Robert didn't leave the city's security to guesswork. He turned to Dane, the veteran Lieutenant of Eagle Team. Dane had survived the frozen hell of the islands and the absolute chaos of the alien awakening; he knew how to move through hostile territory without snapping a single twig.
"Dane, get in there," Robert ordered, his voice echoing in the command center. "Infiltrate the elven settlement. I want to know if they're sharpening blades or packing bags. If they're looking for a fight, I want to know before they even finish a prayer to their gods."
"On it, Boss," Dane replied. His Nanosuit 1.0 shimmered into a perfect Cloak as he ghosted out of the bay.
The elven settlement was a hidden tapestry of rope bridges and wooden platforms woven into the ancient trees. To the Aen Seidhe, it was a sanctuary; to Dane, it was a target-rich environment. He moved through the camp like a phantom, his Tactical Visor recording heat signatures and snatches of conversation in the Elder Speech, which Robert's Polymath System translated in real-time back at the base.
What he found wasn't a war council.
In the center of the camp, the elven elders were gathered around the survivor who had tried to kill the CryNet civilian. The air was thick with tension. The elders were absolutely livid.
"You fool!" an elven matriarch hissed, her voice trembling. "You brought the gaze of the Iron Ghosts upon us! We saw them slay the Red Dragon as if it were a common hound. Do you wish for our trees to burn? Do you wish for our children to be hunted by monsters that cannot be seen?"
The offending elf hung his head, his face bruised from the Maximum Strength punch he'd received in the city. The elders made their decision clear: there would be no retaliation. Instead, they would prepare a caravan. They would offer rare woods, herbs, and ancient knowledge in exchange for peace. They were terrified of the invisible predators they couldn't hope to fight.
Dane shimmered back into the command center an hour later, his suit hissing as he decloaked. He pulled his helmet off, a grim smirk on his face.
"Good news, Commander," Dane reported, wiping condensation from his suit's neck seal. "The pointed-ears aren't looking for a rematch. The elders nearly took that guy's head off for swinging a knife at our techie. They're terrified of us. They're packing a trade caravan as we speak—looks like they're coming to buy our friendship with whatever they've got in those woods."
Robert nodded, his gaze fixed on the holographic map. "Good. Diplomacy backed by a battalion of Nanosuits is the most effective kind. Tell Rasch to set up a trade depot outside the main gates. If they want to play nice, we'll show them what 21st-century commerce looks like."
The heavy blast doors of CryNet City didn't just open for the elven caravan; they invited a new era into the North. To the Aen Seidhe, the expectation was clear: a cold, clinical trade post where they would exchange their rare silks and herbs for their lives. Instead, they were met by Karl Ernst Rasch and a team of logistics specialists who treated the elders not as "non-humans," but as high-value business partners.
To the elves' absolute shock, they weren't restricted to a muddy outpost. They were granted permits to set up shops within the city's lower commercial sectors—gleaming, climate-controlled plazas where elven woodworking stood side-by-side with CryNet medical kiosks.
The real shock, however, was the currency. Robert and Rasch introduced the CryCoin—a digital-physical hybrid coin minted from a high-density, purer-than-gold alloy produced by the city's molecular fabricators. A single CryCoin was more valuable than ten Novigrad Crowns. Within weeks, it became clear that if this currency ever trickled into the Southern kingdoms, it would collapse their economies and outstrip the Crown overnight.
But what truly won over the Aen Seidhe wasn't just the wealth—it was the decency. These "Iron Men" and their civilians didn't spit on the elder races or call them "freaks." They shared basic knowledge of medicine, sanitation, and even offered high-paying jobs in the city's logistics and gardening sectors.
Two months passed. The elven settlement and the high-tech spire became symbiotic neighbors. The elves began to see the CryNet citizens as "the Decent Ones"—a stark, confusing contrast to the humans of the South.
This cultural shift was a death sentence for the social standing of the elf who had once swung his dagger at the civilian. He no longer walked the woods as a "protector" of his race; he was a pariah. His own kin looked at him with scorn, seeing him as the fool who nearly brought extinction to a people who were now providing them with antibiotics, warm homes, and a future.
Inside the Command Center, Robert watched the live feed of the bustling market sector. Dominic Lockhart stood beside him, arms crossed over his tactical vest.
"Look at 'em," Lockhart grunted, his cynicism warring with the reality on the screen. "Buying and selling like they've been doing it for centuries. You're turning a war machine into a shopping mall, Taylor."
"I'm building stability, Lockhart," Robert replied, his visor scanning the biometric data of the city. "Trade builds walls that soldiers don't have to defend. But the quiet won't last. The South is going to notice that their 'worthless' northern border is suddenly minting the most expensive currency on the Continent."
"COMMANDER," the System pulsed in his vision. "ENERGY SPIKE DETECTED. RADIATIVE SIGNATURE IDENTIFIED: PORTAL OPENING IN SECTOR 4."
"Lockhart, get your boys," Robert commanded, his Nanosuit 2.0 shifting into combat readiness. "It looks like the Sorceresses finally found the 'invisible' city."