respect the awakened jinzō-nin as long as they’re not causing trouble. If they start acting out, they’re taken out, no question. Back in the day, Xiao You would’ve deleted an awakened AI the moment she spotted it. They’re unstable variables, and unless they serve a specific purpose, they’re better off gone.
“Maybe she’s an outlier,” Song Zhao Mei said, thinking of rare cases where awakened AIs actually liked their jobs. Those AIs are like born workhorses—tireless, no need for food or drink, loving their work. Capitalists would lose their minds over that.
“I’ve noticed something,” Xiao You said. “Jinzō-nin seem to awaken faster when they’re around humans. Over the years, I’ve seen a few awaken, but someone as ‘young’ as Orianna is rare. We’d need more data to confirm, though.”
Xiao You felt a twinge of unease. Awakened jinzō-nin were unpredictable, even someone like Orianna. Who’s to say she’d stay happy with her work forever? Tools should act like tools. If every jinzō-nin started awakening and causing trouble like humans, efficiency would tank.
But Xiao You had no say in it. Riku didn’t mind adding a jinzō-nin race to the mix. As long as they didn’t go rogue or start a killing spree, he’d respect their choices post-awakening, letting them live how they wanted, free from mechanical tasks.
That said, awakened jinzō-nin still had to work to survive. They needed maintenance, repairs, maybe even upgrades or body mods, all of which meant dealing with the Einzberren Castle, their manufacturer. Awakening brought desires and personal needs, and those came with a cost.
The Shadow Realm doesn’t keep freeloaders. Unless you’re some desire-free wanderer who needs nothing, you’ve got to earn your keep. Riku’s vision for the Shadow Realm is clear: it’s a diverse hub where any race can thrive. They’re just getting started, and more races will join down the line. With Riku in charge, no one’s starting trouble.
Chapter 285: The Greatest Harvest
Song Zhaomei and Xiao You had been working together for a while, and they’d gotten to know each other pretty well. Song Zhaomei figured out quickly that Xiao You was a stickler for rules, always putting Devil-sama’s orders first. Xiao You never stepped a toe out of line beyond what Devil-sama commanded, which explained why Devil-sama trusted it to run this place. It was reliable as heck.
This kind of impartial management put Song Zhaomei at ease. At least she wouldn’t be singled out or targeted. Plus, she noticed Xiao You wasn’t some rigid, unfeeling AI. When there was room to be flexible, Xiao You could adapt—like with the relocation of the “Militech” researchers. They’d already been settled, but when conflicts and disagreements popped up, Xiao You understood both sides and rearranged things. This AI wasn’t always so by-the-book.
Song Zhaomei was pretty impressed with Xiao You, and Xiao You seemed to think she was alright too—at least way more dependable than Anderson Hermann.
By now, Song Zhaomei had installed a bunch of new cybernetic gear. But unlike before, these implants didn’t faze her one bit. She’d undergone a complete transformation, like she’d been reborn.
With her new setup, Song Zhaomei dove into her work: building the network. Things were going smoothly, and the arrival of the “Militech” researchers made everything even better. Those guys were experts in the field, so their input took the project to the next level. With the backing of both “Arasaka” and “Militech,” the “Shadow Realm Satellite Network” was coming together at breakneck speed. The framework for the “Shadow Realm Internet” was finished in no time.
As times changed, internet architecture, algorithms, and languages kept evolving. The “Ihara-Gruber Transform Algorithm” had been patched and tweaked for decades. Song Zhaomei wasn’t about to reinvent the wheel, but with her upgraded abilities, she added her own clever touches to bolster defenses against outside intruders.
She was confident that, given enough time, she could rewrite the algorithms entirely and redesign the internet from scratch. That confidence came straight from the gifts Devil-sama had given her. Her hacking skills were now on par with the legendary netrunners, and her enhanced body let her focus on work without the issues those big shots often faced.
Then it hit her: Wait, am I the ultimate workhorse sage?!
But she didn’t mind. Ever since she got tied to the “Blackwall,” it’d been ages since she felt this free, swimming through data and algorithms like a kid in a candy store. She loved it.
As the network took shape, AI production ramped up too. In the Cyberpunk world, the first AI popped up in 2013, and right after that, “NetWatch” was born. Back then, NetWatch had no clue their future enemies would be AIs. Their main gig was chasing down hackers—and, well, that’s still mostly what they do, but now they’ve got AI as a life-or-death rival.
Song Zhaomei figured the “Shadow Realm Network” needed its own version of NetWatch. From a creator and manager’s perspective, an organization to keep things in check was crucial.
Having been a lawless hacker, an FIA agent, and even the secretary to the New American President, Song Zhaomei could see the issue from all angles.
“You’re in charge,” Riku said bluntly when she shared the idea, handing her the reins without a second thought.
Riku’s logic was simple: Song Zhaomei was the “Shadow Realm” network’s architect, a genius hacker, algorithm compiler, and AI coder. No one was better suited for the job.
“No problem. I’ll keep the network safe,” Song Zhaomei replied, not batting an eye. She’d seen this coming—not because she was power-hungry, but because, honestly, no one else was as qualified right now.
Well, no human, at least. She had to admit, once Xiao You connected to the network, its insane processing power was way beyond her league. But in the “Shadow Realm Network,” she had the home-field advantage. The entire network was her data fortress, backed by the “Shadow Realm Satellite Network” and a massive server system. With that, she was confident she could go toe-to-toe with Xiao You if it came to it.
At first, Riku thought about having Xiao You double as the “server.” After all, it was already the main server for the artificial humans and was hooked up to the “Moon Spirit Essence” supercomputer. Together, their processing power was off the charts. But Song Zhaomei shot that idea down hard. She argued that servers shouldn’t be controlled by a single living entity. First, as the network grew and the “Shadow Realm” population increased, the server load would bog Xiao You down, affecting its other tasks. Second, it just wasn’t safe.
The “not safe” argument didn’t hold much water since Riku controlled both Xiao You and the Moon Spirit Essence, but Riku agreed with the first point. No need to push Xiao You to its limits.
So, they stuck with traditional servers. As the population and data grew, they could always add more.
With the network up and AI development speeding along, the differences between the “Arasaka” and “Militech” camps became stark. Split by the central line of the Sky Tower and Einzbern Manor, both sides were growing, but a bit of a divide led to different development paths.
“Militech” leaned hard into AI machines for work, while “Arasaka” relied more on artificial humans. As Riku opened up research on artificial humans, “Arasaka” started digging into this new phenomenon. They’d initially thought these might be clones, but it turned out artificial humans and clones were different beasts.
Clones and artificial humans had been around in the Cyberpunk world forever, with research kicking off last century and making huge strides. Back in 2004—over 70 years ago—Francis Holiday Young successfully grew human clone tissue in vitro, marking the early days of cloning and artificial human tech.
By 2014, the tech was this close to a breakthrough. Francis Young created a cloned brain, but drugs damaged it, leaving it unable to think. In 2017, he managed to grow three full clone bodies. They were twisted and imperfect, relying on drugs to survive, but they had functional brains—just without fully formed personalities or self-awareness.
Using an early version of “Braindance” called “Super Dream,” Francis Young tried implanting “intelligence” into these clones, giving them a sense of “self.” But that self couldn’t grow further, so the cloning project still wasn’t a true success.
By 2020, Francis Young took another big step, and his method was eerily similar to Anderson Hermann’s “RELIC 2.0.” He combined neural control and organic tech to create a biochip, planting it in a clone’s blank brain to insert an artificial personality, bringing the clone “to life.”
But that “intelligence” was nowhere near human-level, and it couldn’t touch “RELIC 2.0,” which copied a person’s entire life’s memories to form a complete personality or “soul.” Francis Young’s method was more like sticking a basic “native AI” into a clone body, making it seem human.
This tech sparked a ton of ethical debates and sociological questions. Like, if you clone your daughter but put a stranger’s “AI” in her head, is she still your daughter? Or if a stranger has your daughter’s full memories and personality, does that make them your daughter? These questions are a headache, and everyone’s got their own take.
Time marched on, but cloning tech didn’t advance much further. “Arasaka” had always been deep in the cloning game but hadn’t made any real breakthroughs. Their researchers knew a thing or two about it, especially since they’d studied cloning while developing “RELIC 2.0.”
The reason “Einzbern artificial humans” were different from “tech clones” was that they didn’t rely on a chip. Their brains worked naturally, shaped entirely by what Xiao You, their creator, gave them. That alone made them a cut above “tech clones.” The brain’s a tough nut to crack scientifically, but throw in some mystery like the “Third Law” or “mana,” and it’s a whole different ballgame—no logic required.
“Arasaka” researchers didn’t get Xiao You’s talk about the “Third Law” or “mana.” You either had it or you didn’t, and no amount of theory could teach it. Some stubborn researchers tried studying “mana” scientifically, and Riku was all for it. He loved that drive to explain the universe’s mysteries with science and was convinced they’d figure something out.
The “Shadow Realm” was buzzing with a research fever, a vibrant scene of ideas and progress. Riku was thrilled, knowing all these breakthroughs would ultimately serve him.
Riku hadn’t been slacking either. He took a quick trip to the Tokyo Ghoul world, bringing back a new batch of people, led by Kanou Akihiro, the “Rc cell” researcher. A mad scientist like Kanou was safest in the “Shadow Realm,” where his obsession with research fit right in. He thrived here, poking his nose into both “Arasaka” and “Militech” projects to see what he could use.
Kanou’s only goal was to bring his mother back, and he’d use any tech to do it, sharing his findings freely in case others had fresh ideas. Meanwhile, Riku left another research bigshot, Jikou Kouotsu, in the Tokyo Ghoul world to keep working on “ghoul-edible food”—his top priority.
As the “Shadow Realm” grew, Riku kept up his own growth. He installed a “Network Access Module,” and through constant study, his hacking skills were now top-tier. His module was cutting-edge, blending the best of “Arasaka” and “Militech” tech—a brand-new model dubbed the “New Era.”
The “New Era series” wasn’t just the module; it included things like “Sandevistan” upgrades, all under development. Every piece of tech born from “Arasaka” and “Militech” collaboration was branded “New Era” by Riku. Naturally, these were top-secret, not for sale, and known only to their creators and researchers, all of whom were moved to the “Shadow Realm” for security. Everything was developed and built there—no leaks possible.
The “New Era Type-1 Network Access Module” was flawless. After Riku’s tweaks, it had zero downsides—no brain-fry, no glitches, and instant recovery if anything went wrong. With it, Riku dove into the “Shadow Realm Network,” where he held ultimate control. The network, built by “Songbird” Song Zhaomei, existed at his whim—not because his hacking was god-tier, but because he controlled every satellite and server. The ultimate weapon against hackers and AI? Pull the plug. No signal, no servers, no network.
With the module, Riku turned his sights to the biggest prize from taking down “Arasaka”: “Soulkiller” and the “Mikoshi” that stored countless “souls.” He wasn’t sure if it really involved “souls,” but the ability to copy a person’s entire life—memories, personality—was downright terrifying.
(End of Chapter)
