[Chapter 247. Proof of Concept]

Searanox arrived in Androxis, the familiar hum of his drone's propulsion fading as he touched down on one of the internal plazas. He immediately headed for the Dungeon Spire, the air inside cool and still. Once inside the dungeon threshold, he summoned an intermediate travel drone, its metallic shell gleaming under the silver moonlight. Without hesitation, he mounted the construct and flew straight toward the boss.

The drone soared over the horde of undead covering the vast expanse of the graveyard, their rotting forms stumbling beneath him like a sea of broken dolls. He was about to test the theory he had heard from Sarah.

The moment the Grave Warden entered rifle range, an overcharged shot ended the fight before the undead giant could even react. The violet beam lanced through the night air, striking the towering figure with a sizzling hiss. A second later, a System window materialized before his eyes.

`You have got to be fucking kidding me. All I wanted to do was finish the dungeon quickly.`

Searanox grimaced as the notification faded. He reached into the boss chest, his fingers brushing against the cold, leather-bound pouch containing his reward—a disappointing handful of coins. As he headed toward the exit, his mind was already calculating the implications of his new boon.

As he stepped through the portal, the transition from the graveyard's perpetual night to the dimly lit Dungeon Spire was jarring. Some of the Awakened loitering near the portal turned toward him, their eyes wide. One team near the entrance wore expressions of utter confusion, a mixture of shock and suspicion. Searanox had walked past them less than two minutes ago, his confident stride contrasting sharply with their anxious huddles as they prepared for a grueling expedition.

"Didn't he just enter the dungeon?" one whispered, his voice barely carrying over the ambient hum of the spire's magic.

"Has he forgotten something?" another wondered aloud, scratching his head as he stared at Searanox's blemished armor.

Searanox stretched languidly, the movement deliberate and relaxed, and muttered loud enough for them to hear. "Apparently it's true that it's enough to only kill the boss."

A ripple of murmurs followed his statement—a wave of realization spreading through the assembled crowd.

He mounted his travel drone once more, the construct adjusting to his weight with a soft whir, and flew toward Zibnak's shop. The night air blew cool against his skin as the city lights blurred beneath him. Dismounting, he walked past a small group of citizens, their faces illuminated by the otherworldly light emanating from the shop's interior. He entered the structure, which had only three solid walls, the fourth opening onto the street like a gaping wound.

"A fine evening, Zibnak. Do you close your shop at any point of time?" Searanox asked as he walked further in, his voice casual as he surveyed the meticulously arranged merchandise.

Zibnak stood behind the counter, his green skin glistening under the magical lighting, reading a book bound in actual hide. Looking up, he closed the tome with a soft thud and straightened, his posture shifting from relaxed to professionally attentive.

"Of course we close the shop at nightfall," Zibnak replied, his voice smooth as polished silver, though his eyes held a flicker of something unreadable.

Searanox turned toward the open wall, his gaze sweeping across the deserted street outside, where the only movement was an occasional passerby. "Excuse my ignorance, but isn't it already the middle of the night?" he asked, his tone deceptively mild.

Zibnak laughed, a raspy sound like stones grinding together, his sharp teeth glinting in the peculiar lighting. "Our night, Lord of Androxis. It is fascinating to see how soon the sun vanished out of your sky. Is it always like that, or does this world have a second sun that follows a special cycle?" His eyes glittered with curiosity as he leaned forward, his long, thin fingers drumming an intricate rhythm on the dark counter.

"Well, no. Each day has the same length, though it depends on where on the planet you are located. There are places that have days without night and vice versa. In our region, roughly one-third of the day is night." Searanox kept his voice even, though he found himself momentarily distracted by the strange quality of light in the shop.

"What a strange world you live on... Pardon me, I meant no offense," Zibnak said, his eyes widening slightly as he caught himself, one hand smoothing down his silk tunic. The goblin's ears twitched as he waited for a reaction.

"No offense taken." Searanox's response was clipped, his focus shifting back to his purpose.

"How do you live with that? Though I suppose you've never known anything else... Anyhow, what can I do for you? I assume you came for a reason." Zibnak switched back to his professional tone with an almost audible click of mental gears.

"I'm looking for something that would boost my mana recovery—similar to this one, but more potent," Searanox said, removing the minor necklace he wore. The simple silver chain felt cold as he placed it on the dark counter.

Zibnak did not touch the necklace, nor did he give it more than a glance, keeping his eyes fixed on Searanox's face. "Recovery items are expensive. The next tier up from your necklace would be the intermediate variant. It would cost you around a hundred coins, though I would have to check the exact market rate."

"And it would give a plus ten, I suppose?" Searanox asked, calculating the resource expenditure versus the advantage such an item would provide in his next dungeon run.

"No, a plus ten would be a higher tier altogether. That price would be around six hundred," Zibnak said, assessing Searanox's reaction with professional detachment.

Searanox kept his expression neutral. "That is indeed a steep price. Tell me, how much would I get for an E-Grade Skillstone?"

Zibnak perked up, leaning forward across the counter with fingers splayed. "I would pay you seventy-five coins for it," he said, his voice now laced with genuine enthusiasm.

"Really? In that case, would you mind looking up how much that higher-tier necklace would cost me?" Searanox pressed.

Zibnak turned with practiced efficiency, his silk tunic rustling softly. He pulled a thick leather-bound booklet from the shelf behind him, its pages yellowed and filled with tiny writing. His gnarled finger traced down a column of figures before stopping. "Six hundred thirty-two," he announced without looking up.

In a flash of blue light, Searanox summoned four red gems from his storage ring, placing them on the counter. Next to them, he began to stack silver coins, each stack twenty-five high. He counted aloud softly until he reached one hundred thirty-two. With a final click, he placed two gold coins on the dark surface.

"Six hundred thirty-two, if my math is correct," he stated.

Zibnak slid off his high stool with surprising agility. He walked over to one of the glass displays lining the wall, his reflection distorted in the reinforced glass. He tapped the case twice, and with a soft click, it opened. Retrieving a thick, silver-and-gold intertwined necklace from within, he held it up for inspection. The piece was substantial and unornamented—a simple, elegant chain where the two metals seemed to bleed into one another, creating a distinctive look.

"A Superior Necklace," he said, holding it out to Searanox.