After the giant Spider Queen corpse was disposed of, no questions asked (as per the guild’s personal privacy clause), Perience restocked on potions from some other second-rate seller for no small amount of gold. He was already starting to miss Emis’s actually affordable quality flasks. He also settled on a basic steel sword for Pion’s “personal protection”. She didn’t need it, but at least having the blade by her side would dissuade potential attackers.

Perience departed shortly thereafter, saying he needed to sign up for the draft. The army would recruit him shortly once they learned he was back in town, and he was adamantly loyal to Bulwark. Given a chance to defend his lifelong home, he would in a heartbeat. Plus he had a reputation as a role model to uphold; despite the presence of much more famous adventurers like the Missileer, he was still the one most people looked up to as a reliable, friendly, moral character.

She was not exactly sure how to use the sword he left her, as she was never trained in any sort of swordsmanship. Just in case she needed to use it ever for some unforeseen reason, Pion paid a visit to the local training grounds, a public space for adventurers to spar without fear of severe injury and near a healer at all times.

Unsheathing the sword, it was to be noted it was quite light and easy to manipulate. Testing swinging at a prepared straw dummy yielded results falling in line with typical bladed weaponry. Putting more force into the weapon, she could easily bisect the whole dummy with one clean strike. Clearly she had the strength to make use of the weapon. Now she only needed to gain some measure of finesse over the sword.

Her processes were interrupted by multiple waves of slight interference, reminiscent of an EMP. Vaguely she understood that people were casting [Check] on her, confirmed by looking around and noticing that a great many people were glancing her direction after she brutalized the target dummy. If only she could have skills, like one that could stop [Check]s. Would have to ask someone how to get that later.

Abruptly, the interference decreased sharply. She was awash with a feeling she could not recognize or categorize. The experience was overwhelming, indescribable. And that was how she was made aware of her first skill.

[Private Affairs]. That string of characters, that name, was the meaning of the wave of energy she felt. The feeling vanished in a moment, leaving a lingering sense of emptiness she hadn’t known until then. Before, she had been filled with the Power. When the skill was bestowed upon her, it dissipated in seconds. Perhaps the Power, or whatever energy had collected within her metal machinic body had been the catalyst for why [Private Affairs] had appeared out of thin air.

No point thinking about it too hard now. It was about time to go back to the dungeon Pion had conquered. The place would need renovations, better power sources, more materials. This planet was a treasure trove, waiting to be exploited. It would soon find itself in the grip of technology.

The Machine must grow.

Foile found the orphanage to be intimidating, one part because he had to live here, the other part because his parents weren’t dead. Not dead. Alive.

When the guard led him inside, he saw other kids playing with each other, toys and books on shelves, and pictures decorating the wall, all clearly drawn by the residents with charcoal and parchment. He nearly felt like he was daydreaming, strolling through this unfamiliar place. The lady who the guard says was in charge did not even ask him for much, only writing on some scraps of paper and introducing him to everyone.

The woman showed him to the dormitories, taking him for a whole tour around the building. It was weird seeing the place in kind of good shape, since all the other houses around it were run down, as was customary for the slums. A few of these dwellings even sported mold growing on the outside, and clearly rotting wood. Despite the decrepit state of the nearby neighborhood, the residents were content with what they had. Though he did not appreciate the sight of kids and their parents playing in the streets.

When he was led to his assigned bunk, Foile could not help but collapse onto the straw mattress, curling up in the thin fur blanket. The very nice lady could see he was tired from wherever he had come, and left him to his sleep. While he was out like a light, his nanos who stubbornly clung to his chest slipped out of his clothing to observe the surroundings. The kids were all out playing; none remained in the dorm rooms. Small windows high up on the wall let in some natural light to brighten up the drab darkened wooden walls.

Tearing a small hole in the mattress fabric, they slithered into its interior. An acceptable place to hide for now. Looking out the window yielded a view of another street, rife with hawkers, children running through the streets and parents hanging up clothing. In alleys, the clink of coins and the glint of knives. On the rooftops, playful teenagers and groups talking and tinkering with spare bits.

Here was much opportunity. Many riches are waiting to be exploited. Change was brewing.

Things would never be the same.

Arane’s scouts returned to her, with reports of an imminent battle. The Hammer Tribes were hiding in the forest, though not well enough to entirely avoid the Chappie scouts. Likewise, the Chappie forces were laughably easy to see. Both sides knew that they would soon collide with hammer and blade, shield and bow.

To the humans, this was war. To Arane, this was an opportunity.

Bon Appetit!