Chapter 1135: Preparations for Seniors Going Online

The user “High-Speed Stag” entered the neural network’s pre-connection zone.

A voice suddenly echoed directly inside Amon’s mind—startling him at first, because it had been ages since he’d heard anything resonate so deeply within his consciousness. For a moment, he even thought he’d accidentally connected to the mortal worshippers in the real world again. But he quickly calmed down, and then grew puzzled by the phrase “High-Speed Stag” mentioned by the voice.

…He understood each word individually, but the combination felt oddly strange. Who was speaking? A legendary network administrator? Or some kind of autonomous intelligence?

Amon pondered in confusion, but before he could figure anything out, the flickering lights before his eyes sharpened and drew his attention away. For the first time in this cyberspace, the former god of nature opened his “eyes.” He saw himself standing in an almost pure white expanse—vast, but not infinite. Far off, snow-white walls rose up, stretching endlessly into a radiant light above. Beneath his feet, the grayish-white floor was patterned with neat, softly glowing blue grids. Around him, runes fell swiftly like raindrops, dissolving into the grid lines as they touched down.

What a strange place… It looked so empty. Could this be the so-called “neural network mindspace”? That must be the name… but it seemed rather dull.

More questions swirled in Amon’s mind. He vaguely recalled that Myrmeena had once told him some basics about this space. The nervous mortal technicians who came to install equipment had also explained a bit. Yet somehow, upon entering, all that useful knowledge slipped away, leaving him staring blankly, unsure what to do next.

Just then, the soft but emotionless voice returned, interrupting his wandering thoughts: “An anonymous visitor requests access to your pre-connection zone. Do you accept? You may expel visitors at any time.”

Amon wasn’t skilled with these strange mortal technologies, but he understood the meaning. Slightly surprised, he tried to respond: “Accept. But how do I accept? Do I say it out loud? Or just think it in my mind…”

Before he could finish, the voice echoed again inside his head: “Visitor request accepted. Neural network preparing thought projection. Please wait…”

Amon blinked, muttering to himself, “Alright, still not sure if I’m supposed to say it or just think it.”

As he spoke, he suddenly noticed something forming in the air nearby—chaotic, trembling lines of light that quickly coalesced into a clear human figure. Within a second or two, a woman appeared, dressed in an elaborate, elegant black court gown.

Her face was sweet and serene, her long black hair tipped with silver glimmers. Her night-sky gown was embroidered with exquisite silver patterns and pale gold tassels. She stood there like a noble lady from a royal court, radiating a mysterious, languid aura—though to Amon, that aura held little meaning.

By instinct, he recognized the figure: the uninvited guest, pioneer of freeloading on the network, shadow realm running enthusiast, absentee practitioner, and the god who liked his own funeral—Myrmeena.

“I knew it was you,” Amon said calmly, looking at the figure nearby. “What is this place? Is this the so-called ‘neural network’?”

“I knew you’d forgotten what I told you. Coming to help was definitely the right call,” Myrmeena said, approaching him with a hint of helplessness. “Don’t you remember? I told you that you’d first enter a preparation zone—the virtual space inside the neural network operates like a real, orderly world, with its own rules. Every user must prepare before fully entering, including setting their network persona and adapting to the neural link sensation. Only then can they officially enter that world.

“Of course, the earliest version of the network wasn’t like this. Back then, users were thrown directly into the virtual space upon connection. But after several near-disastrous incidents with first-time users almost losing themselves, the mortal technicians improved the system’s rules. After all, this is designed for ordinary people, not trained, strong-willed supernaturals like you…”

“Alright, alright, I get it. This is the ‘pre-birth preparation,’” Amon said repeatedly. “So we’re still standing outside the gates of that world. I need to do some… preparation here before I can enter, right?”

He couldn’t help but glance at Myrmeena again. Though she still roughly maintained her “mythic form,” there was a clear difference. Now she looked more like an ordinary mortal, with a tangible body and distinct features. At least… she definitely had legs beneath that skirt.

“So this is your idea of ‘preparation’? Making yourself look more like a mortal… That makes sense. We’re entering a world full of mortal avatars, so we can’t look too strange,” Amon said, curious. “How do I do that?”

“First, you need to understand what you look like now,” Myrmeena said enthusiastically. With a casual wave, a huge mirror materialized before Amon. “Here, you can control everything with your thoughts—shape objects, change your appearance, travel to certain places… Your imagination is your power here. Of course, there are limits. Because our ‘imagination’ contains many dangerous contaminants, the system suppresses us heavily. Some actions that could cause harm will be warned against or blocked. But don’t worry, you’ll adapt quickly. And I doubt you’ll deliberately imagine world-ending scenarios, right?”

Amon barely heard the last half of her sentence. His gaze was fixed on the mirror, where a very unfamiliar middle-aged man stood, staring back at him with equal surprise.

A mortal. Plain, vivid, and lifelike. Though just a reflection, he seemed to truly exist somewhere in the world. Amon had often imagined what it would be like to freely walk among mortals, but never thought the figure he couldn’t even conjure from within himself would one day appear so abruptly and naturally before his eyes.

Breaking the silence, he said with a strange tone, “This… this is my form?”

“That’s the system’s default male avatar. To help novices like you enter the network smoothly—so you don’t end up as a twisted freak or running around naked in the dream city—the designers set this basic template in the initial immersion pod. It’s considered the most average, middle-of-the-road human appearance. There was even a show about it, but you weren’t paying attention back then…” Myrmeena rambled, then noticed Amon’s odd silence. “What’s wrong? You look like you just got hit.”

“No… it’s just your imagination,” Amon quickly replied, waving his hand dismissively. But the next moment, he froze as if petrified. He suddenly realized—he had just waved his own arm.

A mortal arm.

He looked down and saw, for the first time, his body in this virtual space: a plain figure clad in a white tunic and trousers, standing on the ground, with limbs, a torso, and… tactile sensation.

Myrmeena watched his reaction, as if she’d expected all this. The former goddess of magic smiled gently and stepped forward. “Now, I’ll show you what to do.”

The following adjustments weren’t easy. Amon spent a long time mastering the “simple operations” Myrmeena described, but most of his effort went into adapting to his “human form.” Born from mortal imagination, his image had been locked for ages as a sacred white stag. His powers never included “taking human form” or “walking the mortal world,” so he’d never possessed a humanoid body before. The delicate limbs and upright torso felt utterly alien.

But eventually, his efforts paid off. Myrmeena showed unprecedented patience. When she stepped back, a completely different figure stood before the giant mirror.

An elderly elf. His once-golden hair was streaked with gray, weathered by time. His calm, peaceful face bore the marks of age. Deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, yet his posture remained upright. He wore a faded green robe in elven style—perhaps thousands of years out of fashion in the outside world—decorated with vines and thorns, the collar embroidered with mountain and flowing water motifs.

He looked at the mirror and smiled, clearly pleased with his new form.

“I thought you’d choose a more vigorous look. Didn’t expect you to pick such an aged appearance,” Myrmeena said, surprised as Amon nodded in satisfaction. “Are you sure? We can still change it.”

“No, this is fine…” Amon nodded lightly, his voice drifting. “This is good.”

“Well… alright, it’s your taste,” Myrmeena said, hands on hips, shaking her head. “Next, why not take a few steps? You really need to get used to this—otherwise, you might crawl out of the dream city on your first step. Though mortals say ‘no one knows what you really are online,’ crawling through the streets of the dream city is a bit embarrassing.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Amon chuckled, then quickly sobered, staring down at his legs. “Walking… right, I can move now.”

“You could move earlier,” Myrmeena said slowly, “but that first step might not be as easy as you think.”

“It’s just a step,” Amon said dismissively, then lifted his leg to walk forward—only to topple straight ahead. But a pair of hands caught him just in time, steadying him.

“I told you, the first step isn’t that easy,” Myrmyna loosened her grip, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You’d better get used to this feeling of unlocking something mentally while everything here is still just virtual.”

“Unlocking mentally… your choice of words is a bit dramatic,” Amon tried to hide his embarrassment. “It was just a small slip-up. You know, I haven’t walked in three thousand years. More importantly, even three thousand years ago, I never really walked upright… This is terrible. Were mortals always this clumsy on their feet?”

“Stop complaining. I should be the one complaining—I never expected that on the very first day I officially used the neural network, I’d be stuck doing rehab exercises with a long-disabled old man,” Myrmyna’s voice came from the side, thick with resentment. “Let’s hope you don’t spend as much time on ‘walking upright’ as you did tweaking your appearance, old stag.”

Amon frowned, struggling to get used to the strange sensations of this virtual body, and shot the goddess of magic a wary glance. “I told you, don’t just give me nicknames, especially ones that sound this weird…”

He suddenly stopped mid-sentence, as if recalling something, and asked suspiciously, “Actually, I wanted to ask you—when I entered this space just now, I thought I heard a voice say something about a user called ‘High-Speed Stag’ entering a pre-connection zone or something… Do you know what that’s about?”

Myrmyna’s usually lazy expression stiffened for a brief moment. Though it was fleeting, Amon caught it clearly.

“So you do know,” Amon’s gaze sharpened. “What exactly does that term mean?”

Myryna looked at him awkwardly, then after a long silence, finally couldn’t meet his eyes and looked away. “It’s your name.”

“My… name?”

“Think about it. From a security standpoint, would Gawain Cecil let us use our real names to enter the neural network? Which mortal in the world would dare to give themselves a godly name under any circumstances?” Myrmyna explained seriously. “Besides, it’s an unspoken rule to use an alias inside the neural network…”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking. I want to know… what’s with the name ‘High-Speed Stag’? I don’t remember ever setting that up—or maybe I don’t understand the tech behind it, but I’m pretty sure that weird phrase wasn’t pre-set by Gawain or Kamail!”

“…Alright, I registered it for you.”

Amon: “?”

(End of chapter)