Mobile Fortress (Part 2)
As twilight settled over the outskirts, the harsh shriek of welding that had echoed through the vacant lot finally tapered off into silence.
"Whew... Is that everything?"
I dragged my forearm across my forehead to wipe away the heavy beads of sweat, then stepped back to inspect the truck.
At a glance, it looked like nothing more than an ancient, beat-up peddler's truck rattling its way through backwater villages. But looks were profoundly deceiving. Welded across the exterior walls of the cargo bed were layered sheets of thick automotive steel salvaged from downtown, wrapped tightly in heavy-duty wire mesh to forge an armored shell capable of shrugging off violent impacts. Hooks and metal rings were pinned throughout the mesh, draped with assorted hand tools and random scrap to create an exhaustive layer of urban camouflage.
The interior, where I had poured the bulk of my effort, was organized down to the millimeter. It held a narrow bedroll just large enough for an adult to sleep in, alongside a makeshift workbench equipped to handle precision assembly. Checking the four firing slits cut into each side of the armored hull, I let out a satisfied grin.
"From the outside, they're completely hidden behind all the hanging junk, but from the inside, I have a clear line of sight to open fire."
These four openings were destined to become perfect murder holes once the night's horrors descended.
"Getting trapped in one spot trying to hold off swarms of monsters is pure suicide! It'd turn into some deranged tower defense game, so I had to rethink my whole strategy."
Perched on the edge of the workbench in the cargo bed, I had spent hours racking my brain to figure out a survival plan for the thirty-minute countdown penalty. This setup was the direct result: a strategy built entirely around the strengths of a Mobile Fortress.
My plan was simple yet bold. I would deliberately expose my position in the open lot to draw the monsters' aggro, and the exact second the countdown began, I would hit the gas and relocate to a pre-scouted ridge. Once perched on the high ground, I could safely snipe the creatures one by one as they swarmed the basin below.
Yet the biggest obstacle standing in my way was the harsh reality of weapons manufacturing.
"No matter how much Mechanical Engineering knowledge is crammed into my head... how am I supposed to pull off precision machining with crude hand tools like these?"
I threw an adjustable wrench onto the workbench with a heavy sigh. The root of my frustration lay in the primary weapon I was trying to build: modifying a Tacker Gun into a dedicated sniper weapon.
The linchpin of the design was a laser pointer. To expose the creatures' vulnerability—bathing them in light converted from mana to weaken their defenses—I needed a laser module capable of projecting over long distances. But every attempt had failed. The lenses couldn't withstand the thermal mana load and melted, or the beam refracted chaotically and scattered in every direction. Without modern, ultra-precision machining equipment, the magnificent blueprints swimming in my head were nothing more than pipe dreams.
"Wait a second. My trait is Mechanical Engineering. Would the system really saddle me with some half-assed garbage ability that fills my brain with theory while leaving my hands completely useless?"
Clinging to a sliver of desperate hope, I ran a series of tests. Placing both palms flat against the wooden surface, I channeled my mana and let it flood through the entire workbench. Eyes closed, I clearly visualized the ideal workstation I needed.
Hummmmm!
A faint vibration rippled through the surface as a soft blue radiance washed over the wood, and a system prompt manifested before my eyes.
The Mechanical Engineering trait has manifested, synchronizing this makeshift workbench into a temporary precision workstation tailored to the caster's class.
— As long as basic materials and tools are present, continuously consumes the caster's mana to flawlessly assist in achieving the desired machining precision.
"Holy crap...! Are you kidding me?!"
Whether the system had taken pity on my stubbornness or simply recognized the intent, I cheered at the unexpected boon and picked up the disassembled work lamp and laser pointer once more. With the workbench actively reading my intentions and dampening the microscopic tremors in my fingertips, my fabrication speed surged at a terrifying pace.
Yet, after another long stretch of feverish work, I hit another wall.
"...Damn it. Even with the workbench assisting me, I still need the exact optical values to regulate the light's intensity and tune the lenses properly. How the hell am I supposed to calculate this?"
I wanted to tap into the frequency and flow of mana from my wrist, running conductive traces like current to dial the laser's intensity up and down. But lacking the precise theoretical formulas for power-limiting resistance, one attempt after another ended in failure.
Tearing at my hair in frustration, I summoned the Mechanics Board in midair, grasping at straws. While driving the truck earlier, I had explored various forum functions.
"Posting a question costs five points..."
Fortunately, I still had a comfortable stockpile. Without hesitation, I spent the points and drafted a post.
I'm trying to build a device that converts my mana into light, and I want to be able to adjust the beam's intensity. I've tried a few things, but it keeps failing. Anyone know how to solve this?
Only seconds after posting, notifications pinged across the board in real-time, accompanied by a flood of mocking replies.
"Mana stones? And elves? These guys... aren't from my world, are they...?"
A cold chill crept down my neck as the bizarre nature of this sub-forum sank in. For a split second, I considered cross-posting the question over on the main Abyss Gallery where my name carried weight, but I violently shook my head.
"My handle, Gongdori, is already officially stamped on the gallery as the first person to solo a monster. If I start asking careless questions there, I might leak vital tactical intel."
It hit me all at once. I wanted to strangle the short-sighted idiot version of myself from a few hours ago who had rashly pinned that global announcement. The clout and pinned threads might prove useful down the road, but right now...
As inconvenient as it was, I resolved firmly to keep all technical inquiries confined to the Mechanics Board, accessible only to crafters like me.
So what makes this board so special?
I would figure that out later.
"No use crying over spilled milk. If I apply the hypothesis from that last comment, adjust the refraction index with a dual-lens setup, and let the workbench guide the grind, this is completely doable."
Following the advice, I channeled mana through the bench to grind two stacked optical lenses, carefully recalibrating the copper wiring. Once the breathlessly delicate work was finished, I killed the cargo bed's lighting, plunging the truck into darkness, and clicked the laser pointer's switch.
Whirrrr—ping!
A soft electronic hum echoed, and a needle-thin crimson beam of focused mana sliced straight through the dark.
Ting—!
◈ An optical sighting module that emits variable mana-infused light depending on mana density. Beam intensity scales with effective distance.
"Success!! With this, I have a working Mana Scope to paint their heads from extreme range!"
An electric surge of triumph washed over me, but a quick check of the time shattered the mood. There was no time to celebrate. I immediately threw myself into the next step.
"Now I need to reinforce the physical kinetic impact and precision so I can launch heavy nails over long distances."
Spending another five points, I submitted a follow-up query to the Mechanics Board.
Thanks for the tips earlier. One more question: I'm trying to convert my crossbow into something that can fire accurately over extreme ranges. Any good ideas on how to achieve that?
Though the users had initially dismissed me as some lunatic posting gibberish, my unconventional ideas seemed to pique their curiosity, and genuine advice began trickling in.
That comment stopped me in my tracks. The underlying logic was remarkably solid.
"Aha! So that's why sniper rifles in movies have ridiculously long barrels with spiral grooves cut into the bore!"
Grasping the principle immediately, I secured a thick steel pipe to the front of the pneumatic tacker gun. Guided by the workbench's uncanny assistance, I machined delicate spiral rifling along the interior bore, piecing together an imposing, heavy-duty firearm.
At last, the lengthened rifle-tacker was complete.
Ting—!
◈ A high-precision weapon forged by your own hands. Effective range and armor-piercing capabilities are drastically enhanced, but rapid-fire functionality has been eliminated.
I slipped out of the truck to test it, setting up a row of discarded plastic bottles across the vacant lot as makeshift targets.
"Phew... It's been so long since military service. Wonder if my marksmanship is completely shot."
Clack.
Assuming a stable firing stance, I drew a slow breath and squeezed the trigger.
Crack! Crack!
Heavy steel nails shot forward with explosive concussive cracks, but out of ten shots, only five cleanly struck the plastic bottles.
"...Damn it. Fifty percent hit rate? Has my aim really deteriorated this badly...?"
Then again, was fifty percent accuracy with a modified industrial nail gun actually impressive? My thoughts bounced back and forth. But lamenting over rusted shooting skills wouldn't keep me alive. Gritting my teeth, I forced my racing mind to settle.
"If my sniping fails and the bastards swarm right up to the truck, I need a secondary weapon for close-quarters defense."
Just in case the worst came to pass, I jury-rigged a secondary, pistol-sized tacker gun fitted with a crude compact flashlight and slotted it securely into my waistband.
Barely had I holstered the backup weapon when the evening sky bruised into a sickening blood-red haze, and a piercing, nauseating alarm hammered into my eardrums.
Time Remaining Until Twilight: 00:30:00
Thirty minutes prior to nightfall, Peddler's coordinates have been branded as a vivid crimson beacon to all Abyss Species within a 10-kilometer radius.
"Come and get it, you sons of bitches! I'm surviving this night no matter what, damn it!"
Spitting out a venomous curse, I sprinted into the driver's cab and cranked the ignition.
The truck roared to life, kicking up dirt as it peeled out of the open lot where I had deliberately broadcast my coordinates. I floored the pedal, hurtling toward the steep hill I had scouted earlier. The 1-ton truck rattled violently over the dirt trail before finally cresting the summit, where I brought it to a halt at an angle that commanded a panoramic view of the basin below.
"Good. Wind direction is manageable, and the line of sight for sniping couldn't be better. It's a textbook kill zone."
I wrenched the handbrake up until it nearly snapped, wedged hefty stones beneath the tires for stability, and locked down the mobile fortress.
Retreating into the rear cargo hold, I drew deep, measured breaths to calm the violent tremors wracking my body from pure adrenaline. As total darkness blanketed the ridge, I killed every lamp inside and melted into the pitch-black hold.
Resting the barrel of the heavy Crude Sniper Tacker along the lip of the firing slit, I dialed the laser pointer down toward the empty lot below.
"Bring it on, you bastards."
With my finger resting lightly against the trigger, my eyes adjusted to the shadows. Then, with the deep, resonant toll of a grandfather clock—Dooong—the hunt began.