The snow was no longer white. Blood, ash, and streaks of melted armor turned it into a battlefield soup that steamed beneath the warming radius of the Shack. Drones buzzed overhead in neat grids, scanning for salvage, while scavenger units rolled out over the frozen landscape. The war was over.
Kenji was done.
Slouched in a fold-out chair outside the Shack's entrance, he wore a robe stolen from a noble tent and slippers made from salvaged beast hide. In one hand was a cup of Shack-brewed canned cocoa, and in the other, his hand rested lazily on Luna's thigh.
Sola stood on his other side, her eyes scanning the horizon, completely unfazed by the casual groping happening across her sister. The twins didn’t flinch, speak, or shift. They just stood there—silent, synced to the Shack’s alert grid, and ready to react before Kenji ever had to.
"Tch. I kill a few hundred nobles and still have to deal with cleanup," Kenji muttered.
Behind him, the Shack hummed with activity. Astarions patrolled the perimeter while drones hauled off twisted armor and stripped energy cores. The scent of roasted mutant flesh and plasma discharge still lingered in the air. Elyra and Saeko were already deep into their scavenging ops, having deployed with Loadout A and a full support wing of drones.
Kenji sipped his drink and squinted up at the sky. It was finally clearing.
"Hope the next idiots bring better loot."
Mirelle appeared beside him, not out of breath but looking slightly more stressed than usual. She carried a Shack tablet and a weary smile.
"So… we still have nine unprocessed captives from the Malloran campaign. Mostly noble attendants. Should I—?"
"Yeah, sure. Process them, collar them, whatever," Kenji said without looking up. "Report it to yourself. I’m on break."
Mirelle blinked. "I might need help organizing—"
He pointed vaguely toward the Shack. "Take Lira. She’s good at yelling at people."
Lira, who had been lurking nearby with suspiciously keen interest, perked up instantly.
"Yes, Master. I’ll help her," she said, eyes gleaming. She already liked the idea—most of the girls were around her age, and it wouldn't be hard to slot herself above them in the Shack’s unofficial slave hierarchy.
Kenji didn’t ask. He didn’t care. As long as the work got done, they could have a gladiator match over who folded towels fastest for all he cared.
The nine captives were marched out one by one, stripped of their noble attire, wrapped in thermal Shack-issued cloaks, and presented before Mirelle. The collars clicked into place with a sterile hiss and a faint blue glow. The system automatically logged them as “Asset-Class: Support.”
Mirelle ran through the commands efficiently, inputting parameters for labor, obedience conditioning, and integration roles. The women ranged in temperament—some stiff with pride, others trembling, and one who looked dead-eyed already.
Lira stood behind Mirelle like a smug lieutenant. She made no official commands but offered sly suggestions: "She’s good at carrying things," or "That one glares too much, stick her with latrine duty."
A few of the new girls looked to Lira with uncertainty. She returned their glances with a smug confidence, already assuming her place at the top of their little pyramid. Most didn’t push back. They knew power when they saw it—or at least proximity to it.
Mirelle, for her part, let Lira have her fun. It was easier than dealing with the emotional baggage that always came with processing fresh slaves.
Not long after, the ambient sensors pinged. Incoming friendlies.
Sola tilted her head. “Alliance signature. Noble convoy. Elven vanguard. Dwarven detachment. Three human banners.”
Kenji didn’t move. “Let ’em in. They’re probably here to brag or beg.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
They came from three sides of the horizon—flags fluttering, armor gleaming, boots crunching on half-thawed snow.
The elven vanguard arrived first. Sleek, disciplined, and eerily quiet, they moved like a river of silver and green. Their armor shimmered with a spellwoven sheen, but embedded into their cloaks and gear were tactical HUDs, mana-fed exoskeleton bands, and composite alloy bows reinforced with modern tech.
At their center walked Queen Vaeloria Thal’avel, flawless as always, her silver braid laced with crystal pins that pulsed faintly with ambient mana. Her eyes scanned the field, unreadable.
The ground trembled next. Dwarves.
A low rumble preceded their arrival as mechanized crawlers rolled in, pulling reinforced sleds and automated forge rigs. The dwarves wore full-body tech-armor: rune-inscribed exosuits built for endurance and brutality. Hammers buzzed with shock-field generators, and shoulder-mounted repeaters clanked into activation with every step.
King Brokkan Stoneheart sat atop a mobile throne rig, arms crossed, eyes gleaming beneath a polarized helm. He gave no command. He just stared at the battlefield like he was already calculating what stone to build over it.
The last to arrive were the three human noble houses that had pledged to Kenji. Their forces were clean, efficient, and more subdued in presence. Their armor was well-forged but lacked the flair of the elves or dwarves. Practical. Reliable. Serious.
Lady Veiss stood beside her father, not a hair out of place despite the wind. She didn’t speak at first—just watched Kenji as if he might collapse from laziness alone.
They all approached the Shack.
Vaeloria spoke first. “Your signal was... illuminating.”
Brokkan grunted. “You done burying fools yet, Meat King?”
Kenji didn’t rise from his chair. He lifted his mug and took a long, slow sip. “Mostly. What’s left of them’s still twitching.”
One of the allied nobles stepped forward. “What now?”
Kenji exhaled through his nose and looked around at the elite war machines and shining banners now camping outside his rusty divine truck.
“Set up camp,” he said, not bothering to sit up straighter. “We’re going to annihilate the rest of them. Once I finish cleaning this mess, we move.”
They nodded without question. No one challenged him.
As the forces began to spread and prepare their positions, Kenji added with the enthusiasm of someone ordering takeout, “Split the loot however you want—gear, supplies, slaves, whatever shiny junk you like. Just don’t touch the bodies. I’m turning those meatbags into biomass, not snack bars. And after we’re done wiping them out, everyone can grab their share of the leftovers. Just don’t come crying when the elves outbid you.”
He raised his mug in mock salute. “Welcome to cleanup duty, noble edition.”
Just as the last crawler settled and the first campfire cracked, the Shack’s hum changed.
A low pulse echoed—deep and steady, like a heartbeat drumming through steel.
Elven rangers froze, bows drawn mid-movement. Dwarven guards locked shields with hammers raised. Even the nobles stiffened.
The Shack rumbled.
Lights along its hull flickered from blue to crimson. Snow hissed as geothermal heat burst through the ground. Panels rotated. Vents hissed. The Hive above flexed and began lowering, racks unfolding, sensor arms blooming like alien antennae.
“Crimson Core is initiating,” Sola announced, her voice calm.
“Tier 6 evolution protocol: begun,” Luna echoed.
Queen Vaeloria stepped forward, brow furrowed. “What… is it doing?”
King Brokkan stood from his throne-sled. “By stone and steel... that’s not natural.”
Lady Veiss blinked rapidly. “Is it… dangerous to stand this close?”
Kenji finally stood with a grunt, cocoa still in hand. “If you're allergic to divine-dimensional spatial expansion, maybe.”
The Shack’s internals began folding. Walls twisted, floors restructured. Dimensional pressure warped the air as the Hive expanded—doubling in dock capacity. Energy surged. Biomass converters roared to life.
[WARNING: External signal detected.]
[ARCHOTECH SIGNATURE TRACEABLE – RESPONSE: INCOMING.]
Kenji rolled his shoulders. “Alright, fun’s over. Everyone not bonded to the Shack? Move out. Now. I’m not mopping up elf soup or dwarven chunks if your atoms don’t reassemble right.”
Silence.
Then sudden motion—organized, efficient panic. Elves phased away in blinks of mana-light. Dwarves stomped into retreat, barking commands. Nobles scrambled, trying to look dignified while fleeing.
Kenji turned, muttering as the Shack pulsed again. “You wreck my hot tub, I’m billing the gods directly.”
[SYSTEM NOTICE] ?? Tier 6 Threshold Achieved
Tier 6 advancement criteria met.
Evolution options now available. Please select a developmental path:
- Retains compatibility with divine-machine architecture.
- Offers stable, reliable system upgrades.
- Minimal risk of destabilization.
- Progression speed is slower.
- Long-term evolution is capped and unable to integrate unknown tech systems.
- Transforms Hive into Archo-Hive, enabling autonomous, evolving architecture.
- All deployed drones upgraded into Archo-Drones with adaptive AI and unknown enhancements.
- Unlocks advanced, experimental tech derived from Archo-tech fragments.
- Drastically expands system capabilities and upgrade ceiling.
- Enables access to exotic functions: sentient AIs, dimensional reshaping, or autonomous combat modules.
- ?? WARNING: High instability. Integration may attract powerful external entities or activate unknown failsafes.
[AWAITING INPUT] ?? Kenji, it’s your mess. Choose wisely.
Choose wisely. One path keeps the lights on. The other might replace your toilet with a sentient AI that files bug reports when you sit down.