Getting a Technology System in Modern Day-Chapter 932: A Potential Solution II

The wreckage of his rage lay strewn about the stateroom, a testament to a fury that had burned itself out, leaving only a cold, calculating silence in its wake. Kumakar sat amidst the chaos, his physical surroundings irrelevant. His mind was a different landscape entirely, one where the seeds of a new plan, planted during the tense holographic conference, were already beginning to sprout.

The suggestion from his economic minister had been a desperate gambit, but a brilliant one. It offered a path through the immediate crisis, a way to weaponize the public's fear and redirect their anger. While his subordinates would handle the delicate task of managing the narrative within their own civilization, Kumakar's focus was already elsewhere. He was thinking about the Empire. He was thinking about retaliation. He was thinking about how to salvage the part of his original plan that had failed so spectacularly: dragging the Terran Empire into a conflict it could not win.

For over an hour, he remained motionless, a predator in thought, fleshing out the new strategy, refining every detail until it was a sharp, viable weapon. Finally, he stirred.

"Rumaksa!"

His aide entered instantly, his arrival so swift it was as if he had been waiting just outside the door. "Your Excellency."

"Have this mess cleaned," Kumakar commanded, rising from his chair. He strode toward the door, his boots crunching over shattered crystal without a hint of concern. "I want it restored to its original condition by the time I return."

"Yes, Your Excellency." Rumaksa bowed low as his master passed, then straightened as the door slid shut. He surveyed the ruined chamber, his expression grim. He pulled a small device from his pocket. "You have ten minutes," he said into it, his voice clipped and urgent. "Reassemble the room." He didn't know when Kumakar would be back, and he wasn't willing to risk his master returning to anything less than perfection.

Moments later, the room began to repair itself. Bent wall panels straightened, the floor smoothed over, and the very air seemed to hum as nanites went to work. A team of silent attendants entered with hovering carts, replacing every broken object with a perfect replica, their movements a silent, efficient ballet of restoration. frёeωebɳovel.com

***

While his stateroom was being reborn, Kumakar walked the silent, grand corridors of his personal ship, his mouth moving minutely, his thoughts a low, private murmur.

"I can't use him," he muttered to himself, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "He's already fulfilled his contract." He was thinking of the man, the asset with the terrifying ability to control minds, the one who had orchestrated the pirate attacks. He had been a powerful tool, but a temporary one. "I should have held his leverage for longer, made him part of this new plan." But he knew it was a fool's thought. The agreement with that man was ancient, inherited through three generations of leaders. The warnings from his predecessors had been clear: honor the contract to the letter, and never, ever attempt to push beyond its terms. To do so would be to invite a nightmare into his own house, a ghost that could turn his most trusted allies against him without him ever knowing.

He stopped, his decision made. "It may be crude," he whispered to the empty corridor, "but I have no choice if I want to act quickly and not miss this window of opportunity."

He removed a device from his pocket, similar to the one Rumaksa used, but this one shimmered with a constantly shifting, iridescent light. He tapped a sequence of commands into its surface, then brought it to his lips.

"I have a mission for you," he said, his voice calm, devoid of emotion. "It requires absolute secrecy. Upon its completion, you will eliminate all who participated. Including yourself."

A voice, filled with a chilling, unwavering reverence, responded from the device. "Your Excellency. What are the requirements? What do you wish for us to do?" The voice held no fear, no hesitation at the death sentence just delivered.

"I need you to gather individuals," Kumakar began, his voice dropping lower as he detailed the horrific plan. "Between ten and fifteen slaves from every species on your planet. Do the same for the non-slave populations. Once you have them, you will…"

He continued, laying out the plan in meticulous, brutal detail. He answered every question and clarified every step. He felt no need for caution; the man on the other end was one of his Willed Servants. These were individuals born for a single purpose: to serve the leader of their civilization without question, without hesitation, without a hint of betrayal. The very concept was alien to them, a part of their being that had been overwritten by the metaphysical power of their parents' willed sacrifice. It was a cruel system, one that preyed on the poor and the patriotic, offering compensation in exchange for a child's soul. But it was effective. It gave him absolute loyalty and removed any worry of betrayal happening within his ranks of servants.

However, despite their unwavering loyalty, they were treated as expendable since they were unable to question any command, they followed orders that led to frequent deaths and a tragically short life expectancy. Yet this sacrifice served dual purposes: grieving parents, now freed from loss, were permitted to bring forth new willed children and embrace renewed joy using the payment of their sacrificed child; meanwhile, the civilization's government reaped every possible benefit from their obedient service.

"I will have everything prepared within two weeks, Your Excellency," the Willed Servant replied, his voice still filled with that same unnerving reverence. "Then, I will await your order to proceed."

Kumakar pinched the device, severing the connection. He slipped it back into his pocket and turned, walking back toward his now-pristine stateroom. He took his seat and resumed his work, his expression no different than it had been before the destructive rampage. It was, after all, a usual occurrence for him.

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