Chapter 16: The City of Scrap and The Economy of Rust
Stepping into the belly of Bakasa City felt like entering a giant factory machine that hadn’t been serviced in ages. The air was heavy, slling of a mix of hot tal, used oil, the sweat of thousands of humans, and the chest-tightening smoke of coal combustion.
Dayat was still supporting Dola, who was pretending to be crippled. They walked along the main street of the Outer District, a slum area behind the great wall where houses were built stacked on top of each other from rusty zinc and used bricks, as if competing to see which would collapse first.
There were no trees here. Only a forest of hissing steam pipes and chaotic cables dangling like spiderwebs.
"Crazy..." Dayat mumbled softly, his eyes sweeping over the bustling market on either side of the road. "Is this a city or a Steampunk version of a massive landfill?"
The people around them walked with their heads down. Their faces were dull, their clothes full of patches. So carried sacks filled with scrap tal, others pushed carts filled with dimd mana crystals. No one cared about Dayat and Dola. Here, two sick-looking hobos weren’t a strange sight. It was an everyday view.
Dayat dragged Dola into a narrow alley between a blacksmith shop and a cheap tavern. The sll of cheap alcohol and the ear-piercing sound of hamring muffled their presence slightly.
"Dol," Dayat whispered. "It’s safe. No guards here. Wake up."
Dola’s body jerked slightly. A faint hum of a system reboot was heard. She straightened her body, taking a long artificial breath as if she had just drowned.
"System Online. Visual sensor calibration... Complete," Dola’s voice sounded clear again, though she set the volu very low.
"Where are we, Master?" Dola scanned the surroundings, her eyes blinking rapidly under her tarp hood.
"Bakasa, Slum Sector it seems," Dayat replied, sliding down to sit on an empty wooden barrel. He massaged his sore legs. "And we have big problems, Dol. Ring is gone. No money. Stomach empty. And I don’t know where we’re gonna sleep tonight."
Dayat watched the people passing by on the main street from the shadows of the alley.
"I saw people paying with tal coins. So copper, so silver. We don’t have a single one. At this rate, we’re gonna die of starvation not because of monsters, but because of structural poverty."
Dola didn’t answer imdiately. She stepped forward slightly to the mouth of the alley, but stayed hidden in the shadows. Her blue eyes, covered by the hood, began to glow dimly.
"Initiating Protocol: Macro-Economic & Infrastructure Analysis," Dola mumbled.
Dayat let her work. He knew when Dola was silent like that, she was "reading" the city.
To Dayat, the market out there was just a noisy crowd. rchants shouting, buyers haggling, and pickpockets roaming.
But to Dola, it was a stream of data.
Dola scanned the building supply store across the street.
[Infrastructure: Low-quality bricks. Mud-mixed cent. Steam distribution pipes leaking at 3 points. Energy efficiency: 12%.]
Dola scanned a passing guard patrol.
[Law: Guards beat a bread thief, but let an illegal weapon rchant pass after receiving a bribe. Conclusion: Law is transactional. High-level corruption.]
Dola scanned transactions at a scrap stall.
[Economy: tal standard-based currency. 1 Silver Coin (Gear) = 100 Copper Coins (Scrap). Hard bread price: 5 Scraps. Clean water price: 2 Scraps. Average daily labor wage: 15-20 Scraps.]
"Master," Dola called out after five minutes of freezing.
"What is it? Got a divine revelation?" Dayat asked weakly.
Dola turned around. Her face was serious.
"This city is sick, Master. Literally and taphorically. The Kingdom of Brassvale enforces a strict technology embargo, yet their infrastructure relies on remnants of past technology they themselves do not understand how to repair."
"aning?"
"Look at 11 o’clock. That Blacksmith Shop."
Dayat looked across. There was a large muscular blacksmith (maybe half-Orc) who was banging on a dented tal plate with a sledgehamr. He looked frustrated. He was trying to fix a chanical water pump, but his tools were too big and crude.
CLANG! CRASH!
"Dammit! Broken again!" the blacksmith shouted, throwing a large screwdriver with a blunt tip onto the ground.
"He is trying to repair a precision chanism using primitive percussion tools," Dola explained. "Throughout this market, I detect the sa pattern: Demand for item repair is very high, but Supply of skilled labor and precision tools is near zero."
Dayat started to understand where this was going. "So... things here are broken, and no one can fix them?"
"Correct. Because Church doctrine forbids ’Thinking Technology’, basic chanical engineering knowledge was lost too. They only know how to swap large parts, but don’t know how to perform detailed maintenance."
Dola looked at Dayat sharply.
"Master Dayat, we have no capital to trade. We have no physical strength to be coolies or rcenaries (without exposing my power). But Master possesses one thing no one else in this city has."
Dayat raised an eyebrow. "What? My handso face?"
"Precision Manifestation Ability," Dola replied, ignoring the joke. "Master can create tools. Not weapons, but tools. Screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, bolts with perfect threading. Small items that to them are impossible to make by hand."
Dayat’s eyes lit up. "You want to be a crafter?"
"Not just a crafter. Master will be a Monopoly Supplier for precision tools. I have analyzed the market. The most sought-after tool right now is not a sword or shield, but a tool to open ancient machine casings without damaging them."
Dola pointed to the pile of scrap in front of the blacksmith shop. There were many magic washing machines or mana lamps abandoned just because the screws were stuck or rusted.
"They need a ’Universal Adjustable Wrench’ and a ’Bit Set Screwdriver’. If Master can manifest a set of those tools, we can sell them at a premium price to that frustrated blacksmith."
Dayat stood up. His fatigue suddenly vanished, replaced by business adrenaline.
"Makes sense. I don’t need to fight monsters, I just need to make screwdrivers. That takes little Mana, right?"
"Very little. Simple screwdriver structure: Carbon steel shaft, polyr/rubber handle, phillips or flat tip. The formula is already in my database."
"Okay," Dayat smirked. "But we need a quiet place to practice. I can’t summon a screwdriver in the middle of the street."
"This alley is sufficiently enclosed," Dola scanned again. "No visual spies within a 20-ter radius. Do it now, Master. We need money for dinner."
Dayat nodded. He closed his eyes, focusing.
Dola imdiately perford Data Transmission.
ZING!
This ti it didn’t hurt like the first ti. Dayat only felt a cold sensation at the back of his head, then the image of a screwdriver and wrench shape appeared with technical details in his brain. Milliter size, groove type, tal hardness.
"Manifestation!" Dayat whispered.
Dim purple light glowed in his hands. Not explosive, very controlled.
In seconds, two objects appeared in Dayat’s palms:
A Reversible Screwdriver (plus and minus) with a sturdy transparent yellow handle.
A small, shiny Adjustable Wrench, made of Chro Vanadium.
The objects looked so... modern. Too clean, too neat, too precise compared to the scrap tal around them.
"Crazy..." Dayat twirled the wrench. The thread chanism was incredibly smooth. "This is Ace Hardware quality."
"Standard Earth industrial quality circa 2020," Dola corrected. "Here, these are high-level artifacts."
Dayat pocketed the two tools. He felt like he was carrying gold bars.
"So, how do we sell them? If I offer them directly, won’t he be suspicious of where I got them?"
"Use the ’Scavenger’ narrative," Dola suggested. "Say Master found these in a trash pile in Sector Delta, inside a tightly sealed box (to explain why the condition is pristine). That blacksmith is desperate. He won’t ask many questions about the origin if the item can solve his current problem."
"And one more thing," Dola added, holding Dayat’s shoulder before he stepped out. "Do not sell cheap. The estimated utility value of this tool is 50 Silver Coins. But start bargaining at 80."
"80 Silver? Isn’t that super expensive? Bread was only 5 Scraps (0.05 Silver)."
"This tool will save him hours of work for a lifeti. It is an investnt. Trust my economic calculations."
Dayat took a deep breath. He tidied his ssy hair, trying to look a bit more dignified despite his tattered clothes.
"Okay. Let’s make so money, Wife."
Dayat stepped out of the alley, heading towards the blacksmith shop. Dola followed behind, returning to "obedient mute wife" mode, but under her hood, her eyes kept monitoring every heartbeat of the people around, ensuring no Church Inquisitors were passing by.
Arriving in front of the shop, the Orc blacksmith was still cursing at the stuck water pump.
"Excuse , Boss," Dayat greeted. His voice was calm, mimicking the style of a Jakarta flea market vendor.
The blacksmith turned, his green face full of sweat and grease. He glared at Dayat’s hobo appearance.
"What? I have no leftover food! Go away!" he barked roughly.
"I’m not asking for food," Dayat smiled mysteriously. He pulled the shiny Adjustable Wrench from his pocket. Sunlight reflected off its perfect chro surface, blinding the blacksmith’s eyes.
"I have a solution for your problem, Boss. A tool from the ’Old Era’. Found it in Sector Delta. Interested?"
The blacksmith’s eyes widened. His anger vanished instantly, replaced by the pure greed of a craftsman seeing a dream tool.
Behind Dayat, Dola smiled thinly. Her market analysis was perfect. In this city of garbage, magic wasn’t king. Precision was.
And the ga of survival in Bakasa had just begun, not with a sword, but with a wrench.
Reviews
All reviews (0)