The thirty-day countdown for Aethelgard's "Diplomatic Immunity" began to tick in the corner of Ren's vision.
[Time Remaining: 29 Days, 23 Hours, 58 Minutes]
"We can't just sit on this pillar and wait for Valerius to bring an army," Ren said, pacing the workshop. The five crates of Iron-Cloud Ore sat open, their contents glowing with a dull, pulsating magnetism. "We have the raw materials, but we lack a High-Pressure Mana-Compressor. Without it, the Mark III Steel-Sentinels will just be heavy statues."
Elara looked up from a crystal ball she was using to scry the local ley lines. "The House of Castellan controls the industrial district of the main pillar. They won't sell to us. Not after you humiliated their High-Herald."
"They won't sell to Ren Solari, Lord of Aethelgard," Ren corrected, a sharp glint in his eyes. "But they might sell to a wandering scavenger looking for scrap. We're going to the Iron-Cloud Market."
The City of Oakhaven
Ren and Elara descended from Aethelgard in a small, nondescript transport skiff. Ren had swapped his Herald's Mantle for a tattered traveler's cloak, and Elara had used an illusion spell to hide her pointed ears and moonlight-silver hair, appearing as a common human trader.
Oakhaven was a marvel of the Eighth Heaven. Built into the side of a massive iron pillar, the city was a vertical labyrinth of brass pipes, hanging gardens, and markets suspended by gravity-defying chains.
"Keep your head down," Ren whispered as they stepped onto the bustling docks. "The System here is different. It's not just about survival; it's about Credits and Social Standing."
As they walked through the "Low Tier" bazaar, Ren's Landlord Sense began to tingle. He wasn't looking at the flashy magic swords or the glowing potions. He was looking at the tenancy of the stalls.
"Look there," Ren pointed to a cramped, soot-stained corner where an old dwarf was being harassed by two armored guards wearing the Lion crest.
"I told you, Master Gofannon," the guard sneered, kicking a pile of copper gears. "Your shop's 'Efficiency Rating' has dropped below 40%. The House of Castellan is reclaiming this stall. Pack your scrap and get to the slums."
"I just need one more week!" the dwarf barked, his beard singed by forge-fire. "My new engine design... it just needs a stable mana-source!"
Ren stepped forward before Elara could stop him. "How much is the outstanding debt on this stall?"
The guard turned, resting a hand on his mace. "Who are you, scavenger? This is Castellan business."
"I'm a man with a penchant for distressed assets," Ren said, tossing a small pouch of Soul Stones—the currency he'd siphoned from the Void Herald—onto the counter. "I'll pay his back-rent and the 'Transfer Fee' to take over the lease."
The guard's eyes widened as he counted the stones. It was triple what the stall was worth. "Fine. The stall is yours, stranger. But don't expect the House to provide any protection for a 'D-Rank' zone."
As the guards marched away, the dwarf, Gofannon, stared at Ren with suspicion. "You're either the dumbest human in the Eighth Heaven or the richest. Why buy a dying forge?"
"I didn't buy a forge, Master Gofannon," Ren said, leaning in. "I bought a Lead Engineer. I need a Mana-Compressor for a Mark III Steel-Sentinel. And I hear you have a design that just needs a stable home."
Gofannon's eyes turned from suspicion to pure, unadulterated shock. "A Mark III? You're building Sentinels? That's Forbidden Tech in the Castellan territories!"
"Good thing I'm not a citizen of Castellan," Ren replied. He looked at Elara, who was smiling despite the danger. "Pack the tools, Gofannon. You're moving to Aethelgard. The rent is free, provided you can make my army roar."
[New Tenant Acquired: Master Gofannon (Epic-Grade Blacksmith).]
[Research Unlocked: The Alchemic Combustion Engine.]
As they began to load Gofannon's equipment into their skiff, a shadow fell over the market. A high-altitude scout-ship with the Golden Lion emblem was circling above, its sensors scanning the area.
"Ren," Elara warned, her voice low. "They're looking for us. Valerius isn't waiting thirty days to keep an eye on his 'guests'."
"Then let's give them something to look at," Ren said. He pulled a small, brass device from Gofannon's pile—a Smoke-Screen Generator. "Master Gofannon, test-fire this. We need a quiet exit."
With a hiss of steam and a cloud of alchemic fog, the trio vanished into the metallic mists of the Eighth Heaven. Ren had gained his engineer, but he knew the "Peace" of Oakhaven was a fragile mask. The real war for the Iron Clouds had just begun.