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The journey back to Crimson Port was blessedly smooth—no bandits, no magical beasts, no teleportation mishaps. By the time the trio materialized in the city's arrival plaza, the sun had barely climbed to its noon zenith, painting the cobblestones in harsh white light.
After the intensity of the past few days, they deserved a proper celebration. The three friends made their way to Qiao Yu's Fishrice Tofu Shop on Maple Leaf Main Street, where they proceeded to order half the menu and spend a leisurely hour eating, laughing, and rehashing Victor's increasingly creative excuses for why he'd kept losing to Cassius in Street Fighter.
Eventually, though, reality called. They settled their bill, exchanged promises to meet up later in the week, and parted ways—Victor heading to the Everflame estate, Cassius toward the commercial district where he had business meetings, and Caelan making a beeline for his "Underground Game City" in the warehouse district.
The moment he crossed the threshold into the main hall, the familiar sounds of gaming washed over him—the electronic bleeps and bloops of multiple machines running simultaneously, the excited chatter of players, the occasional whoop of victory or groan of defeat. It was music to his ears.
But before he could even properly survey the scene, Jaren came limping toward him at impressive speed, his expression a mixture of stress and relief.
"Boss!" The older man's voice carried across the hall. "You're finally back. Thank the gods."
Caelan blinked at the desperation in his tone. "What happened? Did something break?"
"We've been completely out of stock for two days," Jaren said, slightly breathless from his hurried approach. "Every single engraved runestone is gone. Sold. The shelves are bare, the storage is empty, and I've been turning away customers all morning."
Caelan stared at him, certain he'd misheard. "Sold out? All of them? Even the backup inventory?"
"Everything." Jaren gestured helplessly toward the empty display cases that usually held their game selection. "The moment you left for the Dragonspire Empire, it was like someone rang a dinner bell for every merchant within a hundred miles. They descended on us like locusts. Didn't browse, didn't hesitate—just pointed at entire sections and said 'I'll take them all.'"
He started ticking off on his fingers. "Elemental Contra went first—no surprise there. Fierce Tortoise Warriors was gone within hours. Then Crimson Fortress vanished. By the second day, even Salamander was completely sold out, and that one usually sits on the shelves for weeks!"
"Salamander?" Caelan echoed, genuinely shocked. That game had always been his slowest mover, the one that appealed to a more niche audience.
"Gone. Wiped clean." Jaren shook his head in disbelief. "And it wasn't just us. I sent a runner to check with Ella at the Gray Horse Street shop—same story there. Merchants buying in bulk, resellers clearing entire inventories. Whatever happened while you were gone, it triggered some kind of purchasing frenzy."
Caelan didn't know what had sparked this sudden gold rush—maybe word had spread about his games appearing in other cities, maybe rumors of limited supply had created artificial scarcity, maybe his demo in Capital City had generated more buzz than he'd realized. Honestly, he didn't particularly care about the 'why' right now.
What mattered was that he was currently carrying over two thousand gold crowns in debt to Victor, and he'd just been handed the perfect excuse to transform his warehouse into a full-scale production facility.
The real bottleneck had never been the magic—his Illusion abilities let him engrave as fast as he could touch the stones. No, the problem was logistics. Moving heavy crates, unpacking stones, organizing them for engraving, sorting the completed ones, repacking everything for distribution. The physical labor was eating up massive chunks of his time.
I need a production line, Caelan realized, his mind already racing through possibilities. An assembly line. Specialization of labor. Maximum efficiency.
One thing he absolutely refused to do was raise his prices. He'd seen the fifty-silver-mark resale values in Earthforge City, watched merchants marking up his games tenfold. That was their business—if they wanted to be greedy middlemen, fine. But he'd keep his retail price at five silver marks. His games needed to remain accessible to the common people of the Moonwatch Empire, not become luxury items for the wealthy.
"Jaren," he said, decision crystallizing instantly, "I need you to do several things for me right now."
The older man straightened, ready for orders.
"First, send Oliver to Gray Horse Street. Have him get Ella and close that shop temporarily—everyone needs to work here for the next few days. Second, contact our runestone supplier and order one hundred thousand blank stones. Tell them we need delivery by tomorrow morning at the latest, and we'll pay a rush fee if necessary."
Jaren's eyes widened. "One hundred thousand? Boss, that's—"
"Going to be our baseline production run," Caelan finished. "We're scaling up. Get it done."
He didn't wait for confirmation, instead turning on his heel and heading straight out the door. He had one more critical task to handle personally.
The Talent Market was located in the southern quarter of the warehouse district, where day laborers congregated every morning hoping for work. By afternoon, most of the prime jobs had been claimed, leaving a smaller crowd of disappointed workers milling about, sharing cigarettes and complaints.
Caelan didn't bother with the traditional method of posting a notice and waiting for responses. He had neither the time nor the patience for that. Instead, he climbed onto a tall boulder that served as an informal auction platform and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Game City is hiring temporary labor!" His voice rang out across the square, cutting through the ambient conversation. "Twenty silver marks per day for heavy lifting and warehouse work! Starting immediately!"
The effect was instantaneous and dramatic.
The crowd, which had been languishing in that particular afternoon lethargy of the unemployed, suddenly surged to attention. Twenty silver marks was premium wage—easily double what most physical labor commanded. Men started pushing forward, shouting questions, waving to get his attention.
"How many days?"
"What kind of lifting?"
"I can start right now!"
"Me! Pick me!"
Caelan spent the next ten minutes shouting himself hoarse, answering questions, and carefully evaluating the workers pressing forward. He needed strength, yes, but also people who could follow instructions and wouldn't cause drama. Eventually, after scanning the crowd with a critical eye, he selected four men who looked like they could bench-press a horse—all muscle, steady eyes, and the kind of work-hardened hands that suggested they knew how to earn their wages.
"You four, follow me," he commanded, hopping down from the rock. "The rest of you—if this goes well, I might need more workers tomorrow. Spread the word: Game City pays fair and pays on time."
The four men fell into step behind him, and together they made their way back to the warehouse. By the time they arrived, Oliver had successfully retrieved Ella, and the massive crates of blank runestones were already being unloaded from the supplier's cart.
Caelan surveyed his resources—four strong laborers, his two regular employees, a mountain of raw materials, and his own supernatural engraving speed. Time to build something.
"Alright, everyone listen up!" His voice carried the same command presence he'd used at the Talent Market. "We're establishing a production line. Here's how this is going to work."
He pointed to the strongmen. "You four are responsible for material handling. Unbox the stones from the crates, lay them out in neat rows on these long tables—I want them organized, not scattered. Once I've engraved a section, move those completed stones to the finished goods area and repeat. Keep the workflow moving smoothly."
The men nodded, already eyeing the crates and calculating the work ahead.
"Jaren," Caelan continued, "you're quality control and inventory management. Keep count of everything—raw materials coming in, finished products going out. If you spot any damaged stones or potential issues, flag them immediately."
"Understood, boss."
"Ella, Oliver—you're my assistants. Help maintain the workspace, keep everyone supplied with water and food, coordinate with Jaren on the count, and handle any issues that come up. If I'm in a deep focus state during engraving, you're authorized to make decisions to keep things running."
Ella and Oliver exchanged glances, clearly energized by the trust being placed in them. "We've got this," Ella said confidently.
"Then let's make history," Caelan declared. "The factory starts now."
What followed was the most intense sustained work session of Caelan's life—either of his lives, actually.
The hundred thousand stones arrived in massive wooden crates that required two men to lift. The strongmen proved their worth immediately, working in perfect coordination to unpack and organize. They developed a rhythm: one team unpacking while another arranged the stones, creating a continuous flow of materials.
Caelan positioned himself at the center table and let his Mind Palace take over.
This was where his unique abilities truly shined. For a normal Illusionist, engraving game data would require careful concentration for each individual stone—checking the rune patterns, channeling magical energy precisely, verifying the data integrity. It was painstaking, exhausting work.
For Caelan, with his perfect memory and the game designs already stored in complete detail within his Mind Palace, the process was as simple as copying and pasting files on a computer. He'd perfected the technique over months: touch stone, activate Mind Palace, channel data, release. Touch, activate, channel, release. The entire sequence took roughly three seconds per stone.
He fell into a trance-like state, his hands moving in a blur. Touch, glow, release. Touch, glow, release. The runestones lit up one after another, each one flaring with magical energy before settling into its encoded state.
The laborers kept pace admirably, maintaining the flow of materials. Fresh stones appeared in front of him as fast as he could process the previous batch. Completed games were whisked away to organized sections—Elemental Contra here, Fierce Tortoise Warriors there, the full catalog spreading across the warehouse floor like a general's war map.
Hours blurred together. Jaren's voice became a constant background counting: "Five thousand Contra... six thousand total... seven thousand five hundred..."
Ella brought water without being asked, pressing cups into his hand during the brief moments he paused to stretch his wrists. Oliver adjusted the lighting as the sun set, ensuring Caelan could see clearly as darkness fell outside.
The strongmen, to their credit, never complained. They worked with the mechanical efficiency of men who understood that twenty silver marks meant giving their absolute best effort. When one started to flag, another would take the heavier loads, naturally balancing the workload.
By eleven o'clock at night, every muscle in Caelan's body ached from the repetitive motion, his eyes felt dry and gritty, and his magical reserves had that hollow, stretched-thin feeling that came from sustained channeling.
But they'd done it.
"Final count!" Jaren called out, his voice hoarse from hours of tallying. "Fifty-three thousand, two hundred and forty-seven runestones successfully engraved and quality-checked!"
A ragged cheer went up from the assembled workers. The strongmen were practically swaying on their feet, their faces gleaming with sweat despite the cool night air. Ella and Oliver had collapsed onto chairs, grinning with exhausted satisfaction. Even Jaren looked pleased despite his obvious fatigue.
Caelan surveyed the warehouse—every table covered with organized stacks of finished games, each one representing a potential player's joy, a potential customer's satisfaction, a potential copper mark toward paying off his massive debt to Victor.
"You all did incredible work today," he said, and meant it absolutely. "Every single one of you exceeded expectations."
He pulled out his coin purse and started distributing payments. Twenty silver marks for each of the strongmen, as promised—their eyes lit up at the heavy weight of the coins, probably more money than most of them saw in a week. Ten silver marks as a bonus for Jaren, Ella, and Oliver, on top of their regular salaries.
"And now," Caelan announced, making a decision on the spot, "we're getting food. Everyone. The best late-night restaurant in the warehouse district. My treat. You don't work this hard on an empty stomach and go home without a proper meal."
The massive late-night feast at the Silver Ox Tavern was exactly what they all needed—hot food, cold drinks, laughter and war stories from the production marathon. The strongmen promised to return tomorrow if needed, already calculating how much they could earn in a week at this rate. Jaren relaxed for the first time all day, his usual worry lines smoothing out. Ella and Oliver talked animatedly about their family's improving fortunes, how much better life had become since joining Game City.
As they walked home afterward, the siblings fell into step beside Caelan naturally.
"Boss," Ella said as they approached the old Gray Horse Street shop, "I have to ask—why are you still living in that broom closet?"
Caelan paused mid-step, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"
"Your room in the old shop is literally three square meters," Oliver added, gesturing with his hands to demonstrate the pathetic dimensions. "We've been inside. You can barely turn around without hitting a wall. Meanwhile, you built those new rooms in the warehouse—they're twenty square meters with high ceilings, proper ventilation, actual space to move. Why are you still staying here?"
Caelan opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.
He had absolutely no good answer.
The honest truth was that he'd been so completely focused on the business—on game design, on production, on sales, on expansion—that he'd genuinely forgotten he'd built himself a significantly better living space. His brain had categorized the warehouse rooms as "business assets" rather than "place where Caelan can sleep."
"I..." he started, then felt heat creeping up his neck. "I honestly hadn't thought about it. At all. Thank you for the reminder."
The siblings exchanged amused glances but had the grace not to tease him further.
Caelan didn't hesitate or second-guess himself. He went directly into the old shop, gathered his sparse belongings—bedding, a few changes of clothes, his growing collection of books, his development notes—and shoved everything into his spatial ring. The entire packing process took less than five minutes, which was a pretty damning statement about how little he owned.
Then he walked straight back to the warehouse, bid Ella and Oliver goodnight, and let himself into one of the new residential rooms he'd constructed months ago and then promptly forgotten about.
The difference was staggering.
The room was twenty square meters—roughly seven times larger than his old closet. The ceiling was high enough that he didn't feel like he was living in a coffin. There were actual windows that could open for fresh air. Space for furniture, for storage, for potentially having a life beyond sleeping and working.
He threw his bedding onto the floor for now, already making mental notes to visit a furniture shop tomorrow and order a proper bed. Maybe a desk. Perhaps a bookshelf. Maybe even some decorative elements, though that seemed extravagant.
As he lay on his makeshift floor bed, he could hear the muffled sounds of late-night gamers still playing in the main hall outside. The gentle background noise of electronic entertainment, punctuated by occasional exclamations and laughter. It was oddly soothing, like living above a heartbeat.
I should hire an Artificer tomorrow, he thought drowsily. Get them to install a proper Soundproofing Array so I can sleep in actual silence when needed.
He was just drifting off, his exhausted body finally claiming its due, when a thought struck him like a lightning bolt.
His eyes snapped open.
The White Meteorite powder experiment.
He'd completely forgotten about it in the chaos of production and moving. How long had it been? Several days at least, possibly longer. Those treated runestones had been sitting in his spatial ring, potentially engraving themselves with game data from a distance, proving or disproving his theory about magical remote storage.
Caelan scrambled off his improvised bed, suddenly wide awake despite the exhaustion. He activated his spatial ring and carefully pulled out the small protective box that held the experimental stones.
His hands were shaking slightly—from tiredness or anticipation, he wasn't sure—as he opened the container and retrieved the runestones he'd treated with White Meteorite powder. The faint silvery sheen was still visible on their surfaces, that telltale mark of the enhanced material.
He extended his mental energy carefully, probing each stone's interior to check for data encoding.
Three of them were fully engraved. Complete game data, perfectly intact, identical to the stones he'd been manually encoding all day.
One was the initial test he'd done right there in the shop, using it as a baseline to verify the powder actually worked for remote encoding.
The other two were the ones he had designated for remote engraving from Earthforge City—thousands of kilometers away, across multiple kingdoms, through potentially interfering magical fields and geographical barriers.
And they'd worked perfectly.
Caelan sat cross-legged on the floor in the darkness, his eyes reflecting the faint magical glow emanating from the stones. His mind was racing through implications, possibilities, the sheer revolutionary potential of what he was holding.
The hardware for a "Cloud Server" was real. Not theoretical, not hypothetical—real and functional.
He'd proven remote magical data transfer across continental distances. The next steps seemed to crystallize in his mind with perfect clarity: figure out read/write protocols, establish connection stability, determine bandwidth limitations, develop error correction, scale the infrastructure.
He just needed to figure out how to actually build it.
But for the first time, he believed it was genuinely possible.
Caelan carefully placed the runestones back in their protective box, his exhaustion suddenly feeling very far away despite the late hour. Tomorrow he'd need to run more tests, gather more data, start building the theoretical framework for a distributed magical network.
Tonight, though, he let himself simply sit in the darkness and appreciate the magnitude of what he'd accomplished.
The future was starting to look very interesting indeed.