Chip Salesman

In the dead of night, a solitary castle perches atop a cliff overlooking the sea, its faint lights flickering within while the town below slumbers. Candles, a luxury reserved for the nobility and wealthy merchants, remain untouched by the common folk, resigned to their nightly rest.

Within the castle's study, two figures sit in silence, their solemnity matching the stillness of the night. The cold sea breeze seeps through the cracks, causing the candles on the desk to quiver.

After a prolonged silence, the man in the animal skin chair speaks, his voice betraying little emotion. His companion, an elderly man, knows all too well the weight of his words.

"Is there truly no hope?" the man asks, his tone steady but tinged with despair.

"It is hopeless; you have seen it with your own eyes. Tonight, Master Lance spent a full hour unable to draw that most elementary rune, let alone print this rune into the brain."

The old man replies with a sad smile. "Despite his efforts, your son lacks the innate talent for magic. His determination is commendable, but magic demands more than mere diligence—it requires a gift he does not possess."

The viscount's face betrays a momentary weariness before he regains his composure, his thoughts drifting to his son's frailty and struggles.

"It seems that I can only send him to church."

A trace of unbearable helplessness flashed across the Viscount's face: "I heard that the life of the ascetic monk… is tough…"

Amman looked at him with a surprised expression

"Ascetic monk!? Why did you choose such a way out for Master Lance? With your connections in the city, you can find a better position for him. Even if you can't work with some bishops, following those real power pastors is also good."

The Viscount shook his head.

"If he lacks the talent, subjecting him to such a dazzling environment would only do him harm. I've observed that my son finds solace in solitude, enjoying the quiet and contemplative life. Despite his mother's aspirations for his success, I provided him with opportunities that he, unfortunately, couldn't grasp. My priority now is to ensure his peace and safety. The church's ascetic camp, though austere, offers a sanctuary free from the pressures of the outside world. Though his life may not be extravagant, I believe he will find solace and acceptance there, shielded from harm and strife."

As the conversation continues, the viscount resolves to send his son to a church ascetic camp, a decision met with both resignation and relief. His old friend, though initially surprised, understands the reasoning behind the choice.

Since birth, this child has been plagued by frailty and illness. By the age of sixteen, he lacked the strength to wield a sword, the courage to ride a horse, or the skill to hunt—abilities his sisters effortlessly possessed. Instead, he sought refuge in the study, burying himself in books and attempting to master magic over the past six months. Yet, despite his efforts, his lack of innate talent rendered his endeavors futile. Even the simplest of runes remained beyond his grasp, highlighting the harsh reality of his limitations.

Exhausted of options, the Viscount resigned himself to the harsh truth. "There is nothing more I can do for the boy," he admitted silently, his thoughts a lament for lost possibilities. With a gentle whisper, he addressed a promise this someone absent. "May, as I vowed to you, I've exhausted every avenue for our son."

Amman fell into a thoughtful silence before releasing a heavy sigh. In truth, his sentiments echoed those of the Viscount. Over the past six months, he had spared no effort in attempting to impart magical knowledge to Master Lance. Despite his own limitations as a second-level wizard with modest mana reserves, Amman enjoyed a respectable reputation as a skilled practitioner in the secluded Viscounty.

Despite the Viscount's willingness to invest generously in his son's education, including hiring Amman as his tutor at a higher rate than customary for children's instruction, Lance still struggled to grasp even the most basic spell rune.

"Poor child…" the old wizard murmured, his gaze lingering on the young man slumped in the rocking chair, a flicker of regret shadowing his eyes.

Despite the opportunities laid before him, the cruel twist of fate had left him bereft of talent, unable to grasp the gifts that some effortlessly wielded. Such is the capriciousness of destiny.

*sigh*

"Even if he remains here, the risk of descending into depression looms large."

Unbeknownst to them, Lance, the subject of their conversation, feigns sleep, his mind grappling with the gravity of his circumstances.

"He has been asleep for three hours. It's time to rouse him," the Viscount declares, his tone noticeably chillier now that the decision has been reached.

Amman acknowledges with a nod. "Master Lance pushed himself too hard today, attempting to inscribe magic runes forcibly, which led to his collapse. He should be fully recovered by now, but just to be safe, I'll wake him

The Viscount nodded. "Proceed"

Drawing upon the dwindling well of mana within his aging body, Amman channels his energy, though the effort leaves him feeling drained and weary. Despite the simplicity of the task—a mere zero-level spell known as "Clearing Dew," a cantrip—its execution demands far more time and concentration than it once did.

In the realm of wizardry, zero-level spells are renowned for their minimal requirements, eschewing the need for spell-casting materials. With a subtle gesture and a six-byte chant escaping his lips, Amman initiates the incantation. Before long, a small aperture materializes above Lance's head, releasing a gentle cascade of light green dew that finds its mark with pinpoint accuracy, trickling into his mouth.

As the gentle dew trickles into his mouth, Lance senses the moment has come to abandon his pretense of slumber.

Summoning his resolve, he inhales deeply and slowly opens his eyes, feigning confusion as he addresses the figures before him.

"Teacher… Father…" Lance's voice is faint, his words tinged with uncertainty as he draws upon the memories of the body's previous occupant.

The old wizard releases a resigned sigh, his hand hesitantly ruffling Lance's hair before he quietly exits the Viscount's study, leaving father and son alone once more.

In the quiet confines of the room, only the father and son remain.

As they sit in wordless contemplation, Lance's mind buzzes with a flurry of thoughts, desperately sifting through the labyrinth of memories left by the original owner. The task is daunting, the memories vast and intricate, forcing him to select only the most pertinent details to examine.

Unaware of his son's internal turmoil, the Viscount remains oblivious to the true nature of the situation unfolding before him. Unbeknownst to him, Lance's soul had inadvertently slipped away during his futile attempts to master magic, leaving behind an unexpected inhabitant from another world.

Nervously, Lance remains seated, his mind racing as he pieces together his predicament.

After careful consideration, he arrives at several conclusions:

Firstly, he finds himself inexplicably transported to a different world altogether.

Secondly, he observes the existence of mystical practices akin to witchcraft within this unfamiliar realm.

Thirdly, he realizes with a sinking feeling that the body he now inhabits appears to be inherently flawed—an embodiment of frailty and feeble mental prowess. Despite his father's attentive care, it seems that even he has resigned himself to Lance's perceived limitations.

…

These revelations weigh heavily on Lance, casting a shadow of despair over his thoughts.

'Why does the future seem so grim?' he wonders in his heart, his heart heavy with uncertainty.

Adrift in a whirlwind of tumultuous emotions and the flood of new memories, Lance finds himself entranced by the fragments of dialogue he catches between his father and the teacher. The looming possibility of being relegated to an ascetic monk camp within the church fills him with an overwhelming sense of dread, a notion that sends shivers down his spine with its mere mention.

"Why couldn't I have transmigrated into a stronger body?" Lance laments, his spirits sinking at the realization of his frail physical state.

Suddenly, a crisp female voice resounds within his mind, interrupting his thoughts.

{The new generation master chip produced by Zhongxin Technology has been activated, and the gene serial number has been registered and is ready for use.}

{Please designate a name for this chip.}

Lance sat there, stunned into silence, his mind reeling with disbelief.

"A chip? What chip?" he mused, his thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of the unexpected revelation.

Could it be… the gene chip from his previous world?

In a sudden rush of realization, Lance's heart quickened with anticipation as he instinctively responded within his mind.

"[Fox]"

The sweet female voice echoed once more,

{The master chip has been successfully named. [Fox] is eager to assist you.}

{[Fox] will now conduct the initial scan of your body. Please be patient.}

Lance sat there, stupefied by the unfolding events, while in the eyes of the Viscount Lord, his son appeared beyond help.

In response, the Viscount cleared his throat with a heavy cough.

Lance, however, paid no heed to his father's presence, his thoughts consumed by the biochip embedded within his body.

In his former life, Lance had served as a chip salesman in the bustling 22nd century, where gene chips had emerged as indispensable necessities. Aligned with the prestigious Sino-Singapore Science and Technology Corporation, Lance fervently championed an extensive range of gene chips produced by his employer. Faced with the superior quality of Sino-Singapore Technology Co., Ltd.'s offerings, Lance tirelessly pursued sales and diligently met quotas, demonstrating unwavering dedication to his role as a salesman.

One fateful day, Lance rushed to rendezvous with a client, darting across the bustling street clutching a complete set of company-manufactured chips—both the main chip and a variety of sub-chips. Amidst the chaos, tragedy struck as he was unexpectedly struck by a high-speed maglev car. As consciousness ebbed back into his awareness, Lance was astonished to find himself inhabiting a new body.

"This can't be a dream," Lance's heart raced with increasing intensity.

{Scanning complete,} the fox's warm reminder echoed within his mind.

{Your body exhibits significantly lower strength and resilience compared to the average individual. Therefore, apart from the main chip, the other installed sub-chips are temporarily inaccessible. Please refrain from forcibly unlocking the sub-chips, as your body is ill-equipped to withstand the strain and potential side effects,} the fox cautioned.

{The three primary indicators of your body are as follows:}

"[Physique 0.3 Strength 0.5 Sensitivity 0.3]"

{The three primary indicators of ordinary individuals typically fall within the range of 0.7-0.9. It is advisable for you to enhance your physical fitness to reach this range before considering the activation of other sub-chips,} the fox's gentle voice advised.

Accompanied by the fox's soothing tone, a cascade of light green data materialized before Lance's left eye. With the comprehensive description provided by the main chip, Lance gained immediate insight into the intricacies of his new body.

Lance calmed himself, drawing upon his familiarity with gene chips, despite never having experienced advanced models. Filtering out the overwhelming data, he focused on inspecting the chips embedded within his body.

With a glance, he noted that apart from the active light green main chip, the rest of the sub-chips remained dormant in gray.

Surveying the inactive sub-chips, Lance's excitement surged. These potent chips, previously inaccessible to him on Earth, now awaited activation within his new vessel, igniting a spark of anticipation within him.

'If I can activate these chips, I'll become half a Superman!' Lance thought with burgeoning excitement.

"[Eagle Eye], [Hungry Wolf], [Super Arc]… These premium-grade chips, nestled at the end of the Lance gene chain, hold immense potential. Once my body meets the necessary criteria, the main chip will unlock these sub-chips!"

For Lance, contemplating the possibilities fills him with a sense of rejuvenation.

"Lance! Are you listening to me!"

As Lance grapples with his newfound reality, the viscount's voice breaks through his reverie, demanding his attention. With a start, Lance snaps back to the present and hurriedly sat upright and said "Yes Father I'm listening "

**

With a sense of purpose stirring within him, Lance closes his eyes, his mind focused on the task ahead. He may have been dealt a difficult hand in life, but with the power of the chip at his disposal, he is determined to forge his own destiny.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon, Lance opens his eyes, a newfound resolve shining in their depths. With the chip as his guide, he knows that whatever challenges lie ahead, he is ready to face them head-on.

And so, with the viscount's decision looming large in his mind, Lance takes his first steps towards a future shaped not by fate, but by his own determination and the power of the chip within him.