SoDa Crash: The Path of the Unseen

Chapter 1: The Nation of Trilium.

The moonlight sprawled across the sea like a silk carpet discarded by a drunken silversmith. And there, in the midst of it all, stood Sol Dawn, as motionless as a shadow’s regret. Few would have noticed the way the light warped around him—how mischievous slivers of it would twist and squirm, slipping between his fingers and burrowing into his chest like a school of herrings hell-bent on finding their nest.

Art? Perhaps. A dance between the moonlight and an ancient energy that a few stubborn souls still insisted on calling “Ki.” Beneath Sol’s feet, the roaring surface of the sea had become a solid floor, governed by a simple principle: When Ki decides to take a stroll, the ocean has the good sense to step aside and obey its user’s will.

Ki had three rules of play. It usually, always did. And they didn’t bother waiting for you to memorise them:

Ki is Breath: You can squeeze it from your guts or suck it from the air—both are perfectly acceptable. But wringing Ki from moonlight? Imagine trying to bottle a thunderstorm in a shot glass.

Ki is a Fugitive: Turn your back for a second and it’s gone, having turned into wind, or rain, or worse—into your neighbour’s latest bad idea. A leash? No. Think more along the lines of shackles.

Ki is a Usurper: Nurture it, feed it well, and it will kick you into a pit, crown itself, and sit smugly upon the throne of your smouldering remains. Don’t believe it? Just ask the sour-faced folks who’d gone Ki-mad.

Sol had hoarded enough Ki to annihilate a battalion. Which was precisely why he had a bounty on his head for one hundred billion pims—each pim being worth, on a good day, one loaf of bread. A heavy-duty Fighter? Absolutely. But Sol’s real speciality was Ki storage: he stuffed energy into his body the way a child stuffs sweets into his pockets—not just a few, but the entire sweet shop, along with the whispered threat of, “If Mum finds out, I’m a dead man.”

The moonlight reflected off his blond hair, creating a strange effect as the Ki was born: the strands seemed to possess a life of their own, vibrating in time with the energy’s rhythm. His black cloak—woven from Darkweave threads, a material known for its resistance to all forms of energy—billowed in the fishy, salty sea breeze.

His cold expression was not, as many assumed, a byproduct of his Ki training. It was the inevitable consequence of a man who had realised that his ability to convert light into Ki—a power the world hailed as a miracle—was the very chain that shackled his destiny. The stronger he became, the more isolated he was from life’s simple joys: a family meal, the laughter of friends, or simply the feeling of being himself.

Two kilometres away, an invisible robot was watching him through a quantum scope. It was clad in an unseencoat, an advanced technology that could bend light, rendering the object invisible to all known sensors. But the unseencoat had one weakness: it couldn’t hide the fluctuations of Ki.

And Sol could feel those fluctuations.

He continued to convert the moonlight, preparing for the fight. Ki coursed through him like a living river, causing the very air to thrum with power. A keen observer might have noticed tiny ripples forming on the water’s surface beneath his feet—a sign that Ki was being condensed to an incredible density, ready to explode.

When the drone appeared, Sol wasn’t surprised. It was part of the enemy’s plan: use the drone as a distraction while the invisible robot prepared the main assault.

An explosion ripped through the air. A Kaiju Buster shell—a special type of ammunition designed to deal with creatures possessing extreme regenerative abilities—shattered into thousands of fragments. Each piece was coated in a toxin that could disrupt the flow of Ki.

But Sol was ready. He shaped his Ki into ribbons of energy as thin as silk thread, wrapping them around his fingers to create a defensive lattice that could swat the projectiles aside without direct contact—thus avoiding the toxin. This was Ki-weaving, a high-level technique only Fighters with the most delicate control over their Ki could master.

KLANG! KLANG! KLANG!

Each sound marked a deflected fragment. It wasn’t physical strength, but Ki control precise to the millimetre. Sol moved as if in a dance, every motion calculated to optimise his energy usage.

The battle had only just begun. Sol knew that. The enemy would have other tricks up its sleeve—perhaps an EMPulse weapon to shatter the structure of his Ki, or some catalyst to accelerate its depletion.

But that was the interesting thing about the ability to convert light into Ki: as long as there was light, it never ran out.

And tonight, the moon was full.

Indeed, two thousand kilometres from the battlefield, in a control room perched atop the highest tower, a young man sat alone. Before him, more than ten screens flickered, one of them showing the view from the robot that had just pulled the trigger. He analysed the situation with an unblinking gaze. A second passed, then two. Wil waited patiently for his other, still-invisible robot to find its opening.

One didn’t need the target to falter or show weakness. A precise calculation of their capabilities and vulnerabilities was sufficient. That, and only that, would present the perfect checkmate to the patient player.

R1 attacked first.There are three ways for an invisible robot to approach a high-level Fighter like Sol Dawn. The first is with sheer speed—but that’s almost useless against Sol’s preternatural reflexes. The second is with a diversion—but he can sense Ki. The third, and the method R1 chose, was to strike during the transitional moment of Ki flow.R1’s metallic arm shot out like a silver arrow. The blow wasn’t designed to kill, but to create a small wound. Because any wound, no matter how small, forces Ki to be diverted for healing. And when Ki is diverted…Blood dripped from Sol’s neck, as red as precious gems. A metallic coldness seemed to spread through the air—not from the blade, but from the microscopic minibots designed to invade his bloodstream.”Reflexes are faster than anticipated,” Wil noted, but didn’t pause. R1 pivoted, its claws lashing out at Sol once more. This wasn’t a single attack, but part of a calculated sequence designed to trap Sol’s Ki in a continuous, debilitating cycle.But Sol was not a typical Fighter.BOOM!A single punch from him—but no ordinary punch. Ki was compressed to a point no bigger than a grain of sand at the tip of his fist, which then detonated upon impact. “So fast,” was all Wil had time to think before R1’s temperature sensors began to scream bloody murder.The explosion awakened the entire sea. Space itself was ripped apart by a sphere of pure Ki, blasting back the once-calm waves. The light from the blast illuminated a vast swathe of the ocean for an instant, as if someone had ignited a miniature sun.R1, with all its unseencoat technology and Adamad-alloy, meteor-proof plating, was hurled backward like a marionette with its strings cut. It stood over two metres tall, its body traced with meticulously crafted metallic joints, but now its chest bore a perfect dent in the shape of Sol’s fist. Its V-shaped sensor antennae and the camera behind its pale green shield continued to gather data—as if still unable to process what had just happened.

Seizing the moment, Sol closed the distance in a flash. This was the second miracle of Ki: not only could it be converted from light, it could be compressed into muscle. When focused in this way, it transformed the user’s physiology, making every muscle fibre as strong as forged steel.

Sol’s left arm tensed, the muscles crackling audibly as Ki surged through them like a current. His fist descended with terrifying force, derived not from leverage or kinetic energy, but from the pure release of Ki at the moment of impact.

R1’s frame shuddered. A second dent appeared on its armour, deeper than the first. The metal bent outwards, exposing sparking wires within. A few electronic circuits flickered and died—not from the force of the blow, but because the Ki had seeped into the system, disrupting the molecular structure of the circuits themselves.

Wil didn’t hesitate. R1’s chem-fuelled thrusters ignited, spewing blue flames—the signature colour of a miniature fusion reaction. Sol stared into the approaching crimson eyes of R1. They were no longer the eyes of a mindless machine; what shone within them now was a sharp, calculating awareness. LED lights flickered inside kaleidoscopic lenses, each facet reflecting a piece of the machine-learning algorithm that was calculating the weaknesses in Sol’s defence.

Suddenly, a brilliant green laser shot from R1’s palm—a weapon specifically designed to counter Ki. Not because the laser could destroy Ki, but because its specific wavelength could interfere with the Ki conversion process, much like a precise frequency can shatter a wineglass.

The laser sliced through Sol’s body like a hot knife through butter, leaving a smouldering, smoking hole. But this was the terrifying thing about high-level Fighters: they didn’t always need to dodge. The Ki in his body was already adapting to the laser’s wavelength, like an immune system learning to fight a new virus.

Wil pushed the thrusters to full power, slamming Sol down into the sea. It was a clever move: water not only slows an opponent but can also hinder the conversion of moonlight into Ki. Water sprayed everywhere, sending out great concentric ripples that caused nearby shoals of sardines and dolphins to scatter in panic.

R1’s engines screamed as it forced Sol deeper into the dark water. The light faded, and everything was plunged into blackness. This was a complex strategy: the deeper they went, the greater the water pressure and the weaker the light. A normal Fighter would have been drained of Ki in these conditions.

But Wil wasn’t finished. He activated the hidden drills on R1’s chassis—weapons specifically designed to pierce Ki defences. They plunged straight into Sol.

Fresh blood bloomed outwards, staining the water red. The drills bored deep into his flesh, twisting and tearing through blood vessels and nerves. Sol gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to make a sound as blood streamed from his wounds.

Sol held his breath, trying to last, but there was no such luck to be had. Wil activated R1’s Bioshock system, leveraging its waterproof materials to conduct electricity. Innocent fish and shrimp caught in the field went belly-up and floated to the surface. Numbed by a current of 126 million volts—powerful enough to make the seawater boil—Sol’s mouth gaped open, and water flooded into his stomach and lungs.

His consciousness began to fade. He wanted to sleep. No, don’t sleep! With a final surge of will, Sol lunged forward and bit down on R1’s neck. And then, the unexpected happened: his entire body began to radiate immense heat. Wil was taken aback. He had sent a swarm of minibots into Sol’s body with the very first wound, planning a coordinated internal and external assault, but watching the temperature readings skyrocket, he could only throw his hands up in defeat. 1000°C, 2000°C, 3000°C… the numbers climbed ever higher.

The seawater sizzled and boiled, and a cloud of hot, humid steam enveloped the surface.

Everything around them grew searingly hot. The acrid smell of superheated metal began to spread. Wil could see parts of the robot beginning to melt away.

Wil sighed heavily and entered command code 10, activating R1’s self-destruct sequence. The robot’s piercing blue eyes turned a fiery red as sparks of electricity danced across its body.

A moment later, a violent explosion roared to life, creating a veritable tsunami that surged across the sea. The deafening blast, accompanied by the stench of molten metal, shot towards the heavens. The tidal wave swept away the remaining fragments of the robot, creating a chaotic symphony of destruction.

The force of the explosion shook the very surface of the water, taking countless sea creatures with it. The chaotic scene was terrifyingly beautiful, a display of the awesome power of science and human intellect.

After a while, when silence had returned, all that remained was a plume of black smoke curling up from the sea and a small vortex where R1’s remains were sinking.

“Another mission, another lecture to look forward to,” Wil lamented the loss of R1. But his mind was still focused on the bio-sonar—as he’d predicted, Sol was still alive. The fight wasn’t over. The only consolation was that with the experience gained from R1, R2 and R3 would have a much easier time capturing Sol.

And just like that, the roar of jet engines tore through the tranquil night once more.

R3 appeared like a fever dream. As large as a small building, it was a colossal mecha of crimson red, accented with deep blue, stark black, and bright white. A brilliant golden shield flickered before it—a magnetic field capable of bending light itself. Two powerful arms were poised to annihilate anything in its path. It looked like a machine of destruction that had walked straight out of a comic book.

Wil piloted R3 remotely, controlling two smaller robots via the antennae on its head. He ordered R2 to dive to the seabed and locate Sol with its sonar. The target was deep on the ocean floor, apparently severely injured. But then, the sonar signal began to vibrate violently—Sol was ascending at an incredible speed.

Suddenly, the carcass of a whale shot up from the depths. Torn in two by air friction and the sheer force of its ascent, its entrails rained down in a horrific display. Fresh blood sprayed like a downpour, filling the air with a thick, metallic stench.

Spattered with gore, R2 momentarily flickered into view before cloaking itself again. It was a powerfully built robot, primarily white, with green eyes and a head that jutted forward. Its arms were reinforced to withstand the recoil of heavy-calibre rifles, and it carried a strange-looking weapon with a long silencer.

In that same instant, a chain made of solid light shot up from the water and wrapped around R2’s neck—a form of Ki so refined it could crystallise into matter. Sol rocketed out of the water like an arrow, yanking the robot towards him.

If you’ve ever seen a madman fight a robot, you might think it’s the stupidest thing in the world. But if you’ve ever seen Sol Dawn fight a robot, you’d conclude that the robot was the stupidest thing in the world.

Left jab.Right cross.Hook.

The velocity of each powerful punch was an insult to advanced technology.

One moment, R2 was a technological masterpiece worth a king’s ransom. The next, it was a beer can crushed after a party. Sol’s final kick was a thing of such beauty it would have made any martial arts master weep—not from emotion, but from pure, unadulterated envy. The robot flew off like an unlucky shooting star, except shooting stars are romantic, and this thing was just a mess of mangled parts and severed wires.

“The situation is sub-optimal,” Wil thought, which was a masterclass in understatement. It was like calling being stepped on by an elephant “a spot of bother.” He requested permission to terminate the target, as if what they’d been doing up until now was playing a friendly game of tag.

And Sol, that goddamn lunatic, after taking a dramatic deep breath no one had asked for, charged straight at the giant mecha like a gnat who’d just been informed it had won the lottery. Seriously. Of all the sensible options available—like running, playing dead, or surrendering—he chose the most gloriously stupid one. Wil activated the magnetic shield and, in a rare moment of wisdom, let Sol punch and kick at it. It looked like a grasshopper kicking a car, except this was a Ki-enhanced grasshopper that could probably kick the car into low orbit.

R3 swung a rocket-propelled fist at Sol. It was a punch designed to fell giant monsters. The only problem was that Sol wasn’t a giant monster—he was something far more annoying.

Command 1 was activated, and the sky filled with heat-seeking missiles launched from R3. They swarmed chaotically like drunken flies chasing a piece of fallen meat—the meat, in this case, being a bloodied Sol Dawn who was leaping through the air as if auditioning for Cirque du Soleil.

“Are you sure we can’t take him alive?” a doubtful female voice echoed in Wil’s mind, with the tone of someone asking if you could tame a great white shark by petting it.

“Quite sure, no,” Wil replied, in what was probably his first intelligent statement of the night.

“Very well. You are authorised to execute the target.”

Wil breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, someone was talking sense. He entered command 0, and R3 immediately opened its chest cavity like a man at a pub showing off a new tattoo. Inside was a collection of gleaming mirrors and a central lens—it looked like a miniature karaoke room that played death metal instead of pop songs.

Simultaneously, R3 deactivated its magnetic shield. It was the kind of move that, in chess, would make you think your opponent was either a grandmaster or having a stroke. Sol smelled a trap—a smell as pungent as old cheese left in the fridge—but still, his hands shot out, launching chains of light that latched onto the lens and pulled. At this point, he moved even faster, becoming a blur of light, as if his previous speed had been nothing more than a casual stroll in the park.

This is where things got… interesting.

And when I say “interesting,” I mean it in the same way a nuclear detonation might be called “an interesting weather phenomenon.”

A blinding white beam of energy erupted from R3’s chest, so bright it turned night into day. This wasn’t the gentle light of a sunset or dawn. This was the kind of light that makes you wish you’d worn sunglasses, or better yet, stayed home and watched television.

The temperature skyrocketed like a summer electricity bill. The air vibrated violently, like a drunk man attempting to breakdance. Sol felt every cell in his body being incinerated. His skin burned, his bones felt like they were about to shatter. His vision swam, his ears rang. The acrid smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils—a scent that would make any professional chef gag.

He was being immolated by the power of hundreds of millions of tons of TNT. Enough to turn a city into a parking lot, or a Fighter into a memory. But Sol was not the kind of man to become a memory so easily.

Through the searing agony, Sol gritted his teeth, tensed his muscles, and threw one last chain of light—like a drunkard insisting on one last bottle before the bar closes. Suddenly, everything went dark. The roar of energy, the earth-shattering explosions—it all fell silent, like a classroom when the headmaster walks in.

In the control room, Wil blinked in astonishment. The screen before him was pitch black—the kind of black you see at the cinema when you realise you forgot to get cash for popcorn. His headset was eerily silent. He ran his fingers over the keyboard, typing a system diagnostic command. No errors. Just a single line of blinking red text: “Connection Lost”—two words no one ever wants to see, right up there with “beer’s gone” and “rent’s due.”

This was not good.

And when I say “not good,” I mean it in the same way that realising you’ve just sat on a fire ant nest is “not good.”

Wil quickly switched to the satellite view. But instead of the battlefield, he saw a colossal, swirling black cloud. Lightning flashed continuously within it, like a disco party for the god of thunder. The wind howled, and rain poured down in torrents. It had formed a gigantic storm dragon that was swallowing everything below—the kind of swallowing that would make Godzilla call his lawyer.

Meanwhile, R3’s secondary consciousness also noticed something was amiss. Not the kind of amiss where you discover you’ve put your trousers on backwards, but the kind that makes a giant robot question its own existence. Its artificial brain contained everything Wil knew, thanks to some surgical hacking and wireless data transmission. Losing connection to the primary consciousness wasn’t a catastrophic failure—more like losing Wi-Fi while streaming a movie. Annoying, but not fatal. The directive was simple: complete the mission and report back.

The massive energy beam continued to fire, turning night into day with a distinct lack of subtlety, like shining a phone’s flashlight in someone’s face at 3 a.m. It wouldn’t stop until Sol’s biological signature was gone—which was the polite way of saying “until the target is charcoal.”

After five seconds, when the radar confirmed Sol’s death, it ceased firing. R3 turned ponderously, its engines revving up to return to base, like an office worker clocking out after hitting a deadline.

But then, the radar blipped again. Sol’s location was back.

Tsk. This was the problem with trying to kill people who could turn light into Ki. They had the terribly annoying habit of not staying dead.

R3 hastily raised its magnetic shield to block an incoming attack, like a schoolboy who just remembered he forgot to do his homework. But life isn’t so kind—it was a fraction of a second too late. A deafening explosion rocked its senses, the kind of explosion that makes other explosions feel inadequate. The Adamad plating on the back of its head was blown clean off, leaving a massive hole—as if someone had installed a very crude window.

Then came a world-shaking impact that rattled the heavens. Fragments of R3 rained down into the sea, sending up plumes of water like a fountain designed by a very disturbed architect. The golden shield in front flickered weakly and died, like a lightbulb in a public restroom.

A shadowy figure stepped out from R3’s head, clad in a scorched cloak—the kind of scorch that would make high-fashion designers nod in approval and jot down ideas for their next collection. In his hand, he held a blue, artificial brain, which pulsed with a weak, heartbeat-like flicker, resembling a disco ball in a power outage.

Sol panted, a wave of nausea washing over him as the smell of burnt meat mingled with the salt of the sea invaded his senses. This was not the kind of aromatic cocktail you’d bottle and sell to high-society ladies. Sol felt incredibly weak, just as his father had always said—though if you were to ask anyone who had just witnessed the battle, they would conclude that this family’s definition of “weak” was seriously flawed.

Sol, now in his skeletal form—looking for all the world like a walking skeleton with a unique fashion sense—once again leaped into the sea, brain in tow. He was too exhausted to fly anymore. Some days are like that. You wake up, fight a few giant robots, and end the day by plunging into the ocean like an overenthusiastic tourist.

Now, there was only the sound of waves lapping gently against the shore and the debris of battle submerged beneath the moonlit water. Like a high-tech junkyard tastefully decorated by nature.

It had been a long night.

The skies of Trilium were brilliant in the morning sun, draped with clouds as soft as cotton candy. The shadows of birds in flight created magical patterns on the vast land below.

This was a wondrous land where science and magic intertwined, home to three factions: the War Faction, the Neutral Faction, and the Peace Faction, along with over a hundred other races.Against the dawn sky, a shimmering blue light twinkled in the distance. It was the towering Magic Spire of the Peace Faction, where talented mages used their power for the harmony of Trilium. Beside it, vast green forests seemed to move as if alive, the rustling of leaves in the wind playing like a string section in nature’s symphony.

Deep underground, the rumble of the War Faction’s drilling machines echoed as their scientists obsessively sought new energy sources to advance their technology. Enormous machines were linked by pipelines as robust as the arteries of some great beast.

On the distant hills, a leader of the Neutral Faction sat in meditation, merging with nature to find the balance between science and magic. Wildflowers bloomed in a riot of colour, their fragrance carried on the gentle breeze, intoxicating the soul.The magical nation of Trilium, where all races coexisted, each faction holding its own values. They had found a way to harmonise, to share, and to protect the land they loved. Each day in Trilium, every dawn and every dusk, opened a new page in the thick tome of this wonderful nation’s miracles.

It was as if they had built a paradise on earth. Or at least, that’s what they believed.

Meanwhile, on the coast of Backside, Trilium Neutral Zone

“What the hell is that?! The weather forecast didn’t say anything about a storm!”

“So! Is it a monster?”

“How should I know? The disaster siren is wailing, so run! Don’t just stand there like a lump!”

The piercing howl of the siren was incessant, mingling with the chatter of civilians. Some fled inland, while a small minority chose to run towards the coast to see what all the fuss was about.

Sabata was in that minority. He looked young, with a struggling appearance that screamed both hungry and ragged. However, this couldn’t quite hide his handsome features—blond hair, blue eyes, the very picture of a fresh-faced heartthrob that sugar mummies adore.

Sabata saw the distant explosions out at sea. Though they weren’t close, he could vaguely sense that the military was either testing weapons or fighting some monster. At times like these, dead fish often washed ashore. He planned to collect them for sale; if any valuable flotsam washed up, all the better.

“It’s cold. Should’ve brought a jacket,” Sabata mused.

The wind tonight was particularly fierce. Others were already busy filming and taking pictures. A short while later, a great many dead fish did indeed appear, but they were inaccessible behind a protective magnetic shield that prevented foreign objects from reaching the mainland. Sabata looked on, his mouth watering. He’d have to wait until morning.

He glanced around and noticed a few people had even gotten dangerously close to the shoreline to livestream. Suddenly, a flash of light. A few people instantly lost their heads or had their chests blown open, dying without a sound. Then a series of explosions erupted, sending sand flying. Now the crowd truly panicked, scrambling for their lives back towards the shore. Startled, Sabata jumped backwards and heard a sharp thwack. A searing pain shot through his head.

On reflex, he snatched the object as it bounced off him. It was a palm-sized piece of metal, still quite warm. It seemed the magnetic shield had done its job well, otherwise he’d be dead. He wondered if it was radioactive—if so, it was dangerous. But it could also be extremely valuable.

No sooner thought than done. He pulled a face towel from his pocket, wrapped the metal piece in it, and sprinted inland. He found a booth that looked like an old telephone box and inserted a coin. Inside, a scanner swept over him. The machine declared all his readings normal. He then checked his phone, searching for information.

A short while later

Sabata was panting, drenched in sweat. Before him stood a pawn shop with a modern, transparent glass facade.

The interior was tastefully decorated with warm lighting, expensive wooden furniture, and neatly arranged display shelves. The pawned items were diverse, ranging from luxury jewellery to high-tech gadgets. There were even some oddities, like the hearts, livers, and lungs of some unidentifiable species, displayed on shelves organised by category for customer convenience.

The owner, a black man in a tank top covered in tattoos, was typing something on a computer. When he saw Sabata loitering outside, he smelled money and rushed out to greet him.

“Welcome, sir. Are you looking to pawn something, or to buy?”

“I want to sell this. It looks expensive,” Sabata replied.

The owner’s brow furrowed at the mention of selling, but his eyes lit up at the word “expensive.” Then he saw the lump of metal and his brow furrowed again. He took out a magnifying glass and scrutinised it for a moment, then poked it a few times with a pen before sighing.

“Do you have a receipt for this? If not, the price won’t be very high.”

This was an act. A cursed-angel kin’s instinct told him so. Now all he had to do was negotiate the highest possible price out of the man.

“No receipt. How much are you offering?”

The owner pondered for a moment. “10,000 pims. No haggling.”

“For a price that low, I’ll find another shop.”

“Alright, alright. 20,000 pims. Final offer.”

Sabata’s spirits lifted. One pim was worth a loaf of bread, so 20,000 pims meant 20,000 loaves of bread. But he could still sense the owner’s excitement, despite his feigned indifference. The price could go higher.

“I heard that place over there pays better and has a better reputation. I’ll go ask them first.”

“Fine, 50,000 pims, okay? I really can’t go any higher than that, sir,” the owner said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Sabata once again sensed the man’s inner state. This time, he wasn’t exactly thrilled. This was probably the limit. Sabata replied:

“That price is acceptable.”

“Alright, just sign here,” the owner said, asking for Sabata’s number to transfer the money.

After completing some tedious paperwork, the transaction was done, and Sabata left, satisfied. But he was unaware of the shopkeeper’s silent thought: A cursed-angel kin, eh? Still wet behind the ears, kid. Just have to think of something sad, and you can fool these types every time.The owner closed up shop and activated a mechanism on his ring. It revealed a secret passage down to a basement. He walked down slowly. The room was filled with weapons, guns of every description displayed everywhere. He carried the metal plate down, selected a massive, two-metre-long sword, gave it a twirl, and brought it down hard on the plate. A piercing shriek of metal on metal rang out. The plate wasn’t even scratched, though it was now embedded in the tough alloy floor. The sword, however, had nearly snapped in two.

“Excellent quality. Worth 200,000 pims, easy.”