[Chapter 281. A Gold Mine]

Searanox stepped through the doorway, the soft scuff of his armored boots barely disturbing the thick dust coating the stone floor. A wide grin stretched across his face as he surveyed the room, nodding in approval. The moment he was fully inside and turned to the right, his gaze fell upon rows of weapon racks and armor lining shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. He walked with slow, deliberate steps along the displays that held the various armor pieces, the metallic tang of old iron and the sharp scent of rust filling his senses. They looked ancient and dusty, their surfaces marred by the passage of time and neglect, yet still retaining a faint glint of the steel beneath.

`Even if the armor wouldn't fit a human frame, the weapons would still be of use.`

He thought while walking along the shelfs, before stacks of crates bearing the faint traces of a sigil burned into the wood caught his attention next. They were arranged in neat, precise rows along the wall and in the corner of the room, their surfaces coated in a fine layer of grey dust that shimmered under the turquoise light. Searanox's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked around, mentally calculating how many items there were. He saw dozens, even hundreds of weapons propped up in the racks, their handles wrapped in aged leather or bound with frayed rope, their tips gleaming with a faint, almost forgotten edge. The sheer volume of it all was staggering—a treasure trove waiting to be claimed—and his mind raced with the possibilities of what he could do with such an arsenal.

He reached the crates and pushed his armored fingers against the wood. The material broke away with unnerving ease, feeling more like fragile cardboard than sturdy timber. Without any effort, the lid of the crate broke off as he pulled it up, leaving half of it in splintered fragments. Inside was the same old, brittle packing material as the in the other room, but unlike the empty crates before, these actually had something lying within them, their shapes barely visible beneath the decay.

Resting on the brittle bedding lay a helmet that, at first glance, looked like an elongated animal skull. Its surface was etched with intricate patterns and featured short, curved horns, their points sharp enough to pierce flesh if used with sufficient force. Searanox wasn't entirely sure how much protection a helmet like this would provide against a determined blow, but the fact that it was metal was enough; it could deflect at least a glancing strike.

He reached inside to pull it out and get a better look, his fingers closing around the cold metal. As he tightened his grip, the helmet cracked, and his fingers broke right through it with surprising ease. There was a crisp snap, like that of a breaking potato chip. It was not a sound Searanox wanted to hear. His grin faltered slightly as he pulled his hand back.

A heartbeat later, he held only a large chunk of the skull in his hand. The rest fell through the porous material it lay on and shattered even further as it made contact with the bottom of the crate, the sound echoing in the silence of the armory like a snapping bone. Fragments scattered across the decayed hay, their surfaces dull under the turquoise light.

Carefully, he brought the cracked piece of metal out of the box and inspected it. The cold surface felt rough against his armored fingertips, the intricate patterns barely visible under layers of dust and corrosion. Before he could examine it further, he balled his fist. The sound of metal grinding against metal was barely audible as the piece crumbled, turning into a fine powder that slipped through his fingers like sand.

"That is damn unsatisfying," he muttered, letting the dust fall back into the crate. He watched it settle among the decayed hay, a small cloud rising as it hit the brittle surface.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head, as if the motion could physically dislodge the thought that had just settled in his mind.

`They are all brittle and fucked up, aren't they?`

The realization settled heavily, the weight of disappointment pressing down on his shoulders as he looked around the room. The once-promising treasure trove now seemed like a cruel joke played by the dungeon's designer. Slowly, he made his way over to the weapon racks, drawing out the inevitable. Each step was heavy with growing frustration, the sound of his boots echoing in the vast, silent space. As his hand closed around the blade of the first sword and he tried to lift it up, it broke in two under its own weight, the sharp crack echoing through the room like a whip.

The blade broke into even more pieces as it hit the floor. It struck the edge of the weapon next to it, which also snapped at the point of contact, creating a chain reaction of destruction as several more weapons shattered. Their fragments skittered across the stone floor like metallic insects.

"Fan-fucking-tastic. They are all broken beyond repair," he spat, while his drone hovered silently nearby, its violet lens recording the scene without emotion—the only witness to his disappointment.

"Broken beyond repair..."

He turned around, but stopped after taking his first step toward the doorway. His mind raced with possibilities, the frustration suddenly giving way to a new thought.

`That wouldn't work, would it? There is no fucking way.`

He brought up the System Shop and navigated to the Miscellaneous section, his mental fingers moving across the interface.

`Look at that, it sells Minor items now. Good to know. By their condition I would say they are non-magical. If this works... this armory might just become a gold mine after all.`

A moment later, a small wooden box materialized in his hands, appearing from nowhere with a soft pop of displaced air. The box was unremarkable. The lid creaked open under his touch, revealing five silver needles nestled in a faded velvet lining, their tips gleaming with a faint, almost imperceptible blue luminescence. He already knew how to use them from repairing his own gear, but it still felt bizarre to think of poking a massive sword with a delicate needle.

His Magitech Dronemancer's Gauntlet vanished in a flash of blue light, disappearing from his arm as if it had never existed. With his hand now free, Searanox carefully extracted one of the needles, the cool metal smooth against his fingertips. He approached the weapon rack, his steps cautious despite his growing excitement. He selected a particularly sad-looking greatsword; its blade was pitted and rusted, the edge chipped and dull. Positioning the needle's tip against the porous, decayed metal near the hilt, he applied gentle pressure.

The tip pierced the metal without any problem, sinking into the material as if it were soft clay. But instead of continuing deeper, the needle became incorporeal as it passed through the rusted surface, its silver form partially vanishing into the blade. Then it began to glow—a steady, pulsing blue light that spread through the decayed metal like ink in water. The glow intensified until it was almost blinding, and then, just as it had when he repaired his own armor, the needle dissolved into a shower of tiny, glittering motes that vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

A heartbeat later, the transformation was complete. Where a rusted, useless piece of metal had been, a polished sword now rested on the rack, its surface gleaming like liquid silver in the turquoise light. It looked completely out of place among the dull, matted blades surrounding it, as if it had been freshly forged by a master smith and carelessly placed among the ruined.

Searanox began to laugh loudly, the sound echoing through the vast armory. "It fucking worked! This will take some time."

His mind raced with calculations—how many weapons and armor pieces were in this room? Even accounting for the cost of the repair kits, the profits were staggering. He moved purposefully now, his earlier disappointment completely replaced by greedy anticipation.

He once again went toward the armor pieces lining the shelves, selecting a piece that had been reduced to little more than a rusted husk. He pierced it with another needle, watching as the same blue glow suffused the metal before the tool dissolved into light. When the glow faded, the armor left behind looked brand new: gleaming steel with articulated joints and etched designs that spoke of forgotten craftsmanship. His fingers wrapped around the metal as he pulled it out from the dusty storage unit. He held it up in front of his chest for a moment, examining himself through the visual feed of his drone.

`I mean, it could fit. It's definitely designed for something non-human, though... those shoulders are too broad, and the neck opening seems wrong.`

He tilted his head, studying the piece. The proportions were slightly off—just enough that a human would find it uncomfortable, but close enough that it could work. Regardless, it was worth salvaging. This dungeon visit had turned from a disappointment into a massive opportunity, and he intended to milk it for all it was worth.

With a thought, he pulled his suit and coat back into his storage ring. The distinctive blue light of the System briefly illuminated his features before vanishing. The sudden removal left him standing inside the dusty room in nothing but his boots and boxers. He turned the chest piece over in his hands, his fingers tracing the intricate etchings that swirled across its surface. The metal felt unnaturally light despite its appearance, and as he inspected it from all angles, he noticed the craftsmanship was vastly superior to the gear he had looted from the city dungeon.

He pulled the harness over his head and settled it onto his shoulders. At first it wasn't a comfortable fit, the shoulders pinching and the metal pressing awkwardly against his collarbone. But as he secured the final clasp, something happened. The material began to shift and flow like liquid mercury, reshaping itself to perfectly contour his physique. Fully covering his chest as if it were made for just him, the armor molded itself to his form, eliminating any discomfort and creating a perfect seal without restricting his movement.

"So the adjustment isn't a magical enchantment... very good to know." he muttered while walking down the shelf before he found a pair of armored boots.