[Chapter 325. Unearthly Precision]

At the end of the river where the water pooled into a long, narrow lake, the surface shimmered like polished obsidian beneath the orange sky. The current slowed, its relentless flow yielding to the vast expanse of liquid darkness. Four buildings stood a few kilometers from the shore. One dwarfed the others, featuring a tower-like design with small walls enclosing an inner courtyard, its silhouette cutting a sharp, imposing figure against the horizon. The other three varied in size—smaller than the main structure yet large enough to surpass a common pre-system house—their distinct shapes suggesting different functions: perhaps barracks, storage, or workshops.

As his drone drew closer, he could make out more details. The structures were built from dark, weathered stone like the castles of old, appearing as though they had stood for centuries rather than weeks. But what drew his attention the most was the strange architecture. Searanox had seen castles before; they were nothing foreign to these parts of the world. Yet something felt wrong. The lines were too clean, the joints too perfect, looking as though they had been constructed by unearthly precision rather than human hands. The angles were sharp and deliberate, lacking the organic imperfections of traditional craftsmanship.

`There is no way a dozen or so people built a castle in a few weeks, even a small one. Smells like the system to me.`

He spotted movement between the buildings. The figures moved with unknown purpose, resembling ants scurrying about a nest. Their dark forms stood out against the uneven ground, their motions fluid yet deliberate. Moments later, the movements turned rapid and hectic, as if a sudden alarm had sounded through the encampment.

He brought his drone closer to the ground, the air growing cooler near the lake's surface. When he was only a few hundred meters from the first building, two arrows zipped past him. Their fletching caught the light as they streaked past his drone with a faint whistling sound, missing by mere meters.

`A strong welcome committee. A very aggressive one at best.`

He stowed his travel drone, bringing out a single basic defensive drone in its place. It materialized in a flash of pale blue light, its metallic surface gleaming as it positioned itself between him and the encampment. A shimmering energy barrier sprang to life, rippling like heat haze in the air. The arrow strikes had been calculated—deliberate warnings rather than genuine attempts to hit. These were not random bandits.

With the barrier before him, he moved toward the encampment. He picked up the sound of shouting before two more arrows struck his barrier in a laughable display of force. The impacts were barely perceptible, the arrows splintering against the energy shield with soft, ineffectual thuds. It took Searanox only a moment to spot the two archers perched on a roof while six others gathered near the edge of the building.

From this distance, he couldn't discern their exact gear. At least two carried shields, the surfaces reflecting light as they took up defensive positions near the entrance to the main structure. Their armor appeared mismatched. Some wore the crude markings of early system equipment, while others sported refined gear, suggesting a mix of newcomers and veterans who had adjusted to this harsh new world.

Searanox lifted his hands, fingers spread in a gesture of peace that meant nothing in the age of the system. An unarmed person could still cause thousands of deaths with the right skill set; his own abilities proved that truth. The defensive drone hummed beside him, its hexagonal barrier rippling with each step, distorting the air like heat rising from sun-baked asphalt.

"I didn't come to fight, nor to plunder!" Searanox's voice carried across the field, sharp and clear despite the distance.

The orange sky cast long shadows from the stone structures, making his approaching figure seem more threatening than intended. The wind whipped at his coat, carrying the scent of water and wild grass as he walked toward the complex with measured steps.

"Frankfurt, Düsseldorf, Hannover?" He called out the names of German cities as he closed the distance to a few dozen meters from their defensive line.

The mention of the cities caused a shift in their posture. The archers lowered their bows, though their fingers remained nocked and ready.

"I would say a bit further south," a weathered, cautious voice called out from the defensive line. The man's voice was rough like sandpaper, laced with an undertone of suspicion that made the hairs on Searanox's neck stand up.

"How many of you are there?" Searanox asked, keeping his tone conversational despite the tension in the air.

"As if we would tell you that," came a younger, defensive voice.

"Understandable..." Searanox answered, walking closer. His boots left soft indentations in the dry earth. The drone followed dutifully, its barrier casting strange patterns on the ground. "Let's have a conversation that doesn't involve shouting across the fields."

He approached with slow, deliberate steps, each movement calculated to show he meant no harm while maintaining his advantage. As he drew near, one of the figures stepped away from the defensive line and stopped twenty meters from him.

The man had sun-bleached blond hair and a weathered face speaking of hard days and sleepless nights. His gear was a mismatch of system-bought equipment—some pieces crude and basic, others bearing the refined look of dungeon upgrades. His eyes scanned Searanox from head to toe, lingering on the drone with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

A cold shiver ran down Searanox's spine—the unmistakable sensation of someone prying for information through the system. He felt a creeping awareness that his stats and skills were being examined by an unseen observer. His jaw tightened as he maintained a neutral expression. The drone beside him pulsed with subtle energy, responding to the invisible intrusion.

"You could have just asked. I find it rude to peer into someone's information through alternative means," Searanox said, his casual tone at odds with the hostility radiating from the stone buildings. The wind picked up, sending dust devils dancing across the barren ground and carrying the scent of the river.

The blond man's hand instinctively went to the sword at his hip, his knuckles white against the worn leather grip. His eyes narrowed as he processed Searanox's words, the system scan he had just initiated now feeling like a foolish mistake.

"Information is survival in this world. Can't be too careful with strangers flying overhead with what looks like military-grade tech." He gestured toward Searanox's defensive drone. The machine hovered silently, its barrier still active but dimmed in response to the de-escalating tension.

"Searanox... the name sounds familiar." The man's brow furrowed in concentration, his mind racing through scattered memories and rumors traveling like wildfire across the transformed landscape. "A guild leader and the lord of a city... does that mean you took over a city?" His voice carried grudging respect mixed with wariness, speaking to someone who had achieved something most only dreamed of.

"Not quite... Are you a progenitor by chance?" Searanox asked. His gaze swept over the guards' mismatched gear, noting the wear patterns and modifications of desperate improvisation. The question hung in the air, probing for information while maintaining the facade of casual conversation.

"Nah, that would be our boss." The blond man's shoulders relaxed at the deflection, his hand dropping from his weapon. He turned and motioned toward the largest building with its imposing tower. "The one in charge of this whole operation." A hint of pride crept into his voice despite his wariness.

"I would like a word with him, from one progenitor to another." Searanox took another step forward, stopping a couple of meters from the man. The distance was calculated—close enough for conversation but far enough to maintain a tactical advantage. "No comment on my appearance?"

His pale skin and subtle vampiric features were visible in the increasing orange light, his Dhampir nature an unmistakable marker of his status.

"We have seen a few nutjobs already who gave up on humanity. I would have done the same to gain an advantage." The man shrugged, the gesture surprisingly casual given the circumstances. He turned around, putting his back partially to Searanox in a display of either trust or foolish bravado. "Alex, see if Marvin is awake." His voice carried toward the other guards, who relaxed their defensive stances while remaining watchful.

"May I ask what level you guys are? You seem quite decked out in gear." Searanox's eyes continued their methodical scan of the courtyard, noting the strategic placement of torches and reinforced doors. Every detail contributed to his mental map of this potential asset or threat.

The blond man laughed, a harsh sound echoing off the stone walls. He gave Searanox an appraising look. "Decked out? You are one to talk. Apparently, we've been doing something wrong." He shook his head, his sun-bleached hair catching the light. "From what I can see, you are stronger than all of us. First time I've seen someone whose level just shows a question mark." The admission seemed to cost him something, his pride battling the pragmatism keeping them alive in this new world.

"Skill limitations can be infuriating at times," Searanox said, following him.

His boots crunched on the gravel path between the buildings. His eyes scanned the open space, noting the training area where several figures practiced with mismatched weapons, the makeshift forge glowing with contained fire, and the sentry posts positioned at key vantage points. The complex functioned like a small, self-contained military outpost, each element serving a specific purpose in their collective survival.

Several large carcasses hung from a crude wooden structure, suspended by thick ropes creaking under the strain. Dark, viscous blood dripped from their wounds, each drop creating a soft plink as it struck the large vessel below. The metallic scent of fresh blood mixed with the earthy smell of wood smoke, creating an atmosphere both primal and unsettling.

In the center of the courtyard stood a large, unlit fire pit, its wood stacked high in a neat, deliberate pattern. To the side stood a small cart beside large pots darkened by countless uses over weeks of operation. Steam rose from one of the pots, carrying the rich aroma of boiling meat and herbs that made Searanox's stomach tighten with hunger.