Do not lose heart, child of Humanity
Be you a fisherman or a plowman, a mother or a father
Keep in your heart the Memory of Humanity and, above all, the Faith of Humanity
For our heroes, whose name is Ideals, will not abandon us
"Book of Hope"
Verse XIX
As slowly as possible, I shifted a step sideways to get a view of the clearing. First, I examined the body of the fallen bandit, though I was already certain of my suspicions. The maniacal laughter echoed again, this time from another direction.
The three remaining men trembled violently. They darted their eyes around like cornered prey. The weapons in their hands traced erratic paths. This was very bad—for them. But they didn't know it. Or maybe they did but couldn't do anything about it.
I tried not to move at all, breathing as shallowly as possible. Who'd have thought I'd end up using a civilian protection technique I'd helped devise?
Something streaked through the branches to my right. Blood rained down, followed by a chunk of human leg. That was the final straw for one Raider. He let out a high-pitched squeal and bolted. He passed within three meters of me, but I didn't even glance his way. Minus one.
His footsteps cut off just over twenty meters from the clearing—close to the grove's edge. A desperate, terror-filled howl tore from his throat, then silence.
BAS: Data upload
Calmly, I pivoted and took five steps toward the grove's exit. Pause.
"Taaasssty…" a strange voice rasped through the undergrowth a second later. Impossible to identify its owner. "Sssweeet…"
"Give, give, give!!!" the grove barked from all sides.
"We're dead…" the bald guy whimpered. "All dead!"
His voice cracked. I expected the bandits to run, but they stayed put. They must've known something about the voices in the forest. Less than I did, though—otherwise, they'd never have stepped into this grove.
Scientists gave these bizarre creatures a long, fancy name, but among soldiers, they were dubbed Laughers.
The lyrdagi dropped these freaks onto peaceful planets, and within a week, they'd turn thriving worlds into hellscapes.
"I see, I see, I see…" whispers echoed through the woods. "I want, I want, I want…"
Laughers bred fast. With enough food, they could overrun a planet. Only a gene-coded limiter or a direct order from their masters could stop them. Their primary goal was terrorizing civilians. Their main weapon: psychological pressure and weak energy fields. Those fields killed with flair, mimicking any injury—from fractures to giant bite marks. The creatures had studied human psychology too well and exploited it to the fullest. Fear, horror, panic… and the prey would run right into their grasp.
For Ideals, they were almost harmless. Their shrieks didn't faze us, and their camouflage was laughable—they glowed with lyrdagi energy like lanterns. Even basic scanning matrices could track them from a hundred meters.
We'd pop them like seeds—dozens, even hundreds at a time, without breaking stride. But I didn't have a plasma cannon now. No air support to call in.
And I had a problem: right now, I was an Ideal in name only. If I hadn't used Acceleration, I could've run a Scan to at least count the enemy.
The number of voices didn't matter. It could be just one Laugher—mimicking a pack was a common tactic. Humans reacted hard to a surround trap.
Wild cackling erupted over the clearing, like a horde was dropping from above. A second Raider bolted, leaving only the bald guy. Twenty-five steps.
That's how far the last runner got. The final bandit was on the brink. He jerked around, trying to guess where death would strike. I was sure he'd guess wrong. Didn't care—I was counting.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…
The upper branches quivered as something big swept through. The Raider even managed a final glance back.
BAS: Data upload
"Aaaah!!!!" His scream choked off and faded fast. The second bandit had veered far right of the first.
I shifted direction sharply and dashed nearly seven meters. Data was thin, but I had a third clue up my sleeve.
Laughers moved fast—within limits—using energy fields. Or rather, they faked it well with illusions. The monsters themselves were clumsy and preferred staying put during a hunt.
They kept working the last Raider, closing in on success. The bald guy barely grasped what was happening, gearing up to run.
BAS: Data upload
Years of war had dissected every nuance of lyrdagi tech. Laughers got extra scrutiny since they targeted civilians first. Research boiled down to a few key points.
One: they only reacted to moving objects. They had no other senses—just built for one job, and damn good at it. People panicked, ran, and died.
Two: they had a limited energy reserve, recharged by the Alien system. No matter how gory the body effects looked, scientists confirmed Laughers lacked organs to eat humans.
Three: a single Laugher could only operate effectively within a twenty-meter radius. Beyond that, their fields lacked juice.
"Die!" the last Raider bellowed and charged into the forest. He'd learned from his buddies' fates, picking the opposite direction. It got him killed instantly.
BAS: Data upload
Preliminary radius calculation complete
Preliminary enemy assessment complete
Estimated activity zone outlined in dashed lines
Estimated center highlighted in blue
Likelihood of one enemy: 100%
Likelihood of two enemies: 17%
Likelihood of three or more enemies: 2%
Immediate elimination recommended
Time to full recharge: 6 seconds
That was a perk of my system. Years of data let it run complex calculations. Some lyrdagi quirks were unique to my records—like how a Laugher could only trigger combat fields every 8.233 seconds.
I froze at the blue zone's edge. The BAS had enough from the field movements and human paths to pinpoint the enemy's spot. Just had to crack its disguise…
The timer ticked relentlessly. Four seconds, three…
I gripped my sword two-handed and drove it into a rotten stump to my right. The enemy's shell cracked dryly. Leaning into the blade, I used it as a prybar.
One second…
The cheap metal barely handled the job. As the gap widened to ten centimeters, I dropped to my knees and shoved my hand inside. My skin stung instantly. A stench of rotting organics slammed my nose. My fingers sank deep into loose flesh.
I clenched my fist and ripped out the guts of the foul shell. Exposed to air, the slime curdled and darkened fast.
Energy reserve: 112/1000
Warning! Without full System deployment, reyz-energy absorption is limited.
Absorbed 10.973% of enemy reyz-energy.
Annoying… I'd counted on this! Killing lyrdagi and their minions used to be my best (and only) external reyz-energy source.
Now, for some reason, I was gaining energy from killing humans tied to this weird local System—but it was peanuts. I'd need to fix that.
The forest fell into ringing silence. I eyed the shell, coated in fake tree moss, smirked, and wiped my fouled hand on it. Time to grab trophies and get out. Pinpointing and killing another one like this would be way harder.
Its camouflage had screwed it. This grove was too young for half-meter stumps with such clean cuts. Still, the monster had been here a long time—the vegetation mimicry was flawless.
BAS: Data upload
I returned to the last Raider's death spot and knelt by the body. The monster had rushed, skipping fancy effects. The bald guy's skull was neatly sliced open, the top lying nearby.
I snatched a sword from the ground and frowned at the blood-soaked corpse. He'd been dressed better than his crew—shame the clothes were trashed.
Digging in his brain might've been worth it, but I was in a hurry. Maybe next time. The locals clearly used a System. Nox had said he couldn't see my stats—not some secret or quirk.
Back in my day, humans got bioactivators for the global network. They'd crawl to your head and wire into your nervous system. Aliens had something similar, just different chip placement.
Model dictated operator perks—basic access, advanced, distribution… To gauge an enemy properly, I'd need to study their capabilities. That could wait. The Raiders were off my back for now.
And yeah, our Systems didn't mesh. For Juniors, almost totally incompatible. Seniors could train the right Skills. Us Ideals could see enemy alerts, jam their System, even block it locally sometimes—but that needed full functionality and a fat reyz-energy reserve.
Losing a main squad would raise alarms. Word would hit the bandit base. Add time for decisions, deploying extra forces, and searching.
BAS: Data upload
I needed to focus on getting off this dangerous turf. How many Laughers were here? No clue—too little data. But I could make some early calls.
I passed the second corpse without stopping. He'd dropped his weapon—useless to me. No time to scour the brush for a junk sword.
The lyrdagi pets had been on this planet a long damn time. That rotting stench of their innards—I couldn't mistake it, even after years in cryo. Yet humans lived here. Not just survived, hiding from constant mind games, but lived fully. The village outskirts were totally safe, per Nox and the Raiders' behavior.
That clashed with everything I knew. Lyrdagi deployed Laughers on peaceful worlds for one reason: total genocide. Period. What I was seeing here got weirder by the minute.
BAS: Data upload
In fifteen minutes, I combed the undergrowth and dragged all the valuables I could find to the gate's launch platform. Sorting loot could wait—given the forest situation, better saved for later.
The squad leader took the most effort. My kill method wasn't elegant, but it worked. His chainmail stayed intact—needed a deep clean, but that was minor.
And… something about this armor bugged me. A tiny detail nagged, but I couldn't place it.
In my spot, a full suit was worth the hassle. Options were always good. I stripped the metal shirt off the Raider, holding it up, feeling for inconsistencies.
BAS: Preliminary assessment
Data collection
Analysis…
A faint green aura shimmered around the clunky, ancient armor—unstable, like the names over locals' heads. There it was!
The rings were clearly local, and the crafting wasn't entirely crude—but that wasn't the big deal! The base wasn't from this backwater world. I turned it inside out and whistled at a small module with familiar markings.
The BAS sprang to life.
Analysis complete
Infantry Power Armor (IPA) — 128-56-bis
Category: Standard
Condition: Disassembled, battery depleted
Conclusion: Partially usable
Ideals were humanity's best warriors, but as an old Earth saying went: "One man's no army." Sure, we had Seniors, but even that wasn't enough against endless lyrdagi hordes. So, Juniors—regular folks who chose war and humanity's defense—made up most of our forces.
To boost their survival odds, scientists cooked up "System items." Paired with a human body, they could tap reyz-energy semi-autonomously, storing it in batteries and channeling it per the designer's intent—beefing up armor defense or weapon punch.
The chainmail in my hands was partly built from the Confederation's most common infantry armor. Someone had savagely stripped the alloy breastplate and slapped homemade rings on the lining. Lousy idea, but still.
Problem was, the battery was tuned to human reyz-waves. In this world's odd System, it couldn't charge. My own stash barely kept me from croaking.
With spare energy, though, the armor's battery would generate a field no local junk weapon could pierce. Handy perk—just not one I could use yet.
Still, a couple ideas hit me. First, I'd need to figure out that weird glow. Either way, this was coming with me.
Additional data detected
Noble Irrg Hide
Durability: 1830/2000
The name made me want to ditch the armor on the spot, but I held off. I'd dig into why they revered those creeps later.
At the grove's edge lay the brute's body, still clutching his two-hander. That weapon had caught my eye from the start. The half-naked hulk clearly held serious rank in Wolf's gang—almost on par with his commander. Sever had invested in armor; this guy banked on his blade.
And it'd paid off, up to a point. He was probably a war god among the Raiders.
I wrestled the massive corpse over and took the weapon. The blade glinted faintly blue. Angled right, it showed ripples like rings in an ancient tree trunk. And it was light for its size.
BAS: Preliminary assessment
Data collection
Analysis
Searching local database for matches
Lines of standard evaluation flickered before my eyes. I tilted the weapon, spotting two holes near the blade's base—same on the other side. The grip felt rough, alien—likely added later.
Analysis complete
Alloy grade: KS-73122
Category: Standard
Component partially damaged
Activating initial form simulation
The system blurred the grip, added volume, and tweaked the shadows. The alloy grade alone could've settled it—used only in small orbital ship frames. I was holding a piece of this world's history.
"Structural analysis," I said quietly, craving final clarity. Maybe things weren't all bad here. "Category identification."
Data analysis
A small window popped up in the corner of my vision, images flashing at breakneck speed as the BAS scoured its database for my answer.
Small civilian transport, Ayala class. Match: 38%
Medium patrol corvette, Guardian class. Match: 67%
Assault module, Parallax. Ideal subdivision. Match: 94%