Chapter 34

  Ethan’s focus sharpened as the hum of his workshop grew louder. His hands moved deftly, securing the last pieces of the Combat Strider Mark IV’s frame. He could already see it taking shape, faster and more nimble than its predecessors. The first test of the strider’s joint articulation had shown promise—its movements were fluid, almost too smooth for a machine built for combat. But now, it needed more than just agility. It needed firepower.

  He reached for the components laid out on the workbench—pieces of the new gunslinger unit. The idea was simple enough: a construct that could fire metal projectiles at the speed of a crossbow, but with the added force of a small explosion. There was still a lot of trial and error to be done, but Ethan was in the zone.

  He clamped a metal casing into place on one of the strider’s arms, adjusting the alignment to hold a sleek firearm mechanism. The gun barrel was sturdy, built from a mix of reinforced steel and the rare alloys he’d recently mined. He was starting to feel the weight of the weapon in his hands as he tested the aim, watching the mechanical arm adjust with a near-human precision. His thoughts flitted to the adventurers who would one day face this new creation.

  If they thought the striders were tough before...

  “Let’s see if I can make it work,” he muttered to himself, pulling back from the workbench and running his hands along the new barrel.

  With a satisfied grunt, Ethan activated the internal systems of the construct. The strider’s joints whirred to life, and with a mechanical hiss, the first round of ammunition was loaded into the chamber. He double-checked the power core settings, tweaking the output to match the needs of the firearm. There was a risk involved in firing such a weapon—especially when combined with the already unstable energy of the strider’s core—but he wasn’t about to let that stop him now.

  The construct jerked slightly, the barrels shifting as its targeting system calibrated. Ethan could feel his anticipation building. He had no real idea if this would work—if the strider would even be able to aim and fire correctly—but this was as close to perfection as he’d ever gotten.

  He stepped back, giving it some space, and activated the strider’s firing sequence.

  The first shot was a resounding boom, louder than Ethan had anticipated, sending a shockwave through the room. The barrel bucked under the force, but it held steady. He winced slightly, but when the smoke cleared, the test target—a thick piece of reinforced metal—was smoking and deeply dented. There was no sign of a clean hole, but the impact had been more than enough.

  “Not bad,” Ethan said with a satisfied grin. “I’ll need to adjust the recoil dampeners... but it’s a good start.”

  The strider shifted, preparing to fire again. Ethan examined the results, making a few adjustments on the fly. A deeper inspection of the impact site showed that the round had embedded itself deep into the metal target, leaving a jagged wound. It wasn’t a perfect kill shot, but it would certainly be effective against most adventurers.

  “Maybe I’ll add some elemental tips for variety,” he muttered, considering adding fire or lightning-enhanced rounds. “Could make things interesting.”

  Another shot rang out, and this time the strider’s movements were more controlled. Ethan watched as it aimed, lined up, and fired again—this time the shot was more precise, hitting dead center of the target.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  He scribbled down notes, already thinking about the next phase. The gunslinger was just one piece of his larger plan. With the increased mobility of the Mark IV combat strider and the added ranged weaponry, he was going to change the game entirely. But there was still so much to refine.

  Hours passed in a blur as Ethan worked, adjusting parts, tweaking designs, and testing the strider with various weapons. At some point, he had moved on to working on the ammunition itself, considering different kinds of projectiles—perhaps even explosive rounds to deal with larger threats.

  The Strategist hovered nearby, as always, its mechanical gaze fixed on the evolving design. “You appear to be making progress. Will the addition of firearms impact your defense strategies?”

  Ethan stopped for a moment, glancing up at the Strategist. “Definitely. It’s about diversifying. I can’t rely on brute strength alone. Not with the kind of adventurers that’ll come through here. I need options.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the half-built gunslinger units. “Plus, a little bit of firepower never hurt anyone... well, except the ones it’s aimed at.”

  The Strategist made a low, mechanical hum. “Understood. Are there any other modifications you wish to explore? Perhaps a ranged countermeasure against incoming projectiles?”

  Ethan’s eyes glinted with a mix of excitement and focus. “That’s not a bad idea... I could add a short-range defense system. Maybe a net or some kind of energy shield to stop arrows or spells before they get too close.” He thought for a moment, considering the idea. “But let’s focus on these for now. One thing at a time.”

  As the day drew on, Ethan finally stood back, wiping his hands on a rag as he took a step back and surveyed the results. The Combat Strider Mark IV now stood in its full glory, a creation of firepower, mobility, and design that would surely put adventurers to the test.

  “Well,” he said to himself, “this is going to be fun.”

  ___

  Leo stood in the crowded square of Redroot, taking in the growing energy around him. The city was expanding rapidly, yet its essence remained tethered to its origins—hunters, adventurers, and traders all weaving in and out, each with their own ambitions and goals. The adventurers who flooded into the Guild’s office were an interesting mix: eager, impatient, and above all, focused on gaining an edge within the dungeon. Leo had his own goal in mind, and it didn’t involve direct competition.

  He paused at the entrance of the Guild’s main office, his steps soundless as his golden eyes scanned the room. The scent of parchment, ink, and sweat lingered in the air. Clerks shuffled through piles of paper, busy assigning delving slots, their faces drawn with fatigue. Leo’s gaze found what he sought: a young woman with auburn hair and an easily dismissed demeanor behind the counter. She was struggling with the paperwork, her eyes flicking over the same line repeatedly. Her name tag read Ayla.

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  Leo had no interest in the Guild’s convoluted processes or the adventurers who had paid for their precious slots. He’d seen their desperation before—ordinary, selfish, driven by profit, not curiosity. But he had his own reasons for needing that delving spot, and he would acquire it without revealing the true extent of his abilities.

  He adjusted his coat, fingers grazing the edges of the worn leather before he approached the counter. His movements were fluid, effortless, a man who seemed lost in thought but who carried an underlying confidence in every step.

  Ayla didn’t notice him at first. She was too absorbed in trying to decipher a map, her brow furrowed in frustration. It was the perfect moment for Leo to exert his influence.

  He didn’t need to do much—just a slight ripple, an unnoticed shift in the air around him. The faintest touch of his will, not enough to draw attention, but enough to make her mind clearer, more focused on him than the task at hand.

  The girl blinked, her gaze lifting, catching Leo’s calm demeanor. “Can I help you?” she asked, voice polite but distracted.

  “I’m here to secure a delving slot for next week,” Leo said smoothly, his tone disarmingly relaxed. “I’ve heard the dungeon is becoming more difficult to navigate, especially for those of a mid-tier rank like myself. I was hoping you could fit me in for the upcoming week.”

  His words were carefully chosen, his delivery effortless. He didn’t push too hard—didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to guide the conversation in the right direction. Ayla’s eyes flickered toward the schedule board, but the usual hesitation that came from dealing with so many adventurers didn’t take hold of her. Instead, there was a subtle change in her demeanor, a slight shift that was barely noticeable.

  “The mid-tier slots are filling up fast,” she began, her voice carrying a slight note of concern. “But we do have a spot available. I could assign it to you if you don’t mind the company of a few others.”

  Leo’s lips curved upward in a faint smile. “I don’t mind at all,” he replied, his voice practically a whisper, “as long as I can get in. I’m sure you’ve seen the number of adventurers pushing for slots; I’d hate to lose out.”

  Ayla blinked again, her focus narrowing. The mental fog that had initially clouded her thoughts dissipated completely. She tapped a few keys on her console, then looked back at Leo, her earlier indecision vanishing.

  “Alright,” she said, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve marked you down for next week’s mid-tier slot. It should be smooth sailing, but... if you’re looking for something more challenging, you could always opt for one of the higher slots.”

  Leo’s eyes darkened briefly, a glimmer of amusement dancing behind them. “I’ll take what I can get. Thank you.”

  Without waiting for further formalities, Leo turned, slipping a few coins onto the counter. He didn’t need to hang around any longer. The slot was secured, and that was all that mattered. As he walked out of the Guild’s office, his mind was already elsewhere—calculating, plotting.

  He knew exactly what he needed from the dungeon. And now, he had the perfect opportunity to gather the information he sought. The rest? Well, that could wait. After all, curiosity had always been his greatest sin.

  ____

  The emissary walked through the streets of Redroot with a keen eye, his finely embroidered cloak swishing in time with his footsteps. His entourage moved with calculated precision, their gazes surveying the crowds of pilgrims, Church followers, and even adventurers who had paused in their travels to witness the unfolding spectacle. What greeted them was a sight both awe-inspiring and unsettling: the construction of a massive temple.

  At first glance, it was a typical structure—a towering edifice rising in grandeur, its silhouette dominating the cityscape. The architecture was striking, but there was something distinctly off about it. The emissary’s trained eyes quickly picked up on the material differences that marked it as more than just a sacred site under construction. Unlike the traditional marble, mana stone, and holy stone used for such structures—materials that carried with them both divine and cultural significance—this building was being constructed with metal. Not just any metal, but something unfamiliar.

  He furrowed his brow, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took a closer look at the construction materials. This wasn’t ordinary iron or the occasional titanium that one might expect from a place like Redroot. No, this was something far more intricate—something beyond mere steel and stone.

  The emissary leaned in, taking a step closer to one of the massive beams being raised. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the faint glow emanating from the metal. His mind raced. What he had assumed to be regular iron was, in fact, orichalcum—a rare and powerful metal known for its mana conductivity. But this wasn’t just any orichalcum. It had been infused with mana essence so pure and potent that it almost rivaled the sacred holy stone itself. The mana-rich veins within the metal shimmered as if alive, feeding the very core of the structure, a silent testament to the magnitude of the work being done here.

  “By the Emperor’s grace...” the emissary murmured to himself, unable to suppress his awe.

  This was no mere temple. It was a fortress of divine intent, an anchor of power that would channel untold energy. As he observed the workers, the emissary realized the true scope of what was being built here. The metal was just the foundation—just the framework. The true marvels would be in the sculptures that adorned the temple's inner sanctum.

  He made his way through the scaffolding and toward the structure’s center, where a colossal sculpture was taking shape. The work was still in progress, but it was unmistakable: towering over everything else was the image of a giant man—an enormous metal sentinel, with intricate designs etched into its body. His first instinct was to recognize it as a symbol of power, but there was more to it than that. This was no mere statue—it was alive. The sheer presence of the sculpture felt as though it was waiting, watching. The emissary knew then: this was more than just artistic representation. This was a guardian, a creation that transcended its material.

  Around the towering humanoid figure were other sculptures—an army of them, each just as strange and unsettling as the next. One, shaped like a beast, its claws sharp and deadly, its body a fusion of metal and something other, gave the emissary an eerie sense of foreboding. Another was a hunched figure, its eight arms each wielding a different tool, as if preparing for some form of ritualistic labor, or perhaps combat. The third, a massive humanoid—its form nearly identical to that of a human, yet undeniably not—stood with cold, mechanical precision.

  The intricacy of the figures left him speechless. This was not a mere temple; it was a shrine built not just in reverence to the Observers, but in preparation for their direct involvement in the physical world. The power that was being channeled through these creations was beyond what he had anticipated. Whoever had crafted this… they were no ordinary architect.

  The emissary’s heart beat faster as he realized the implications of what he was witnessing. This was no simple religious structure—it was a monument to power, to forces far beyond the understanding of those who lived in Redroot, and perhaps even beyond the comprehension of his Emperor.

  Yet something gnawed at him, an unsettling thought that grew louder the more he took in the scene. The question that loomed in the back of his mind was no longer about the temple’s design, but its purpose. Who had created these sculptures? Was the dungeon itself behind this? Or was this part of some larger, more dangerous design?

  He turned back to his group, his eyes hardening. "We’ll have to investigate further," he muttered, more to himself than to the others. "This place is a ticking clock—whether it’s a divine blessing or a curse, it will change the balance of power here."

  The emissary’s gaze lingered on the sentinel statue, his thoughts swirling. The power it radiated was unmistakable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had only scratched the surface of a much deeper mystery.

  The Emperor would be most interested in this.

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