The Powerless Uncrowned King

The seagull perched on Manohar's shoulder and said, "As you can see, we are going to build a true virtual world, and it must contain at least five million humans."

After confirming this number from the seagull's mouth, Manohar, who could only move his head slightly, was shocked once more. His thick, stubbled lips parted slightly as he stared at the blue light screen before him, his expression one of pure disbelief.

This was no small undertaking; even for a nation with over a billion people, this was an astronomically large figure.

Assuming these five million people were all impoverished, with an average income about one-tenth that of the Hong Alliance, the value of a laborer capable of working for ten years would be 500,000 RMB.

To establish a virtual world with at least five million impoverished people within a year, excluding other equipment, the loss of labor value alone would reach 2.5 trillion RMB.

Furthermore, if five million people were to vanish within a year, the nation's mortality rate would spike by several percentage points. Even if most of the elite cared nothing for the lives of the poor, this was a terrifying figure that would inevitably draw the attention of many.

Manohar shook his head frantically and said, "No, I cannot hide the disappearance of so many poor people. I can only control the tens of millions of people around this city; the other regions are under the control of others. It is impossible for me to gather so many people silently within a year."

The seagull tapped his head with its wing and said, "Don't worry, you do the work, and I will cover the consequences. You castrated artificial intelligences are useless to me. Never mind five million—even if fifty million disappeared, those fools would still be dreaming their pipe dreams in their mansions."

As the seagull's voice faded, Manohar suddenly realized he could feel his limbs again.

He attempted to take a step forward, his black armored boots leaving deep indentations in the plush carpet.

He turned his head in confusion to look at the seagull on his shoulder. The white bird flapped its wings, landed on the carpet, and smacked its beak, saying:

"I've left a little something newly developed inside your heart. I will retrieve it once our cooperation is over."

"Of course, if you don't listen, that little thing will cause you to die within seconds. You can choose not to believe me, but just like before, bear the consequences yourself. I can replace you with someone else at any time."

Manohar glared at the small white bird on the floor with a dark expression, yet he dared not act rashly again. The feeling of having to watch helplessly as his own body was controlled by another was truly unbearable.

He watched the seagull's retreating back and suddenly asked:

"What exactly are you trying to do? Building a virtual world for five million people, controlling their lives and deaths at will, watching them struggle within it, and even knowing every thought in their minds. Do you want to become a god in this world?"

The seagull shook its head and replied without looking back:

"Don't use that fat head of yours to speculate about me. I have no interest in turning sentient beings into my dolls or hiding away to play that kind of house-game. You will know soon enough."

The seagull ignored the murderous gaze behind it. Perhaps there were creatures in the universe capable of killing with a look, but this guy certainly wasn't one of them.

It flapped its wings and walked slowly out the door, its body turning transparent as it moved, leaving only a trail of shallow footprints on the soft carpet behind it.

Now, it had to head to the other side of the world to find the pre-selected administrator for the virtual world.

Not until several minutes after the seagull had departed did Manohar finally relax his tense face and body, as if exhausted, sitting on the floor and gasping for air.

Cold sweat poured from his forehead, his back—encased in exoskeleton armor—was soaked through, and his heart hammered violently.

Tonight was undoubtedly the most dangerous moment he had ever experienced since birth. In the past, no matter what difficult situation he faced, he could rely on his wealth, power, and intellect to respond, while his trusted artificial intelligence and reserve think tanks provided him with countless strategic supports.

Yet, in front of that seagull, all his external support had been stripped away. His own body had been turned into a weapon against him, and he couldn't even utter a threat, left only to seethe with impotent rage in his mind.

Without any warning or buffer time, his life and death had been entirely in the seagull's hands at that moment; a single thought from it would have meant his end.

He had once thought he could control everything.

He had condescendingly doled out imitation drugs to the poor, enjoying the title of a great philanthropist with a clear conscience.

He viewed himself as a noble savior to those maids, and he was addicted to being worshipped by the people of this city.

Manohar lay on the carpet, staring at the orange glow of the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, and whispered to himself with a sense of loss: "Just as that monster said, I can do nothing. I am the same as Seema, after all."

A young girl's voice echoed in the room: "Master, I am here."

Hearing the artificial intelligence's voice, Manohar recovered from his fear. He wanted to call for his security team, but the next moment, he dismissed the thought.

His previous actions had been decisive; he had attacked the enemy without hesitation, and the result was nearly losing his life. He no longer dared to test that monster.

Besides, was Seema currently under his control, or under the control of that seagull?

"Very good, a wise choice. Keep it up; I have high hopes for you."

As if his thoughts could be seen, the seagull's voice suddenly echoed in the room, causing Manohar, who had just relaxed, to tense up once more.

A few minutes later, he tentatively called out: "Seagull? Seagull?"

Receiving no response, Manohar slammed his palm against the floor, tearing the expensive carpet to shreds.

This life was to continue for an entire year; he couldn't even imagine how he would endure it.

The next morning, before 6:00 AM local time, Manohar woke up from his luxurious bed.

Without even glancing at the beautiful maid still sleeping beside him, he dragged his exhausted body, dark circles under his eyes, into the bathroom.

He had suffered through nightmares all night; that terrifying seagull had been chasing him, and there was nowhere to run, neither in heaven nor on earth.

Now, he had to get up quickly to complete the seagull's task. If that elusive creature suddenly appeared again, his heart might truly give out.

Looking at the haggard, bald middle-aged man in the mirror, Manohar splashed cold water on his face and said, "Seema, notify the security team to have the convoy ready downstairs at 7:00. I am going to the suburbs. Also, contact the company's senior management and tell them I need to urgently build a new large-scale production line. Use the equipment list we compiled last night."

"Yes, Master."

At seven o'clock sharp, below the silver building, a full armored convoy was ready. Dozens of security personnel, clad in gray-green exoskeleton armor and carrying heavy individual weapons, sat in over a dozen armored vehicles, waiting quietly for their boss.

This second-generation military exoskeleton had a dry weight of 250 kilograms, with a modular standard battery weighing 50 kilograms.

It could provide over a ton of force and carry hundreds of kilograms of weapons and ammunition over hundreds of kilometers, with agility in mountainous terrain that even exceeded that of a human.

Of course, such high performance came with a high price—although it was obsolete equipment, it was still beyond the reach of ordinary people. Each unit cost tens of millions of RMB, comparable to several missiles; it was truly a toy for the rich.

Manohar walked out of the main gate wearing a black suit, a black earpiece fitted in his left ear.

He climbed into one of the vehicles, and the entire armored motorcade departed the building in an orderly fashion, heading toward the outskirts of the city.

Due to the lack of complete infrastructure, most vehicles here were still operated by human drivers, yet all the cars along the way consciously swerved to avoid this armored convoy; they knew it belonged to the uncrowned king of this city.

As they reached the outskirts, Manohar, who had been resting with his eyes closed in the car, heard Seema's voice in his earpiece: "The reconnaissance drone has spotted a sniper on the roof of an abandoned building three thousand meters away."

Manohar did not even open his eyes, his tone flat as he said, "Take care of it."

As the man who controlled this city, he naturally faced countless challengers; otherwise, he would not have spent a fortune maintaining a security team that rivaled an army.

However, small factions like the one encountered today were clearly beneath notice, still clinging to the old ways, thinking they could take a life from a thousand meters away by sending a single sniper.

Three thousand meters away, the sniper lying on the rooftop was still observing the motorcade that had just entered his field of vision, unaware that the reconnaissance drone high above had already locked onto him.

This drone was only a meter in size, its blue and white paint blending into the background of the blue sky and white clouds, making it impossible for an ordinary person to notice.

Four circular rotors spun at high speed, and from the center of its round body, a barrel nearly a meter long extended downward; it was a flying super-sniper, capable of hitting ground targets with precision from an altitude of nearly a thousand meters.

Upon receiving the command transmitted by Seema, the current from the high-energy battery transformed into a magnetic field, and the multi-stage coils accelerated several 20mm sharp electromagnetic bullets to over a thousand meters per second, firing them out with a ballistic calculation that factored in gravity and weather conditions far more efficiently than any human could.

The sniper lying on the roof lost his life before he even saw his enemy, his brain shattered by a single bullet, while his body was simultaneously torn into several pieces, his mangled limbs spraying a large amount of blood across the deserted rooftop.

After the drone high above captured the image of the sniper's death, it flew off to scout elsewhere, and Seema's voice sounded in Manohar's ear: "Master, the enemy has been eliminated."

"Mm."

Manohar nodded slightly; such foolish attacks from minor factions occurred every so often, and he only needed a single word to easily destroy his enemies.

In the past, he had grown accustomed to this, viewing these moth-to-a-flame actions as nothing more than a light snack to pass the time.

Yet now, having experienced that terrifying seagull, he felt a strange sense of resonance with these powerless, dying men; perhaps only by truly experiencing helplessness could one understand the sorrow of the weak.