Chapter 22: Crimson King-type Star Gate

The second time in a long while boarding the Star Gate escort ship left him feeling completely fresh.

After all, the last time he rode one was several decades ago.

Not to mention how time might have reshaped that memory, just the fact that it was a childhood memory destined him to be quite mottled——

——This is usually the thought inertia of transmigrators, an overly old cognition.

Whether pursuing the spiritual true self through source energy cultivation or the crystal core restraints of cybernetic modification, both allow a person to pick up childhood memories again without any awkwardness.

Aomo's path was naturally the former, but the basic crystal core mentioned in the latter was also implanted behind his head—not because he intended to advance occult science and machinery in tandem, but simply because his occult cultivation level was still insufficient, requiring faster mechanical means to fill the gaps.

This is also the initial choice for most source energy science students.

After all, the technological path forms really quickly—you can decide today and achieve technological ascension tomorrow.

As long as you have enough money and connections, that's enough.

But that costs too much; back when Aomo installed a basic crystal core for himself it hurt terribly, and now he has the money to upgrade, yet he has no intention to do so.

Someone who has long been poor, once they become rich, either spends lavishly or continues to be frugal until they adapt.

Aomo is clearly the latter.

Then, as a crystal core holder capable of recalling past memories, where does Aomo's freshness in this experience come from?

Naturally, it's the technological changes and trends of the past ten years.

The Star Gate escort ship's activation tremor, its internal equipment layout, the universal popular science tutorials inside, even the cabin's decoration style—all of these differed from before, bringing him full freshness and genuine satisfaction.

At such moments, his eyes indeed shone with the vigor a young person should have, and even the corners of his mouth unconsciously lifted—but when he turned his head and saw his foster father still wearing an eye mask and lightly dozing, he restrained his country-bumpkin reaction.

This also included the impulse to share his feelings.

However, he could only move at this moment; once the escort ship turned into a rainbow and ascended within the Star Gate, everyone inside the cabin would lose any leeway for activity in that extreme speed, becoming part of the light.

This is also the moment when the escort ship truly exerts its function.

During faster-than-light travel, it ensures passengers' conditions remain unchanged, rather than completely losing themselves in the light and being unable to recover.

However, for the navigator in charge of communication between two stars, the Star Gate transfer time varies by several hours; but for passengers who need not maintain self to confirm the route, they will lose their sense of time during such travel, simply put——

——For most people, the experience of Star Gate Aviation is: a moment's lapse and they're told to disembark, feeling they've missed out a lot.

This is already the best possible outcome, frankly.

At least the sense of time is shortened; lengthening it would be torture. Some people are naturally unsuited for Star Gate Aviation, while others, due to overly keen perception, sense the existence of the 'Super Spacetime Network' they pass through during the flight, producing various side effects.

Some are perfectly fine and can even excitedly grab others to describe the wonders they saw, while others exhibit mental abnormalities or even go into shock.

After all, those able to pass through or traverse the Super Spacetime Network are inevitably beings unafraid of this speed's damage to body and will; you can call them powerful, or terrifying, and there are indeed many whose very appearance is terrifying.

For example, there have been sighting cases of a few monsters capable of traveling through time and space.

But even they basically won't take interest in a passing escort ship, even if occasionally a few 'ants' inside its metal shell glance at them.

Passengers often just glance idly, then bring disaster upon themselves; thus perception-suppressing devices have been added to the escort ship's passenger equipment—though not mandatory, it's wise to wear them if you want a smooth passage.

Aomo simply wore it obediently.

The chance of seeing a monster is truly minuscule; even Aomo, who cares quite a bit about it, refuses to gamble.

He still wanted a sufficiently satisfying start to his trip, and being sent to the infirmary on day one certainly wouldn't be that.

So he merely glanced at the hazy light and shadow to his left and right, then looked at Morrison sitting beside him, whose half-body had turned into elongated light, and then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper.

It wasn't the travel essentials checklist he'd folded that morning, but a handwritten list of travel destinations.

All kinds of place names, big and small, were listed there, but without a specific order—this was Aomo's leeway for handling sudden situations, planning to decide where to go first only after truly arriving at Heaven Gate City.

No matter where he went first, the first day's fixed destination was definitely——Round Valley No. 8 Exhibition Hall!

Looking at those six large characters written deliberately in red ink, each three sizes bigger than the other place names plus an exclamation mark, Aomo gave a silent smile, then folded it again and slipped it back into his clothing pocket.

Then, during the pre-landing reminder with the seat-fixed terminal, he tapped awake Morrison beside him.

"Wake up, we're almost there, get ready to go to the changing room."

"... Okay." Morrison, who had only been lightly dozing, fell silent for a moment, understood the situation, didn't bother asking the stupid question 'How long did I sleep?', and just lowered his head to check the time difference on his phone.

"It should also be morning over there."

"And the temperature is still quite low, so we need to go to the changing room."

As they spoke, the safety device on the seats meant to prevent accidents had already been unlocked; together with the ongoing channel broadcast, many passengers had risen, carrying their own prepared clothing to the changing room.

Seeing this, Aomo also shot an annoyed glance at the expressionless Morrison.

If Aomo hadn't suggested and prepared his outfit, this guy would probably have just shown up in a summer set to work.

Admittedly, an 11° temperature might not be a big issue for an old bat—it would just divert a bit of energy to internal circulation—but wouldn't saving that energy be better?

It's just a matter of changing clothes!

Aomo has always felt his foster father treats many things too casually, even when facing work that's constantly a matter of life and death.

Both are averse to trouble, but Aomo prefers to prepare thoroughly beforehand to avoid bigger trouble later, whereas Morrison... he's like a reckless blood clan, highlighting 'don't be timid, just go ahead,' preparation being irrelevant, making up for shortcomings with strength!

And yet he's only a B-rank agent!

According to threat level assessment, he's still only F-rank, the kind that can run rampant in a district, let alone E-rank urban combat.

Three years ago, that black dragon that blew up three federal star ships hasn't made a sound to this day—how do you manage to be so recklessly blatant?

At first, young Aomo thought this guy was world-weary, the sort who doesn't treat his own life as life, death being liberation, a deeply grudged type.

But after observing him day in and day out, the guy is simply afraid of trouble.

No wonder, after mixing in this line for nearly sixty years he's still just doing odd jobs for people, even lacking the talent to sit in an office.

Vampires can't stay idle; they prefer the feeling of wielding new weapons to unleash power, otherwise retiring on low benefits and drifting through days would be much happier.

Although they are long-lived, they've also satisfied retirement age for a while now; Aomo has indeed advised him before, given that enforcer work is essentially a life‑risking gig—big appetite, low skill always carries a chance of failure—but looking at the outcome,

It's rare that he couldn't out‑stubborn the elders' slackness.

After all, lacking persuasive material, the enforcer job is dangerous, but as a legitimate company cooperating with the Two Worlds Safety Bureau, most of the work is official in nature, its risk having been strictly screened and predicted, making sudden death truly unlikely.

But this long‑distance business trip, with the mission content encrypted... gave Aomo a somewhat uneasy feeling.

If you need anything, just contact me.

After returning from their respective changing rooms, Aomo, who was waiting for the escort craft to finally land, instructed Morrison.

Ordinary people would hardly think a 19‑year‑old could help with the Two Worlds Safety Bureau's missions, but Morrison, who had gotten to the bottom of Aomo's situation, naturally understood that the help Aomo offered was not in combat power but in support.

His sufficiently abnormal observer personality, his sufficiently agile and practiced information‑gathering and retrieval— as a 19‑year‑old high‑school graduate aiming for the Two Worlds Safety Bureau's Operations Division, Aomo lacked only education and combat power.

But these are exactly the two points the Operations Division values most when hiring; if you can't handle them, you'll be stuck.

But if he were to join the Intelligence Bureau instead, he would be treated as a talent to be cultivated, whereas the Operations Division usually doesn't get full cooperation from the Intelligence Bureau.

After all, the Intelligence Bureau handles far too many event classifications; the Two Worlds Safety Bureau's transmigration cases are merely a minor category.

Morrison is quite familiar with this, having cooperated many times with the Safety Bureau's personnel, and even shares a camaraderie that includes dining together with some of the staff.

But faced with Aomo's serious expression, he fell silent for a moment, then simply smiled and patted his shoulder:

You should be wishing me success in my work, after all—I don't want to disturb your journey to the Heavenly Gate.

Aomo isn't so easily fooled; upon noticing the topic being dodged, he furrowed his brows.

If you need help, just call—don't insist on saving face.

Morrison raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

All right, all right, all right.