Mana Synthesis and Familiar Shadows
It was because it was difficult. The level of mage they wanted was high, but kidnapping such people inevitably led to fights, which naturally caused a commotion.
There were mages who worked as fixers, but unless they were unusual cases, their skills were truly low-level. So, they kidnapped magitech engineers en masse—the closest thing to mages.
The experiment Lockhart Corporation had attempted was mana essence stone production. Using people as materials, or filters.
The result, in short, was failure. Production proved impossible, but they could upgrade the grade of existing mana essence stones. Even that had abysmal input-output ratios, drawing skeptical opinions from upper management.
It must have been a high-risk experiment, given the need to kidnap people.
Allen, having grasped that much, summarized it for Taylor.
"So you did think it was wrong."
"Nah, that's not it. They do worry about public eyes, but the real reason is the stock price. Any news of arrests or crime ties would tank it."
"It's all about money from start to finish."
"But the real owners—the big shots behind the corporation—won't give a damn."
"The owners?"
"You see 'em in movies and novels, the shadowy masterminds. I've only heard stories, so details are fuzzy."
"You worked as an agent but never met them?"
"I was fundamentally different from the kind of agent you're thinking of..."
Taylor's mouth clamped shut. It happened often in their talks, so Allen switched topics.
"Mana essence stones were a bust, but they had success with mana stones. They developed a new synthesis technique using the body's mana circuits."
"How exactly?"
At Taylor's question, Allen summoned the box. It rolled over on its endless tracks and extended one drawer. Allen pulled out a mana stone and set it on the table.
"The stones in front are ten Grade 1 mana stones and one Grade 2. Mana capacity is similar, but the Grade 2's purity makes it more valuable."
"So why do Grade 1s go for 100,000 coins and Grade 2s around a million? By your explanation, Grade 2s should fetch over a million, but they don't."
"Thanks to synthesis tech, corporate chicken games, and labyrinth mana stones. Good for consumers, anyway."
Of course, even same-grade stones varied slightly in price by origin or size.
"Then just buy 'em. Why bother synthesizing?"
"Yeah. But Lockhart's data shows the process draws in natural mana, boosting capacity."
"By how much?"
"Per this, beginners get under 2%, experts up to 10%. Other methods max at 5%, so that's double—positive spin."
"Who're you kidding?"
"Won't matter much for low grades. How much for a Grade 4?"
"100 million. Oh, right—percentage boost makes it huge. Should we max out loans and synthesize mana stones?"
Allen paused at Taylor's cheerful question.
"..."
"Brother Allen. Urk... Even I know that's no good."
Shiba, face red from chugging holy water, chimed in with reproach. Taylor instantly turned into a pathetic adult, looking aggrieved.
"It's a whopping 10%."
"Only if Brother Allen's an expert."
"What, you don't trust Allen? He'll nail it from the start."
"That's not the issue..."
"My trust's in the dirt? You don't trust Allen?"
"You're slyly cornering me to shut me up."
Allen finally mediated. Taylor calmed down and listened quietly.
"Lockhart's technique burns out the maker. Higher grades mean longer recovery."
"Then we skip it."
Taylor gave up immediately. His mana excess syndrome already wrecked his body—no amount of money justified pouring fuel on that fire.
Having sacrificed greed for health, Taylor watched Allen fiddle with mana stones and asked.
"What's that you're doing?"
"Synthesizing mana stones."
"You said it was risky."
"Enough for expedition use should be fine. Doubt it? Ask President Yohwa later."
"Alright? I'll head out now—rest up."
Taylor vanished with a grim face. Shiba giggled at the sight.
"Could just call, but he's going in person. Dinner for two, then."
"Western Sky's on holiday today—he'll be back quick."
Shiba eyed Allen's face, then burst out laughing and downed more holy water.
Allen tried various tweaks to take the powersuit into the labyrinth. Rune letters to cut weight, mana stone synthesis to swap furnace stones.
Shrink it entirely?
The powersuit fit a guardsman's build, so it was baggy on Allen. Moving fast in it would shake him around, leading to bruises and worse.
Scale down the cockpit, trim parts—efficiency should hold.
Keep core components, slim armor and frame, use premium materials for lightness—it'd be practical enough.
"More complex than I thought. How to structure the frame?"
"Base it on your current reinforced exoskeleton."
"That work? Makes sense—you're the magitech engineer."
Taylor nodded; Shiba joined in.
"Thought magitech engineers just sat comfy pre-dungeon. Seeing you, Brother Allen, shows the real struggles. Experience truly turns knowledge to flesh and blood."
"Your original take was right. Allen courts hardship. Stellar results blur the line, though."
Using their banter as background music, Allen sketched rough blueprints on blank paper. His silenced comm terminal lit up.
Incoming: Rolf. The broker who lined up fixer gigs, bar owner too. Allen tapped; his voice rang out.
"Yes, how've you been, Rolf?"
"Turning me into your rent collector? Don't waste my precious time."
"Got a dwarf here too, y'know."
"He's a monk."
True to his people-facing trade, Rolf soothed Taylor before calling Allen again.
"Getting to the point?"
"Flattery gets no bread crumbs—snap out of it."
Allen fell silent. They'd escaped the clinic together—the man heading to Vega for family. Why his name from Rolf?
Thoughts settled, Allen affirmed.
"Yes, I know him. Any idea why?"
Laughter boomed long. Quick job, saved coin—natural.
"Only one number. They left contact? Lodging?"
"Give it."
Allen got Vito's contact and dialed immediately. Ringing, then a familiar voice.
"Allen here."
"Did things go well for you?"
"Still just spy flicks?"
Over half a year apart, contacted via broker—suspicion inevitable.
Real Vito? Fine. But if someone ripped his neural expander for memories? Bad news.
"Came to tell me that, huh."
He'd told Vito he was Maze City-bound—no surprise.
"But cartel's sloppy, no? Why approach where you'd hear?"
End.
Allen's question cut Vito off. Groans from the terminal betrayed his fluster.
"No call—meet in person. Park behind Breaker HQ. Taxi, monorail—come now."
Deal set, Taylor asked worriedly.
"The kid you teamed with? Safe to meet?"
"That's why the park."
Allen prepped and left the warehouse; Taylor tailed close. Shiba, puzzling it out, hustled on short legs.
The park behind Breaker HQ was city-made but surrounded by their buildings—effectively theirs.
Reason not warehouse:
"Even cartel thugs wouldn't stir trouble here, brain cells or not."
Starting a fight meant declaring war on Breaker. Not war—slaughter. Or Chairman Marshall might leap from his office window nearby.
"Depth 7 survives a 50-story drop, right?"
"Don't count on it. Expedition team's gone—back in two months minimum."
Chatting idly, a shadow appeared at the entrance. Vito, sharper edges softened post-Nobak.
Allen stepped forward; Taylor and Shiba hung back like screens. Shiba sidled for a view past Allen.
"Didn't expect to see you here. Glad, though—wish not under these circumstances."
"Did the cartel really use me as bait?"
Vito dove straight in, anxious. Allen probed without stating; Vito caught on.
Magitech engineers needed brains. They seemed dim only when unfamiliar—acclimate, and true colors showed.
Except hacks like Kik who crammed magitechwear to force fits.
"I came to warn you, but your story fits. Nobak really alive? We both saw the hole in his head."
Vito visibly unnerved. Raised under Nobak since childhood, his shadow lingered deep.
Fear imprinted young didn't fade easy. Even adults struggled.