As Cyrus and Shaylah continued their walk, their figures growing smaller and smaller from the lines of white triangles, the crafting stations loomed larger.

The stench of sweat and metal in the air gave way to the dusty musk of ink, wood and smoke.

The nearest workspace sent an eyebrow shooting up Cyrus's face as he turned to his assistant, who met his eye, answering with a cold, indignant "What?"

The centurion decided not to press further on the issue.

Piles of books lay stacked in wobbly towers on the brink of collapse, looking as if they will topple at the faintest whisper from the wind. Others lay open and hazardously clumped, shaping the floor into rolling hills and gentle slopes of black and white, unlike the flat, stone surface that besieged the workstation on all sides.

Much literature was seen in their natural habitat, cosily snuggled in the packed cases and shelves, their golden-edged spines glowing and pulsing as if sensing the arrival of their next captive, eager to enthral them with their propaganda and beliefs.

The circular, book-carpeted space held a round table straining under the mountainous weight of the books.

After scanning the playground of a madman, Cyrus turned towards his open-air office, sending a parting wave to his second-in-command as he stepped towards his destination. Only for his trip to be rerouted by a hand grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him into the books, their arms wide open in welcome.

"You, mister, aren't leaving until you can actually use the system as it is supposed to. The fact that you don't even acknowledge it is like a constant hammer bonking me in the skull every time I look at you."

Cyrus snorted, pulling his hand back, and darkly responded, "And who was supposed to teach me this since..."

The centurion paused and waggled his index finger in the air, "Ah yes, telepotation to this realm."

Shaylah arched an eyebrow, copying his prior expression, replying snarkily, "I forgot, I was babysitting a baby who cannot speak properly. Maybe that is why..."

The dungeon core rebutted, "My apologies, the foreign concept was told in such a brief passing with little explanation that my ears couldn't quite catch it."

Shaking her head to clear the stubbornness wafting from Cyrus's mouth, Shaylah sighed and waved him off, replying, "You do you. You'll see the importance soon enough. But since you insist, perhaps the scorpion project should take up more of your time."

Nodding stiffly, the Roman agreed to the implied ceasefire before stalking off towards his post, calling over his shoulder, "Do you mind resummoning the recruits and getting them armour?"

"Yes, I do mind, as you forget a critical part in your sentence."

Cyrus gritted his teeth, grumbling out, "Please."

"Of course, it would be my pleasure," followed shortly by the ruffling of papers, a panicked shriek before the thud of leather and paper crashing to the ground echoed in the air.

Despite his best efforts, a chuckle escaped through the cracks between the fingers barring his lips shut. The Roman quickened his pace towards his hideout. The intervals between the clapping of rubber soles on stone shortened as a shout of "I HEARD THAT," erupted from behind him.

Unable to contain the humour building within his throat, his lips opened. Laughter escaped him, only to turn to cough as his body's requirement for oxygen clashed with his emotional outburst.

After feeling the warmness within his stomach dissipating, Cyrus began his work. Looking over his workstation, a massive L-shaped table with shelves and cupboards organised neatly on one side, each cubicle filled with mini ingots of material, the Roman rubbed his palms in excitement.

Stolen story; please report.

Walking over to one of the cabinets, the Roman grabbed a trapezium-based prism of oak wood, placing it gently on the counter. He materialised a copy in its former place. Sliding it to the centre of the table, Cyrus moved along the shelves, grabbing rope and steel before returning to the workbench.

Grabbing the wood, Cyrus elongated and extorted the shape into a rectangular prism with smooth, semi-circle ends on either side before cloning it. It was as thick as a finger.

Gently moving the arms to one side, the Roman materialised another piece of wood and followed the previous pattern, but rather than curving the ends, he left them straight. Tracing a finger along the centre of the plank, he created a trough that taped off at the ends, forming a curve.

[Would you like to display the [Dungeon Mana] usage for each task?]

[Please note: [Dungeon Mana] is still detached, but will not be displayed until the depletion warning at 10% remaining.]

[Please look at the changes made to your status sheet at your earliest convenience.]

Cyrus grumbled, "No," flicking away the notifications as fast as they appeared.

Adding several poles to elevate it off the table, Cyrus cloned the piece, increasing its length while slightly widening the gap running through the centre. Sliding it beneath its smaller twin, a lump grew on the upper piece's underbelly, fitting snuggly into the valley below.

Placing the two with the arms, Cyrus quickly finished off the metal frame, a thick mantle piece with a rectangular hole in the centre for the bolt. There were two holes on either side, but only blanks appeared in his mind when it came to their use.

Quickly creating the stand, supporting beams and winches, the crafter's pace slowed to a crawl.

He slowly ran his hands over the parts, rearranging them into a configuration that looked somewhat like the finished product. The Roman pursed his lips, muttering quietly under his breath, "A close-up inspection would've been nice...maybe a couple questions for the engineers..."

Cyrus glanced at the messy library, sighed and shook his head. Mumbling something inaudibly along the lines of "She'll never let me live this down," the Roman slowly trudged towards his officer's workplace, head bowed in defeat.

Finally arriving, the centurion called out politely, "I would like some assistance with the project...please."

Shaylah popped her head out from behind one of the piles and grinned sharkishly at him, displaying her rows of pearly white teeth, "Has something twisted the pants of our mighty leader? How can this servant be of use?"

Cyrus sighed, "Just give me a hand. Cut the nonsense."

His second-in-command gestured for him to lead the way.

Grunting, the centurion strolled towards the incomplete machine. Each step was measured and sure but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips destroyed his facade of calmness. His eyes were blazing with excitement.

His giddiness didn't go unnoticed as Shaylah's eyes swirled up and around in an arc, muttering quietly, "Men, always so happy about weapons of mass destruction."

The comment didn't register in Cyrus's head, which was overloaded with dreams of ballista bolts blocking out the ceiling, piercing the Cyclops, penetrating the two undead and slamming through ranks of demons. Rather, the vibrations in the air entered through one ear and out the other.

After arriving at the construction site, his second-in-command scanned over the pieces. She turned to the Roman, "You know if you wanted to make a ballista, you should've just told me."

Shaylah hunched over several pieces, turning them over in her hand, mumbling, "Not too bad...but will need some work here..."

Dismissing the dungeon core with a shooing gesture, the dungeon fairy raised her free hand. From within the mass grave of trees, a mighty thud could be heard as a book erupted from the pile. It hovered in mid-air, its majestic brown wings flapping gently, before shooting into its owner's expecting hand.

Flipping through the pages, her fingers tracing each line, Shaylah slid the bow arms over to her. The officer once more waved her hand in the air to create a strange, ghostly blue circle numbered 0 to 360 along its edge. Placing it beneath the wood pieces, the officer twisted and bent the shape until the wood was aligned with one of the dashes.

Standing awkwardly to one side, Cyrus rubbed and fiddled with the sleeves of his linen undershirt. Several loose strings constricted his finger. Some ran through the cracks between them.

Losing interest, he snapped the thin white noddle, leaving a tiny stump poking from the clothing. Tucking his chin in, he scrutinised his appearance. "Might as well try and find my set of armour..."

And with that thought in mind, the centurion headed off towards the troops' encampment, only to be called back midstep. He heard the sweet, honey words of "It is done," drizzled with a light garnishing of...

[The Item [Ballista (Scorpion) has been added to your catalogue.]

[You can now summon it. For costs, please consult the catalogue.]

A wolfish grin appeared on Cyrus's face, "Cyclops, your end is nigh."