Light Bringer: New World[LitRPG, Fantasy, a very crazy idea]

The second day of searching through the Central Archive and Scribes’ Library ended exactly like the first: in a dead end of moldy paper.

Dante had spent four hours combing through the fiscal registries of the Capital’s founding engineering firms, hunting for any excavation contract that referenced depths two hundred meters beneath the central palace. There was not a single line. Every payout order for civil infrastructure halted at the forty-meter benchmark. Below that threshold, municipal expenditures were lumped under a blanket heading of geological mantle maintenance that recorded neither laborers, materials, nor Mana outlays.

”Enough,” Dante said at noon, shutting the final ledger with a dry slap that kicked up a puff of dust across the desk. ”The people running this library are the very ones running the Citadel. Looking for official paper on the people who control official paper is an exercise in stupidity.”

Maria, who had spent the last two hours leaning back with her arms folded while staring out the lobby window, broke into a wide grin.

”The math genius finally catches on to what I told him yesterday,” she pushed off her oak chair, rolling her broad shoulders until her joints popped. ”Now can we clear out of this silent temple and chase down something that actually matters?”

Dante did not answer immediately.

He scooped up three brass tokens he had picked out from the entry rotunda’s notice board earlier that morning.

He had turned up nothing regarding Containment Sector Zero, but his mind, attuned to tracking resource flows, had flagged an administrative quirk that offered a clean avenue for advancement.

”We didn’t locate the white-jacket nest,” Dante said as they descended the archive’s black basalt steps. ”What I did find is how we pay off your black-steel greatsword and break Level 30 before the month is out.”

Maria stopped midway down the final flight, her brown eyes locking onto him.

”How?”

”The Council of Forges has a sewer problem,” Dante drew the first brass token from his coat pocket. ”The Capital excretes two hundred thousand tons of mineral slag and scalding boiler runoff every single day. That muck drains through municipal sluice gates straight into the Tar Mire and the Ferrite Trenches.”

He pressed the metal plate into Maria’s palm.

”The industrial effluent is heavily saturated with raw, unanchored Mana,” Dante went on. ”That energy feeds the marsh fauna at an explosive rate. Monsters down there mature fast, grow heavy mineral armor plates, and begin choking the southern wall’s drainage flumes. The Iron Legion doesn’t bother dispatching rifle battalions to clear out sewer vermin because the generals consider trench-sweeping beneath the dignity of frontline regulars.”

Maria read the text stamped in low relief across the brass:

Council of Defense and Sanitation of the First Ring.

Extermination Permit No. 104 - Valve Sector Thirteen.

Target: Chemical Burrower Nest (Level 25 to 27).

Perimeter Clearance Bounty: 2,400 scrip in legal tender.

Bonus: Full retention of harvested biological and mineral spoils.

The girl looked from the bounty figure to Dante’s face.

”Twenty-four hundred scrip?” she asked, her voice calculating the sums. ”On a single permit?”

”Twenty-four hundred scrip guaranteed by the Central Bank upon surrender of stamped cores,” Dante confirmed. ”Plus the combat experience from Level 26 constructs, plus whatever meat and rendered oil we liquidate to our corner butcher. Run two of these permits a week, and we clear ten thousand scrip in cash and climb four levels before our next rent cycle hits.”

Maria barked a loud laugh in the middle of the Second District sidewalk, slapping the brass plate into her leather jacket pocket with a solid crack.

”Now that’s an operational plan, bighead,” she said, her stride lengthening toward the tram station. ”No more old folios. Let’s hit the bureau and secure the paperwork before another party grabs it.”

The Permit Bureau of the Third Ring operated out of a red-brick depot set flush against the city’s inner curtain wall.

The hall was noisy, thick with the stench of twist tobacco, spilled ale, and weapons grease.

Dozens of independent scavengers, scarred veterans bearing claw lacerations across their necks, and lower-caste demons hoisting two-handed axes jostled before a cast-iron counter, where three municipal clerks hammered ink stamps onto heavy parchment contracts.

Dante and Maria joined the queue at wicket number two.

The intake clerk was an elderly demon with a brass clockwork ocular prosthetic in his right socket, ticking with mechanical clicks as he audited every incoming manifest.

He took in Maria’s height, measured the forty-pound greatsword across her back, and noted Dante’s composed stance.

”Permit one-oh-four,” Dante set the brass token on the counter. ”Suppression of Chemical Burrowers in Valve Thirteen’s drainage culvert. Filed under Dante Miller and Maria.”

The clerk took the token, pulled the registry card from the metal filing cabinet beneath his station, and laid a heavy parchment folio on the wood.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

”Issuance levy is fifty scrip,” the clerk wheezed. ”Operating window is forty-eight hours from clearing the South Sluice. To draw the twenty-four hundred scrip, you present the four intact venom bladders from the nest queens alongside the ferrite cores from the carcasses. Fail to deliver within two days, the permit lapses and the sector reopens to competing crews.”

Dante handed over a fifty-scrip note from the Central Bank.

The clerk struck his cast-iron seal into black ink, pressed the directorate crest into the foot of the document, and slid the contract across.

”Good hunting in the slime, kids,” the clerk offered a toothless, raspy smirk. ”Thirteen’s Burrowers carry battery acid in their thoracic glands. Catch a spray on bare skin, it eats through bone before you can shout for a medic.”

”My skin is plenty tough,” Maria shot back, taking the parchment and turning her back on the line.

Valve Thirteen lay nearly four miles southwest of the South Sluice, where a twelve-foot industrial drainage conduit emptied into a sunken basin of black sludge flanked by fractured ferrite boulders.

The air across the sector tasted of sulfuric acid and tarnished copper.

The greenish vapor rising from the mire burned the eyes, but Maria’s [Liquid Lead Stance] blunted the chemical fumes to a dull numbness she easily ignored.

The nest was burrowed directly inside the maw of the runoff main.

The sentries guarding the culvert mouth were four Level 25 Chemical Burrowers. They were biomechanical horrors thirteen feet long, their segmented carapaces plated in dark, leaden mineralized chitin, their hydraulic pincer mandibles dripping viscous green acid over the muck.

[Entity: Chemical Burrower (Greater Tier 2).]

[Level: 25.]

[Health Points: 410/410.]

[Warning: Continuous Acid Damage on Direct Contact.]

”Quick execution,” Dante said, halting on the stone embankment twenty paces from the pipe entrance.

He needed no conductive chalk.

He raised his right hand, the brass ring on his middle finger flaring through its blue quartz stone.

[Skill Activated: [Rain of Ether Needles - Tier 1].]

[Mana Cost: 45 MP.]

Twenty lances of compressed blue light burst from the focal gem in a tight cone, tearing through the chemical steam with an electric whine, peppering the unarmored ocular arrays of the two lead sentries guarding the sludge.

The ten-percent slow locked their drive legs into the mud.

The third burrower, a larger queen-caste variant with thick iron crusting her head, reared back to vomit a jet of green acid from its thoracic reservoir straight at Dante.

Dante didn’t run. He triggered the skill he had spent the rail journey integrating into his motor reflexes.

[Skill Activated: [Forced Transposition - Tier 1].]

[Mana Cost: 65 MP.]

[Selected Target: Lead Chemical Burrower.]

The spatial fold snapped shut in less than eight-tenths of a second.

The thirteen-foot monster vanished from the lip of the conduit where it was primed to discharge and reappeared in mid-air two feet off the deck, exactly three feet in front of Maria.

The creature had no time to process the altered coordinates.

Maria was already at the apex of her downswing.

[Lead Impact] fused with [Devastating Cleaver] as the forty-pound greatsword cleaved the air.

The heavy blade swept downward in a flawless vertical arc, carrying the full momentum of thirty-three Strength and the dense mass of her two-hundred-pound frame.

CRACK-SPLIT.

The blow sheared through the collar connecting the armored skull to the creature’s first thoracic ring.

The mineralized chitin shattered like plaster beneath a trip hammer. The blade sliced straight through the beast from collar to belly, parting the carcass into two halves that rolled apart in the black muck, splashing a spray of green acid that spattered Maria’s iron brigandine and ran down the plates without scalding the reinforced flesh beneath.

[-310 HP to target.]

[Target Eliminated: Chemical Burrower (Level 25).]

”This is completely unfair, Dante!” Maria laughed into the steam, sweeping her grease-coated greatsword around to face the three remaining horrors scrambling to retreat up the culvert.

”Unfair is whatever works without cracking our bones,” Dante called from his stone perch, already leveling his focus ring at the next target.

The following ten minutes played out with mechanical, risk-free slaughter.

With [Forced Transposition] snatching the beasts from their reinforced positions within the pipe and dropping them directly into Maria’s execution arc, the remaining three burrowers were cleaved apart before they could discharge a second volley of acid.

When the last carcass collapsed into the sludge with a split head, the combat log flashed with bold golden reward script.

[Sector Engagement Concluded.]

[Experience Received: +890 shared EXP.]

[Dante Miller: Level 20 (890/2200 EXP).]

[Maria: Level 21 (930/3200 EXP).]

Maria wiped the corrosive slime from her blade with a clump of dry wiregrass, drew her boning knife from her toolbelt, and set about harvesting the four intact venom bladders from the fallen carapaces, packing the organs into sealed clay crocks Dante had brought in his rucksack.

Two hours later, they stood back before the counter at the Third Ring Permit Bureau.

The clerk with the clockwork eye examined the four clay crocks, audited the viscosity of the green fluid, and dropped his completion stamp onto the parchment with a sharp click of cogs.

He withdrew twenty-four hundred-scrip notes from an armored lockbox, sliding the clean stack into Dante’s hands.

”Clean dispatch, kid,” the man said, his brass lens whirring as it calibrated on Dante’s face. ”Under three hours to scour out Thirteen. If you want Permit one-oh-eight in the hot-slag gallery, it opens tomorrow morning for three thousand scrip.”

”Hold that ticket,” Maria spoke before Dante could open his mouth, her greatsword sheathed and her coin pouch heavy with fresh tender. ”Seven sharp tomorrow morning, we’re here to sign the paper.”

They stepped out of the brick depot, heading back toward the Boilermakers’ Village as the setting sun cast long shadows across the Capital’s iron avenues.

The road toward Level 50 was long and demanding, requiring hundreds of thousands of experience points and weeks of muck on their boots.

Yet their industrial engine was running: they had a repeatable, safe hunting doctrine, their own roof secured behind basalt walls, and an authorized municipal revenue stream funding every single point of growth without relying on a soul.

The city kept its secrets locked away in the foundations of the Citadel, but every day spent on this iron soil brought them closer to the physical force required when the time came to descend those two hundred meters of solid stone.