Getting a Technology System in Modern Day-Chapter 895: ARGHHHHHHHHH

"Oh my god," Dreznor breathed, his eyes fixed on the five colossal wormholes unfolding before him in the distant sky.

He had always known that wormhole technology existed within the Astral Conclave—at least in theory. It was the kind of thing whispered about in myths and legends, the stuff of old spacer tales passed down through generations. Most would live and die without ever seeing one.

Now, he was seeing five at once, opening like rips in reality itself.

At first, when he was told about the wormholes, he was afraid. He feared that he would be discovered. But those fears had been quickly put to rest. The little protagonist assured him that those options were already taken into consideration and planned accordingly.

What it didn't share, however, was that the empire had deliberately timed this delivery to coincide with the launch of Phase I of their wormhole and VR initiative. The chaos and sensor interference from that grand rollout would provide the perfect cover, ensuring that these wormholes, opened in the Conclave's territory, would go unnoticed.

Once stabilized, ships began emerging one after another, slipping through the wormholes like water through a gate. They quickly arranged themselves into a square grid, disciplined and precise. Even after a hundred had arrived, the stream continued—each ship different in size, shape, and aesthetic, representing the diverse designs of civilizations across the Conclave.

Dreznor recognized many of them.

These weren't random models; they were constructed based on data Little Protagonist had stolen and sent to the empire months ago. The empire had studied the information thoroughly, and these ships were the results: replicas shaped from espionage.

There was, however, one glaring difference.

Most of them were military-grade.

This alone revealed the intentions of the ones who had given him the system. Not that it surprised him. It was exactly the direction he had been steering toward from the beginning.

Once the last of the ships had passed through, the wormholes closed, their swirling energy vanishing without a trace. The delivery of gifts was complete.

As Dreznor scanned the data transmitted by the incoming fleet, he saw the breakdown: fifty percent military vessels, twenty percent civilian craft, and thirty percent cargo ships packed with valuable goods, machines, and resources, everything from mana cannisters to automated production modules. Tools for war and earning wealth alike.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of it all settling on him. This wasn't just a generous donation, as his sponsors had just invested a fortune in his cause. The firepower and infrastructure they'd delivered were more than enough to take over a planet.

And that was exactly what came next, but first, he had a grudge to settle.

"Let's go to their base directly," he said, addressing the Little Protagonist. Over the past six months, he had pieced together their location from data fragments and traces scattered across the planetary network he'd been monitoring.

{Understood,} the Little Protagonist replied.

Without hesitation, it tapped into the ship's central systems and began connecting to the entire fleet. One by one, every vessel came under its control. Orders were issued with each ship given a distinct role to play in the larger operation.

Only a hundred military ships were selected to accompany them to the pirates' base.

The rest scattered to execute their own assigned missions, while the strike force moved with him toward the heart of the enemy.

…………………….

"Arghhhhhhhhhhh! I'll talk, please, just make it stop!" A scream tore through the sterile room, desperate and ragged. The man, screaming man lay on a metal table, with his limbs already severed into small pieces, hands, legs, all burned at the ends to prevent him from bleeding out. The cauterized stumps twitched as he begged for mercy.

Dreznor stood over him, unfazed.

"I told you the first time I asked," he said coldly. "You don't get to answer on your terms. You'll speak when I'm ready to listen."

The man sobbed. "Please, I beg you! I'll tell you everything! It was hnc49t8cc2şnr—" But before he could finish, his voice was cut off. His mouth moved, but no sound escaped, muted as if someone had pressed a button.

"I said I'm not ready," Dreznor replied calmly. With his fingers pressed together in a gesture of sealing lips, he then snapped them once, and in that instant, the man's limbs regenerated.

The captive's eyes widened in horror as he saw the laser cutter in Dreznor's hand inching closer again. It was time for round thirty.

He had learned the pattern by now: Dreznor would start from the fingers and slowly work his way inward, slicing through flesh and bone with agonizing precision. Once done, the limbs would be restored, and the cycle would begin again.

"This one," Dreznor said as the laser hummed to life, "is for CYUTO."

The name struck the man like a physical blow. CYUTO was one of the escaped slaves, one of the many he and his crew had brutally slaughtered. Now, Dreznor was dedicating an entire round of torture to each of the dead.

As the cutter made contact, the scream that tore from the man's throat wasn't only from pain, it was from the realization that this could go on for a thousand rounds or more. Each victim, a round. Each death, a tribute. And there was no escape, not even unconsciousness. Just as his mind began to fray, some unnatural force pulled it back together, reinforcing it so he could feel every moment in full clarity.

"You're not alone," Dreznor said, almost kindly. "Your fellow pirates will go through the same thing. The only difference is, you're first. Once your turn is over, you'll get to sit back and watch the rest. You might even find peace in knowing you've finished your sentence."

He turned and pointed at a nearby wall. It shimmered, then turned transparent, revealing dozens of other pirates watching in terror, their faces pale, their bodies shaking as they witnessed the torture firsthand.

But the man on the table couldn't take it in for long. The searing heat returned to his leg as Dreznor began slicing into his knee, cooking the flesh layer by layer, deliberately slow, making sure every part reached a perfect, well-done finish.

And the screaming began again.