Cain's mind whirred with recognition.
'Based on the turrets and contraptions earlier, this guy is more or less a Trap Engineer.'
He had studied about them before, a class of magicians who specialized not just in spells but in building intricate mechanical contraptions.
They weren't just ordinary engineers, they were manipulators, turning any terrain into a death zone with the flick of a switch.
Cain had thought about making this his specialty, but decided against it, wanting to see if the schools could offer insight into broader fields.
Their magic wasn't flashy. It was efficient, decisive and lethal.
"Thanks for the assist, Specialist."
The voice crackled back with a chuckle.
"Ain't nothing. You all got a knack for causing trouble, I'll give ya that."
For a moment, there was silence. Cain didn't know how to respond, fully aware he was in the wrong for activating his turrets.
Then, just as he was about to turn and leave, the ground trembled. The air shimmered and warped, like reality itself had pulled back its curtain just for him.
'What a huge illusion array! I didn't even notice it being there.'
What lay beyond made him green with envy.
A sprawling mining operation stretched as far as he could see, hidden behind layers of optical camouflage.
Hover trucks glided over the deforested terrain, each one loaded with tons of shimmering uranium crystals.
On the ground and below, the rhythmic clanking of stone echoed as hundreds of mining automatons skittered across the surface like metallic ants. They scooped raw material with relentless efficiency, dumping it onto conveyor belts that vanished into towering refineries.
Cain turned to the man who had appeared beside him, a pipe clutched between metal fingers.
The man's body was almost entirely mechanized, polished chrome and reinforced plating covering everything but his lungs.
Those were encased in a transparent shell, exposed and blackened with soot and age.
Cain's eyes lingered a second too long, earning a chuckle from the old man.
He tapped the glass encasing his lungs. The organ hissed, steady as ever despite years of smoking.
"I kept it as memento, my team used to have a celebratory cigar every time we got a huge haul."
Cain gave a quiet nod, his lips drawn in a thin line beneath his visor, but he didn't wish to pry further into the old man's past.
Sensing his intent, the man extended his hand. When Cain took it, the grip was cold, metallic, and unnervingly firm.
"Name's Colt Grayson."
"Cain."
"I've been around these parts for a few years. Uranium's good coin, if you got the gear for it."
Colt pointed to the jagged outcrops nearby.
"These here are top-grade cash cows. I ain't stingy about sharing what Mother Nature handed out."
He turned away and began rummaging through the back of his truck.
After a while, he pulled out a pickaxe, its metal gleamed in the sun, the handle rough and worn from years of use.
"These here's all I can lend yah, boy."
Colt had already handed him the pickaxe, its now up to him to decipher the implications.
'I need to make money, he didn't even let me say a word. How am I suppose to do this?'
Cain wanted to ask but phrasing it wrong could backfire.
If he came off too bold, the man might think he was some veteran warrior out for a thrill and point him toward an area too hard for his level. If he played it too soft, he risked getting mistaken for a clueless tourist and sent to pick herbs and berries like a lost child.
There had to be a middle ground, he just needed the right words.
One thing was certain, local knowledge had become priceless in a world where global positioning systems no longer existed.
As he hacked at the crystals with steady swings, Cain glanced toward Colt, waiting for the right moment to strike up a conversation.
Colt didn't look like the type to waste breath, but Cain figured it was worth a probe.
"Any idea what a startup like me can get into around here? I doubt mining's the only business that's booming."
Colt leaned back slightly against the wall, his eyes lifting to the sky. A crease crept across his face as he considered his answer.
"Most folks head to the city. Bout a thousand klicks from here. They find work, sometimes it's decent, sometimes it ain't. It all comes down to luck, really."
Colt took a long drag, the pipe glowing orange against his metal jaw. After a slow puff, he added,
"If you ain't got the patience, there's always the local crews. The Syndicate's got a network, folks join through paid invites. Easy money, sure, but it ain't what I'd call long-term."
He tapped his metal temple, a quiet reminder for Cain to think for himself.
The trap engineer wasn't naive. He could tell the boy was after information, but he didn't seem to care. In fact, the old man watched him with a hint of amusement.
Cain didn't let up. He struck the outcrop with practiced precision, his gaze fixed on the slight rise and fall of the man's chest as he took a few steady breaths before continuing his tale.
The old man gave a short sent a ping through his terminal. Cain's device buzzed in response, a file transferring without delay.
He accepted it without hesitation. If Uncle J guaranteed anything, it was the security of his terminal.
A projected image flickered to life, an image recording of what looked like a rough map.
"'Bout fifty klicks west, You'll see a crystal man standing like a statue in a sea of giants. Hard to miss, even if you're blind. That's where you wanna be."
Cain gave a nod of thanks, then wheeled the heavy cart of ore beside the pile of unprocessed uranium crystals.
He knew Colt wouldn't talk for free. No one did, not in places like this. The old man wasn't here to babysit kids like him, he was here to do business.
As Cain turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of Colt through the haze of pipe smoke. The man nodded with a smile, one metallic hand raised in farewell.
Cain returned a short bow and walked off, his thoughts already working through the intel he'd just picked up.
Behind him, the wall of illusion shimmered into place, sealing the mining site from view as though it had never been there.
Turning away, he fixed his gaze on the path ahead. A tree loomed nearby, not one of the chimeric predator trees, but something safer.
He climbed it with practiced ease, branches creaking beneath his weight until he reached the top.
From there, he scanned the horizon, tracing the route west.
The map showed the location, slightly off the direct path to Sliabh'Verdan City.
'A detour, but hopefully worth the time.'