"Does this world have something similar to a sundial," Cyrus mused, unimpressed as he glared at his latest smoking failure of a creation. Sighing, the man swept it off the table with a water-logged linen undershirt. White fog oozed from the contact, wafting upwards and joining the black metallic smog in the air.

The cracked platter with a shark fin on top bounced and rolled as it moved across the bumpy, uneven surface until it fell off the edge, crashing into a pile of its brethren.

"Yes, Cyrus, we do. It is called a clock! Who do you think we are? We're not primitive," came a voice a few feet away, followed by layers of paper slamming together and loud, stomping footsteps.

Shaylah walked over to Cyrus's work table, spanning several feet horizontally before curving sharply to the left, forming an L shape. On the shorter end of the stone slab were neatly piled metal ingots, leather and linen fabric, rough sketches and prototypes of swords and shields. Two completed pilums leaned, propped up against the edge. The longer end held two massive, portable dioptra tops. The exposed surfaces of these "dioptras" are very much alike to Earth's modern 360-degree protractor.

The second in command faced Cyrus, separated by the rudimentary stone block. Glaring at the man, she slowly planted a strange, cylinder-like object on the table. Two stubby legs stuck out from the bottom, keeping the "clock" in place. The circle face contained two black, blunt needles, a thick one and a small one. Around the circumference were long-short dash patterns with numbers appearing next to each extended dash. Small, blue squiggles covered every inch of the curved surface, wrapping it in five clean lines of script without breaks.

Cyrus's eyes scanned the machine in wonder, his hands gently stroking its engraved sides like a father to his newborn. His gaze came in and out of focus as he stared at the engravings. His stomach began bubbling and twisting in protest. Water dripped out of his eyeball. The roman refused to yield in this staring contest. He would extract the secrets from this device no matter what.

[You do not have the sufficient level of [Rune Proficiency] to understand this script!]

The world began to spin. The man's eyelids grew heavy. He pressed on, slowly chewing through the masterpiece engraved before him. His eyes bulged from their sockets as the determined man gradually comprehended small fragments of the script.

[You have gained [10] levels in [Basic Rune Proficiency]!]

[The Skill [Basic Rune Proficiency] has advanced to Level 5 [Advanced Rune Proficiency]!]

The woman waved her hand over his face, "Since you clearly haven't read the encyclopedia and guidebooks laying around, here is a reminder. WHATEVER YOU DO WITH IT, do not put it in spatial storage. It'll break and then you'll need to go to the Time Guild to get it fixed."

Cyrus looked up. "I am fully aware knowledge is power. That is why you should be over there, looking for the most powerful, XP-giving beasts in the area," bobbing his head at her workstation. Her desk was stacked with books and scrolls that reached for the sky. Among the messily, random arrangements was a single, rectangular empty space barely large enough to hold a book.

Shaylah scoffed and rolled her eyes before strolling casually to her makeshift stone stool. Cyrus's eyes tailed her movements, ensuring she was following his instructions. Only after she sat down and reopened a book did the roman finally let up, his gaze returning to the clock.

A few moments passed. Cyrus's eyes remained on the line he had been on before being interrupted by his officer. The scribbles after that point made little sense and ignited a painful throb in his temple. He shook his head.

The roman placed the clock on the top left corner of his table.

Cyrus's focus returned to the two near-finished weapons. One was a slightly arced oval shield. The other was a sword with wasp-waisted curves and a triangular tip, the Mainz Gladius.

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Lifting the offensive weapon with one hand, his other waved in the air, sending two nearby iron ingots flying into his palm with a light smack. The roman pressed the two rectangular prisms against either side of the blade, combining the two ingots into the shape of the sword. He carefully maintained a finger-width distance between the transforming metal and the weapon lest the sword's structure became compromised.

After a few tense moments and close calls, the roman concluded the design by lining the edges in gold and placing a golden lightning bolt in the centre of the sheath, mirrored over on the other side. For functionality, Cyrus tied two scabbard knots, linking them to a bronze belt fitting to be conveniently secured around the waist. The dungeon core lined the inside of the sheath with two thick wide linen strips to keep the sword within the scabbard until drawn.

[Would you like to add [Mainz Gladius] to your catalogue?]

[Y/N]

Mentally tapping yes, Cyrus grinned, rubbed his hands together and moved onto the shield.

The catalogue notification should've appeared. The two layers of planks had been glued together perfectly. An iron shield boss covered the handle. Something was missing. The outward-facing layer was covered in rough leather, check. The rim was lined with iron, check. As he traced a finger along the oval shape, wondering what was amiss, another system message popped up.

[System Aide activated: To complete the [Scutum] design, you must add the standard roman aesthetics. Good luck!]

Cyrus raised a hand to his face and slapped the palm against his cheek. "How can I overlook something so basic..." Cyrus rose four sections of the leather, two on top, two on the bottom, to mimic the wings of an eagle, facing their respective sides.

He looked at his assistant, "Do you know how to make red and yellow paint from the resources we already have?"

Shaylah looked up from a thick tome, "Sure, but you gotta give me access to the catalogue..."

[Would you like to give [Shaylah Taneisha] access to [Dungeon Catalogue]?]

[Y/N]

Cyrus nodded, "Okay, you should be able to see it now."

Shaylah gave him a thumbs up and started shuffling through the masses of scrolls and books around her workspace. Just as her fingers traced the spine of a book, she looked at the man. "Since you're busy with making the new weapons, armour and stuff, why not let me make the paint while you work on more importa-"

[Would you like to give [Shaylah Taneisha] access to [Dungeon Catalogue]?]

[Y/N]

"No," Cyrus said gruffly.

"Come o-"

"No."

"It would be more effe-"

[Would you like to give [Shaylah Taneisha] access to [Dungeon Catalogue]?]

[Y/N]

"Which part of NO do you not understand?!"

The two people sighed simultaneously before glaring at each other. After a short staring contest, Cyrus's gaze drifted from her eyes to his unfinished shield.

Her voice was a deadly whisper, "So you don't trust me huh..."

Cyrus face-palmed at her naiveness, "No. We don't know each other very well," his tone gentler than before. His eyes stayed locked on a small scrap cloth lying next to his shield as if mesmerised by its complexity.

"By the way, I found it."

The man's head snapped up, "You did?! Gimme!"

Seeing his childish glee, the woman rolled her eyes and tossed the open book to Cyrus.

His eyes quickly scanned the page, jotting down the ingredients and the manufacturing process onto a freshly summoned sheet of paper using a graphite-tipped stick.

Cyrus conjured a rock of ochre onto a clear section of the stone bench. The roman proceeded to drop another slab of rock onto it, crushing the pigment into powder. Following his rough instructions, the fine powder was mixed with linseed oil and turpentine to create an oily substance. The remaining powder and rock were re-absorbed to minimise the mess.

A much similar process was utilised for the yellow paint mixture.

With both colours ready for use, Cyrus tossed the relatively clean tome back to its owner before manifesting a small, slim wooden cylinder. Delicately placing his index finger on the tip while his other hand secured the object, the dungeon core made a tiny hole in the top. Looking briefly around the room, Cyrus gently set it down on the benchtop and reached up to his head. His fingers latched onto several strands of hair. He tugged. The blond strands were now detached from their parent.

Stuffing the strands into the tiny cavity, Cyrus multiplied their numbers, jamming the small cylindrical hole full of hair. The roman grabbed one end of the handle and eagerly jammed the haired tip into the pot of red paint, lathering the brush with the liquid. He twirled the makeshift paintbrush for a relatively even coating. After a few seconds of this repeating action, Cyrus withdrew the tool and began painting the shield. The clock's minutes hand flicked to fifteen.

It was now forty.

Cyrus grinned happily, wiping the few drops of red and yellow off his hand with a linen rag dripping with water.

[Would you like to add [Scutum] to your catalogue?]

[Y/N]

"Time to build a proper army, worthy of the roman name," Cyrus cackled, a mad gleam burning within his eyes.