Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

Chapter 803  Conversation III

As Seraphina's gaze remained fixed on the ever-shrinking cube of spatial energy enclosing her, her mind raced to find a way out. Each potential solution she considered was swiftly dismissed, as the very nature of the spatial mana neutralized most forms of intervention. Any attack powerful enough to breach the shield would inevitably trigger a reaction within the enclosed space, one that she could not escape in time.

Her immunity to attacks powered by her own energy was an advantage, but it had its limits. The consequences of her own strikes—shockwaves, residual energy, and other aftereffects—were not covered by that immunity. If she unleashed an attack strong enough to escape, the ensuing chaos within the confined space could inflict devastating harm upon her. The risk was unacceptable, as the damage would leave her vulnerable to Aron, who was unlikely to miss the opportunity to exploit her weakened state.

For the first time in her life, Seraphina found herself cornered—not by raw strength, but by calculated precision. The shrinking walls of the cube were relentless, and her options dwindled with every passing moment. Despite her pride and her warrior’s spirit, the stark reality of her predicament was becoming undeniable. If she acted recklessly, she might survive, but she would be battered, broken, and utterly at Aron's mercy.

Her mind churned with frustration, the weight of her position bearing down on her as the cube closed in further. It wasn’t fear that coursed through her veins but a seething anger, tempered by a reluctant acknowledgment of the genius behind Aron’s trap.

With a frustrated huff, flames briefly flared from Seraphina's nostrils before she began to undergo her metamorphosis. Her towering draconic form started to contract as she shifted into her humanoid form, the one that occupied the smallest possible area.

Her scales, which had been standing firm like armor, began to retract. They tilted outward, revealing the gaps between them as her exposed skin tightened and contracted. The once-massive body began shrinking visibly, the volume decreasing with every second. Smoke wafted from her form, curling into the air before being drawn back into her body.

The smoke was not mere residue—it was the excess mass of her larger form being broken down and converted back into her race’s unique energy. The proportional release of smoke to her reduction in size made the process clear: every ounce of her towering might was being condensed into a form of racial-specific energy, absorbed back into her body as she diminished. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

This transformation was a very vulnerable process. Her entire focus was consumed by the effort of converting her surplus mass and energy, leaving her temporarily defenseless. It was for this very reason that she had chosen to enter the Colosseum in her draconic form, avoiding the enormous energy expenditure and vulnerability of transforming mid-fight.

Now, forced into this state by the relentless pressure of the shrinking spatial cube, she was at her weakest—a stark contrast to her earlier defiance. Though her pride burned brightly, she could do nothing but endure the process, knowing the cost of resistance would be even greater.

Once her transformation was complete and the final wisp of smoke was absorbed back into her body, Seraphina’s humanoid form emerged, fully visible. Without clothes capable of adapting to her transformation, she was initially left bare. However, she maintained her composure, using her scales to discreetly cover key areas until a solution could be found.

Aron, immediately recognizing her predicament, sent a cluster of nanomachines in her direction. Though she accepted them with evident reluctance, she allowed them to form clothing around her. The nanomachines replicated the outfit she had worn when she first encountered the breachers—a deliberate act that didn’t escape her notice. She glanced at Aron, her expression shifting ever so slightly as if seeing him through a new lens.

“I will listen to what you have to say and make the decision myself,” she declared, her voice steady but guarded. Without hesitation, she began walking toward Aron, seemingly unbothered by the shrinking cube shield that had encased her moments earlier. As if responding to her unspoken will, the cube dissolved, its walls opening to let her pass before vanishing entirely. The dense mana that had saturated the arena followed suit, retreating back into Aron’s body and restoring the atmosphere to its original state.

Seraphina continued her stride until she reached the empty chair prepared for her. She sat with poise, her expression unreadable as she observed her surroundings. Nova, ever efficient and calm, immediately began preparing tea and snacks for their guest.

“You see how things become easy when we listen to each other instead of fighting needlessly,” Aron said with a calm smile, raising his cup and taking another measured sip.

Seraphina regarded him with a faint sneer. “That may be your human way of communicating, but in our society, there’s no such thing as a conversation between the strong and the weak—only orders from the strong and obedience from the weak. Conversations are reserved for equals or kin other civilizations or individuals from them have to earn it.”

She reached for her own cup, attempting to mimic Aron’s actions. However, her grip, honed by the raw strength of her draconic form, proved too powerful; the delicate handle of the cup snapped instantly. She froze for a moment, her expression betraying a hint of annoyance. But before she could say anything, the nanomachines repaired the handle in seconds. She tried again, and by her third attempt, she had finally adjusted her strength to the fragile nature of human-made objects. Yet, her triumph was short-lived. Upon taking a sip of the tea, her face twisted in visible disgust, and she spat it out.

“This is vile!” she declared, her tone a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

Aron nearly quipped, “Like how you were ordered to abandon your freedom by the stronger elder?” but thought better of it. Forcing himself to set aside his inclination for sharp retorts, he responded with measured restraint instead.

“This is our first time accommodating an alien civilization,” he explained, his voice calm. “We don’t yet have knowledge of your cuisine, tastes, or preferences, but rest assured, that will change. You won’t have to worry about starving to death.”

His attempt at humor was met with a blank, serious stare from Seraphina. It was clear that sarcasm and levity weren’t going to bridge the cultural gap just yet. Recognizing the futility of small talk, Aron decided to cut straight to the point.

“I have a very simple plan,” he began, his tone calm and deliberate, as if discussing a mundane chore. “To take full and complete control of the Astral Conclave. And for that to happen, I must first take over the Xor’Vak civilization.”