Chapter 26

  Ethan watched the last flicker of motion vanish from the corridor feed. Corwin’s team had left—battered, cautious, but still breathing.

  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “Well,” he said, “they lived.”

  Chip popped into view with a smug little smirk. “Barely. Though I think your Combat Strider Mark II gave that mage a few new trust issues.”

  “They were strong,” Ethan admitted, rubbing his temples. “Too strong for the current setup. I need to step things up.”

  “You say that every time,” Chip quipped. “Then you disappear into blueprint hell and emerge with something that punches harder.”

  “I was holding back.”

  “Mhm. Of course you were.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes and opened his blueprint menu. Dozens of designs were already cataloged—constructs, traps, mana circuits—but something immediately caught his attention.

  A soft chime echoed in his mind.

  System Notification: New Feature Unlocked — Blueprint Deep Analysis

  You can now examine internal structures, stress points, and component interactions in full detail.

  ?? Design Efficiency: +12%

  ?? Complexity Increased: Some assembly required. No refunds.

  “Whoa,” Ethan muttered as the interface changed. Each construct’s blueprint now had expanded layers—core layout, limb systems, mana flow lines, and even pressure tolerances. Every little flaw stood out like it was screaming for attention.

  “Hey Chip, when were you planning to tell me about this?”

  “I figured I’d wait until you unlocked it like a big boy,” Chip said, floating lazily upside down. “Welcome to the advanced class. Try not to blow yourself up.”

  Ethan dove in immediately, eyes scanning through the Combat Strider design first. “Alright. Let’s see where you can get meaner.”

  He zoomed into the leg servos—turns out they’d been overcompensating during cornering, which explained the skid marks on the testing range. He adjusted the joint rotation curve and added a tension-redistributing spring in the ankles.

  Next: the internal armor mesh. He rewired the mana conduits to route around the core instead of through it, reducing overheating risk. With the new analysis tool, he could actually see how heat built up during rapid motion.

  “I swear, it’s like I was building this thing with duct tape before.”

  “To be fair,” Chip said, “you kind of were.”

  After thirty minutes of tweaking, he had a working Combat Strider Mark III prototype. Slightly bulkier, but smarter, tougher, and with reinforced claws that didn’t need constant sharpening.

  “Alright, you murdery little crab-cat, you’re getting promoted.”

  “Yay,” Chip deadpanned. “Another creature with knives for feet.”

  “Next up… something with actual magic.”

  He pulled open the early framework for a Mage Golem. It was rough—just a shell with a mana node jammed in the chest like a glowing heart. The old version relied on basic runes and pre-loaded spells, like a walking wand.

  “Not enough,” Ethan muttered. “I need this thing to react, not just cast whatever I scribbled in beforehand.”

  He focused on the mana processor. The standard layout routed spell power from a central core directly to casting limbs, but it overloaded if he tried anything fancy.

  “What if I segment the core into separate runesets?” he wondered aloud. “Each one handles a category—shock, flame, force—then they fuse output only when needed.”

  Chip gave an approving hum. “Ooh, modular spell cores. Look at you, getting clever.”

  “I’m always clever.”

  “You just needed three near-death experiences and half a dungeon to remember it.”

  Bit by bit, he reworked the golem's internals. The Mage Golem Mark I would use a tri-core system: one for elemental mana, one for control and shape, and one for feedback and precision. Each core had its own containment plate and mana-stabilizing ring. It wouldn’t be as strong as a real mage, but it could cast mid-tier spells with decent targeting.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Now it just needs to not explode if someone sneezes too hard.”

  Chip flicked through the prototype schematics. “Not bad. You’re still getting D+ grades on the aesthetic though. This one looks like a barrel with hands.”

  “It’s a test unit, Chip.”

  “Still. Some of us have standards.”

  Ethan chuckled. Then, with the Mage Golem framework locked in for testing, he turned to the Engineer Golem Mark II.

  “Same chassis,” he mused, “but it needs better field repair systems. Maybe modular arms?”

  He tested a rotating socket joint for the shoulders, allowing the golem to swap tools depending on task. A basic array: welding spike, grip claw, micro-rune inscriber, and a mini mana welder for delicate reconstruction. Combined with the deep analysis system, he could even assign each limb its own mana flow priority.

  “Okay. That’s clean. If I can teach these things to handle trap repair and construct upkeep, I can pull back on micromanaging everything.”

  “You gonna give it a personality too?” Chip teased. “Maybe a monocle and a grumpy old man voice?”

  “Tempting.”

  He added in a low-level scanning module—not strong, but enough for the Engineer to detect ambient structural weakness and minor enchantment faults. Nothing fancy, just smart maintenance.

  After that, Ethan stretched his arms with a satisfying pop. His thoughts drifted toward the Scavenger Golems. He hadn’t touched their design in a while.

  “…Honestly, I don’t even need them anymore.”

  Chip raised a brow. “Oh?”

  “I found a whole vein cluster—iron, copper, even titanium—deep in the side tunnels. No need to have Scavengers running around picking scrap when I can pull pure ore from the wall.”

  “Add that to the tribute shipment coming in from the Adventurers’ Guild soon,” Chip said, “and you’ll be swimming in materials.”

  “Exactly,” Ethan nodded. “And when that shipment hits, I’ll need to do my part of the deal. Weapons, gear… real stuff, not dungeon loot knockoffs.”

  He opened a new page in his notes: Tribute Gear Design.

  “Nothing too fancy,” he muttered, “but enough to impress. Good steel, stable enchantments, and one or two experimental pieces for flavor.”

  Chip hovered over his shoulder. “You realize they’re going to start relying on your stuff if it’s too good, right?”

  “That’s the point. Make them want more. And keep them on my side.”

  Ethan leaned back, watching the flurry of blueprints now filling the air.

  Combat Strider Mark III. Mage Golem prototype. Engineer Golem Mark II. Tribute weapon concepts.

  The dungeon hummed quietly beneath him. And for the first time in a while, Ethan felt like he wasn’t catching up—he was getting ahead.

  “Let’s build,” he said.

  Chip grinned. “Now that’s the Ethan I know.”

  __

  By the time the group made their way to the inn—now expanded into a full tavern with upstairs rooms and a renovated common hall—the sun had already dipped below the treeline. Redroot’s once-sparse streets were alive with the warm glow of lanterns and the chatter of people from a dozen different regions.

  The tavern's name had changed, too. What was once "Redroot Hearth" had been redubbed “The Clockwork Tap”, a not-so-subtle nod to the town’s claim to fame.

  They claimed a corner table, plates already half-full from the serving girl’s quick service. Roasted boar, spiced potatoes, some kind of fruity cider brewed on-site.

  Lena leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “This feels… earned.”

  Derric raised his mug. “To not dying in a collapsing death dungeon.”

  They clinked.

  Osric stayed quiet, focused on the way his new bow rested beside the wall. “We weren’t far off from dying, though. We barely handled that engineer.”

  “We adapted,” Corwin said calmly. “That’s what matters.”

  Renna, who had taken to flipping through a small enchanted tome between sips, didn’t look up. “We adapted because we’ve done this before. We’ve fought as mercs, not a registered party. There’s no one watching our backs but us. No backup. No emergency recall tokens. That fight made that clear.”

  Derric smirked. “Getting all sentimental now, are we?”

  “No,” she said, setting the book down. “Just honest. I’ve seen too many teams fall apart the moment pressure hits. We didn’t.”

  There was a brief pause.

  Lena broke it first. “You remember that fort job in the north? With the corrupt baron and the undead garden?”

  Osric groaned. “He still owes me for that frost-burned leg.”

  “Didn’t he explode?” Derric asked. “Pretty sure he exploded.”

  Corwin chuckled. “He exploded after Renna overcharged that rune circle.”

  “Hey,” she said with mock indignation, “he activated it wrong. I just… accelerated the consequence.”

  They laughed, the tension fading.

  Then Osric looked at Corwin. “You ever think about how you ended up the one holding the line?”

  Corwin blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you didn’t exactly sign up to lead.”

  The shield-bearer was quiet for a moment. “Someone had to. It just… fell that way.”

  Renna nodded. “That’s usually how the best leaders happen.”

  The fire crackled nearby. For a while, no one said anything.

  Then Lena leaned forward. “So what now? There’s no third floor yet. We hit the second one hard, and it hit back harder. We could lay low, take another contract or two. Or…”

  “Or we keep preparing,” Corwin said. “It’s going to open more. That dungeon’s still growing. I can feel it.”

  “You sound like it’s alive,” Derric said.

  Corwin met his eyes. “I think it is.”

  They all fell quiet again at that.

  And in the quiet, as tankards emptied and the fire settled into embers, something subtle passed between them—not quite fear, not quite excitement. A shared understanding that whatever came next, they’d face it the same way they always had.

  Together.

  Which do you prefer