The next morning, Oliver stepped onto his porch, his breath misting in the cool air. The Science Machine was humming, but for the next tier of survival, its gears weren't enough.
He opened the Codex Umbra. The ink on the pages pulsed like a dark heart. He didn't just summon one worker this time; he pushed his mental limits.
Five pools of liquid shadow spilled from his feet, rising into tall, jagged Shadow Workers. Their featureless heads bowed to him, their ethereal pickaxes glinting with a violet light.
The shadows glided out of the clearing, moving with a terrifying, silent speed.
High in the silver-leafed trees, the Elven scouts nearly fell from their perches. They had been watching the "Man in Wood," but this was different. This was necromancy—or something so close to it that their blood ran cold.
Hours passed. The Shadow Workers returned, their dark forms flickering as they dumped heavy, raw gold nuggets and chunks of granite into Oliver's storehouses. As the last shadow merged back into Oliver's own, he winced, rubbing his temples. The "Sanity" drain was a heavy price, but the haul was worth it.
Oliver dragged the materials back to his porch where the Science Machine sat.
He fed the materials into the Magical Converter. The machine groaned under the strain, its golden lever vibrating violently as it transmuted the raw elements into intricate, humming copper-and-gold components. Once he had enough "Doodads," Oliver began the main construction.
He hauled out stacks of Boards and Cut Stones he had prepared earlier.
The science machine build the new structure, similar to itself, but can can create the things that science machine cannot. but that doesn't mean that science machine no longer needed, as there are many things science machine can make while new creation cannot. Nevertheless, the Alchemy Engine stood complete—a towering masterpiece of brass, wood, and humming energy.
Watching from the heights, the Elves could see everything through the open architecture of the workspace. They saw the "Science" of this man changing the very physics of the clearing.
Inside, Oliver leaned against his new engine, a tired but satisfied smirk on his face.
[Thought: Now we're talking. With the Alchemy Engine, I can craft the Crock Pot, the Refrigerator, and even Magical items. Now I am certain that I can survive this world, though I still don't know, whether this is constant or an entirely different world.]
******
The morning air was thick with a heavy, grey mist that clung to the boles of the ancient trees. Oliver stood on his porch, checking the straps of his Log Suit and the heft of his flint-tipped Spear.
He also needed Silk for a Top Hat to manage his sanity and for a Fishing Rod. He stepped off the porch and began trekking deeper into the untamed parts of the forest, moving toward the dark, webbing-shrouded valleys he had seen from a distance.
Unbeknownst to him, a new pair of eyes followed. These were not the eyes of a curious Elven scout, but the keen, weathered gaze of a Ranger. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, moved through the undergrowth like a ghost. He had heard the Elves' reports of a "Shadow-Man" and had come to see for himself if some new servant of the Enemy had taken root near Rivendell.
As Oliver reached a hollow filled with towering, bulbous Spider Nests, he didn't slow down. He didn't look afraid.
Oliver opened the Codex Umbra. His voice was low and commanding.
Aragorn, watching from behind a mossy outcrop, gripped the hilt of his sword. He watched in grim fascination as the shadows at the man's feet stretched and tore away. Four Shadow Duelists rose. Unlike the workers, these were armed for slaughter—one bore a jagged shadow-spear, another a curved blade of void-matter, and the others held flickering, ethereal swords.
With a silent, predatory grace, the shadow army charged.
The spiders—monstrous, chittering things of Middle-earth—erupted from their silken dens. They were larger and more vicious than the ones Oliver knew from the game, but the logic of the fight remained. The Shadow Duelists didn't feel pain or fear; they traded blows with mechanical precision, their dark blades slicing through chitin and silk.
Oliver moved in the center of the chaos, his own spear flashing as he finished off wounded spiders. He worked like a pro, "kiting" the larger ones and letting his shadows take the brunt of the aggro.
As the last spider fell, Oliver began his grisly work. He knelt by the carcasses, expertly extracting the Spider Glands and winding the thick, silver Silk into neat bundles. To him, this was just gathering "drops." To Aragorn, watching a human man calmly butcher the spawn of Ungoliant while surrounded by spectral warriors was a sight of both terror and profound mystery.
As Oliver signaled his shadows to dissipate, Aragorn stayed perfectly still. He realized this man was no simple servant of Sauron—Sauron's servants didn't live in mansions or farm the earth. This was something entirely new, a "Master of Shadows" who treated the horrors of the world as mere resources.