Chapter 6 : Cyber-Miracle

An electric signal leaves the multichip and races across the wide expanse of my cerebral cortex like a powerful whip, lashing through it.

Each neuron struck by that electronic whip sprouts branches that physically connect with its neighbors—like plants growing after rain.

This is impossible under normal circumstances—but in 2075, such things are possible. By then, science had advanced so far that even the

most perfect work of God could be dissected with a blade.

In that moment, the synapses (which normally separate cells) disappeared. All 86 billion neurons merged into one massive biological

computer.

My brain’s performance skyrocketed—I thought faster, and the world around me seemed to slow down.

But this incredible power came with heat. My cerebrospinal fluid began to burn.

“One second. I have to finish in one second.”

I could feel the effects of the neural overclock as the heat spread from my skull to my eyes. I made a quick decision.

Using this technology makes your brain work harder—but it doesn’t make your body faster. To speed the body, you’d need cyberware

replacing your spine and muscles—something beyond this realm of modification. I didn’t need that for what I was doing now, so it didn’t

matter that my body was slow.

—Circuit Craft Vision.

My eyes, which had been seeing visible light like any normal person, switched modes. They started to show something completely different.

I began seeing electromagnetic waves—and within them, streams of data—all invisible to normal eyes, but out there, forming another layer of

reality.

—Circuit overload.

From the multichip in the back of my head burst bright data streams toward the nearest automated turret. The data flew at it like it would

smash everything—then, upon arrival, engraved a few delicate symbols and vanished.

Yet that was enough.

Bang!

The turret’s data shattered into colorful fragments, like broken stained glass. Of course, it wasn’t glass—it was data circuits. Even though

outwardly the turret looked intact, its insides were destroyed. With its circuits fried, it could no longer respond to any commands.

“Circuit overload worked.”

That was enough confirmation. Now things became much easier.

—Circuit Craft: link-circuit total overload.

Turrets surely wouldn’t operate one by one—that would be inefficient and hard to manage. If I could backtrack from one turret, I could jam

commands into them all.

Again, the multichip sent crafted overload data to a nearby turret. The command symbols crawled across wires and turrets, replicating

themselves—then, all the turrets exploded simultaneously.

Boom!

A burst of color, unnatural and undefinable, rained down. I reflexively reached out, wondering if I could grab it, but my body was frozen.

“Right, I was boosting cognition speed.”

My mind was firing orders as usual, but the signals traveling through my spine to my limbs were relatively sluggish—so much so that I felt

immobile.

Should I really enjoy the spectacle? My head throbbed like crazy. In that moment, my brain screamed: Stop!

—Neural overclock release.

Softly, my vision snapped back. My brain circuits returned to normal, breaking apart into 86 billion neurons again. Time resumed, and my

right hand reached out to the shattered “glass” turret eye that no longer existed.

I was thrown back into normal reality.

The turrets, which had roared like 50-caliber guns, went silent. Wolfhilde frowned and looked around sharply.

“What? Why did the turrets stop working all of a sudden?”

“Ugh… sick.”

I vomited a bit—ever since yesterday my stomach had been empty, and neural overclock side effects made me nauseous. I hadn’t thrown up

anything substantial, just bitter bile.

“ Haha. You know, you probably knocked a year off my life—or increased my dementia risk by 5%. How’re you going to pay for that?”

“What nonsense are you talking? More importantly, what did you do? Why are all the turrets broken?”

“Ah, sir, you don’t know? Neural Overclock. A basic illegal implant.”

Neural Overclock: secretly developed by the Kiro group and forcibly implanted into orphan apprentices without protection. It’s illegal. It can

disable 12 turrets in under a second—but it’s extremely dangerous. Most users burn out immediately, becoming vegetative.

Only a few orphans survived its activation. It’s one of the Kiro’s darkest secrets—unknown even to cyberware fanatics outside the group.

“I crafted data to overload and break them,” I said.

“What nonsense is that? Even I, who’ve invested over a billion dollars in cyberware, would take at least three seconds to disable that many

turrets.” He scoffed. “You say you did it in one second—and all 12 at once?”

“Oh, well, yes. I’m great, but don’t praise me that much.”

“Shut it!”

Wolfhilde slammed the marble table and broke it in two.

“Have you planted traitors in our organization? How far are you prepared? What’s your goal?”

“Goal? Money, asshole. I’m here to get paid! I was planning on leaving as soon as the deal was done!”

“So now it’s clear. You—wearing a tattered Kiro nun’s habit—were sent by Kiro to take the chip back!”

Wolfhilde didn’t listen to me. He raised the Saint Chip and stared at it with a satisfied look.

“Are you pissed that you can’t monopolize the holy power of the Saint and have to wander around Haven City instead? You cult lunatic!”

“No, ha… Obviously, if that was the aim, I’d have taken it and run, not personally returned it!”

But he was too excited to think clearly. The neural overclock headache got worse as we argued, and I felt like my head would split.

“Fine. Yes, that chip was the goal. Happy?”

“That’s it! You finally speak your mind.”

Wolfhilde, triumphant, plugged the chip into a socket behind his ear and flexed. “Bring it on,” he growled, doubling in size.

Clearly confident in his cyberware—he broke the table with bare hands.

“Yeah, I didn’t like that piece of gear being in the hands of trash like you.”

I flicked dust off my clothes and moved a finger. “Come on, idiot.”

“Hahaha!”

He charged, fist firing forward like a rampaging elephant.

“Die!”

Whoosh…

He launched a punch strong enough to kill.

My left hand rose smoothly and stopped his fist.

Crack!

My palm met his steel arm, and it froze in midair—his arm much thicker than mine.

“Why?

He tried pulling it back, but I locked it with just my five thin fingers.

“You said it yourself: the better the implant, the less it shows. My body’s more expensive than you think.”

“Impossible…”

“Not impossible at all.” I smirked at him and clenched my right fist.

“Now it’s my turn.”

He realized and raised his left arm.

“Bite down tight.”

One punch crushed his left cyber-arm. The impact made the nearly seven-foot Wolfhilde stagger.

“One more.”

He tried blocking with his other arm—but it also shattered.

He had no arms left to defend his scared face.

“Wait!”

I smashed the floor next to his head. Concrete shards flew, falling at his scared face. He’d expected me to smash his skull—he squeezed his

eyes shut.

“…Huh.”

“Come on, open your eyes. Why are you so scared?”

I slapped him twice on the cheek—his clean-shaven face looked so timid now, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why…?”

“Why didn’t I smash your skull? If I smashed it and broke the chip too, I’d have a headache fixing that. So.”

I held out my hand.

“Take it out yourself and give it to me. Before I pull your head off.”

He stared, eyes blank, then removed the chip and handed it over.

“Good boy. You listen well.”

I slapped him again and stood up. I didn’t have to, but it felt satisfying.

“I’m gone. If you send your lackeys after me, I’ll pull off each limb and sell your cyberware on the black market. Behave.”

He stayed silent until I opened the heavy door and walked out.

“Oh, you’re done?”

The bodyguard who had nodded off earlier was waiting.

“You’re supposed to see the guest out.”

This gang’s underlings are more capable than their boss, it seems.

Anyway, I got my weapons and gear and left the hideout safely.

‘Weak to the strong, cruel to the weak. Exactly as advertised.’

Circuit Rams didn’t chase me after all.

That night, Wolfhilde’s second-in-command entered the boss’s room. Twelve broken turrets, shattered concrete floor, the room was a mess.

“Boss, what happened here? Was there an attack?”

Wolfhilde stared blankly at the ceiling, tapping his leg.

“Boss?”

“A Saint.”

“Huh?”

For six hours since Raylia left, Wolfhilde’s eyes finally regained focus.

“A Saint was in our connect.”

“What?”

“Tell me this: could any hacker disable twelve turrets in one second?”

“No way. Even an android or AI, let alone a human. Physical limits.”

“A woman just five feet tall—but with cyberware stuffed into every part—could she produce more output than me?”

“No way. I know exactly how modified you are, boss. There’s not even room in five feet to fit proper parts.”

“Yes. But you know, that’s nothing—compared to the miracle she showed us.”

The underling tilted his head, confused, but Wolfhilde stood with conviction.

He remembered the Saint’s bright smile, silvery hair, jewel-red eyes.

“At the last moment she forgave me—who tried to kill her—without any condition, with a smile. You think that’s possible? That kind of

unconditional mercy—that is a real miracle and the salvation that will lead the world!”

In reality, she slapped him at first to scare him, and she spared him only because killing him would bring the whole Circuit Rams onto them.

Wolfhilde didn’t know that.

“Remember: she is our Connect’s Saint, a miracle from the network-god.”

That misunderstanding was blossoming—if Raylia heard it, she’d freak out herself.