Daruis moved through the marketplace with a calculated ease, his cloak pulled tight and hood low, letting only the faintest shadow of his face show.
Merchants glanced his way, noting the careful, almost imperceptible confidence in his stride, but none dared approach—he was just another buyer to them, though behind that calm exterior, every movement was deliberate.
He paused at a small stall tucked between the crowded thoroughfares, its shelves stacked with trinkets, talismans, and artifacts that promised power or convenience to those who could afford them.
A simple talisman caught his eye, a small disk of silver engraved with intricate lines.
"One hundred gold coins," the merchant said, bowing slightly.
Daruis handed over the payment without flinching, feeling the familiar satisfaction of acquisition.
He held the talisman up, examining the fine markings. This one, from what the merchant told him, would allow him to draw a mark and teleport to it instantly—distance restricted only to 30km.
He could be anywhere in Eldor, or even beyond, and the world itself would bend to his movement. He pocketed it carefully, already envisioning the placements he would need.
Next, he selected a small, gem-encrusted artifact that promised instant communication over any distance.
He handled it delicately, weighing the value not in gold, but in potential use. For now, he stored it away; Daruis had learned patience. Some tools, no matter how valuable, were only dangerous if deployed at the wrong time. He walked slowly through the crowded streets, letting his mind work through the possibilities.
Back at his estate, he drew precise markings with the talisman at strategic points—not just the estate itself, but the entrances to his warehouses, the corners of alleys that led to hidden paths, even at his cave.
Each mark was deliberate, forming a network of instantaneous movement that only he could exploit.
With the Plasma droids now at fifty units, he moved thirty of them carefully into his estate and warehouses, ensuring that they were positioned for both offense and defense. Each machine was silent, lethal, and obedient, a perfect reflection of his strategic mind.
From there, his attention shifted to the next acquisition: an upgrade to his Combat Assembly that allowed him to produce Tactical Mecha Drones.
Description:
Large, humanoid or quadrupedal combat drones with modular weapons hardpoints.
Designed to carry heavier plasma cannons, retractable energy blades, or even projectile launchers.
Can operate autonomously with AI protocols, or be remotely guided by Darius or an operator.
Armored with Titan-2 alloys and nano-composite shielding for high durability against conventional attacks.
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These were more than simple machines; they were modular, adaptable, and capable of altering their strategy mid-combat.
He complemented them with enhancements for his standard droids—Cloaking Field Emitters for short-duration stealth, perfect for ambushes or infiltration
Cloaking Field Emitters – Short-duration stealth for ambushes or infiltration; drains energy rapidly if overused.
Nanite Swarm Launchers, capable of deploying programmable nanobots to shred armor or disrupt electronics.
Nanite Swarm Launcher – Releases cloud of programmable nanobots to damage armor or disrupt electronics.
Each addition increased his capacity for both defense and manipulation of the battlefield, ensuring that any future confrontation would be in his terms.
Satisfied, he paused only long enough to eat lunch, savoring the quiet efficiency of a meal without distraction. The noise of the town outside did not reach him; the world moved, unaware of the preparation taking place in the shadows.
Once finished, he returned to the matter that had begun this chain of acquisitions—the assassins.
He reviewed every piece of information he could gather: reports, sightings, fragments of whispers from informants who had glimpsed cloaked figures moving through Eldor, the minor inconsistencies in the town's official records, the subtle traces left behind in the marketplaces and streets.
Names had yet to solidify, identities remained elusive, but the threads were weaving a pattern he recognized. This was not random; this was methodical, deliberate, and it pointed directly to the two who had dared attempt his death.
Each step, each purchase, each calculated placement of his forces, was a preparation.
He would not strike blindly; the reckoning would be precise, methodical, and inescapable.
Daruis allowed himself a moment to lean back, closing his eyes and tracing possibilities in his mind.
Soon, he promised himself, the world of Eldor would bend to the designs he had so meticulously laid. And when the assassins fell into his grasp, there would be no mercy, no escape, no question of their survival.
For now, however, patience remained his most valuable tool. The hunt had begun, and Daruis was already steps ahead.
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The water had gone cold long before Lysira moved, but she remained seated beneath the slow, uneven stream, letting it run over her shoulders as if time itself had slowed inside the small hut.
The silence was broken only by the faint drip of water and the distant life of the village stirring awake, soft voices and the creak of wood carrying through the thin walls. Her fingers pressed carefully against her side, just beneath the tight bandaging, testing the wound with practiced precision. It held, barely.
Not clean, not properly healed, but enough to function. She exhaled slowly, her gaze lowering as the memory surfaced uninvited—the explosion, the droids, the way everything had shifted in an instant.
"Too close," she murmured, more observation than regret, as her hand reached for the small jar beside her.
The scent of the salve rose sharp and bitter as she opened it, grounding her in the present. She paused for a fraction of a second before applying it, knowing exactly what would follow, and when the sting came it was familiar enough that she didn't react beyond a slight tightening of her jaw.
Her movements remained steady, controlled, spreading the paste across bruised skin and shallow cuts with the care of someone who had done this too many times to count. Pain was nothing new. Pain was information. And right now, it was telling her she had miscalculated—not fatally, but enough to matter.
The thought lingered only briefly before she pushed it aside. Regret didn't change outcomes. Adjustment did.
She stood, water trailing down her back as she reached for a cloth, drying herself with quick, efficient motions before dressing. The hut greeted her in its usual stillness, simple and unchanged, every object exactly where it should be. It was a place untouched by the world she stepped into each time she left, and for a moment, that contrast felt sharper than usual. She crossed to the corner and crouched, sliding her fingers beneath the loose floorboard and lifting it carefully.
The hidden compartment revealed the small bundle of coins, wrapped tightly in cloth. She unwrapped it just enough to take what she needed, her fingers moving without hesitation, before securing the rest and replacing the board. Her hand lingered there briefly, resting against the wood, as if grounding herself before what came next. Then she stood and moved toward the door.
The morning air met her with a cool softness, carrying the faint scent of earth and wood smoke. The village stretched out in uneven rows of huts, modest and quiet, with narrow paths worn into the ground by years of repetition.
People moved slowly, unhurried, tending to simple tasks that felt distant from the life she led. Lysira stepped onto the path, her pace steady and purposeful, her mind already shifting back to the task ahead.
She needed information, and information required coin. The sooner she left, the sooner she could begin correcting the mistake.
"Lysira."