Chapter 12

  Ethan's workshop—if it could even be called that—was littered with half-assembled components, discarded prototypes, and a few shattered mana batteries that had failed spectacularly during testing. His spectral form was currently hunched over what could charitably be described as a skeletal mess of gears, wires, and rune-etched plating.

  His first attempt at an Engineer Golem.

  It wasn't going well.

  The problem wasn’t the structural design—he’d already adapted some of the Omni Strider’s base framework for dexterity—but the actual functionality. The core issue was simple: the Engineer Golem needed to be able to build things. It wasn’t enough to slap on some crude arms and call it a day. The construct required finesse, problem-solving capability, and precise mana control to manipulate parts without wrecking them.

  And finesse was not something Ethan had mastered yet.

  Chip made an unimpressed noise. “So, are we calling this thing the Scrapheap Golem yet, or do you still have hope?”

  Ethan ignored him, watching as the prototype twitched and attempted to assemble a basic frame for another construct. It fumbled the small components, its claws crushing delicate wiring instead of placing it properly. A flicker of mana ran through its frame, but instead of making a controlled adjustment, the thing jerked and slammed its own arm into the ground.

  Ethan sighed. “Yeah, that’s about what I expected.”

  Chip snickered. “You did expect failure, huh? That’s the spirit.”

  He shot the dungeon assistant a glare. “I meant that this is a long-term project. I knew it wouldn’t work right away.”

  “Sure, sure,” Chip said, clearly not convinced. “So, what’s next, oh master of automation?”

  Ethan rubbed his temples, glancing at his half-functional Engineer Golem. It was obvious that he just wasn’t skilled enough to make it work yet. Chip had already explained that as his dungeon tier and mana control improved, so would his ability to create more advanced constructs.

  But that would take time.

  For now, he had another project in mind—one that was at least possible with his current capabilities.

  His voice.

  The speaker system was something he’d been putting off, mostly because of how frustratingly intricate it was. Creating a mana-powered vocal system that could produce clear speech instead of garbled, unnatural sounds was a challenge. But after dealing with actual people invading his dungeon, it had become an absolute necessity.

  Ethan turned to a nearby modified Omni Strider, its framework already adjusted to accommodate the speaker system.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Alright,” he muttered, grabbing a salvaged audio crystal he had taken from an adventurer’s communication device. “Let’s try this again.”

  __

  Ethan's focus remained locked on the Omni Strider as it twitched to life, its newly installed vocal system humming faintly. The modified construct was nearly identical to its predecessors in form—sleek, efficient, designed for both combat and scavenging—but with a subtle difference. A small, reinforced speaker grille was embedded into its central chassis, the first step toward finally allowing him to communicate with intruders.

  "Testing, testing... one, two—" Ethan’s voice crackled through the speaker, distorted and uneven.

  The Omni Strider froze.

  Chip whistled. "Well, that’s not horrifying at all."

  Ethan groaned. "Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t be perfect right away." He adjusted the mana flow feeding into the speaker, but the next attempt came out as a garbled mess of static and elongated vowels.

  "Vooooiiiiicccccceeee—"

  He winced. "Okay, that’s worse."

  "At least you’ve got the horror dungeon aesthetic down," Chip quipped.

  Ignoring him, Ethan made a few more adjustments. The speaker was based on the principles he’d extracted from certain enchanted communication items looted from the hunters, but properly recreating them was proving difficult. Unlike physical constructs, enchantments required delicate mana control—something he still struggled with. He could brute-force mana into a shape, but refining it? That was another story.

  Still, after several more adjustments, the voice finally came through clearly.

  "—this thing on?"

  The words echoed slightly, but the distortion was mostly gone. Ethan felt a rush of satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect, but it was functional.

  Chip let out an exaggerated gasp. "You did it! A functioning speaker! Truly, we are living in an age of miracles."

  "Keep talking, and I’ll install a mute function just for you," Ethan muttered.

  But the vocal system was only part of the project. He turned his attention back to the crude, half-finished Engineer Golem prototype beside him. The concept was simple—create a construct that could build and repair others, bypassing his mob limit by delegating construction. But in practice? A complete nightmare. The prototype twitched, its arms moving with all the grace of a broken marionette. Fine motor control remained its greatest flaw.

  He fed it a simple command: assemble a basic limb joint.

  The golem twitched, fumbled with the pieces, and then promptly crushed the delicate components in its too-strong grip.

  Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. "And there goes another set of materials."

  Chip hummed. "Look on the bright side—you’re improving! Now it only destroys the parts half the time instead of always."

  "Progress," Ethan muttered dryly.

  He knew the issue. The Engineer Golem needed a level of dexterity he simply couldn’t program into it yet. His own mana control was too crude to create something capable of fine manipulation. For now, it was a long-term project, just as Chip had said before.

  "Guess I’ll have to shelve this for now," Ethan admitted, deactivating the prototype.

  With that done, he turned his focus back to the dungeon itself. His latest upgrades had given him more space, and now it was time to put it to use.

  __

  The Adventurers' Guild, an institution built on order and profit, had received a formal report from the town elders regarding the newly discovered dungeon. Unlike the Church, which saw dungeons as blights to be purged, the Guild saw them as resources. Training grounds, sources of valuable materials, and controlled hazards that—when managed properly—could benefit both the Guild and the surrounding settlements.

  A formal scouting team had already been dispatched.

  Among them was a silver-ranked adventurer, a veteran tasked with assessing the dungeon’s danger level and potential value. With them were several bronze-ranked adventurers eager for the chance to make a name for themselves.

  As they moved toward the forest, past the nervous villagers whispering about missing hunters and unseen dangers, one thing was clear—the dungeon would not remain hidden much longer.

  And Ethan had no idea what was coming.