Chapter : 585

  His thoughts drifted back to his first life as KM Evan. He remembered the grueling years spent in the lab, long nights fueled by stale coffee and sheer stubbornness, all to perfect a single component for his battle suit’s power core. He remembered the endless simulations, the frustrating failures, the microscopic adjustments. It was a grind of a different sort, intellectual rather than physical, but the feeling was the same. The real victory wasn't the final, spectacular flight of the suit; it was the moment the diagnostics on that one, tiny, obstinate component finally came back green.

  This was that moment. The diagnostics were green.

  He had proven to himself that the discipline of the Major General still lived within him. He hadn't taken the easy way out. He hadn't spent his coins on flashy, single-use power-ups or temporary buffs. He had endured the long, hard road to build something permanent. Something sustainable.

  A slow smile touched his lips. He was proud of the choice. He was proud of the work.

  Finally, feeling centered and resolute, he closed his eyes. The time for reflection was over. It was time to build.

  He summoned the System interface. The star-filled void bloomed in his consciousness. His mental cursor, a point of focused will, moved with unshakeable purpose toward the [Upgrades] tab. The cost glowed there, a stark reminder of the price: 500 FC. His new balance of 700 FC glowed beside it.

  The math was simple. The choice was clear.

  His mind was quiet now. There was no more debate between the soldier and the engineer. They were in perfect agreement. The most strategically sound decision, the one that would guarantee the greatest long-term advantage, was to automate. To delegate. To build the machine that would do the work for him.

  He was ready to buy his freedom. The long, hard, boring road had led him here, to the threshold of a new era in his second life. With a sense of profound and utter certainty, he prepared to take that final, revolutionary step. The age of Lloyd Ferrum, the manual laborer, was about to end.

  The moment of truth had arrived. Lloyd, seated in the tranquil silence of his private dimension, focused his entire will on the glowing interface suspended in his mind's eye. The 700 Farming Coins in his account felt like a physical weight, a treasure earned through sheer, bloody-minded perseverance. The 500-coin price tag for the [Automated Harvesting Protocol] seemed to taunt him, a gateway to a new reality guarded by a steep toll.

  For a final, fleeting second, the cautious soldier in him made its last stand. This is over seventy percent of your capital, it whispered, a voice of cold, hard-earned pragmatism. A single unforeseen event, a new, higher-level threat appearing in the Farm, and your reserves will be insufficient. Prudence dictates a larger buffer.

  But the engineer, the system-builder, the architect of victory, laughed in its face. What prudence is there in continuing to bail out the ocean with a thimble? it countered. The fundamental inefficiency of our current resource generation is the single greatest threat we face. It consumes our most valuable asset: the User's time and focus. Fixing that is not a risk; it is the most critical priority.

  The engineer won. It wasn't even a contest.

  With a mental command as sharp and decisive as a sword strike, Lloyd slammed his will into the purchase confirmation. "Confirm."

  The System’s response was immediate and absolute. The number representing his balance cascaded downwards with terrifying speed, a hemorrhage of digital wealth. 700… 650… 600… 550… 500. The drain stopped, leaving a stark, lonely [200 FC] glowing in its wake. A part of him winced at the sight. It felt like he had just set a mountain of gold on fire.

  But then, the fire ignited something new.

  The icon for the [Automated Harvesting Protocol] erupted in a silent, brilliant explosion of golden light. It was a visual confirmation of a profound, foundational change. A triumphant chime, clear and pure as a crystal bell, resonated not in his ears, but directly within his soul. A new branch, glowing with untapped potential, sprouted from the main trunk of the Soul Farm's upgrade tree.

  [NEW FUNCTION UNLOCKED: ECHO OF WILL]

  The calm, synthetic voice of the Administrator, the guide for System 2.0, filled his consciousness. Its tone was, as always, devoid of emotion, but the information it delivered was the most revolutionary news he had heard since his reincarnation.

  [Purchase confirmed. Automated Harvesting Protocol - Stage 1 has been successfully installed. The Echo of Will function is now operational. This protocol will enable the creation of a semi-sentient, automated harvester, designated as an 'Echo'. Stand by for initial calibration and tutorial.]

  Chapter : 586

  A slow, predatory grin spread across Lloyd’s face, a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. The ghost of buyer’s remorse was exorcised, replaced by the exhilarating certainty of a genius who sees his grand design finally coming to fruition. He hadn't burned his gold; he had forged the key to the entire treasure vault.

  [Initializing tutorial for Echo of Will Protocol,] the Administrator stated. [This function allows for the manifestation of a semi-sentient construct derived from a psychic and spiritual template of the User. This construct is a non-combat entity, optimized for repetitive task execution.]

  Lloyd listened with the focused intensity of a general receiving critical intelligence. Every word was a new parameter, a new piece of the strategic puzzle.

  "Elaborate on 'non-combat' and its operational limitations," Lloyd spoke into the quiet air of the Farm, testing the verbal interface of System 2.0.

  The response was instantaneous. [The Echo of Will lacks the capacity for adaptive strategy, creative thought, or high-level combat maneuvering. It cannot wield Transcended-level abilities or perform complex, multi-stage actions beyond its core programming. Its purpose is singular: to execute a pre-assigned, repetitive task with perfect, machine-like efficiency. Think of it as a biological drone, not a true clone.]

  A drone. The word was music to his ears. He didn't need another warrior with a personality to manage. He needed a tireless, uncomplaining, perfectly obedient worker. This was better. This was cleaner.

  "Energy source and operational duration?" he asked, probing for the inevitable catch.

  *[The Echo draws its sustenance energy directly from the ambient spiritual and dimensional matrix of the Soul Farm itself,] *the Administrator explained. [There is no continuous drain on the User's personal reserves. The initial manifestation requires a nominal, one-time expenditure of will to establish the psychic link, but subsequent operation is self-sufficient. The operational cycle is ten hours of continuous function, synchronized to Primary Reality Time, followed by a two-hour automated recalibration period.]

  No energy drain. Ten hours a day, every day, without fail. Lloyd’s mind spun with the possibilities. He could be at the Academy, in a business meeting, sleeping, even fighting for his life, and all the while, his silent worker would be here, tirelessly harvesting coins, fueling his growth. The implications were staggering. It was the ultimate force multiplier.

  [Furthermore, all resources, experience points, and Farming Coins generated by the Echo are instantly and directly credited to the User's primary account in real-time. There is no loss or delay.]

  It was a perfect, closed loop of passive income. He felt a giddy, almost hysterical laugh bubble up in his chest. All that mind-numbing grinding, all that soul-crushing boredom, had paid for this. It had paid for his own personal, perpetual-motion engine of power.

  A new interface, sleek and efficient, materialized in his mind's eye. It was the control panel for his new toy.

  [ECHO OF WILL - COMMAND INTERFACE]

  [STATUS: DORMANT]

  [ASSIGN TASK: (INPUT REQUIRED)]

  [COMMAND: MANIFEST]

  The time had come. His grand experiment was ready to begin.

  With the command interface glowing in his mind, Lloyd turned his focus to the first, most crucial step: programming the task. The [ASSIGN TASK] field pulsed with a soft light, awaiting his input.

  This wasn't a matter of typing words. The System was more sophisticated than that. It required him to project a concept, a complete package of intent, memory, and methodology. He closed his eyes and summoned the memory of the grind, but this time, he viewed it with the detached eye of an engineer analyzing a process.

  He replayed the entire sequence. The manifestation of the thin, herding chains. The specific pattern of their movement to corral the slimes into an optimal cluster. The precise, minimal energy signature of the lightning jolt required for dissolution, calculated to be just enough to kill the slimes without wasting a single drop of power. He recalled the rhythm, the timing, the entire, monotonous ballet.

  Then, he stripped it of all human context. He removed the boredom, the frustration, his own physical presence. What was left was a pure, cold, logical algorithm. A perfect, repeatable loop of action and result. He bundled this refined concept—this "Task Protocol"—and pushed it with his will into the waiting interface.

  A soft chime acknowledged the input.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  [Task Protocol Received: 'Slime Cull - Low Energy Method'. Analyzing viability… Analysis complete. Protocol is stable and within the Echo's operational parameters. Ready for psychic imprinting upon manifestation.]

  The System had accepted his programming. The die was cast.

  Chapter : 587

  A tremor of something akin to awe, or perhaps apprehension, ran through him. He was about to engage in an act that bordered on the divine. He was about to create a form of life—or something that mimicked it so perfectly as to be indistinguishable—from his own will. He was about to cleave off a sliver of his own essence and give it form and purpose. It was a profound and deeply strange thought.

  For a moment, he hesitated, the sheer gravity of the act giving him pause. Was he playing God in his own little fishbowl dimension?

  Then, the memory of the squelch, pop, pop echoed in his mind, and all philosophical concerns were brutally incinerated by the sheer, pragmatic desire to never have to do that again.

  He took a deep breath, the air of his private world feeling charged with an electric potential. He was no longer just a visitor here, a user of the System. He was becoming a part of its very architecture. He was a creator.

  He focused his will on the final command, a single, powerful word of creation.

  "Manifest."

  The response was not the violent, reality-warping eruption of a Transcended spirit. It was far quieter, more insidious. The air before him began to shimmer, not with heat, but with a strange, silvery distortion. It was as if a patch of reality had become liquid. Motes of ambient light and particles of shadow, pulled from the very fabric of the Farm, began to swirl and coalesce. They weaved together like threads on a loom, forming a recognizable humanoid shape with a silent, eerie grace.

  Slowly, the form solidified. The broad shoulders, the lean, practical build of a swordsman, the dark hair that fell just so. It was him. A perfect, spectral replica.

  The figure that stood before him was unsettling in its perfection. It wore the same dark training leathers he did. Its form, while seemingly solid, had a faint, ethereal translucence, a ghostly shimmer that marked it as something not quite real. Its face was a mask of serene neutrality, but the eyes… the eyes were the most disturbing part. They were his eyes, the same shade of dark grey, but they were utterly, terrifyingly empty. There was no spark of consciousness, no flicker of thought or emotion. It was the blank, placid gaze of a machine awaiting its initial command.

  This was his Echo. His will, given form. It was a ghost of himself, haunting his own private world.

  The Administrator's voice returned, a calm anchor in this strange new reality. [Psychic link established. Imprinting Task Protocol 'Slime Cull - Low Energy Method' onto the Echo's core directive. Please stand by.]

  Lloyd felt that strange mental tug again, more defined this time. It was a permanent, two-way connection, a quiet hum in the background of his thoughts. Through it, he could feel the Echo’s state of being—not as an emotion, but as a series of data points: Status: Dormant. Energy Core: Stable. Directive: Receiving.

  He felt the packaged memory of the grind flow down that psychic thread and into the waiting vessel. The Echo’s body trembled, a microscopic shiver running through its translucent form as the complex algorithm was integrated into its very essence. The muscle memory for the chains, the precise energy calculation for the lightning, the target acquisition patterns—it was all being written onto its soul, or whatever passed for one.

  After a few tense seconds, the imprinting was complete. The psychic link stabilized, becoming a quiet, unobtrusive background process. The command interface in his mind updated with a soft chime.

  [ECHO OF WILL - COMMAND INTERFACE]

  [STATUS: ACTIVE - AWAITING COMMAND]

  [ASSIGNED TASK: SLIME CULL - LOW ENERGY METHOD]

  The Echo stood perfectly still, its empty eyes fixed on the horizon, waiting. It was ready. His creation, his tool, his slave, was ready to begin its endless work. The culmination of his agonizing grind was standing right in front of him, a silent testament to his will. The age of his freedom was about to dawn.

  —

  Lloyd stared at the Echo, his silent, spectral twin. The initial shock and philosophical strangeness of its creation were already receding, replaced by the cool, appraising eye of a commander assessing a new asset. It stood perfectly still, a statue of potential, its entire being coiled around the single, imprinted directive he had given it. Its emptiness was no longer unsettling; it was a mark of its perfection. It had no ego, no desires, no distractions. It was a pure instrument of his will.

  Chapter : 588

  He took a step back, creating a clear space between creator and creation. He felt the faint, persistent hum of the psychic link, a connection that felt as natural and unobtrusive as his own heartbeat. Through it, he could feel the Echo's readiness, its state of poised anticipation. It was a loaded weapon, waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

  He allowed himself a final, small smile of satisfaction. The drudgery was about to be delegated. The burden was about to be lifted.

  With a surge of will, as simple and direct as taking a breath, he issued the final, liberating command through their mental link.

  Execute.

  The Echo moved. The transition from absolute stillness to fluid motion was instantaneous and utterly silent. There was no preparatory shift in weight, no tensing of muscles. One moment it was a statue, the next it was gliding forward with a mechanical grace that was both hypnotic and deeply inhuman. Its every movement was optimized for efficiency, stripped of any extraneous human flourish.

  It walked toward the shimmering, verdant expanse of the plains, where the first wave of newly respawned slimes was already beginning to bubble up from the turf, their simple forms wobbling with mindless purpose.

  As the Echo moved, its hands began to glow with a soft, silvery light—the spectral energy of the Soul Farm itself, harnessed and shaped by its core directive. From its palms, translucent, ghost-like chains manifested. They weren't the hard, physical B-Rank steel of Lloyd’s own power, but shimmering constructs of pure will and energy, more than sufficient for the simple task of herding the Farm's weakest inhabitants.

  The air beside the Echo shimmered, and a second spectral form faded into existence. It was a translucent, pale imitation of Fang Fairy. It had her shape, her grace, but lacked the fierce, intelligent storm in her golden eyes and the crackling, high-voltage aura of her Lightning Cloak. It was another tool, a secondary drone, its existence entirely dependent on the Echo's primary directive.

  Lloyd watched, transfixed, as his automated team reached the edge of the slime field. The performance began without preamble.

  The phantom chains, controlled by the Echo's flawless programming, snaked out with silent precision. They didn't strike or bind; they flowed around a cluster of several dozen slimes, gently nudging and guiding them into a tight, manageable ball. The movements were economical, perfect, a textbook execution of the strategy Lloyd had perfected through hours of grueling practice.

  The spectral Fang Fairy drifted forward, its expression as serenely blank as its master's. It raised a translucent hand. A single, pale dart of energy, a mere whisper of the true Lightning Dart, lanced out. It wasn't aimed at a slime, but at the nexus of the chains holding them.

  A pale, shimmering wave of energy pulsed through the ghostly chains. The slimes jiggled violently for a fraction of a second. Then, in perfect, silent unison, they popped. They dissolved into motes of data and light, their brief existence erased.

  Through the psychic link, Lloyd felt the immediate feedback. Ping.

  [+1 FC]

  His Farming Coin balance ticked up from 200 to 201.

  The Echo didn't pause to admire its work. It didn't register the success. Its programming had already identified the next target. It moved to the next cluster of slimes. The phantom chains deployed. The spectral spirit attacked. The pale jolt of energy pulsed. The slimes dissolved.

  Ping.

  [+1 FC]

  His balance was now 202.

  The process was a flawless, silent, and unending loop of perfect automation.

  A deep, profound, and utterly overwhelming sense of liberation washed over Lloyd. It was a feeling more potent than any power-up, more satisfying than any victory in battle. The weight of the grind, a metaphysical burden he had been carrying for what felt like years within this dimension, was lifted from his shoulders and placed upon the back of his silent, tireless clone.

  He was free.

  The sheer, beautiful logic of it was intoxicating. He had taken a problem—a tedious, time-consuming, and inefficient chore—and had engineered a perfect, automated solution. This was the mind of KM Evan unleashed upon the rules of a fantasy world. He wasn't just playing the game; he was rewriting its code to suit his needs.

  He watched the silent ballet of slaughter for a full five minutes, a slow, immensely satisfied smile spreading across his face. The sight of his own back, bent to a task he now loathed, was the most beautiful, liberating image he had ever seen. He had successfully and permanently outsourced his own personal hell.