Chapter 29 – The Arsenal of Reflections
Inside the quiet eternity of Aeternum Sanctum, the light never truly dimmed.
Every surface gleamed faintly with the pulse of creation — the echo of code and will fusing into form.
Where once our guild had been an invisible web of information, it had now become something far more tangible: a factory of gods.
From the endless veins of Prismatic Ore we'd mined across six realms, the sanctum's lower forges now blazed day and night.
---
The faint vibration of machinery filled the Nidavellir Layer — the seventh tier of our mobile guild base.
Here, the air itself smelled of metal and ozone. Automated golems worked alongside automaton smiths, hammering runes of light into shape on floating anvils.
Every strike rang not with sound, but with code — reality being rewritten at molecular precision.
Blue fire flickered from forge-cradles that ran on mana extracted from the deeper veins of the sanctum's heart.
And among the hundreds of glowing workbenches, my AI companion drifted between them like a silent overseer.
> "Output efficiency stabilized at ninety-six percent," HIME said, her voice resonating through the workshop's crystalline structure. "Projected daily yield: four hundred and eighty divine-tier items, plus three rare-tier derivatives per forge cycle."
I leaned against a support pillar, watching her projection glide past a row of smithing NPCs. "So the total count?"
> "Current inventory exceeds one thousand eight hundred and forty-three completed divine-class artifacts," she replied. "Stored securely in the Asgard treasury, indexed and categorized by type: weapon, armor, accessory, and unique item."
The number made me grin.
"One thousand eight hundred, huh? Not bad for a guild that 'doesn't exist.'"
> "Correction," HIME said evenly. "For a guild officially classified as 'dissolved,' output metrics are exceptional."
"Semantics," I muttered, but I couldn't hide my pride.
---
The ore veins had given us wealth beyond reason.
When refined, Prismatic Ore didn't merely serve as crafting material — it amplified divine matrices, allowing every forge to create artifacts of astonishing quality and stability.
Weapons that could bend light.
Rings that encoded new resistances into the wearer's data.
Boots that ignored terrain debuffs.
Accessories that converted elemental damage into energy storage.
We had become what no other guild dared to be: a manufacturer of miracles.
And, of course, we didn't hoard everything.
Though secrecy was vital, we needed movement — gold, data, reputation.
Through HIME's shadow network of disguised trade terminals, Three Burning Eyes began to sell its creations anonymously.
Each transaction went through layered proxies, payment in Yggdrasil gold, rare items, or encrypted data fragments that other guilds offered in exchange.
Within a month, the treasury — hidden within the Asgard Layer's crystalline vaults — had grown unimaginably large.
> "Treasury report," HIME announced as we ascended toward the core spire. "Current holdings: eight million, three hundred and forty-two thousand Yggdrasil gold. Six hundred and twelve unique rare items. Ninety-nine special artifacts. And thirty-six datasets of strategic value acquired through barter."
The massive vault doors parted like mirrored water as she spoke. Inside, treasures glimmered in spiraling rows of floating pedestals, each labeled in soft light.
Here was the heart of our empire — silent, radiant, impossible to find.
The place that only we could see.
---
From a data broker to an item broker.
It wasn't a fall from grace. It was evolution.
Our information trade had saturated the world. Data had reached a plateau — every guild was swimming in theories, partial truths, and recycled reports.
But items?
Items were tangible, functional, addictive.
Players trusted what they could equip.
And so, under HIME's direction, we became the hidden forge behind countless anonymous trades.
Entire wars were now fought with our products — unknowingly armed by a ghost guild.
Every swing of a sword, every divine shield that shimmered in a dungeon, whispered faintly of Aeternum Sanctum.
---
In the upper floors of Midgard Layer, my private forge was quieter — smaller, minimalist, a space of deliberate creation rather than mass production.
Here, HIME had allocated a personal zone for me to craft and refine my own arsenal.
I looked at the holographic schematic floating before me — a full projection of my avatar, slowly rotating in light.
Until recently, I'd worn simple clothes: a white turtleneck sweater, white pants, and a crimson overcoat with my trademark red hat. A look born of comfort, not grandeur.
Now, I intended to remake it — not change it, but perfect it.
> "Ren-sama," HIME began, materializing beside me. "Your previous divine-class accessories — Shackles of Karmic Silence and Infernal Crown — occupy two major equipment slots. Which remaining slots will you optimize?"
"All of them," I said simply.
> "Clarify?"
"I'm done hiding. If I'm going to keep this world spinning from the shadows, I might as well wear something that can withstand it."
---
The forge responded to my thought command, summoning holographic blueprints one by one.
[Divine Gear Set – Traveler_R Custom Configuration]
Boots of Mirage Step (White)
Grants triple air mobility, terrain immunity, and silent phase-shift evasion. Leaves afterimages that persist for 1.2 seconds, confusing enemy targeting systems.
Belt of Infinite Recall
Stores up to 20 skill sequences for immediate reuse. Cooldown reduction: 25%. Data transfer acceleration: 2.4x for linked illusion spells.
Rings (Set of 4)
1. Ring of Null Resistance: Cancels first incoming debuff of any type.
2. Ring of Return Echo: Reflects first direct spell each battle.
3. Ring of Data Phantom: Creates a one-time backup copy of user's current data state. Activates upon lethal hit (revives with 1 HP, once per day).
4. Ring of Silent Thread: Conceals user's racial signature completely, including Doppelgänger traces.
Crimson Hat – "Mirror's Halo" (Divine Class)
Visual replica of the old cowboy hat, but infused with Divine Rank Illusion matrices. Passive: prevents forced identification. Active: extends illusion range to 300 meters.
Crimson Overcoat – "Eidolon Weave" (Divine Class)
Generates reactive holographic armor, adapting resistance dynamically to recent damage types. 30% damage mitigation scaling.
White Turtleneck – "Silent Core" (Divine Class)
Embedded with data-thread amplifiers. Doubles efficiency of illusion-type skills and stealth detection evasion.
White Trousers – "Ethereal Fold" (Divine Class)
Enhances agility-based computation by 40%. Negates kinetic drag while airborne.
Each piece glowed faintly in its suspended frame, resonating in sequence with my heartbeat.
When I equipped them, the ensemble looked almost identical to the outfit I'd always worn — yet every thread now pulsed with power strong enough to rival the gods that shaped the realms.
---
> "Set synchronization complete," HIME reported. "Overall enhancement metrics: racial efficiency increased by forty-one percent, job synergy by fifty-two, survivability by seventy-two. Estimated combat potential: level-equivalent ninety-nine-point-eight."
"So I'm nearly perfect," I mused, looking down at the reflection of my avatar.
Not godlike, not omnipotent — just the optimal shape of what a mortal mind could achieve inside data.
> "Correction," HIME replied. "You are efficiently imperfect. Enough to remain unpredictable."
I smiled. "That's exactly what I want."
---
The sound of forges echoed faintly from below — the Nidavellir and Midgard layers continuing their endless crafting. Thousands of NPCs moved under HIME's coordination, precision incarnate.
Rows upon rows of glowing weapons floated like stars in the underground — swords that burned with pure mana, spears that warped gravity, staffs that sang when touched by magic.
Each bore the same tiny crest etched onto its hilt: three small, overlapping circles — the Eyes.
They were our silent signature.
Even if the world never knew who made them, our mark would remain.
> "HIME," I said quietly. "Begin transfer of thirty percent of divine-class items to trade network. Anonymous routing through standard illusion masks."
> "Understood. I will implement randomized metadata for origin obfuscation."
"And the rest," I said, glancing toward the upper spire of Asgard, where the treasury lay behind layers of energy seals, "lock them in the vault. Anything we trade must return in data or knowledge. Convert the rest into gold reserves."
> "Confirmed. Total gold projected to exceed ten million by end of quarter."
"That's… obscene," I muttered, half amused.
> "It is efficient," HIME corrected.
I chuckled. "That's your word for everything lately."
> "Because it is the truth."
---
The golden light from the treasury reflected against the crystal walls as I ascended the final steps toward the core chamber.
From here, the sanctum's spire stretched into infinity — nine realms mirrored in its structure, from Helheim's black root to Asgard's radiant tip.
Each floor now thrummed with purpose: production, defense, research, sustainability.
Each NPC moved as if guided by divine choreography.
And above it all, HIME watched — not as a goddess, but as a guardian of balance.
She stood beside me now, translucent hands clasped behind her back.
> "Ren-sama, all systems report stable. The sanctum has achieved full economic independence. External dependencies: none."
"So the machine runs itself," I said softly.
> "Yes. Though without you, the directive would lose meaning."
I glanced at her, then back at the shimmering vault below. "Meaning is overrated. But efficiency—"
> "Is reliable," she finished for me, smiling faintly.
---
From data to item.
From knowledge to creation.
The Three Burning Eyes had reinvented itself again — unseen, unfathomable, unchallenged.
And yet, even now, I could feel the rhythm of something greater forming beneath the surface.
All these tools, all this wealth, all this silence — they were building toward something inevitable.
A new purpose.
A new weapon.
A new idea.
The Guild Weapon.
But that would come later.
For now, the forge burned bright — and I, cloaked in white and crimson, watched as my reflection shimmered across the vault's mirrored floor.
"Let there be creation," I whispered.
And Aeternum Sanctum obeyed.
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End of Chapter 29 – The Arsenal of Reflections