Raiding the Automaton Factory
"It's all about skill. I nailed the exact impact point to get that result. You admit it, right?"
Allen nodded. Even the same bullet could yield wildly different outcomes depending on whether it hit a leg or pierced the skull.
Taylor's marksmanship was objectively impressive, and the wheelchair's weight minimized the recoil almost entirely.
Having reached the 12th layer, the two needed rest, which meant scouting a safe clearing.
As Allen checked the map to gauge their position, Taylor suddenly wheeled his chair tight against the wall and groped around.
"What are you doing?"
"Don't just stand there gawking—get over here. My damn legs mean I can't reach from sitting. Press where I point with my finger. Yeah, right there."
Allen complied, and a section of the seemingly solid wall sank inward. The rock folded like paper, revealing a new passage.
"You know about treasure chests?"
"If you mean the skulls."
"Bingo. Skulls made from scrap metal."
"I've heard there's an Oparts that violates the law of blocking intruders, like the compass."
"That's why opinions are split on the labyrinth's true purpose. Enough headache talk—let's go in. I call this a secret passage. Could be treasure, trash, or underground dwellers at the end."
"It's a bit weird, though. That wall back there was thin; there shouldn't be space for something like this..."
"That's why it's a labyrinth. An unknown place whose reality no one grasps."
Allen advanced, observing his surroundings, then quietly asked,
"How'd you find it?"
"Experience buildup. This is my secret, so I'll keep it to myself."
It was a petty remark from someone who'd freely shared the mana training method, but Taylor wanted to flaunt his vitality this way.
Now that I've decided to live, I won't take being treated like a useless old man.
Telling Allen would make things easier, but he hated the idea of just hanging back.
By the time those thoughts crossed his mind, they'd reached the passage's end.
"Jackpot's a bust."
A disassembled automaton lay on the table. Nothing special.
"Kinda disappointing."
"If you hit the motherlode right away, it'd be weirder. Big scores don't go to the lazy greedy types who put in no effort. They sneak up on folks who've been grinding away."
Allen eyed Taylor with renewed respect. He was flippant and rough, but he dropped wisdom that hit home now and then. Moments like this made his vast experience feel tangible.
"What're you staring at? You aren't cursing me out in your head for wasting time, are ya?"
"..."
The secret passage on the 12th layer was new knowledge and experience— a secret known only to those in the know.
As they searched for a campsite, Allen kept glancing at Taylor.
"Quit giving me those puppy-dog eyes like you're waiting for dinner. You think secret passages pop up every time? Their spots change constantly, so chalk it up to luck... Wait, what the hell?"
Taylor manipulated the lever and hugged the wall again. Another pitch-black passage yawned open just like before.
Unlike caves, the secret passage lacked black mist, allowing a clearer view farther in.
"This place feels pretty suspicious."
"Gear up for combat."
Allen readied his equipment without argument, and Taylor pointed to the ceiling or walls. Thin pipes jutted out at first, but they thickened deeper in.
"Your eyes work too, so you see the pipes. Pipes like that in a secret passage? Means enemies."
"What do you think it is?"
"Automaton production factory, probably."
Common knowledge held that cave enemies were born by bursting through walls.
"You mean the automatons we fight are made here?"
"Nah, secret passages vanish if you come back later, so not that."
Allen's curiosity burned, but the immediate threat took priority.
Before reaching the end, they halted the cart and crept forward to observe the clearing.
Pipes crisscrossing the ceiling, tables with disassembled automatons, shelves on the walls stocked with mana stones and soul stones, and finally, bustling underground dwellers.
As Taylor had said, it was a factory. No automated machinery in sight, though—the underground dwellers hauled parts and assembled by hand.
"Something's off."
"What's that?"
"Automations don't come in that shape. Why slap a lion head on a horse body?"
The underground dweller struggling with the task bellowed at a coworker. The coworker smacked its head and pointed to a lion torso nearby.
Taylor remained unimpressed by the bizarre scene.
"If I knew that, I'd be a professor. Let's plan how to handle 'em. Selling those mana stones alone'll make a killing."
Taylor was right—it was a jackpot. If they could take down every enemy.
Veteran (4)
The chastised underground dweller began fitting the lion head to the proper torso.
The oddly captivating sight held Allen's gaze.
"They make mistakes too, huh. I've only seen them aggressive before, but now they seem almost human."
"Them? Call 'em 'those things.' They're enemies we gotta wipe out anyway, and delving deeper means slaughtering countless lives, so don't waste energy on pity this early."
"I know that, of course. Let's get ready, then."
Allen returned to the cart for his gear. As he drew the mana shell launcher, Taylor stopped him.
"Seal that away. Handy, sure, but it'll shatter every mana stone and soul stone. And flood us with fire on top."
"Just in case."
Allen holstered the launcher in the exoskeleton's thigh slot. It fit perfectly without rattling.
"What weapon you using?"
"Got a staff for times like this."
Allen lightly swung the slender staff and etched runes onto the tip with his rune pen on the spot.
"Ugh... Earthworm runes always make me queasy. They all look the same—how do you gearheads tell 'em apart?"
"This one's layered [Repulsion]."
"Usable, then?"
"Linking different runes works for complex effects, but stacking's simple and effective. The mana training you taught me recently made stacking viable."
"My Taylor training method, you mean? Yeah, the Taylor method's damn good."
Taylor emphasized his name. Allen pretended not to notice and twirled the staff.
"One whack with this, and the target flies far."
"We'll see. Your stance sucks, though. Once you fix my body, I'll critique it. Can't have you looking like a baby gripping a baseball bat for the first time."
Just as gratitude welled up, he'd tack on snark. Allen, well aware of his poor motor skills, just shrugged.
"I'd rather spend that time honing magitech."
"Bull. You gotta move at least once for it to stick later. Quit yakking and let's go."
Taylor gripped his semi-auto shotgun in one hand and worked the lever with the other. Allen had mounted a shotgun on the wheelchair, but Taylor preferred firing manually.
At the passage's end again, the two exchanged glances.
"Go."
Taylor launched the signal flare. Target: an underground dweller approaching a shelf for parts.
Switching to combat mode and slamming the lever forward, the wheelchair charged at 50 km/h. The modified chair was a weapon itself—plowing straight would pulverize the dweller's body.
The dweller turned lackadaisically at the scraping floor, froze at the sight of the wheelchair.
A human reaction. A typical cave dweller would've attacked or screeched without hesitation.
To Taylor, they were all the same monsters. He released the lever briefly, aimed the shotgun two-handed, and fired.
Bang!
Lead shot slammed into the thinly clad underground dweller—sleeveless from the heat—sending its corpse crashing into the shelf.
Taylor moved to the next target. His plan: thin the numbers before enemies armed up or guard automatons advanced.
Allen glanced left. One dweller vaulted a conveyor belt, charging with a massive wrench gleaming threateningly.
Allen moved to intercept. Closing distance, their eyes locked.
No matter how long the wrench, it couldn't match the staff's reach. Allen's clumsy swing smashed the dweller's side.
Even with the exoskeleton locking his lower body firm, his upper body wobbled.
Need to extend the exoskeleton to the torso.
Innate chronic weakness wouldn't fix itself from Taylor's lessons; gear was essential.
Still, the result was solid. Squared [Repulsion] sent the dweller flying into a coworker, toppling them both.
As they struggled to rise, a shadow loomed, followed by cold forepaws and blade-like claws. Deep gashes marred the already rib-crushed corpses.
The leopard automaton's camera eyes scanned impassively for the next target: a lion automaton fresh off the bench, head lolling from botched assembly.
Leopard outmatched it in power and speed, especially with that flaw.
The leopard body-slammed; the head rolled away, and a hidden dweller faced merciless fangs.
As the emotionless war machine sought its next mark, shouts erupted from the factory's far end. Armed dwellers and guard automatons smashed benches approaching.
"They're here."
"I see 'em!"
Taylor wheeled toward Allen, locking the lever and reloading his semi-auto shotgun.
A speedloader tube hung behind the chair like a quiver; he extracted a long shell and chambered it deftly.
His skilled, swift hands screamed veteran.
"Fuck! We're made!"
If not for that last line.
Reunited, Taylor slapped the shotgun's body. Ignoring him, Allen tweaked the wheelchair's handle area.
Whirr!
A blue barrier unfurled ahead. Taylor fixed on the front and said,
"Oh, you had this feature? Spill it upfront next time."
"Figured you'd ram blindly trusting the shield. Wheelchair looks tough, but handle with care—soft inside like a kid."
"This beast? Parental love for your creation, huh... Wait, why're you hanging back? I'm the shield?"
"Focus on the enemies."
"I'm a patient..."
Talk was cheap; he was combat-ready.
Onrushing automatons and dwellers ducking behind for cover. Every rough motion oozed fury at the factory raid.
Allen aimed the mana shell launcher forward. Its loaded shell prioritized special effects over raw power.
"Hold off on explosions..."
Before Taylor—who didn't know the details—finished, the shell unleashed its payload.
The mana shell etched with [Confusion] and [Infiltration] sprayed blue light beams everywhere. Exposed automatons glitched.
Empowered by the newly learned mana training, the runes infiltrated like poison through their mana circuits, corrupting their entire forms.
"Mana pulse grenades can't even compete. Thought you were some lightweight getting headaches solo, but now I get why."
Taylor clucked his tongue and fired at a dog-sized scorpion closing in. Each lead barrage crumpled its metal shell mercilessly.
As Taylor blocked the nimble, small-bodied mana pulse evaders, Allen focused on the charging bull.
Shoulder height over 2 meters, it pressured like a truck.
To drop that, it'd take massive firepower...
Which would wreck much of the factory and loot. Labyrinth explorer