[Chapter 214. The Weight of the System]

Searanox stood before the monolithic doors of the War Room. Forged from blackened iron and etched with the ornate designs, the heavy metal wings seemed to absorb the ambient light. From within the chamber, he could pick up the faint, muffled sounds of a heated argument, the desperate cadence of men struggling against an uncaring world. He drew a deep, measured breath, letting the chill of the corridor fill his lungs. Behind him, Iris offered a gentle, silent nudge against his back, urging him forward.

With a heavy shove, the iron wings swung open, groaning on unseen hinges.

"Excuse the wait," Searanox declared, his voice cutting through the silence that followed the doors opening. "I was held up in some other matters that demanded my personal attention."

Wolfgang and Jürgen halted their conversation at the sound of his voice. Both men pivoted to face him, their expressions a tense blend of deep apprehension and simmering frustration. They had been waiting for hours in the confines of the War Room. Both craftsmen stood before the massive panoramic window that overlooked the sprawling sight of Androxis. Outside a bruised, sky pressed down upon the silhouettes of the fortress city.

"We appreciate you gracing us with your presence, Lord," Wolfgang said. His gruff voice carried a heavy, undeniable edge of sarcasm, the sound grating like two stones rubbing together.

Searanox observed them. These were men forged by the cruelty of the new world. Wolfgang’s face was a map of deep lines, his hands scarred by lye. Jürgen stood beside him, shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.

"We have a proposal for the future of Androxis's industry," Wolfgang continued, his jaw set. "One that we believe will benefit every surviving citizen and ensure our long-term survival against the horrors outside these walls."

"Quite the view, isn't it," Searanox murmured, ignoring the rising tension. He approached the grand table carved from a single slab of dark stone. He pulled out one of the ornate, high-backed chairs and sat down, the metal of his armor grinding against the dark wood. "I have been informed that both of you obtained a job class recognized by the System. I would like to hear the specifics of that before we speak another word about the coming future."

Wolfgang's weathered features hardened into a mask of grim stone. The defensive sarcasm vanished, replaced by a fierce, defiant pride. "I am a Tanner, Level five. Jürgen here is a Leatherworker, Level six. We have decades of blood and sweat poured into our trades, skills that existed long before this… this parasitic System decided to measure our human worth in arbitrary numbers."

"The two of you gain experience from performing tasks related to your Job class?" Searanox leaned forward, resting his gauntlets on the polished stone table. His voice dropped to a low, predatory hum of interest. "I would like to hear every detail. Tell me how long it took to acquire your class and how much raw experience the two of you harvest from your labor. I want to know everything you have deduced about the inner workings and the distribution of this experience."

"Forgive me, Lord, but we were told you had little patience for the mundane matters of craft," Jürgen said. He maintained a respectful tone, though fear danced in his eyes. He rested his dye-stained hands on the cold stone table. "We gain minimal experience from our brutal work. Treating a single pelt and stretching the hide grants perhaps a dozen points. Crafting a finished product yields a greater sum. The progress is a slow, agonizing grind against the requirements of the System."

"Aha." Searanox sat up straight in his throne-like chair. A cold, calculated smirk formed on his face. "Well, that assumption is not quite correct. I do not find the tedious chatter about the mundane details of specific crafts of much use. But understanding the System that now governs our wretched world is of paramount interest to me. That involves unraveling the existence and hidden mechanics of the Job classes."

He paused, letting the heavy words sink into the air of the room. He shifted his piercing gaze from the scarred tanner to the stained leatherworker.

"From what we have gathered, Lord. A Job class functions different from a combat-focused class of the awakened," Wolfgang explained, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. "We now possess not only the primary class forced upon us by the System, but also a secondary one taking the form of our respective trades. As we toil, we accumulate experience in these Jobs. At certain thresholds, we unlock… insights. Knowledge forced into our minds. New, unnatural techniques."

Wolfgang swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "For me, the System revealed a chemical method to preserve the flexibility of dire wolf pelts without compromising their bone-breaking durability. Jürgen learned how to imbue treated leather with minor resistances, binding mana into the dead skin."

"Furthermore," Jürgen added, picking up the heavy thread of the conversation, "we believe the intrinsic quality of the materials we work with directly dictates the experience gained. Using the pristine pelts from the beasts you have granted us yields a vast sum of experience compared to working with the scrawny hides of lesser scavengers. And the products we forge… the superior the item, the greater the reward. We hypothesize that forging true masterwork items will grant monumental experience boosts."

"And how long did it take you to gain the initial Job class from the System?" Searanox asked.

His mind drifted back to the grueling days he had spent isolated in the desolate void of the Node Space. He remembered the metallic tang in the air as he reverse-engineered the heavy arm cannon of the Magitech Golem. Ripping the secrets from the cold, dead machine had granted him his own hidden Job class upon finishing his prototype.

"Not long, my Lord. We acquired it back when we were still working in the ruins of the old Hotel," Wolfgang said. He held a calloused finger to his chin, digging into the stubble as he recalled the memory. "The three men you sent to help us with the mountain of hides also gained their Job classes not long ago. I would say the awakening depends entirely on the latent knowledge you already possess, or whether you receive instruction from a master who understands the mechanics of their trade."

Searanox smiled, a gesture that failed to reach his cold eyes. He turned his gaze toward the panoramic window, watching the clouds drift over the fortified spires of his city.

"Very good. That gives me enough data for the present. If you do not mind, I want you to set that knowledge in ink and hand the parchment over to one of the tower attendants. Furthermore, should you discover anything of interest involving System-acknowledged Jobs, you will document these discoveries in written form as well."

It was not a question, nor was it a direct command. It hung in the sterile air as a strange mix of both.

"Of course we can do that, my Lord," Jürgen stammered, the color draining from his sallow face.

Wolfgang gave a sharp, rigid nod. Their faces betrayed a volatile mixture of shock and trepidation at the tyrant's sudden, intense interest in their seemingly mundane professions. They had walked into the tower expecting a brutal dismissal, not a direct, calculating request for their hard-won knowledge.

"It would be our distinct honor," Wolfgang added, his voice rasping in his throat.

"Good. Now, what was this grand proposal you two intended to present before I interrupted?" Searanox asked with a dismissive wave of his armored hand, gesturing for the men to proceed.

The change in topic struck like a battlefield command. It was abrupt, jarring, and left no room for further discussion regarding their System classes.

Wolfgang and Jürgen exchanged a brief weighted glance. The gruff tanner cleared his throat. The sound echoed loud in the room. He reached into his satchel and placed a rolled-up piece of worn parchment onto the polished surface of the table.

"My Lord, Androxis possesses skilled hands, but we lack the physical space and the heavy machinery required to truly forge an industrial powerhouse," Wolfgang began, his voice gaining strength. "We have drafted extensive plans for a grand workshop complex, situated near the towering outer walls. We envision a sprawling industrial district where we could mass-produce reinforced armor, weapons, and essential survival supplies. We want to construct a self-sustaining production line that could outfit every citizen."

Searanox unrolled the heavy parchment with a flick of his armored wrist. His eyes scanned the detailed schematics. The blueprints depicted rows of workstations, accompanied by calculated estimates for required material and human labor. He studied the plans for a long, silent moment. His expression remained an impenetrable mask of cold calculation before he let the thick hide roll back up on its own.

"A noble ambition," Searanox stated, the heavy words devoid of any comforting warmth. "But Androxis faces far more pressing, existential concerns than the construction of luxury workshops."

He shifted his gaze away from the craftsmen, his attention locking onto his silent companion.

"Iris," he commanded. "Androxis is a Fortress City, a construct birthed by the will of the System. With your innate knowledge, are you aware of its future architectural capabilities? Will this fortress grow by its own chaotic volition, or does it require expansion by our own hands? Are we even permitted to alter its fundamental layout, its construction, or the buildings within its walls?"

Iris stood in the cold shadows of the room, her black mane with the silver-white strand cascading over her shoulders. She remained silent for a long moment, her bright eyes unfocusing as she reached deep into the hidden archives of her mind. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. A tremor ran through her slender frame. She closed her mouth, shook her head, and tried again.

"My apologies, Searanox. I cannot answer these questions to the full extent that would satisfy you. I can, however, tell you that we are forbidden from simply altering the core layout of Androxis. In the future…"

She stopped speaking. Her gaze drifted upward, fixing on the dark ceiling of the War Room as if they held the answers he sought.

"In the future, the recognized Lord of the City might possess the authority to alter certain… aspects…"

A sudden, violent spasm wracked her body. Her face contorted in sheer agony.

"Certain aspects, restricted within the parameters of the Systems—"

She choked on the word as her legs gave out entirely.

Searanox moved with a terrifying speed that defied any human limits. He vanished from his chair, materializing beside her, his arms catching her fragile form a second before she could crash against the stone floor.

"What the… Iris, are you alright?" he demanded, his voice a low, rumbling growl of concern as he hoisted her against his chest.

`System Interference?` Searanox thought, his mind racing with cold fury. `It happens with increasing frequency. She cannot answer my questions, or she withholds intelligence until I ask the exact question. This fucking System is actively blocking the very reason I brought her into this world.`

Iris gasped for breath, her hands trembling as she grabbed the metal of his suit. A thin line of blood trickled from her left nostril. She nuzzled her face against the steel of his chest, seeking a shred of comfort in the oppressive vault.

"It is fine. Just a sudden headache," she whispered, her voice fragile and thin. "I hope my fractured answer was of some use to you…"

The final two words faded into a breathless sigh, too faint for even his keen senses to fully register.

The two seasoned craftsmen stared in paralyzing shock. A second ago, Searanox had been seated comfortably in his chair. Now, he crouched across the room, cradling the collapsing wolf-woman. It was as if he had torn a hole in the fabric of space itself. The display of physical power sent a renewed wave of dread through their veins.

Searanox ignored their terrified faces. He stood, carrying Iris with effortless ease, and walked back to his chair. He sat down, arranging her carefully on his lap. He held her close to his chest, a shield against the invisible wrath of the System.

"Given the intelligence she has just provided," Searanox said, his voice returning to its authoritative baseline, "I consider it unlikely that a viable workshop can be organized for both of you at this current stage. If I discover a method to overcome these restrictions in the future, I will inform you. I expect you to continue your work in the meantime."

He paused, letting the verdict crush their lingering hopes. He shifted his gaze from the trembling wolf-woman in his arms back to the two craftsmen.

"You are dismissed."

With those three words, he dismissed their existence. He turned his attention back to Iris. He raised a armored gauntlet and began to run his fingers through her silvery-white mane. The gesture was slow and undeniably affectionate—a shocking display of tenderness that neither of the two craftsmen had ever expected to witness from the ruthless tyrant.

Wolfgang and Jürgen exchanged a final glance. They offered a quick nod and mumbled a hurried acknowledgment. They scrambled backward, retreating from the room with hurried, desperate steps. The heavy doors groaned shut behind them, sealing the silent War Room. Searanox remained in the cold gloom, cradling the exhausted wolf-woman.