The scent of stale air and old stone filled the warehouse. Spartan-001 stood before a dusty crate, on which a heavy bag overflowed with the golden currency of this world. The fruits of his hyper-efficient, fourteen-minute purge of the Dungeon's first floor.
"Initial Capital mission complete. First Clear mission complete," Cortana's voice echoed in the quiet space, her avatar shimmering beside the bag of Valis. "We have funds, we have a significant amount of System Points, and we have a whole list of new toys waiting to be unlocked. A productive first day, I'd say."
The Spartan brought up his status screen, the blue light of the HUD illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
[STATUS]
[NAME: Valerius Steele (Spartan-001)]
[RACE: Human (Spartan-II Augmented)]
[TITLE: The Reclaimer]
[SYSTEM POINTS: 24,300]
[SECTION: INVENTORY]
[ > Valis: 412,800 ]
[ > [Basic Material Scanner] x1 ]
[SECTION: FABRICATION / SCHEMATICS]
[-- AVAILABLE TO UNLOCK --]
[ > [UNSC Marine BDU] - Unlock Cost: 7,000 SP ]
[ > [Advanced Material Pack] - Unlock Cost: 2,000 SP ]
[ > [Construction Template: Basic Workshop] - Unlock Cost: 5,000 SP ]
[-- UNLOCKED SCHEMATICS --]
[ > [UNSC Combat Knife] - Fabrication Cost: 10 SP ]
"The priority is infrastructure," the Spartan stated, his focus unwavering. "Information, then production. Unlock the workshop template."
"Spending 5,000 points right off the bat. Go big or go home, I guess," Cortana replied, executing the command.
[SECTION: FABRICATION / SCHEMATICS]
[ACTION: Unlock Construction Template [Basic Workshop]] [COST: -5,000 System Points]
[CONFIRM? [Y/N]]
He confirmed. His point total dropped to 19,300. The template was now his to command.
"The template will require raw materials to restructure the existing space. The stone and wood of this warehouse are sufficient," Cortana analyzed. "It will convert this ground floor into a sealed, soundproofed fabrication bay with basic power generation. Ready when you are, Chief."
"Execute," he commanded.
He stood in the center of the warehouse as the system activated. A low hum filled the air, and a grid of faint blue light spread from his feet, mapping the entire room. The light intensified, engulfing the floor, walls, and ceiling. The dust and grime on the surfaces began to vibrate and dissolve into particles of light. The rotting wooden beams overhead dematerialized, their matter broken down into raw energy.
The stone floor began to shift and reform. Sections lowered, creating recessed work pits, while others rose to form integrated workstations. The rough stone walls smoothed over, replaced by plates of a clean, metallic composite material that seemed to grow out of the original structure. Conduits and power lines snaked across the new walls before sinking into them, leaving only flush-mounted access panels. A large, multi-jointed mechanical arm descended from the ceiling, its tools neatly folded, settling into a dormant state. The single wooden door was replaced by a heavy, airtight metal hatch that hissed shut, sealing them inside.
In less than a minute, the decrepit, dusty warehouse had been transformed. It was now a clean, sterile, and brutally functional UNSC workshop, a small island of 26th-century technology in a fantasy world.
"Operational," the Spartan stated, the single word laced with satisfaction. "Our first foothold is secure."
"Now for the loose ends," Cortana reminded him. "Our meeting with the dwarf is next. We secure the deed to this property and the contact for the information broker."
The Hostess of Fertility was even more chaotic than the main streets. The tavern buzzed with the sounds of clanking tankards, boisterous laughter, and the off-key singing of a drunken adventurer. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, spilled ale, and sweat. When Spartan-001 stepped through the door, all of it came to a dead stop.
The tavern plunged into a stunned silence. A barmaid, a young human girl with silver hair, dropped a tray with a clatter. Every eye—human, elf, dwarf, and beastman—was fixed on him. In the corner, a lithe elf with long, green hair, dressed in the tavern's uniform, placed a hand on the hilt of her dagger, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
The Spartan ignored them all. His thermal sensors located Gror huddled at a small table in the back, trying to make himself invisible. He moved through the silent tavern, his heavy footfalls the only sound, and stood before the dwarf's table.
Without a word, he placed a heavy bag of Valis on the table. The thud it made was final and absolute.
"Payment for the acquisition of the warehouse and your commission," he stated. Gror stared at the mountain of money, his eyes wide with a mixture of greed and terror. It was more money than he had ever seen in one place.
"I-It's all here," Gror stammered.
"The deed," the Spartan said, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.
The dwarf fumbled in his satchel, producing a rolled-up parchment. The Spartan took it, his visor scanning the document in a fraction of a second. Cortana cross-referenced it with the municipal data she had been passively collecting.
"It's legitimate," she confirmed.
"The information broker," the Spartan continued.
"Rat-face Roy," Gror whispered, leaning in. "Operates out of the back alleys near Daedalus Street. He's slippery, but he knows everything. Tell him Gror sent you for the 'special vintage'."
"Your service is complete," the Spartan said. "Discretion is advised."
With that, he turned and walked out of the tavern, leaving Gror with a fortune and a story no one would ever believe. The moment the door swung shut behind him, the tavern erupted in a cacophony of frantic whispers.
As he walked toward the Guild district, he accessed his comms. "Cortana. The Guild."
"Right," she replied, her avatar pulling up a schematic of the building. "We have an official point of contact for information. Going through the front desk every time is inefficient. We established that our best bet is the half-elf, Eina Tulle. She's meticulous, by-the-book, and already assigned to monitor us. She's the logical choice."
"Agreed. Proceed," the Spartan confirmed.
His next stop was the Guild. This time, he didn't go to the public counters. He went to the reception desk for adventurer services.
"I require a meeting with Advisor Eina Tulle," he announced to the startled receptionist, using the specific name.
The name, combined with his own now-infamous designation, worked like a key. Within minutes, he was being led into a small, private consultation room. A few moments later, Eina Tulle entered, closing the door behind her. She was visibly nervous, clutching a clipboard to her chest like a shield.
"Mr. Spartan," she began, her voice a little shaky. "Thank you for coming in. As your assigned advisor, it's my job to help you get started in Orario, to offer advice on party composition, Dungeon strategy…"
"I do not require advice on strategy," he cut her off, his tone flat. "I require data. Your most detailed cartographical charts of the Dungeon, from floors one to twenty. I need monster population densities, spawn rates, and known migration patterns. I also want all available economic data on rare mineral and plant life drops by floor, cross-referenced with their market value over the last fiscal year."
Eina stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Her usual speech about the dangers of goblins and the importance of teamwork died on her lips. The requests were unlike anything she had ever heard from a new adventurer. They weren't the questions of a warrior; they were the requests of a general planning a campaign.
"I… I'm sorry," she stammered, trying to regain her footing. "That level of detailed data is highly classified, reserved for high-ranking Familia expeditions. As an unaffiliated resident…"
"Then provide what is not classified," he stated, undeterred. "I will pay for any publicly available information. Consider me a client, not an adventurer."
Eina felt a headache forming behind her eyes. This person was impossible. He operated completely outside the established system, yet the report of his first-day earnings proved he possessed a power that couldn't be ignored. The Guild was in an uproar about it. Her superiors had told her to "assess and report."
"I can provide you with the standard maps for floors one through ten," she said, choosing her words carefully. "And a general bestiary of the monsters found there. Anything more will require special authorization."
"Acceptable. For now," he said. "I will require a new set of data every week. I will compensate the Guild for the labor."
He stood up, his massive frame filling the small room. "You are my point of contact. I will direct all future requests through you."
He turned and left, leaving Eina Tulle sitting in a state of shock, clutching a clipboard full of notes that made no sense. She had the distinct feeling that her job, and perhaps the entire city of Orario, was about to become infinitely more complicated. Spartan-001 had acquired his capital and established his first official link to the city's power structure. The foundation was being laid, stone by cold, hard stone.