Chapter 356: Entry
Eric didn't offer a rebuttal to Milo's query. He simply offered a professional
smile and pointed toward a neighboring sector.
"Report to the next window for a high-speed biological audit. Standard Imperial
protocol. Do not worry—it is a non-invasive scan."
The audit was localized in a separate, sterile room.
The technician on duty was a Lich.
The undead official held a rune-encrusted staff, waving it in a slow circle
around each unit. The crystal atop the wood emitted distinct color-coded flares.
Green represented structural health. Leo's signature: Green. Milo's signature:
Green. Director Miller's signature: Green, with a faint yellow pulse.
"Minor lumbar strain detected," the Lich rasped. "Categorized as a chronic
occupational defect. I suggest reducing the duration of your 'Sitting-Cycles'."
Miller offered a helpless smile. He was an architect—sedentary cycles were his
primary vocation.
"Logistics confirmed. Pass," the Lich stated, stamping their forms and waving
them on.
The entire biological audit was finalized in twenty minutes.
The twelve humans were then consolidated in the Transit Hall's waiting sector,
awaiting their final deployment. The sector contained rows of chairs and a small
kiosk stocked with beverages and dry rations. A sign read: FREE PROVISION.
Leo took a cup of water, sat down, and began to audit the environment.
The Transit Hub was a river of chaotic, multi-racial life.
A squad of Dwarves marched past, hauling toolboxes that clattered like thunder.
Their vocal output was statistically higher than any other race in the room. Two
Skeleton Berserkers in heavy black plate armor walked shoulder-to-shoulder, blue
Mana-light bleeding from the gaps in their joints.
Then there was a Dragon. Or rather, a Dragon-man.
He stood nearly two meters tall, his frame entirely encased in deep crimson
scales. His slitted pupils performed a brief scan of the architects before he
glided past with a mask of cold indifference.
Milo nearly crushed his water cup. "Is that a Dragon?"
"Dragon-man," Miller corrected him. "One of the Empire's standard integrated
races. Did you not audit the demographic files I issued?"
"I audited the text! But the paper data and the visual input are two very
different metrics!"
Leo didn't participate in the social chatter. His focus was anchored to the
center of the hall.
There stood a gargantuan circular platform. It was etched with a dizzying array
of complex runes. In the center sat a vertical, oval-shaped portal. Silver-white
light churned within the aperture, obscuring the view of the destination.
The Planar Array.
The portal pulsed every few minutes. Figures stepped out; others stepped in. Leo
watched as a squad of Orc warriors formed a neat column and vanished into the
light in sequence. Moments later, the portal flickered, vomiting forth three
dust-caked adventurers with bulging rucksacks—likely extracting from a
successful mission.
Leo felt a cold sweat on his palms. In three minutes, his own frame would enter
that light.
"Very well, units."
Eric approached, holding a stack of laminated plates. "The audit is finalized.
Each unit is issued a Transit Pass. Carry it on your person at all times."
He distributed the cards. They were hard-shell items featuring the unit's name,
vocation, and a line of fine print: [TEMPORARY WORK VISA. VALIDITY: THREE
CYCLES.]
"Three months," Leo noted.
"If a structural or social crisis manifests, localize the State Army's Logistics
Office in your sector," Eric explained. "They are tasked with assisting Vassal
Units with labor and residential variables."
Eric handed the final pass to Miller. "Master Miller, you are the Lead Unit.
Here are your coordination files. Deliver them to the Punishment Legion
Centurion at the Infrastructure Command upon arrival."
"Infrastructure Command? Centurion?" Miller took the heavy envelope. "How do we
localize the specific unit?"
"Query any idle undead in the sector," Eric said, his tone slightly vague. "The
undead utilize a private link-frequency for coordination. They will guide you."
Miller didn't push for more data, tucking the envelope away.
"Follow me."
The twelve humans hoisted their gear, forming a single column as they followed
Eric toward the center of the hall. As they drew closer to the Planar Array, the
vibration became a physical sensation—not wind, not heat, but a fine, electric
shiver that raced from scalp to sole.
Leo occupied the middle of the formation. Miller was ahead; Milo followed,
dragging his two trunks. The wheels emitted a rhythmic clack-clack against the
obsidian floor that echoed through the dome.
"Center your logic," Miller whispered without looking back. "Maintain the
formation."
Eric stopped before the swirling silver mist and turned to face them.
"Transit duration is approximately fifteen seconds. A brief 'Vertigo-Debuff' is
a standard biological reaction."
"I wish you a high-efficiency mission."
He stepped aside, gesturing to the rift. Miller entered first, the silver light
swallowing his silhouette instantly. Then the second. The third.
It was Leo's turn.
He stood before the light, the brilliance forcing him to squint. He took a long,
steadying breath and stepped forward.
The second his boot crossed the threshold, his weight vanished. His system hit a
total sensory blackout. His ears were filled with a high-frequency hum that
lasted for a subjective eternity of ten seconds.
Then, the lithosphere returned beneath his boots. Hard. Solid. Anchored.
Leo snapped his ocular sensors open.
The first variable he registered was the sky. It was blue. A blue so vibrant it
looked statistically unfeasible. It lacked the grey, hazy "Filter" of the
Eldritch Realm. It was clean, transparent, and vast.
The second variable: the mountains. A jagged, infinite range draped in dense,
dark forests.
The third: the city below.
Leo's jaw dropped.
The Iron Fortress.
A monolithic metropolis sprawled before him. It was a total structural mismatch
for the concrete-and-steel logic of his home world. Stone battlements. Pointed
spires. Winding, cobblestone streets. Tendrils of chimney smoke ascended from a
dense thicket of tiled roofs.
It radiated a heavy, solemn beauty.
But to a modern architect, it also looked... unoptimized.
"Welcome to the Iron Fortress Territory."
A voice called from the side. Leo turned to see a Ghoul standing by the array,
holding a census-log. He wore a crisp Imperial uniform, his posture clinical and
official.
"Seventh Architectural Firm, affirmative?"
"We are here," Miller answered, stepping forward.
"Performing head-count. Confirming twelve units."
Milo was the last to achieve extraction. His trunks slammed into the stones with
a dull thud, and he immediately sank into a crouch, performing a dry retch.
"Transit... is a... catastrophic experience..."
"The biology adapts," the Ghoul stated flatly. "All human units experience
initial system-lag."
With the census finalized, the Ghoul guided them down a stone-paved path toward
the city core.
As they walked, Leo performed a real-time audit of this world.
The atmosphere smelled of damp earth and wood-smoke. Wildflowers—red, white, and
yellow—grew randomly along the roadside. In the distance, he saw skeletons in
the fields, hoeing the soil. Under the afternoon sun, the rows of white bone
moved in a silent, synchronized rhythm that was eerily beautiful.
A few human farmers sat on the ridges, observing the work and occasionally
shouting instructions while sipping water. A beastkin driven by a Goblin passed
them, a stalk of grass wedged in the small creature's mouth.
Milo dragged his trunks, his eyes darting everywhere. "Leo... look at that..."
"Data recorded."
"Skeletons are farming."
"Mmh."
"Dead units grow the biomass... humans consume it."
"Mmh."
"Is that logically sound?"
"In the Eldritch Realm, skeletons built your apartment block and you resided
within it. You didn't query the logic then. Cease the variable-hunting."
Milo went silent.
As they entered the city proper, the thoroughfares narrowed. The buildings were
heavy stone structures, mostly two to three stories high with peaked roofs. The
streets were paved with intricate cobble, and the population density was high.
Races were mixed in a chaotic, peaceful soup: Humans, Dwarves, Orcs, Elves, Dark
Elves, and a significant percentage of Dragon-men. The Dragon-men towered over
the crowd, their scales shimmering in the sun. Some still bore the silhouettes
of wings on their backs—even in human form, their Pressure was palpable.
Passersby cast curious glances at the twelve strangers, but the attention-rating
remained low. No hostility. Just observation. A young Dwarf child sprinted past,
nearly colliding with Milo's trunk; he scrambled up, slapped the dirt from his
tunic, offered a wide grin, and vanished.
Milo's shoulders dropped an inch. The "Threat-Rating" was decreasing.
The Ghoul halted before a three-story stone building.
"This is your temporary sector. Level one is for communal functions. Levels two
and three are residential quarters. One room per unit."
"Enter dormancy today. Tomorrow at 08:00, the Infrastructure Command will
dispatch a unit to retrieve you for a site-survey of the construction zones."
"Are there unresolved variables?"
Miller audited the exterior of the building. The plaster was uneven. The window
frames were timber. The hinges on two shutters were misaligned, yet
statistically very sturdy. His "Professional-Cringe" reflex triggered.
"None for this cycle," Miller answered, swallowing his critique.
"Adequate. Finalize your settling-in."
The Ghoul turned and departed, his gait rapid as if he had a high-priority
directive elsewhere.
The twelve architects stood before the stone house, clutching their luggage.
Silence reigned for several heartbeats. Miller was the first to breach the
threshold.
The lobby was modest—a long wooden table, several chairs, and a cold stone
hearth. An Imperial skull-flag hung on the wall.
Milo dropped his trunks and slumped into a chair. "Citizens... I officially
declare our manifest in the New World."
No one replied. They were busy processing.
Leo walked to the window, pushing open the slightly crooked shutter. He looked
out.
The skyline of the Iron Fortress unfurled before him. Pointed towers.
Reddish-brown roofs. The smoke of the industrial forges in the distance. Further
out, the Great Walls and the boundless prairies.
The city was ancient. But it was breathing.
It was the target of their transformation.
"Leo," Milo's voice came from the table.
"Mmh?"
"Do you project... that we can truly erect high-rises here?"
Leo didn't answer immediately. He stared at the stone structures, his brain
already initiating an automatic simulation. Foundation load-bearing
coefficients... structural height limits... material substitution protocols...
Mana-energy integration...
"Let's audit the terrain first," Leo whispered.
He closed the shutter. Operations were "Go."
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