The command hung in the air: Forget the gold. Secure the knowledge.
Kaelen turned to Belos, the Master Engineer and Grandmaster swordsman, his face grim with the impossible task ahead. "Belos, we need to take the pillar. It contains the key to the entire operation. Can you stabilize it for transport?"
Belos, despite his Grandmaster rank, shook his head, the dust on his face highlighting his exhaustion. "My Lord, that pillar is not just stone; it's a solid mass of reinforced obsidian, likely anchored to the planetary crust by a sub-layer mana lock. It is twenty meters high and twenty meters in diameter—several thousand tons. Short of a coordinated Sage-tier collapse spell, no one is moving it. Certainly not in our timeframe."
Kaelen's lips thinned. He hadn't asked if it was easy; he had asked if it could be done. His mind immediately reverted to physics and mechanics, bypassing fantasy magic. Force, leverage, vector, material stress.
"Lira," Kaelen cut in, his eyes sweeping the debris of the Atrium. "That pile of abandoned armor. Are the chassis intact?"
Grandmaster Lira, the Elven strategist, snapped out of her defensive posture. "They are Mythic-era, Lord, mostly decorative, but the structure is flawless. Why?"
"Belos needs leverage," Kaelen explained, his voice quick and precise, slipping into the analytical tone of the modern architect. "The pillar is stable, meaning it has a known center of gravity and a known weak point—the seam where the lock meets the floor. We need simple, mechanical advantage. Lira, mobilize every Legionnaire you can spare. Break down the largest four suits of armor. Belos, you will use the Mythril and Adamantite plates as wedges and counterweights. We aren't moving the pillar; we're unbalancing it and then securing it against the nearest intact wall with the steel chains from the supply crates. We will take the knowledge when we take the wall, Belos. Get started now."
The Archducal noble who was supposed to be a comfortable bureaucrat was now the most capable tactical engineer on the continent. Belos, seeing the calculated madness in his Lord's eyes, nodded, the challenge overriding his exhaustion. "It will take eighty men and one hour, Lord Vayne. The noise will be deafening."
"I know," Kaelen confirmed. Noise is capital. It lets Vex know we are committed.
As the Legionnaires roared into motion, attacking the ancient, oversized armor with cutting-grade mana edges and brute physical force, Vex made her move.
She did not approach Kaelen. She instead intercepted Lira, who was directing Legionnaires toward the deeper vault doors. Vex was flanked by a pair of hulking Master-rank mercenaries, their arms crossed, radiating quiet menace.
"Grandmaster Lira," Vex said, her tone deceptively sweet, like ice-laced wine. "Lord Vayne's instructions were to search for the secondary doors, correct? My Syndicate teams are much more specialized in ancient structure analysis. We would be happy to locate and breach them for him—as a professional courtesy."
Lira, ever the watchful elf, knew this was a blatant attempt to seize the real prize. The Syndicate wanted to gain control of the deeper R&D levels before Kaelen had recovered his strength.
"That won't be necessary, Vex," Lira replied, her tone matching Vex's cold politeness. "Our Legionnaires are not simply searching; they are also establishing a perimeter. We treat every secondary door in a Mythic vault as a potential choke-point. Lord Vayne's instruction stands."
Vex's eyes flickered toward Kaelen, who stood motionless near the roaring, chaotic scene around the pillar. He was watching, but he was also forcing his core to slowly draw in mana, replenishing his reserves. She had miscalculated. Even depleted, the Legend was a formidable overseer.
This is a game of patience, Vex thought, retreating a step. But I know the rules of this continent. You cannot sustain the needs of ten million people on a single man's power. You need the money, and you need to leave.
Kaelen met Vex's gaze across the atrium. He knew exactly what she was thinking. He was a pressure cooker, and she was waiting for the steam to escape.
"Lira, Belos, move faster," Kaelen commanded, projecting his voice over the screech of tearing metal. "I'm going ahead. I need to know what we are walking into. We cannot risk the entire Legion for a surprise trap."
He turned and strode toward the massive shadow where Lira's scouts had confirmed the existence of a smaller, more discreet archway—a working door, not the ornamental front gate. His exhaustion was a dull roar, but the possibility of Mythic Blueprints—the ultimate solution to the Legion's fragility—drove him forward.
He pushed the door open, feeling the sudden, chilling drop in temperature. This was the true underbelly of the R&D facility. The air here was heavy, smelling of ozone, decay, and ancient, stagnant mana.
He stepped into a darkness broken only by the dim, sickly light of embedded crystal filaments. The space was narrower, a long, winding corridor lined with laboratory benches and strange, inert machinery. This was not a museum of wealth; it was the Forge.
As Kaelen walked deeper, his focus sharpened. He reached out with his Legend-tier senses. The corridor ended in a massive, circular chamber. In the center, a huge, silent apparatus hummed with a low, barely perceptible frequency. It wasn't a defense. It was a power source.
And guarding it, not with magic or a will, but with a horrifying, technical elegance, was a single entity. It was an Angel, but not of the benevolent churches. Its six wings were made of interlocking steel plates, and its eyes burned with cold, pure white light. It was an Automaton Angel, a Mythic-era construct built to embody power, not grace.
Its combat energy instantly registered on Kaelen's senses. Peak Sage, approaching Legend.
The Angel's head rotated, its white gaze locking onto Kaelen. Its mouth did not move, but a voice, synthesized and perfect, echoed in his mind.
"Intruder detected. Containment protocol initiated. Life signature: Legendary. Threat Assessment: Extreme. Proceeding with Eradication."
Kaelen Vayne, the exhausted Legend, drew his simple gray sword. He had fought pressure, he had fought finance, and he had fought logistics. Now, he faced a Peak Sage-tier mechanical assassin powered by the very core of the Mythic Vault—a silent guardian that knew only the language of efficient destruction.