Akasha's Eye
A staggering number of mana cables snaked up and down the tank. The mana circuits and Rune Letters covering its surface continued to pulse with light.
Just looking at it, one could sense how dearly Nobak cherished the tank.
Maybe it's the culmination of his life's research. Everyone has their aspirations, after all...
Allen zoomed in on the screen to peer inside the tank more closely, but the golem drone's poor quality and the vent's awkward angle made it hard to see clearly.
He needed better reconnaissance gear. Fortunately, with only external scavenging duties ahead for a while, now was the perfect chance to acquire some.
As he powered off the terminal, footsteps echoed from inside the bathroom.
"Allen, sir? Are you in here?"
"I'm coming out now. Sorry for worrying you—I took too long."
"No, it's fine. I'll wait outside, then."
Allen tucked the terminal into his pocket and rejoined the workers. All the while, he relentlessly pondered how to uncover the secret lab's purpose and the unlock key.
After that, Allen roamed the city on collection runs, secretly pocketing useful items and stashing them in the warehouse dubbed the "trash bin." The next major cleanup wasn't for eight months, making it ideal for hiding things.
Naturally, Nobak kept summoning him to the second-floor lab.
"Alright, open your eyes. How does the sample feel?"
"The first symptom is itching. The second is mana shifting inside my body. It's gathering especially near my left iris."
"Be more specific."
"It's like a shark detecting and homing in on prey. That's the only comparison that comes to mind. Sorry."
"No, that's sufficient."
Allen reacted calmly even to experiments on his own body. Nobak smiled in satisfaction at the sight.
"Your vision must have deteriorated a lot. Don't you resent me for it?"
"It's fine. Replacing it with an artificial eye like the other assistants would be far more convenient for working as a magitech engineer. Of course, you'll decide when that happens, sir."
"Haha, yes. Now you're finally useful. I'll upgrade you to the latest model when the time comes—just be patient."
Seeing Allen's old obedient demeanor pleased Nobak greatly.
Why'd that know-it-all act up last time? I told him from the start they were just fertilizer for magitech progress—nothing to care about.
"It reminded me of my mother."
"Hm, you're from Ranka, right? So your mother and family are still there?"
"Pirates killed them all."
"Oh, really. That must weigh on you heavily."
"Thank you for your concern. It's been a year now, so I'm okay."
Allen bowed his head politely. He didn't miss Nobak's expression, though—genuine pity, but knowing the man, it was just lip service.
If his parents were alive, Nobak might have dragged them in to experiment on their mana excess syndrome lineage. Or used them as chains to bind Allen.
Once the experiment ended, Allen returned the attached gear to its places before any orders came. After tidying up, he even transcribed the data measurement terminal's logs.
Nobak watched with arms crossed.
"That's it for today."
"Then I'll be going."
"Ah, wait. Starting tomorrow, visit the club near the pier once a week."
The so-called club was really a cartel den. Nobak meant for him to inspect the cartel members' magitechwear and magitech devices.
It was as crucial as the basement work. Plus, it offered a rare chance for an assistant to examine combat magitech.
After his compliant behavior post-second-floor incident—like someone emotionally worn down—Nobak's trust was recovering.
Any odd moves now would cause headaches, so he was shipping Allen off elsewhere. Couldn't keep talented help idle forever, either.
Back in the first basement dorms, Allen pretended to discard junk and visited the warehouse.
He planted a vastly improved rat-shaped recon golem in the vent, then returned to his room and lay on the bed.
Time to start.
Allen donned his contact lenses and closed his eyes. Even with lids shut, he saw the dusty, dim vent interior.
The golem moved in the direction Allen "looked." It felt like crawling on his belly.
He knew the route to the lab and arrived swiftly.
Labs packed with high-end gear needed ample ventilation. Leaving heat from equipment unchecked risked spoiling materials; worse, toxic gases had to be vented fast.
Peeking from inside the vent, Allen scanned the floor. Black rods the size of pens were spaced evenly.
Sensors on the floor...
Allen's gaze shifted upward. Fortunately, the golem could climb walls, and thin pipes intertwined like roots on the ceiling.
The golem slipped through the vent slats, mounted the pipes, and maneuvered to face the tank directly.
That's... an eye?
Midway in the transparent tank, where bubbles rose steadily, floated an eyeball. Behind it, optic nerves spread like a spiderweb.
Every flash along the mana cables made the nerves twitch faintly. The unfocused pupil stared blankly ahead.
Lying in bed, Allen unconsciously furrowed his brow. He racked his brain for what it could be.
Then, a flash of insight. He recalled the blanket on his Ranka shack floor—and the book hidden beneath: What is Magitech Engineering?
It held no profound knowledge, just kid-friendly intros to spark interest. Hence, plenty of lofty musings.
The preface mentioned it.
The aspiration of those who pursue magic: transcendent sorcery.
The dream of spirit contractors: summoning a spirit king.
The wish of alchemists: the Philosopher's Stone.
The ideal of weapon masters: aura or heart sword.
...
So what of us magitech engineers? Short on history compared to others, yet we too have an endpoint:
Akasha's Eye.
An ability or device that pierces the essence of all things through mere observation, granting supernatural phenomena to tools.
Akasha held the same meaning as the "Akashic" in Akashic Records, where all cosmic events are chronicled.
Despite his white hair he couldn't dye away, Nobak chased that dream. One unmet even by history's greatest magitech engineer, Katan, or megacorporations.
Dropping samples into Allen's eyes, extracting eyeballs from basement corpses—it all made sense now.
I get why he's doing this, but I can't condone it.
How many had died for his dream? Nobak had run this place over twenty years—counting victims was pointless. And Allen's left eye was steadily losing its light.
He'd brushed it off in front of Nobak, claiming artificial eyes were fine, but who wouldn't care?
His black-brown hair came from his mother; his light brown eyes matched his father's exactly. The thought of losing it forcibly made his heart race.
Composing himself, Allen spotted a door opening beyond the tank and maneuvered the golem into a corner.
It was Nobak. The man who always bossed assistants and workers around unusually shouldered a red sack.
He set the sack near the tank, rolled his shoulders, then opened the fridge. Identical to the morgue ones.
First came pallid feet. Then chalk-white hands and face.
That guy's...
Allen recognized him: an assistant sent months ago to open a branch in a distant city, funded by Nobak.
Nobak wheeled the bed right up to the tank and upended the red sack. Eyeballs spilled out, blanketing the assistant's body like a quilt.
Unfazed by the gruesome scene, Nobak proceeded methodically. He connected a few cables to the bed and fiddled with a complex wall-mounted machine.
Sparks flew along the mana cables dangling from the tank. Black smoke billowed from the assistant's corpse and the eyeballs.
As smoke thickened, the tank changed. Optic nerves writhed like octopus tentacles; pupils contracted and dilated wildly.
When the smoke cleared, the bed was empty. The sacrifice-cum-material had crumbled to dust, unable to withstand the output.
Allen stared at the tank again. The eye—living tissue or magitech device?—seemed more vibrant than before.
Satisfied with the gauges, Nobak turned. His robe parted slightly, exposing his waistband.
A presumed spatial pouch hung from his belt—the likely spot for the bomb necklace unlock key.
Nobak exited the secret lab. Given the late hour, he was probably headed to bed.
Allen repositioned the golem in the vent and caught Nobak opening his bedroom door. He pressed a hand to the black panel beside it.
Mana pattern authenticator.
Mana was unique like fingerprints; Allen had no way to bypass it.
Not without top-tier magitech or a grand mage—and neither would conveniently appear.
Force it open?
Ridiculous. The moment Allen hit sublevel four, Nobak would appear and tear him limb from limb. Or a guard turret would honeycomb him.
Regretfully, Allen recalled the golem. He desperately wanted to scout the bedroom, but no vent connected there.
Sigh...
Allen guided the recon golem back to the trash bin vent and quietly exhaled. Vito's words resurfaced.
Contacted for a month or two, then nothing... Or maybe just too busy.
"Graduated" assistants weren't busy—they'd become Nobak's guinea pigs and met their ends here.
Nobak never intended to let us go.
It explained the mana training's focus on brain and eye activation.
The clinic was isolation incarnate. Everyone was fodder raised for whatever lurked in that tank. Allen was no exception.
Spread the word...? Nah, forget it.
Jealous rivals everywhere—if he breathed a hint, they'd rat him out to Nobak.
Vito was the only prospect. But even with their bond, this discovery demanded caution.
Relying solely on outside help was foolish. Better to seek his own escape first; share only if truly stuck.
Next up: the key.
How to snag it? No ideas yet.
...Wait. There is a way.
In the room filled only with the snores of sleeping workers, Allen's eyes snapped open. He gripped his necklace.
Hostage for hostage.