Chapter Sixty-One: My Beloved Anchan Darling

The attributes of a Data Ether Entity, at their core, amount to only one thing: the degree to which it has learned and mastered different categories of knowledge. The more advanced and complex the knowledge, the greater the enhancement it provides—of course, the time required to study and the foundational theoretical background needed are proportionally higher as well.

It’s like a primary school student; no matter how clever you are, you can’t jump straight into advanced mathematics. At the very least, you must first learn the four basic arithmetic operations, then geometry, algebra, and so forth, before you can truly begin. A Data Ether Entity with a perfectly established knowledge system is almost priceless, capable of enhancing your abilities in every aspect. Newly created “blank slates,” though expensive, are of limited assistance in practice. All they can do is help operate various machines and electronic devices. No wonder the ability users on Baishan Star often lump them together with intelligent lifeforms.

They probably don’t even bother to open the attribute panel, let alone level them up.

Ji Cheng lounged half-reclined on the air sofa, his whole body nearly stretched out straight. “Forget it, Shana, just give me a foot massage for now.”

At his words, Shana immediately shifted her gaze from the computer screen, drawing closer with gentle obedience. Her small hands began moving softly over Ji Cheng. This time, she had changed her look, wearing a shoulder-length clavicle bob—neither too long nor too short—swaying lightly in the air. Beneath her delicate brows, her bright black eyes gazed up at Ji Cheng with a smile, making her seem docile and compliant.

“It’s a pity that while the Data Ether Entity can produce the sensation of touch, this feeling is just the result of ether collisions—it doesn’t actually let you feel real contact,” Ji Cheng thought with a trace of regret, even as he enjoyed the moment. Such a massage had no effect on relaxing his muscles, but since he’d soon be heading to the Hive—and with a superior who was constantly plotting his demise—he had to seize every opportunity to enjoy life he could.

He snapped his fingers. “An Chan, read me the descriptions of the weapons and equipment available on Baishan Star. Let’s see if there’s anything worth buying.”

An Chan stood unmoving, giving only a cold, mocking smile. “Is that any way to ask for help?”

Ji Cheng paused. “Then what would make you willing to cooperate?”

He felt helpless. While Data Ether Entities were absolutely loyal, personality quirks remained a persistent headache. This technology had been around for years, yet the issue of temperament had never been properly resolved. The Empire’s nobility could buy several and open them like blind boxes, finally picking two with pleasant personalities for use. But people like Ji Cheng could only rely on luck; whatever you got was what you had to live with.

An Chan straddled Ji Cheng’s legs, her expression cold and stunningly beautiful. “First, pat my head, then say gently: ‘Dear An Chan, sweetheart, please help me.’”

“Uh…”

“Did you hear me? Hurry up.”

He patted An Chan’s head, already making a decision in his mind. An Chan would primarily learn support knowledge, to be used for producing starship combat units, tuning, and modifying weapons. As for combat skills, those would be left to the more obedient Shana. Otherwise, if a fight broke out and An Chan suddenly decided to go on strike at a critical moment, requiring cajoling and hugs, wouldn’t that be courting disaster on the battlefield?

“Dear An Chan, sweetheart, please read me the information on the computer, mainly about weapons and equipment.”

Only then was An Chan satisfied. She tapped the computer, and streams of data reflected instantly in her eyes. The computer powered on automatically, opened the Ability User Mall, and pulled up the detailed item categories.

Her voice rang out:

“Vehicle-mounted heavy repeater cannon: capable of inflicting moderate damage on Order-class mutated animals.
Category: Vehicle artillery.
Price: 3 million Baishan credits.
Review: Comes with automatic loading and direct-fire system, easy to assemble and disassemble, includes a field mounting kit.”

…

“Gemini self-propelled grenade launcher: capable of inflicting heavy damage on Order-class mutated animals.
Category: Self-propelled artillery.
Price: 2.2 million Baishan credits.
Review: High firing stability, equipped with muzzle velocity radar, comes with twenty multi-purpose tactical shells.”

…

“Kunsteel tactical dagger: sturdy, sharp, resistant to high temperatures and corrosion.
Category: Melee weapon.
Price: 98 million Baishan credits.
Review: The most affordable and practical type among Kunsteel weapons; recommended as standard gear for ability users when possible.”

…

“Blackrock K-90 handgun: capable of inflicting heavy damage on Sight-class mutated animals.
Category: Firearm.
Price: 800 million Baishan credits.
Review: The flagship of trigger-fired handguns, combining firepower and portability.”

…

“Swarm shoulder cannon: capable of inflicting heavy damage on Order-class mutated animals.
Category: Man-portable shoulder artillery.
Price: 1.26 billion Baishan credits.
Review: Weapon module dismantled from a lost laboratory’s mechanical guardian, reliable performance, can be mounted on all-terrain combat suits.”

…

After An Chan’s explanations, Ji Cheng had a rough idea of just how primitive things were on Baishan Star. The items in the mall were all over the place, and the descriptions revealed little useful information. There was no real classification by grade, nor any reliable standard for destructive power. The only categorization was a crude one based on practical combat: what level of mutated animal from the Gate taxonomy the weapon could harm, and to what extent.

“That’s all the weapons,” An Chan said coldly, casting a frosty glance at Ji Cheng.

“Why are you upset again?” Ji Cheng asked with a wry face.

“You need to pat me more.”

…

Actually, the situation on Baishan Star stemmed from two main causes. The first was simply a lack of time. Though it seemed the planet had been cut off for decades, the early years were mostly a difficult pioneering era for the city-states; they’d only recently established a real foothold, so there’d been no time to develop any coherent system. The second reason concerned application scenarios: in the wilderness and mining districts, sheer firepower wasn’t always best. One also had to consider transportation challenges and ease of use—making it nearly impossible to organize these weapons into proper classes.

If you went strictly by destructive power, vehicle-mounted artillery would certainly outgun firearms. But if you actually tried to lug a cannon into battle with a mutated beast, it would be suicide; in practice, a sturdy, handy machete might serve you far better.

So, the real indicator of a weapon’s usefulness was its price. The market doesn’t lie.

A handgun that could injure Sight-class mutated animals was far more valuable than a cannon that could take down an Order-class beast—the former was compact and easy to use, while the latter was difficult to transport, never mind actually hitting your target.

Eyes closed, Ji Cheng pondered the information he’d just gleaned from the mall.

“So, the smaller and handier the weapon, yet still capable of harming mutated animals, the higher the price.”

Take the array in Ji Cheng’s hands, for example. The people of Baishan Star didn’t even know the basic debugging procedures. Relying solely on the array’s metallic filaments to generate electric arcs, its destructive power was unimpressive—enough at best to injure Sight-class mutated animals. But it had the advantage of zero weight and extreme portability; you could wield a blade and unleash the array’s arc at the same time.

Moreover, these were exceedingly rare, most having been salvaged from ruins before contact was lost, so they were priced beyond the market—impossible to buy even if you had the money.

This market situation reminded Ji Cheng of certain pay-to-win online games he’d played before crossing over, where a socketed gem with a weak attribute bonus could cost several times more than the weapon itself.

If he were to put his now-tuned “Regret” up for sale, its price would be simply incalculable.

“Help me check up on Kunsteel weapons. I noticed before that they’re not expensive and seem to sell quite well.”

Ji Cheng patted An Chan’s head, suddenly feeling like he was winding up a clockwork toy.

She pointed at the computer screen; several web pages flickered by in a flash, and then she answered with a hint of disdain:

“I just checked. This so-called Kunsteel isn’t even metal—it’s just heat insulation panel material.”

It took Ji Cheng a while to respond. “What do you mean?”

He patted An Chan again.

She explained, “According to the database, Baishan Star has a satellite rich in high-energy natural gas. Before losing contact, the Empire built a gas extraction station there, so Baishan Star had a metallurgical line dedicated to producing insulation materials for the station.

“Later, the Red Eagle Republic discovered and inherited this metallurgical line. Since the insulation panels didn’t have a marketable name, they rebranded them as ‘Kunsteel.’

“To be honest, it does sound a bit ridiculous,” Ji Cheng muttered, his hands absentmindedly moving.

“It’s the truth, though. The Kunsteel produced by this line is just a heat insulation material, but given Baishan Star’s current level of industry, it offers the best combination of hardness, strength, and toughness you can find.”

“The data shows that most ability users on Baishan Star—at least most first-tier ones—primarily use cold weapons made of Kunsteel. It’s also a major income source for the Red Eagle Republic.”

As she finished speaking, Ji Cheng noticed that on An Chan’s attribute panel, the experience value for materials science had finally inched up ever so slightly.