Chapter 752: Neural Thorns

Byron, a military man who neither understood cutting-edge magi-tech nor planned to become a researcher, had only been to the Magi-Tech Research Institute a handful of times—his last visit was also about Pea.

Pea was a mute girl. For Byron, who had been her foster father for several years, this was a source of deep regret and sorrow.

That poor child had once been a mute slave owned by a wealthy merchant. Her tongue had been cut out, leaving her unable to speak. Because the injury was so old, conventional druidic magic was powerless to help. Even after Cecil became the emperor of the Cecil Empire, and Byron rose from a country knight to a military commander, he was helpless.

Years passed, and the little mute girl grew into a graceful young woman. Then, unexpectedly, a breakthrough appeared—

The “All-Things-Perish” relics unearthed from the Solin region gave Byron hope for curing Pea.

These incredible, cutting-edge biotech methods could be used to create terrifying monsters—or to heal unfortunate mortals.

With Pea’s consent, Byron made his foster daughter the first clinical test subject at the Druid Laboratory under Pittman’s name. The initial treatment went smoothly: her severed tongue regenerated in less than half a day. But getting Pea to speak again proved unexpectedly difficult.

Today, the middle-aged knight once more arrived at the Magi-Tech Research Institute, seeking new solutions.

Pittman, stooped and white-haired, led Byron deeper into the facility.

This large complex, personally established by Rebecca Cecil, had undergone significant development and improvement. It was now the empire’s most advanced research center, with many new departments and branches. Besides the usual magi-tech, mechanical, and mathematical research labs, two new labs under the Rune Research Institute had been added in the past year, along with a Druid Research Center under Pittman’s leadership.

Just as Gawain had originally planned, the Magi-Tech Research Institute was no longer a simple research facility. It had become a “greenhouse” nurturing new technologies, providing space, equipment, and personnel support for various emerging tech and potential teams.

Passing through a checkpoint on the third floor, Byron and Pittman entered the Druid Research Center’s area. The walls were decorated with painted vines and leaves, and a magi-tech device at the entrance quietly projected a holographic image—a badge encircled by flowering vines.

This was the empire’s official druid emblem.

Many technicians in white robes with green trim moved busily through the corridors, respectfully saluting Pittman. Though Byron had seen this before, he couldn’t help but glance at the little old man beside him. “Honestly, I’m surprised to see a shameless old coot like you getting so much respect from scholars.”

“Shut up,” Pittman shot him a sideways glance. “Didn’t I tell you what I said when I saw soldiers salute you on the way here?”

Byron just shrugged and followed Pittman down the hall to a high-spec laboratory.

“Put on the outer robe and stand on that platform inside,” Pittman said, stopping at the lab’s entrance and pointing to a small round platform beyond the door. “Wait for me once you’re in.”

“What’s this?” Byron blinked. “We didn’t have this step last time.”

Pittman glared. “Nonsense. This lab’s biocontainment level is Class III; last time was only Class II. Just think of it as the stuff inside here being more valuable than elsewhere.”

Byron nodded. Though usually rough and careless, he understood the importance of discipline and order in research facilities, so he said no more.

Following Pittman’s instructions, he awkwardly completed the dressing and sterilization steps, then passed through the gate into what seemed to be a very special lab.

Inside was a spacious room, with several large experimental tables neatly arranged along the sides. Numerous technicians in standard robes busied themselves between the tables. Their robes bore the druidic vine emblem, but Byron knew well that by old standards, only a small fraction were true “druids.” Most were at best “apprentices” in the supernatural arts, or even ordinary people without any supernatural abilities.

But with the rise of magi-tech and the integration of many druidic spells into rune logic systems, the empire’s definition of “druid” had long since become less rigid.

Byron’s gaze swept the room and suddenly landed on a striking figure—

Master Kamail, glowing with arcane radiance and clad in rune-engraved armor plates.

Kamail turned slightly and asked Pittman, who had just entered, “Master Kamail, what are you doing here?”

“This project involves him,” Pittman replied casually, stepping forward. “Just watch and don’t touch anything.”

Byron shrugged indifferently and followed.

Though Pittman looked frail, his steps were quick. Soon he reached Kamail’s side and asked, “Is the morning test finished? How did it go?”

“The neural response efficiency has exceeded seventy percent, but it still needs a lot of adjustment,” Kamail said, gesturing toward the nearest lab table. “Take a look—do you see any issues with the artificial neurons?”

Pittman turned and approached the table. Byron craned his neck to see.

On a slanted surface lay a strange object, illuminated by bright lights that revealed every detail.

It was a “ribbon-like” structure made of metal parts, less than a meter long. One end had a palm-sized diamond-shaped assembly of metal plates; the other branched into thin, dark red tips. The main body was composed of interlocking rings with fine metal protrusions. The bizarre structure—

Byron couldn’t help but think of a human spine, or something designed to fit along the spine.

He leaned closer and noticed faint red pulses between the metal segments. Looking carefully, he recognized fibrous tissue resembling flesh.

This “flesh” grew between the metal parts, somehow maintaining its vitality in a way he couldn’t comprehend.

“What… is this?” Byron blinked, curious. “It looks a bit like the artificial neural cords used in immersion pods.”

“This is an artificial neural cord, but not for immersion pods,” Pittman said without looking up, studying the dark red nerve endings extending from the metal spine. “Think of it as a branch application of artificial neural cords. For now, I’m calling it ‘Neural Thorns.’”

Byron pressed on, “What’s it for?”

“Essentially, it’s a neural interface device, designed to connect the human brain to external magi-tech equipment. But beyond basic connectivity…” Pittman finally looked up and pointed to the dark red fibrous structures at the cord’s end, “it can break the boundary between ordinary humans and supernaturals—truly break it.”

Byron frowned, his expression serious. “Can you explain that in plain language?”

Pittman rolled his eyes. “Read a book once in a while, or else when Pea enters the Imperial Academy, you won’t even understand her textbooks.”

Kamail floated over, greeting Byron before adding in a buzzing tone, “His Majesty once pointed out a flaw in current magi-tech: all supernatural powers are realized mechanically. Humans manipulate rune triggers to activate pre-programmed spell effects in machines. This method has inherent limitations.

“Magi-tech devices can only perform simple spells that don’t require ‘mental energy’ to maintain guidance—like fireballs, ice spikes, arcane missiles. But if a spell requires the caster’s mental energy to guide it—illusions, dream magic, or large-scale ritual spells—then magi-tech machines are powerless.”

Byron laughed, nodding. “That makes sense.”

Every supernatural practitioner knew this: spells fell into two categories. One was “cast-and-forget,” where once the spell’s form is built, activating it releases the full effect—fireball and ice arrow are examples. The other is “mental-guided,” continuous spells requiring the caster’s ongoing mental control; if interrupted, the spell dissipates immediately.

Clearly, current magi-tech can only handle the first type. The second type, due to maintenance constraints, can never be freed from the “operator” supernatural.

This contradicts magi-tech’s ideal of “bringing the supernatural to ordinary people” and limits its development.

In fact, this limitation was already showing in current tech development—immersion pods require a virtual interface linked to the brain, and some parameters in the magic network broadcast system need “programming” that can’t be controlled by simple rune triggers but require the operator’s mental energy. These still rely entirely on real mages.

This is one reason immersion pod production remains slow—each pod needs a formal mage to calibrate it for a long time. How many mages does the institute have for this?

Byron guessed the purpose of the so-called Neural Thorns: “So… this thing lets ordinary people use mental energy to control those guided spells?”

“More precisely, it lets ordinary people ‘sense’ magic,” Pittman smiled, uttering words that would astonish any traditional supernatural practitioner.

Let ordinary people sense magic!!

Byron’s eyes widened. After several seconds, he grasped what this strange object meant.

The dividing line of magical talent is the ability to sense magic—the first threshold for an ordinary person to enter the supernatural realm. Only by sensing magic’s presence can one control and use it, thus becoming supernatural. But this special talent is possessed by only a rare few gifted individuals.

“We’ve been tinkering with this for a whole year, stuck on the problem that artificial neurons can’t survive long-term in small devices. Until recently, the All-Things-Perish Society’s technology helped us overcome this,” Kamail buzzed. “We’ve successfully created Neural Thorns that can work long-term—though it still has a long way to go.”

Pittman straightened slightly, pride on his face. “If this succeeds, it will be true ‘supernatural powers for all.’”

Byron couldn’t help but be swept up in the atmosphere, growing a bit excited. But he quickly remembered why he was here today. “…But what does this have to do with Pea?”

Pittman looked at him. “As a crude early-stage product, Neural Thorns are far from achieving ‘supernatural powers for all.’ But before that, it might be able to do something simpler than casting spells—this device connects directly to the brain. If we attach a small gadget that produces sound, maybe it can ‘speak’ for Pea.”

Byron was silent for a moment, then asked, “Is there any risk?”

“There are risks—any experiment carries them,” Kamail said bluntly. “The biggest risk is brain damage. But we’ll have plenty of safety measures in place, and we’ll cast protective spells on Pea’s mind and brain beforehand. That should minimize the danger as much as possible.”

“…I need to go ask Pea what she thinks first.”

“Of course. That’s only right.”

(Oh my god!!!)

(End of chapter)