Elias's calculated gamble with Valerius's information bought him a sliver of breathing room, but the ticking clock of the Sutra Corps invitation still loomed. His focus, however, was violently pulled back to his immediate tools. A frantic, coded message arrived from Juro: "It's failing. My brother. The core."
Elias raced to Juro's clandestine workshop, a cramped space hidden beneath a bustling marketplace, smelling of ozone and burnt circuits. Juro's brother lay pale on a makeshift cot, his body wracked by tremors. The Earth Core implant, embedded in his chest, was not merely unstable; it was glowing with a dangerous, erratic light, its once-golden pulse now a chaotic strobe of angry red and sickly green. It was clearly overloading, threatening to burn out his cultivation, or worse.
"It started a few days ago," Juro stammered, his hands shaking as he monitored his brother's spiritual readings. "Flickering, then surging. The diagnostics I've run... it looks like a fundamental design flaw. Almost as if it was designed to fail after a certain period of intense use."
Elias activated his Karmic Lens, observing the chaotic spiritual storm brewing within Juro's brother. The core's Stoneborn resonance, once a mask for Elias's manipulations, was now a destructive force. He saw the pattern Juro described: a subtle, insidious degradation within the core's very structure, accelerated by prolonged, high-intensity use. It wasn't just a bootleg; it was a timed bomb.
The realization hit Elias with chilling force. This wasn't accidental. It was a deliberate design. The Artificers' Union, with its monopoly on elemental cores, likely designed these bootleg models, or allowed their proliferation, specifically to control rogue cultivators, or to ensure a constant demand for official replacements. It was a vicious cycle of planned obsolescence, a karmic trap disguised as illicit freedom.
"Step back, Juro," Elias commanded, his voice sharp. He pressed the Karma Lens against his own forehead, focusing its power. He didn't have time for intricate manipulations. He needed a direct, if temporary, fix. He began channeling his own cultivation, carefully, precisely, into the chaotic energy signature of the overloading core. It was a delicate dance, like trying to calm a raging storm with a whisper. He sought to re-align the core's fractured resonance, to temporarily stabilize its volatile karmic output.
Sweat beaded on Elias's brow. The effort was immense, draining. He felt the Earth Core fighting him, its inherent flaw resisting his every attempt to impose order. But slowly, painstakingly, the chaotic glow diminished. The erratic pulsing settled into a more controlled, albeit still unhealthy, thrum. Juro's brother's tremors subsided, his breathing evening out, though he remained unconscious.
Elias pulled back, exhausted. "It's stable. For now," he said, his voice hoarse. "But this core is a ticking bomb, Juro. It was designed to fail. It will overload again. Your brother needs a proper, sanctioned core, or he'll be crippled permanently." He looked at Juro, his gaze hardening. "And this means no more favors. No more bootlegs. No more risks with this technology. We are done."
Juro, overwhelmed with relief and then a dawning horror, nodded. "I understand, Analyst Thorne. Thank you. Thank you." He paused, his eyes filled with a new kind of fear. "But... this 'designed to fail' aspect. It's not just these bootlegs. There have been whispers in the Union. Rumors of a massive new project, a surge in demand for raw materials. They're stockpiling cores, Analyst Thorne. Hundreds, maybe thousands, more than any Legion or Guild could possibly need. For something big. Something unknown."
Elias felt a fresh wave of dread. A core designed to fail. A massive stockpile. The implications were chilling. The Artificers' Union, ostensibly a neutral technological guild, was preparing for something immense, something that would require a vast, expendable supply of elemental power. And Elias, with his unstable core and his growing list of enemies, was caught squarely in the middle.