[Chapter 300. Difficult decisions]

Searanox stared at the massive craft hovering silently beside him, its violet energy conduits pulsing with an eerie rhythm. After a moment of contemplation, he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh that carried little humor. "I'm this close to giving you Sustained Overcharge." He held up his hand, his thumb and index finger a millimeter apart. "But you've already drained my regeneration by a third."

He exhaled slowly, the cool night air refreshing his lungs as he leaned back against his travel drone, the metal frame creaking slightly beneath his weight. The foreign thought washed over him once again—persistent and unnerving in its simplicity—echoing through the corners of his mind like a whisper in an empty room.

"What do I do with you?" he muttered, looking up into the star-dusted sky where unfamiliar constellations formed abstract patterns. The moon cast shadows across the grasslands below, creating a landscape of shifting darkness that mirrored his uncertainty about this new creation.

`Purpose... I mean, dungeon clearing is what drains most of my time. And it could fit—the tunnels are wide enough, ish. Some would clip its wings, though. Would it be of any use to me outside right now?`

Searanox’s mind raced through the possibilities while his fingers unconsciously traced the intricate patterns on his gauntlets. The craft remained motionless, its sensor array rotating slowly as if processing his thoughts. Its presence was simultaneously reassuring and deeply unsettling. He mentally reviewed the various dungeons he had explored, wondering where this massive technological construct could possibly serve him best.

Before he could reach a conclusion, the large craft began to move. Its imposing form banked away from him with surprising fluidity. Without any command from Searanox, it accelerated smoothly, its angular silhouette shrinking rapidly against the vast canvas of the night.

"Alright... There goes a thousand coins. Have fun, I guess. That thing behaves like a child," he called out after it, his voice barely carrying across the air as the craft climbed higher into the sky. "As long as it doesn't get destroyed, nothing is lost. I'll deal with it later." He watched until the craft disappeared from view, leaving only the faint memory of its violet glow against the darkness.

`Where is it going, though? What did I say or think before it flew off? Dungeons. I thought about the dungeons in the forest, picturing it inside the different tunnels. Don't tell me that was enough for you to act on.`

A sudden chill ran down Searanox’s spine as he realized the terrifying implications. The connection between them was deeper than he had imagined; the craft responded not just to direct commands, but to the very currents of his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair, the short strands cool against his palm, contemplating this new development in solitude beneath the vast, indifferent sky.

His thoughts remained unanswered as he watched the dark silhouette disappear into the night, the last vestige of violet light fading like a dying ember against the endless expanse of stars. The silence that followed felt heavier than before, broken only by the whisper of the wind across the grasslands and the distant, mournful cry of some nocturnal creature hunting in the darkness. He stood motionless for several minutes, half-expecting some psychic echo to return across their connection.

Eventually, he pulled out his dungeon compass. Five stones were lit up with varying intensities, their soft glow casting an ethereal blue light across his gauntleted hand. He mentally followed their lines before his gaze fixed on the river ahead, its dark waters reflecting the moonlight like a ribbon of polished obsidian winding through the landscape. The stones pulsed with varying brightness, fanned out from west to east.

"That's far, and in the opposite direction of the Molten Core. That would mean another outer rim dungeon," he muttered, clicking his tongue. The sharp sound cut through the night air as he considered the possible gains.

For a moment he stayed silent and let his mind work out the chances of encountering another level-thirty dungeon. The analytical part of his brain calculated probabilities while another part weighed the risks against the potential rewards. The wind picked up slightly, tousling his hair as he stared into the distance.

`There is no way there would be another level thirty anywhere close, right? If it's a level twenty-five, I would gain absolutely no experience from it. Do I take the others through it? That would mean I wouldn't get the solo clear reward, though. But they would gain a lot of experience.`

The thought process continued as his travel drone began to circle in the air, its mechanical movements smooth and precise against the natural chaos of the night. He could still feel the slight drain on his resources from summoning the carrier—his regeneration was slower than usual, a constant reminder of the nature of his latest creation.

`I would benefit more from them being a higher level. Alright, let's get the girls.`

The decision crystallized in his mind with the same cold efficiency that had carried him this far: weighing variables, calculating outcomes, and choosing the path that served his larger strategy. Personal gain in the short term meant less than strengthening his assets for the challenges to come, especially with the Empire's advance looming like a storm on the horizon.

Before the thought had even fully formed, his drone banked toward Androxis and accelerated, its blue light cutting through the darkness. The journey passed in a blur of shifting landscapes, the moonlight painting the world in silver and black. Soon, the high walls of Androxis came into view, their imposing silhouette rising against the horizon like the spine of some ancient beast, the lights from within glowing like captured stars.

Before heading into the Labyrinth, he stopped at the city tower. His drone hovered near the dungeon counter, where a younger man was speaking to a group of Awakened. He was in the process of handing out standard-issue gear when Searanox interrupted them.

"Let's not give them the usual gear. I would like them to help me with something." His voice cut through the low murmur of conversation as he dismounted his drone, landing silently on the polished stone floor.

The younger man behind the counter flinched at the sudden appearance, his hand tightening around the chipped dagger he was in the process of handing to one of the adventurers. The six would-be dungeon divers turned as one, their faces a mixture of awe and apprehension at the City Lord's unexpected arrival. Their eyes flicked between his imposing figure and the drone that hovered silently behind him.

"But we need that gear to fight in the dungeon," two of the Awakened spoke in unison, their voices overlapping in a nervous staccato. The speaker on the left, a wiry man with knuckles white from gripping his worn staff too tightly, continued after a moment's hesitation. "My Lord, we... we can't risk going in with nothing. The monsters in there..."

Searanox placed a fine metal sword on the counter. The blade glinted under the magical lighting. Unlike the chipped and rusted gear they were usually given, this weapon exuded an aura of craftsmanship.

"I never said anything about sending you inside empty-handed." His tone was level, almost dismissive, as if their concerns were merely background noise to more important calculations. "How many are in your party? Just the six present?"

They were silent for a long moment, their eyes fixed on the gleaming steel before them. "Ahh, yes. Just the six of us."

"Good. Then I will give you six sets of armor and a weapon of your choosing," Searanox stated, placing the armor pieces looted from Fog Cliff Castle onto the desk. "You only have to report the difference back to us. And don't skimp on the details—I like my reports thorough."

"We would need two staffs, two blades, a bow, and a shield... my Lord," the title was added in haste as if forgotten prior, the speaker's eyes widening as he realized his oversight. The woman beside him, a tall archer with sharp features and eyes that missed nothing, nodded in agreement. Her gaze flicked between the offered armor and the imposing figure before them.

"We can do that. Any preferences for the swords, or just swords?" Searanox replied, ignoring their nervous stuttering and focusing entirely on the items they needed.

"Maybe something with reach? Like the weapon the Grave Warden uses?" a male voice from the back cut through, rough and hesitant but with an edge of desperation. The speaker was a broad-shouldered man with calloused hands and eyes that had seen too many close calls in dungeons.

"A halberd... I have those," Searanox said, placing an array of weapons beside the armor.

The party began donning the first armor pieces while he continued pulling gear onto the desk. The steel plates began to shimmer and reshape themselves to match each wearer's form.

"If I may ask, my Lord, where did you get these? Did you buy them from Zibnak?" an older woman asked as the armor fitted itself to her stature. Her weathered hands traced the intricate patterns on the breastplate as if trying to memorize every detail.

"No, I didn't buy them. I found them in a level-thirty dungeon," he said in a nonchalant tone. His gaze shifted toward the man behind the desk, as if their conversation was of little consequence compared to his next administrative task.

"L-level thirty..." she gasped, dropping the boot she held. The metal piece clattered against the stone floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. Her face had gone pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief at the casual revelation.

"I wanna say Mark..." Searanox trailed off, fully ignoring the shocked response from the team. His attention was fixed on the inventory management task at hand. His fingers moved with swift efficiency as he accessed his storage ring, preparing to offload the excess gear that had accumulated from his recent expedition.

"It's Manuel, my Lord," the man behind the counter corrected, his tone suggesting he had repeated his name dozens of times. A slight exasperation was barely concealed beneath his veneer of professional deference. Manuel adjusted his spectacles, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the counter, bracing for the inevitable avalanche of items that always followed this particular request.

"Right, right. Would you store these for me?" Searanox asked, dumping the contents of his storage ring directly behind the counter.

There was a massive metallic clatter as the assortment of armor and weapons overflowed the space, pieces tumbling onto the floor in a cascade of steel and leather. This was immediately followed by a clatter from behind Searanox as the broad-shouldered man dropped his new halberd. The weapon's heavy shaft thudded against the stone, making everyone flinch. The man's eyes were locked on the mountain of gear, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to comprehend the sheer volume of equipment that had just appeared from nowhere.

"You found all of them?" The question was barely a whisper, filled with an awe that bordered on reverence, as if he were looking at the hoard of a dragon rather than the contents of a storage ring.

"What can I say, your survival is important to me," Searanox said, his tone carrying an unexpected weight. The casual declaration hung in the air between them, stark against the backdrop of his overwhelming power.

As he mounted his travel drone again, the metal frame creaking softly under his weight, his eyes briefly met each member of the six-person party. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his depths before his attention shifted.

"And Manuel," he continued, turning his gaze back to the clerk, "hand them out to the next two teams that venture into the dungeon. Ask for their experience with the gear after they return. Call it a special service, for research purposes. If a silver rank wants to enter the Labyrinth, hand them the new armor instead of the old."

His words were precise, each command delivered with the same cold efficiency that characterized all his dealings, yet the underlying implication remained unspoken but deeply felt by all present.

"As you say, my Lord." Manuel picked up the first piece of armor, his fingers tracing the intricate etchings on a pauldron with reverence before placing it into the cabinet behind him, where it vanished from sight in a flash of blue. The light reflected briefly off his spectacles as he turned to retrieve the next item, his movements now carrying a new sense of purpose beyond simple inventory management.

Searanox was halfway out of the Atrium, his drone's blue light casting long shadows across the polished floor, when he could hear the murmured voices of the other Awakened who had gathered at a respectful distance. Their whispers grew louder now that he was moving away.

"There is no way he found all of them," a wiry staff-wielder insisted. Disbelief colored his tone, masking something darker beneath it—jealousy, perhaps, or a fundamental fear of the power such resources represented. He gestured with one hand toward where Searanox had disappeared, his other hand still clutching his system-bought staff as if it might vanish if he let go.

"Look at the new armor they handed out," their tank replied, her fingers tracing the edge of her newly acquired vambrace where it molded perfectly to her arm. The metal was warm to the touch despite the chill in the hall. "The way it fits, the weight distribution... this isn't mass-produced. This is craft. Real craft."

"Where does one find so much armor in the first place?" the archer wondered aloud, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for an answer no one could provide. She adjusted her grip on her bow; the new weapon felt impossibly light yet sturdy in her hands—a dangerous combination she wasn't yet accustomed to. "And a level-thirty dungeon... did you hear him? He said it so casually, like he was commenting on the weather."