Chapter 11: The Terrifying EMP – Section 1

Blue Bird? Is that the name of that mecha?
The black-haired man understood immediately. After pondering for a moment, he nodded. “I don’t know what you mean by Blue Bird, but if it’s the same mecha, I think I’ve seen it before. It’s currently owned by a bounty hunter named Blue Lily. But it was completely destroyed in the battles a few days ago.”
“Destroyed…” The white-haired old man clearly wasn’t expecting such an answer and froze for a while. After a long pause, he shook his head with a wry smile.
“It’s good that it’s gone. That mecha never should have existed in this world. Destroying it satisfies one of my wishes.”
The old man’s words piqued the black-haired man’s interest, prompting him to ask further.
“Why shouldn’t it exist in this world?”
“It’s not really a secret,” the old man said with a wry smile. He walked over and sat down next to the black-haired man. “When I designed Blue Bird, I focused on extreme firepower, which led to an uncontrolled proportion of firearms. Plus, since it’s a sniper mecha, high mobility was also essential. Combined, this made the mecha’s weight far exceed the standard. I had no choice but to adjust the core of the magic engine, increasing the release of mental pressure by five percentage points to gain more power.”
“That’s quite normal,” the black-haired man nodded in understanding.
“Yes, for a mecha modifier, creating the best possible machine is undoubtedly everyone’s dream. But unfortunately, not everyone can operate such a mecha. Although the mental pressure only increased by five percentage points, the demands on the operator more than doubled. Moreover, even if one meets those demands, they’ll inevitably suffer from the side effects of mental pressure, easily leading to schizophrenia.” The white-haired old man, seeming to have found an understanding ear, poured out his grievances to the black-haired man.
Indeed, on this planet, though he was a genius modifier admired by all, who could truly understand his struggles? To maximize every potential of his creations, he often faced difficult choices. Going forward meant perfect machines at the cost of health; going back ensured the operator’s health but resulted in insufficient engine power. It was truly a torment.

“Enough of these troubling matters. Young man, you’ve come to me, surely looking for a weapon as well. Interested in coming with me to take a look back there?” The white-haired old man shook his head firmly, seemingly brushing aside all displeasure, then stood up and said to the black-haired man with a smile.

“Of course, I’ll follow your lead, elder.” The black-haired man also smiled and stood up.

The blacksmith shop was indeed full of mysteries. After passing through a long downward corridor, the black-haired man and the one with blood-red eyes suddenly saw a vast expanse before them—a workshop as large as two football fields. Workers were busy inside, sparks from welding and magic crystals flying everywhere, creating a bustling scene. Along one wall of the workshop, six giant figures stood quietly, like ancient stone statues.

The white-haired old man stopped and, with pride, pointed ahead. “This is where I work. Young man, pick whatever you like. Since you seem to be an expert, I’ll be your friend and give you 20% off.”

Hearing this, the one with blood-red eyes rolled their eyes. 20% off and still call it being friends? Was this old man an idiot?

Only the black-haired man knew that given the craftsmanship and modification quality of these mechs, each one would likely cost a fortune. To sell them in such a remote place, the prices probably wouldn’t be very high. 20% off might barely cover the cost. With this thought, a hint of gentleness appeared in his gaze.

But the black-haired man was underestimating the old man. Who was this white-haired man? He was Gao Fei, Alibaba’s famous genius modifier. The mechs he modified were almost all true killing machines. A master who completely rejected flashy features in favor of ultimate practicality—dreams of every warrior who made a living with mechs. Orders came in from all over the universe every year, and his business was surprisingly prosperous. He was extremely proud by nature. If not for the pleasant conversation with the black-haired man, he probably wouldn’t have even glanced at him. 20% off was already a great concession.

His reputation for refusing to sell no matter how much money was offered was well-deserved.

Taking gentle steps, the black-haired man walked around the row of mechs, examining them carefully. His expression remained utterly indifferent, showing neither admiration nor criticism, as if he were just a passerby. After a long while, he finally stopped in front of the last mech.

It was a very special support-type mecha, shaped like a spider. Its torso was egg-shaped, with a mirror-like smooth surface that offered no impact points, making it prone to ricochets when attacked by real ammunition. It had excellent protective capabilities. Its arms had been replaced with two modified large energy machine guns, which reduced its weight while maintaining sufficient firepower. Its legs featured an eight-legged structure similar to that of the TG-73; as it was a magic-powered mecha, it lacked impact modules. Speed was its weakness, but its stability far surpassed that of ordinary two-legged mechas.

Yet the most distinctive feature of this mecha wasn’t these seemingly innovative structural elements—it was its backpack. Instead of being a standard square-shaped carrying bag, it had a unique triangular shape. In the center of the backpack was a prominent circular axis that allowed it to rotate freely. Each of the triangle’s sharp corners had a distinctive deep blue hue, clearly different from ordinary materials.

An EMP backpack! That term popped into the black-haired man’s mind instantly.

Such backpacks were also extremely rare on Earth in the past, representing cutting-edge technology. Its full name was Electromagnetic Pulse, a special support device that used special instruments to generate negative electrons, ultimately creating a high-voltage electromagnetic field. Its purpose was to disrupt the control of enemy mechas.

As is well known, whether they were mechanical or magic-powered mechas, their structures generally relied on engines, transmission systems, and pipelines. Although the high-voltage electromagnetic pulses from EMP backpacks couldn’t cause physical damage to a mecha’s exterior, they had a significant effect on its internal circuits and engine components. In combat, each successful EMP attack could shut down the engines of several or even dozens of mechas, putting them into a dormant state.

“Heh, young man, did you figure it out?” With that voice, an old man with white hair slowly approached the black-haired man. With his hands behind his back, he gazed at the massive mecha ahead, his face showing a proud expression akin to that of a child showing off.

“Mm, it’s an EMP device. An excellent combination,” the black-haired man affirmed, his eyes growing brighter.

“Hm? What’s an EMP?” Upon hearing the black-haired man’s reply, the old man’s eyes widened instantly. “You mean its backpack? I got it from a machinery market. I’m not sure about its exact functions yet, but if powered, it can emit a very strong energy signal that disrupts the normal communication of other mechs. That’s why I installed it. Just think—disrupting an opponent’s communication during battle would deal them a huge blow. Young man, can you understand its value?”
Its value? I probably understand it better than you do. The black-haired man rubbed his nose.
He never expected the owner to use the EMP backpack on the mech without even understanding its function. And he still claimed it could disrupt communication—what a joke. If the inventor of the EMP backpack knew it would be used in such a way one day, he might jump out of his grave in anger.
But it’s good this way. Since the old man doesn’t know the true value of the backpack, the price probably won’t be too inflated.
“I really like this mech. What’s its name?” The black-haired man calmed himself down and asked in a low voice.
“It’s called Nightmare—a terrifying monster that can seize an opponent’s mind. It’s my latest masterpiece. I’m glad you like it, young man.” The old man chuckled, pleased to see hope on the black-haired man’s face.
Having one’s work praised by idiots isn’t really a sign of skill; only satisfying experts truly proves its excellence. The white-haired old man took the black-haired man to his workshop, partly because he wanted his creation to be recognized by this young man. For some reason, he always felt that this young man was the kindred spirit he had been waiting for.
“Very fitting.” The black-haired man nodded and lit a cigarette. His eyes narrowed slightly. “But looking at this mech’s configuration, it seems illogical to me. Boss, is it really complete?”
At these words, the white-haired old man’s expression changed instantly. He sighed first, then shook his head with a bitter smile. He walked over to the wall and touched it, and soon a mechanical roar sounded as the mech slowly turned around. Behind it was a huge hollow space.
“Young man, you really have good eyes. I’ll be honest with you. Nightmare is a half-finished product. It doesn’t have an engine because I haven’t found one capable of supporting such heavy weight. Even if I tried to increase the mental pressure, it wouldn’t work.”

“I see. Two arms modified into built-in machine guns, plus a solid backpack. The total weight is indeed far beyond the limit. Ordinary engines can’t handle it. But have you considered using an engine for a mechanical mech?”
“A mechanical engine? That’s no problem. But it requires even more skilled technicians. I haven’t heard of any technicians who are good at operating mechanical mechs yet. It’s not something that can be achieved with just simple training.” The old man lowered his head, lost in thought.
Unfortunately, he never could have imagined that the young man standing in front of him at that moment was a genius technician for mechanical mechs.