The Old Foundry was less of a building and more of a corpse of the industrial age.
Elian stood in the center of the main factory floor. The ceiling was thirty meters high, riddled with holes that let shafts of dusty sunlight pierce the gloom. The floor was covered in debris—rusted gears, collapsed catwalks, and purple, pulsing weeds that hissed when he stepped on them.
"This place is a disaster," Elian said, his voice echoing in the emptiness.
It has potential, Kaelen countered. The Mana Leyline beneath the blast furnace is active. If you tap into it, you have infinite power for your constructs.
"First, I need to clean up."
Elian rolled up his sleeves. He placed both hands on the concrete floor.
[Class Skill: Edit Mode (Area)][Radius: 50 meters]
The wireframe grid expanded, covering the entire factory floor.
"Delete debris. Reshape floor. Seal roof."
Mana Cost: 500.
It was a massive expenditure. Elian felt his knees buckle as the mana drained out of him.
But the result was spectacular. The rusted gears dissolved into particles of light. The cracks in the concrete knit themselves together, smoothing out into a pristine, grey surface. High above, the metal sheets of the roof groaned and slid into place, sealing the holes and plunging the room into darkness.
Elian snapped his fingers. [Synthesis: Light Crystal + Glass]. Orbs of soft white light materialized along the walls, illuminating the massive space.
[Base Status Updated][Integrity: 45%][Cleanliness: 100%]
"Better," Elian panted, sitting on a crate. "But it's empty. And I can't defend a perimeter this big by myself."
He needed bodies. Not expensive mercenaries who would sell him out to the Guilds, but people who had nowhere else to go.
"Time to go shopping," Elian muttered.
Elian didn't go to the Guild Hall. He went back to Sector 4. Back to the "Rust Bucket."
He wore a hooded cloak over his new, high-quality gear. He walked into "The Drip", a dive bar built inside a hollowed-out oil tanker. It was where the failures drank—Hunters who couldn't pay their dues, Vultures who were too old to scavenge.
The bar went silent as he entered. Even in a cloak, Elian carried the aura of a Ranker now.
He walked to the corner booth. A man was sitting there, nursing a cheap beer. He was massive, bald, and looked like he had been hit by a truck. His nose was crooked (broken recently), and he wore a bandage over his eyes.
Goran.
The Berserker Elian had blinded and humiliated in the tournament.
Elian sat down opposite him.
"Seat's taken," Goran grunted, not looking up. He sounded broken.
"You look terrible, Goran," Elian said.
Goran froze. He recognized the voice. His hand twitched toward an axe that wasn't there. "You," he growled. "You have some nerve coming here. I should snap your neck."
"You could try," Elian said calmly. "But then you'd be banned from the only bar that still serves you. I heard the Adventurer's Guild blacklisted you after the tournament. 'Humiliating defeat to a support class.' Ouch."
Goran slammed his fist on the table. "I lost my sponsors! I lost my party! I'm a joke because of you!"
"You're a joke because you're arrogant," Elian corrected. "But you're also a Level 8 Berserker with high durability and a surprisingly high pain tolerance."
Elian slid a contract across the table.
"I'm starting a Guild. I need a Tank. Someone to stand in front and get hit so I don't have to."
Goran stared at the paper. "You want me... to work for you?"
"5,000 credits a month. Full health insurance. And I'll fix your bike."
Goran hesitated. 5,000 was more than he made raiding. And he was broke. "I hate you," Goran whispered.
"I know. Sign here."
Goran signed.
Elian left the bar with a sullen Goran trailing behind him like a chastised guard dog.
"Where are we going?" Goran grumbled.
"To find eyes," Elian said.
He led them to the marketplace near the South Gate. He stopped by a pile of crates where a group of street kids were playing dice.
One of them, a girl of about sixteen with dirt-smeared cheeks and quick, intelligent eyes, looked up. She froze when she saw Goran.
It was Kara. The girl Goran had bullied.
"You!" Kara scrambled back, pulling a shiv made of sharpened scrap metal. "Stay back! I didn't steal anything!"
Goran looked at the ground, ashamed. "I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."
Elian stepped forward, lowering his hood. "Hello, Kara."
Kara blinked. She recognized him. The Vulture who had saved her—by tricking Griggs. "Elian? You look... different. clean."
"I need a Scout," Elian said. "Someone who knows the tunnels. Someone who hears things before the Guilds do."
Kara lowered the shiv. "I know everything that happens in Sector 4. What's the pay?"
"Room and board. Real food. And education. I'll pay for your Awakening Ceremony when you turn 18."
Kara's eyes widened. An Awakening Ceremony cost 50,000 credits. It was a ticket out of the slums. "You serious?"
"Dead serious. But you have to leave the gang life. You answer to me."
Kara looked at her dice, then at the dirty street. "Deal," she said instantly.
The final stop was the Black Market.
Silas's Emporium was closed. The shutters were down. Elian knocked. "Go away! Tax collectors!" Silas shouted from inside.
"It's Elian. Open up."
The shutter rattled open. Silas peered out, his mechanical eye whirring. He saw Elian, Goran, and Kara. "What is this? A circus?"
"I need a Quartermaster," Elian said, cutting to the chase. "I have a base. I have resources. But I don't have time to haggle for copper wire and mana crystals."
Silas snorted. "I have a shop, Vance. Why would I leave?"
"Because the Blood-Rose Guild is investigating the Black Market," Elian lied (mostly). "And because I know you have a warrant in Sector 2 for selling counterfeit potions. If you come with me, you get Guild Immunity under my Charter."
Silas paled. "Immunity?"
"Total legal protection. You can sell whatever you want, as long as I get first pick of the stock."
Silas rubbed his chin. The greed in his eyes battled with his caution. "What's the cut?"
"10% of gross profits."
"20%."
"15%. And you cook."
Silas sighed. He grabbed a heavy rucksack from behind the counter. "Fine. But if we get raided, I'm selling you out first."
The First Night
The group stood in the center of the Foundry.
Goran looked at the vast, empty space. "This is it? It's a dump." Kara was running around, touching the glowing light orbs. "It's huge! I can have my own room?" Silas was already inspecting the rusted machinery. "Scrap value is decent... wait, is that a Mana Furnace? Do you know how much that's worth?"
Elian clapped his hands. "Listen up!"
They turned to him.
"This is Vanguard. We are currently the smallest, poorest Guild in the registry. The Big Three want us to fail. The monsters want to eat us. And the building is falling apart."
He activated [Blueprint Sight].
"Goran, you're on perimeter. Clear the weeds outside. If anything moves, hit it." "Kara, map the basement levels. Do not engage anything. Just mark it." "Silas, inventory the scrap. Find me anything conductive."
"What about you?" Goran asked.
Elian walked toward the massive, cold blast furnace in the center of the room.
"I'm going to wake up the house."
Elian stood before the furnace. It was a relic of the pre-System era, but the Dungeon had warped it. It wasn't powered by coal anymore; it sat directly on top of a Mana Leyline.
Elian placed his hand on the cold iron.
Ghost, how do I jumpstart a Leyline?
It requires a spark. A massive infusion of mana to prime the pump. Or... a core.
Elian reached into his inventory. He pulled out the Void-Bomb Core—the remnants of the Cultist he had launched into the sky. He had managed to scavenge a fragment of the crystallized energy from the arena crater before he left.
It pulsed with unstable, violet energy.
"This might void the warranty," Elian muttered.
He tossed the purple crystal into the furnace.
He slammed the door shut. [Edit Mode: Seal.]
RUMBLE.
The ground shook. A low hum started, deep in the earth. It grew louder, vibrating in their teeth. Silas ducked behind a crate. "What did you do?!"
WHOOSH.
Blue fire erupted inside the furnace. But it was tinged with violet streaks. The pipes running along the walls hissed as mana steam rushed through them. The lights flickered and surged, turning brighter.
[Base Power: Online][Mana Output: 150%][Warning: Foreign Energy Signature Detected.]
The factory groaned as it came to life. Conveyor belts twitched. Pistons hissed.
Elian grinned. The entire building was now a living organism, fueled by mana. And as the Architect, he was the brain.
"We have power," Elian announced.
SCREEEE!
A shriek echoed from the ventilation shafts. The sudden surge of mana had acted like a dinner bell.
Goran grabbed his axe. "That didn't sound friendly."
Kara slid down a railing from the upper catwalk. "Movement! North vents! Dozens of them!"
Elian's interface flashed red.
[Perimeter Breach][Enemy: Mana-Rats (Mutated)][Wave 1 Incoming]
Elian looked at his ragtag team. A broken berserker. A thief girl. A greedy merchant.
"Welcome to the first shift," Elian said, drawing his Railgun-Pipe. "Defend the forge!"