Fizzy walked aimlessly through the constantly clanking streets of Dragunov until morning came about. The clockwork heartbeat of the city during the night had a different, more calming feel to it than the one she heard during the day. It was almost like some sort of lullaby, only instead of making her sleepy it helped put her thoughts in order and mind at ease. Catching a glimpse of what looked like Keira earlier had shaken her up quite a bit, and her own reaction had caught her off guard.

Being a mostly logical being, she had thought that the fleeting phantasm had been her subconscious telling her she really did want to see Boxxy again. That was partly why she held that improvised burial and ad-libbed eulogy last night - so that she could deal with that un-tasty feeling. And judging from how uncharacteristically emotional she got during the ‘ceremony,’ she realized she did indeed miss it more than she cared to admit.

Still, she felt like she’d done the right thing. The modest wake she performed had quieted that troublesome enlightened part of her mind, and she felt like she could face the new day with renewed vigor. She had faced her issues head on rather than running from them, and as such would never have to worry about seeing catgirl-shaped ghosts out of the corner of her eye and making a fool of herself in public.

Except that she’d failed to consider one very likely possibility - that the red-haired catgirl she saw yesterday was very much real.

“Big sis! Big sis! Check it out! It’s the shiny lady I saw last night!”

A cat-eared beastkin about 12 or 13 years of age was currently bouncing excitedly while pointing at Fizzy, who had covered her face with her palms out of frustration. She was without a doubt the ‘ghost’ that had thrown Fizzy for a loop. The young girl’s crimson hair, pointy ears and fluffy tail were so similar to Keira’s that it was criminal. And to make matters worse, she wasn’t the only one that had those features.

“Wow! I’ve never seen a golem as fancy as this!” remarked her older sister. “Look, sweetie! Pretty golem!”

The bundled up baby in her arms, presumably her daughter, giggled happy when she saw the morning sunlight dance off of Fizzy’s head.

“What are you girls doing down there?!”

A nearby window opened up and another red-haired catgirl - or rather catwoman - poked her head out.

“Look, mom!” shouted the older sister. “It’s mithril! Real mithril!”

“Ohh! How pretty! Hold on, let me get your aunt!”

“Oh for Harvey’s sake!” shouted the golem in frustration. “Just how many of you airheaded meatbags are there?!”

The beastkin family stared at her dumbly for a second before bursting out into a joyful laughter, which only seemed to irritate her even more. She couldn’t believe she got so emotional over these cheap knockoffs. Sure, the hair was the same as Keira, but that was where the similarities ended. Their eye colors, pale skin tone and apparent ages were all over the place, so Fizzy felt ashamed for having confused them for the original. Well, not that there was an ‘original’ Keira to begin with, but the golem still had the distinct impression she had somehow been cheated.

As for how she even found them in the first place, the answer to that question could be found within the notification that had been floating around in her mind since a while ago.

A special action has been performed. LCK +1.

She just happened to be passing in front of their apartment building by pure coincidence on this crisp, sunny morning.

“I think we should leave before we get dragged into something stupid,” suggested Plus, and Fizzy readily agreed.

The mithril golem turned on her heel and practically ran away from the beastkin family that was still in stitches for some reason. They called out to her, but she ignored them vehemently as she moved towards the Dragunov branch of the Mercenary Guild. When she approached the building, she saw Moss and Drummir were already waiting for her in front, in full gear and raring to go.

“Heya Fizzy!” said the gnome with a wave of his prosthetic hand.

“Morning, angelface,” chimed in the dwarf. “What’s with the sour look? Someone leave their oily handprints on you or something?”

“No, I just ran into something incredibly stupid on the way here. Let’s just get this next bit over with and be on our way.”

The trio departed from the wooden building and resumed their trek towards the Royal Institute of Technology, or ‘the Ritz’ for short. Thankfully the Mercenary Guild branch office was pretty close to their destination, so they found themselves standing in front of the campus grounds within minutes.

Rather than a single large building, the Ritz was comprised over a total of 4 structures with a long metal fence marking the triangular boundaries of the campus. Fizzy and company walked through the huge open gates and down the stone path towards the administrative building directly in front of them. It was a three-story mansion-like building somewhat reminiscent of the Central Consortium back in Azurvale which contained nothing but offices and lecture halls.

Off in the distance to the left stood an 8 floor apartment building, while over on the right was a gigantic factory that was just as large. The former likely served as dorms and personal quarters and the latter presumably contained the various labs and workshops where the Ritz did all of its research and development. The wide open space between these buildings had been populated with park-likes areas filled with flowerbeds, grass, trees, shrubs, benches, statues, and other such relaxing imagery.

And right smack in the middle of all three buildings stood the tallest structure in the entire continent, possibly even the world. It was a beige-colored spire of concrete, steel, copper and zinc that stood at a mind-boggling height of 113 meters. It was in the shape of a cone with concave walls, which had a diameter of 41 meters at its base. The structure had no doors, windows, stairs, ladders, or indeed anything that all that might suggest open access. Its outer walls were dotted with various pipes and vents that occasionally spewed out steam, as well as hundreds of blinking lights that periodically flashed in varying colors.

The reason for this weird appearance and the total lack of any entry point was because this mountain of metal was a machine known as the Regulator. As long as this behemoth chugged along, everyone within a 40 kilometer radius of it would enjoy pleasant weather and temperate climate all year round.

The one who had built this thing was Ekaterina Dragunova, the human otherworlder who had the honor of being hailed as the Original Artificer. She was an unrivaled genius who had been ahead of her time by at least 600 years, so the Artificers of today were still trying to play catch-up to her designs and theories. Some parallels between her and the great elven sage Tol-Saroth could be drawn, but there were some staggering differences as well, especially regarding their legacies.

When Tol-Saroth died over four centuries ago, he toppled a millennia-old nation and unleashed a new species of monster upon the world. In contrast to that, when Dragunova retired from the public eye some nine decades ago, all she did was disappear quietly with her mechanical servants in tow. In fact, her departure had been so silent that the Horkensaft Kingdom didn’t realize she was gone until three months after her last appearance. Having no relatives or beneficiaries, her sizable estate was eventually seized by the state and transformed into the Ritz of today. The Regulator, which was her last and arguably greatest creation, had been regarded as something of a monument ever since.

However, the reason why Fizzy had shown up here had nothing to do with that weather-altering device.

She calmly entered the Ritz administrative building with Moss and Drummir close behind, then walked up to a receptionist that seemed to be free. He was a handsome-looking gnome with short black hair and a goatee, and he was wearing a crisp-looking suit that gave him a thoroughly business like atmosphere. His blue eyes fell on the golem when he noticed her approach, but he averted his gaze and looked at the green-haired gnome with the prosthetic hand.

“I’m sorry, sir, but could you please have your domestic golem step away from the counter?”

He spoke to Moss in a polite and understanding matter, but he had unwittingly committed the grave sin of ignoring Fizzy.

“Now listen here, meatbag! I’m not like those brainless dolls you see on the street!”

Needless to say, she wasn’t too pleased about that.

“I mean, seriously?! This is pure gods-damned mithril!” she complained while tapping the side of her head. “Are you blind or something?!”

“I, uh… I’m, uh, sorry?”

The flabbergasted gnome mumbled something of an apology as he tried to process this sudden development. He had heard golems speak before, but they always had dull monotones and lacked any sort of inflection. Yet this one clearly sounded pissed off, which was not a good sign to say the least.

“Ah, sorry about that, mate,” said Drummir, cutting in between the two. “It’s a long story, but angelface here was originally a flesh-and-blood gnome, much like yourself. I know it’s weird, but please try to treat her like a normal person.”

“Oh. I see. So that’s how it was.”

The receptionist was nodding his head as if he understood, but in reality he was still coming to grips with the bizarre situation. It wasn’t like a sentient golem or piece of automata was a foreign concept to him, but up until that moment he had assumed it was limited strictly to works of fiction. Then again, stranger things have happened at the Ritz, so he decided to take the dwarf’s words at face value, then turned back towards the irate golem and bowed his head a sincere manner.

“I apologize for my behavior, madam. It may have been out of ignorance, but I’ve still done something horribly rude. Please forgive me, I meant no offense.”

“Wow, this guy really knows how to brown-nose, doesn’t he?” remarked Plus with a hint of admiration in her voice, and Fizzy had to silently agree.

“Hmpf. Alright, I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

Moss and Drummir gave off relieved smiles while the clerk did his best to maintain his disarming business smile.

“So, what can I help you with today, miss?”

“I’m here to inquire about becoming an associate professor at the Royal Institute of Technology,” stated the golem. “What sort of qualifications do I need to meet before anyone will give my application the light of day?”

“Well, madam, first and most importantly of all, you need to either be a graduate of this establishment, or be a Level 50 Artificer with your own specialization. This is to ensure you possess the bare minimum of technical skill and theoretical knowledge for the position.”

The gnome began relaying all the relevant information without skipping a beat. He already knew all of this by heart since it was one of the most asked questions around here. That was how he was able to sound it out flawlessly without letting his ongoing confusion show on his face.

“The other major requirement is to have a full-fledged member of the Institute vouch for you. There’s some minor stuff too, but these two are the most important. If you can’t fill either of these criteria, then your chances at securing tenure here are practically nil.”

Having heard the man out, Fizzy momentarily fell into thought. The first part of that was she already had covered. In fact, she was practically overqualified on that front. The second one was going to be a problem, though. If it was her old self, all she’d need to do was name-drop her clan and people would be lining up to vouch for her, regardless of whether her branch of the family was exiled or not.

However, that weak, pathetic creature was no more. The current Fizzy wanted to be judged by her own merits, rather than the accomplishments of her forefathers. That was one of the two main reasons why she had her name changed in the first place. The other was the inverse of that - she didn’t want her personal achievements to be attributed to that clan that had done nothing for her except indirectly ruin her life. What she would do in the future was to be hers and hers alone, regardless of what consequences came about from her actions.

Ultimately, the biggest problem with that referral was that the golem was more or less a nobody right now. It didn’t matter how shiny or talented she was, it was hard to imagine that any of the professors around here would allow an unknown variable like her into their little club. On the other hand, if she built up enough fame and goodwill, they would practically be begging her to join in an effort to leech off of her reputation. Meatbags that pursued political power were all the same, and Fizzy’s monstrous teacher had already shown her how to take advantage of their egos.

“I see, thank you for the information,” she said with a sweet smile.

“No problem, madam. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah. Is the standing bounty regarding the Vault Beneath the Mountain still unclaimed?”

The gnome behind the counter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Meeting adventurers willing try their hand at breaching that place after all these years was extremely rare, but it was hardly the strangest thing that had happened to him that morning.

“It is,” he confirmed. “Are you perhaps thinking of challenging it.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Then you need to purchase a Vault permit. One per person.”

The golem knitted her brows together in frustration, but gave up on complaining with a breathless sigh. She really should have expected this sort of setup, considering which country she was in.

“Fine, I’ll take three.”

Fizzy, Moss, and Drummir coughed up 80 GP apiece, then filled out and signed some forms and documents. They mostly consisted of the Ritz covering their asses in case the would-be vault crackers suffered injury or death. Oddly enough, there was also a clause absolving the Institute of blame should a roaming pack of dancers assail anyone in the group on their way over to the site.

The receptionist guided them through the process with a polite smile, up until he saw Moss’s real name and let out a small giggle. He apologized immediately and handed each of them identical-looking brass plates. They were thin, rectangular, no bigger than their palms, and had some sort of serial number etched into each of them. It would appear they’d need to show this to the guards outside the Vault in order to be allowed near it.

Having obtained their permits, Fizzy and her party departed the administrative building and headed out of town. The ‘Vault Beneath the Mountain’ was a very literal name, and the mountain in question was some 20 kilometers due north of Dragunov. It was a rocky, inhospitable place called Whitecap Mountain, named after the continuous snowstorms that swirled around its summit.

That localized weather was hardly a natural phenomenon, however. Not only was the mountain not nearly tall enough to warrant that sort of frigid climate, but it was also well within range of Dragunov’s Regulator. The reason for that permanent whiteout was actually the high-tier dungeon that rested on the mountain’s peak, known as the Palace of the Crystal Maiden. It was filled to the brim with murderous monsters, deadly traps, and alluring treasures, just as one might expect from such a place.

Fizzy had a passing interest in that place since, judging from what Moss had gathered about it last night, it had a lot of similarities to the Spire of the Jade King. This meant that there was a high possibility of finding more pieces of the Forsaken Sentinel set that her left hand belonged to. Unfortunately, the Palace was an ice-themed dungeon, which meant that any and all threats within would be able to take advantage of her Bane. She briefly considered using Engine of Destruction to counteract the paralyzing frost and have Plus constantly heal her, but there was another, much more pressing problem.

The Palace of the Crystal Maiden was way out of her league, even if it wasn’t for her elemental weakness. Apparently the local Mercenary Guild have given the place a five-star difficulty rating, which meant that it would take a party of several Level 75 or higher adventurers to stand a chance at conquering it. Suffice it to say Fizzy’s group of three did not fit that description in the slightest.

Therefore, rather than throw her life away on some pointless treasure hunt, the golem resolutely moved towards her original destination. She and her two tag-alongs were making relatively good time, as they had started climbing the relatively short mountain shortly before noon. They were walking along an old, winding path that snaked around the uneven terrain. The trail seemed to be well used despite it being just a dirt path, so there was no risk of them getting lost.

The only real danger to be found around these parts was being being attacked by kobolds. Those gnome-sized humanoid monsters looked like someone had slapped lizard heads, soft scales, and long tails on a bunch of goblins. Kobolds shared a lot of traits with those green-skinned vermin, most notable of which was their hunting pattern. They were pathetically weak individually, so they had to rely on ambushing people with superior numbers in order to win. It seemed like a crude and basic strategy, but it could be scarily effective against those who wandered the wilderness unprepared.

Nevertheless, these vile creatures stood no chance against Fizzy and her group. Packs of roaming kobolds were barely even a threat compared to something like taking down an enraged adult cyclops. The golem still kept a sharp eye on her surroundings just in case, eagerly anticipating a good, old-fashioned throw-down. She had accumulated a bit of stress that morning and wanted to work through it the only way she knew how - with copious amounts of violence. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like she’d get the chance, as there didn’t seem to be any misguided meatbags that wanted to test her mettle against a fine-tuned murder machine like herself.

She’d almost be flattered if she wasn’t in danger of being bored to death.

“Uh, Fizzy? You got a minute?”

Yet despite them traveling along in a leisurely manner, Drummir had suddenly called out to her in a worried tone of voice. The golem that was at the front of the line stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder with a somewhat expectant face.

“What?! Is it the enemy?!”

“Nah, nothing like that. I just have a really bad feeling about this place,” he said while looking around nervously.

“Define ‘bad feeling.’”

“It’s hard to describe, but this mountain gives me the creeps. It’s… unnatural, I guess you could call it.”

Shamans, much like Druids and Monster Tamers, were very much in tune with their environment, and the surrounding scenery had been bugging the dwarf for over an hour now. He ignored this weird sensation at first, but it had been steadily growing stronger with every step he took, so he decided he should be more ‘proactive’ and tell Fizzy about his concerns.

“I mean, have you even noticed that there are no plants anywhere in sight?” he pointed out.

“I have. So what of it?”

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd?”

“Why would it? I mean it’s going to be pretty difficult for anything to grow under these conditions.”

The terrain around them was predominantly populated by large stones and rocks that were bleached white from sun. The sandy dirt in between them was a rust-like color, giving the scenery a look and feel that was much like that of an arid wasteland rather than a mountain.

“Life always finds a way, though,” argued the dwarf. “I wouldn’t expect to see any trees or shrubs or anything like that, but there should be some patches of grass or the odd weed every now and then. Yet there’s nothing at all out here. Not even things that grow everywhere, like lichens and moss!”

“Huh? What?”

Having suddenly heard his nickname, Moss looked up dumbly from his spot. His stamina wasn’t as well developed as Drummir’s or near-infinite like Fizzy’s, so he was easily the most tired of the three. He had taken advantage of the party suddenly stopping to sit down on a nearby rock and take a short break. He had been so focused on catching his breath that he wasn’t really keeping track of the conversation.

“Not you, kid. I mean actual moss. Even the pitch-black volcanic rocks of Gun Tarum have it. Protip by the way - that stuff works great as a hangover cure. Anyway, my point is this place is not right. It’s far too dead.”

“Dead-dead or undead-dead?” asked Fizzy with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah, there’s no Blight involved if that’s what you’re asking about.”

The undead plague was a disease that poisoned everything it touched, so there was no way a Job with high Natural Affinity (AFF) would fail to notice something like that. It gave off a very distinct sensation of rotting and erosion, much too different from what Drummir was experiencing right now. Then again, Fizzy should have been able to sense it as well since she was a Paladin, but it was good to confirm this sort of thing ahead of time.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” declared the golem.

“And how’d you figure that?”

“Because the state of this land seems to be common knowledge. The papers we signed warned us nature-attuned Jobs might experience discomfort out here, right?”

“… Did they? I, uh, must have skimmed over that part.”

“Besides,” she continued, “we’re hardly the first ones to pass through here, nor will we be the last. Men and women of a much higher Level than you or me have taken this path to reach the Vault, so if there was something sinister afoot then surely they would’ve taken care of it.”

“Okay, okay, I get it already,” said the dwarf while scratching his head. “Come to think of it though, if those people were all so great, then how come that place is still shut up tight after so many years?”

It wasn’t hard to imagine that hundreds of powerful people had tried to get into that place over the decades. Yet whether it be through might, magic, cunning, ingenuity or any combination of those things, nothing had even come close to succeeding. Even Heroes and Ultimate Skill users had been denied entry by what was now rumored to be the most secure location in the world.

“If all those VIPs failed,” continued Drummir, “then what chance do we have?”

It was a widespread sentiment that, when combined with the vault-cracking fee the Ritz had imposed, had discouraged all but the most desperate and/or foolish from challenging it.

“Mmmm, I’m not entirely sure, either,” admitted Fizzy. “I’ll let you know when we actually get there.”

“So you just came out here without knowing anything?!”

“Not really. I may not have been there personally, but I’ve heard a lot about it. Did you know it’s the final resting place of the Original Artificer?”

“Huh. No, I did not know that,” said the dwarf.

“Why’s it called a vault then?” chimed in Moss from the side. “Shouldn’t it be a tomb?”

“Normally it would be, but it’s supposed to contain the Original Artificer’s final gift to the world, along with her entire mechanized legacy. She’d left behind a bunch of clues and hints before she vanished, which led people to discovering the place. They had also unearthed the key to it along the way, but despite it fitting perfectly into the keyhole, the Vault remained shut tight.”

“They sure they got the right key?” asked the young gnome.

“Well, they say the key was over 2 meters long and weighed hundreds of kilograms. I don’t imagine there’s too many of those laying around.”

“Then why didn’t it open?”

“Well, legend says the Vault will only open for the chosen one destined to inherit Dragunova’s otherworldly legacy.”

It was a story Fizzy had read many times as a child through an old book her family had. The leather-bound tome spoke at length about the adventures of the Vault Hunters, though how much of the tale was actually true remained to be seen.

“Oh come off it, angelface!” complained Drummir. “Don’t tell me you buy into that prophecy crap!”

“Of course I don’t, Drummir. Trust me, if anyone knows just how uncertain the future truly is, it’s Caleb. And as Her faithful Champion, it would be unbecoming if I allow that sort of baseless superstition to cloud my judgement.”

“Alright, fair enough. Then why is the Vault not opening?”

“Because the lock’s busted.”

Or at least that was the general consensus within the Artificer community, according to Fizzy’s late father.

“Uh-huh. And you’re going to open it… how, exactly?”

“By fixing it, of course.”

It was a simple, straightforward answer, stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right! Just fix it!” shouted the dwarf while throwing his hands up. “I’m sure nobody has ever thought of that before!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Moss. “You mean like how you fixed that old pump back in Steelhead?!”

“Yup. Exactly like that,” confirmed Fizzy with a nod.

“Pump? What?”

“Fizzy can heal metal, uncle Drum,” he explained. “Like, one Spell from her made the rusty piece of shit water pump behind my old house turn brand new. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“And since the Vault’s doors are known to be completely metal, it stands to reason I can heal the lock, too,” added the golem.

“Well that just seems like cheating to be honest,” said the dwarf with a defeated sigh. “And thought I told you to stop calling me ‘uncle,’ ya little shit! I’m nowhere near that old!”

“That’s what all deadbeat uncles say, though.”

“Why you snot-nosed-!”

“If you two idiots have enough energy to argue,” interrupted Fizzy, “then how about you put it towards walking?”

The trio continued on their way after that brief bout of scolding. They kept trekking along the beaten path, following the uneven terrain as they got closer and closer to the Vault without much incident. Fizzy spotted a few kobold scouts poking their snake-like heads from around rocks and boulders, but none of them seemed confident or stupid enough to assault her group. Even though they were idiots, that only meant they were more in-tune with their monstrous instincts. The scaly vermin were able to instantly recognize that the gap between them and the shiny golem was unsurmountable, so they kept their distance.

As such, the group was able to proceed along the mountain path uninterrupted until they finally arrived. Standing atop a particularly steep hill, they were able to see a gigantic sheer cliff loom overhead a few hundred meters away. Its surface was bare and surprisingly smooth, making it seem like someone had sliced the mountainside up and taken a piece of it, almost as if it were a cake of some kind.

At the bottom of said cliff lay a trio of gray castle-like walls arranged in the shape of half a hexagon that was attached to the rock wall. Despite being easily 20 meters tall, the entrance to a huge cavern could still be seen poking out above them. Surrounding the dwarven fortification was what appeared to be a hamlet or a small village at first glance. However, considering the orderly fashion of the buildings, the secondary and much smaller wall that ran around the outside and the watchtowers around it made it clear it was no mere settlement.

It was a military base. One that the government used to maintain a constant vigil over the Vault. It made sense that they’d want to keep the site of a national treasure secure, but something about it struck Fizzy as odd. She wasn’t an expert on siege warfare or anything like that, but she had participated in two of them during the war. This had given her some minimal amount of insight into what made up a good defensive line and how to best make use of a fortified position.

And in her eyes, this base didn’t seem like it was made to keep people out.

But rather, to keep something in.