Tower of Overturn

But he couldn't even send a text message or make a distress call.

Next, what stopped responding was the latest model of a prosthetic arm, the "Sunflower Lily Internal Trial Version," which was installed on his left arm two years ago.

Russell had lost his left arm from the time he had memories.

This prosthetic hand was a gift from his mentor when he graduated from his master's program. It was also a souvenir for having his thesis published in the highest-level academic journal.

It wasn't a combat prosthetic, but it had sixteen interfaces and could connect to all types of machinery, compatible with the most advanced Disc Plate systems.

For a spiritual energy hacker, it was like a divine weapon in the hands of a swordsman.

But for Russell, who simply planned to be a Network Security Engineer… its only use was to replace his old prosthetic arm that hadn't been serviced in seven or eight years, always unresponsive, and no longer matched the size of his right arm.

If he sold it and bought an ordinary prosthetic arm, he could have made a good amount of money. But after all, it was the only gift left to him by his mentor, one of the few colorful memories Russell had on Chongguang Island.

…He had thought that a flagship product would surely work, but unexpectedly, it also became paralyzed.

However, that made sense... The personal firewalls used by the first-class passengers were certainly more advanced than Russell's civilian version. But even they were infected by the virus.

Russell's thoughts in his mind gradually became chaotic and disordered.

His head drooped heavily, his eyelids as if stuck with honey, closed and then unable to be opened again.

His consciousness gradually sank into the sea without light, continually plummeting downwards.

It felt like returning to the womb, no longer using his mouth and nose to breathe, his consciousness gradually dispersing.

Memories that he had forgotten from his past surged up with his breath.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling. After all, those were not pleasant memories.

It was like the feeling of vomiting in the restroom after being made drunk by his mentor.

At the end of these memories, Russell vaguely heard his mother's weak voice:

"This is... a spiritual energy reaction! Little Russell must be a 'born with knowledge'…"

"The infant's body can't withstand this level of spiritual energy."

A serious male voice that Russell had never heard, yet strangely familiar, sounded from behind him: "When he comes of age and is ready, I will unlock him — first, help me seal his memories, Nan Liujing."

"Yes, mentor."

A voice of a young man with utmost respect sounded.

Russell tried his best to open his eyes.

He was being held in someone's arms, while his mother lay on the bed, her face pale. At the foot of the bed stood a young man with white short hair.

In a blur, he saw the fuzzy white dog ears on the young man's head.

He watched the somewhat familiar young man draw a sword hilt from his embrace.

A blue light blade silently extended from it.

He raised the sword, and made a feint cut towards himself.

After the swing of the blue radiance, like the sea, it instantly flooded his vision.

The memories from the beginning of Russell's birth thus came to an end.

— But Russell was still sinking.

It was as if a layer of transparent membrane had been seared through.

A multitude of chaotic memories that Russell had no recollection of, along with knowledge from the Otherworld, surged up from the bottom of his heart:

It was a world where no one had the prone-spiritual features like animal ears and tails; all were Short-lived Species, none of the high and mighty elves who could live for over a thousand years and the immortal dragons.

In that world, people lived solidly on the ground, not on Sky Islands; people lived in political entities called "nations," not ruled by enterprises known as the "Seven Giants"…

He had once come from a somewhat obscure gaming company, serving as the manager of the public relations department.

In that world… his name was also the phonetically similar "Russell."

His last memory seemed to be working overtime alone in the company, writing an advertising copy. Then, too tired, he fell asleep in front of the computer…

As those chaotic and scorching memories kept flooding into his brain, the pure white radiance in Russell's eyes grew ever brighter. And when all the memories had been recalled, the deep sea that kept sinking him also vanished without a trace.

Afterward, Russell experienced a new illusion—

It was as if countless candles of various heights were burning around him, surrounded by many picture frames of different sizes. The candlelight was bone-white, evoking thoughts of skeletons and exuding a chilling radiance.

The other picture frames were all wrapped in swirls of black mist, but the black mist around the two frames in front of him gradually dissipated, becoming clear.

Inside the frames was a blank space.

There was nothing inside.

And in the illusion, Russell instinctively reached to touch one of the frames. But at that moment, his consciousness was completely sucked in.

He saw a silent world of black and white, only outlines, where his field of vision could penetrate everything, turning into a spherical, 360-degree view.

Walls, floors, tables, his own body, and that guy hidden behind the door… All were outlined in white lines in a black world, sketching their rough forms.

But in this black-and-white world, there were also light points shining in various colors.

The closest light point was at Russell's chest.

It seemed something was emitting a faint greenish glow. Then there was the back of Russell's own head, shining with a skeletal pale luminance.

And not far from his own side, at the back of the head of that hidden man, a deep blue flame was burning, its outer ring enveloped in a light purple halo that faded over time.

About thirty steps away outside the door, a robust silhouette was approaching, with bright yellow flames flickering at the back of his head.

And in these mere eight first-class cabins, lights were burning in five of them. But all were steady, subtle glows, and one room had two lights—a dark purple glow lying on the table, and another deep green flame standing beside it. And in the captain's room, there were also two lights.

In the distance, there seemed to be a few scattered light points... but it was difficult for Russell to make out their shapes through the dense white lines.

The position of the light was where everyone had their personal chip implanted at the back of their head at birth.

There were two kinds of lights, one steady and calm, the other flickering.

The man hiding in Russell's room, his chip emitted light that flickered like the robbers, as if candlelight blown by the wind.

And if it was the nearest one…

Russell's consciousness instinctively reached out to the pendant on his chest.

That was his mother's chip.

As for the crystal decoration that served as the shell, it was not damaged in any way. But the chip itself had melted like ice, dissolving into the front of Russell's chest, flowing in, and becoming one with him.

And in one of the two picture frames in front of Russell's eyes, a faint green light burst forth explosively.

It was as if a photo set ablaze, curling into ashes and then played in reverse—out of the void ashes, the smiling face of his mother emerged within one of the frames.

Russell instinctively looked over.

The moment he "looked" at that frame.

All the white candles around him turned to a ghostly green in unison.

The next moment, as Russell's eyes were dazzled by the overflowing green light, he abruptly woke from the illusion.

A faceless mask appeared on his face. Immediately, green flames burst forth from beneath the mask, sweeping across his body in the blink of an eye.

But the flames were not hot; they even gave him a sensation of warmth. They reminded him of the warmth of his mother's embrace.

And after the flames had dissipated, Russell's body was reassembled into a posture that was both familiar and unfamiliar to him—