Chapter 105: Chapter 102: Competition Rules
The final step before the competition was to submit the chanical Body’s list of materials and cost analysis for review.
In the finance office on the first floor of the Black Tower of the Forge, Allen placed a sheet of paper with the material list on the counter.
Behind the counter, the bald man nad Barton Thorn was slumped over the desk, letting out soft snores. He looked like a stone statue weathered by the years.
Allen even suspected the man was engaged in so unique form of ditation.
He curled his knuckles and rapped them on the countertop twice.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
The sound echoed in the empty room.
Barton’s head bobbed, and his eyelids reluctantly peeled open a crack.
"You again... Allen Wesren," he mumbled indistinctly.
"I’m submitting my entry materials for the Black Tower New Star Cup."
Allen pushed the paper in his hand further into the window.
Barton slowly sat up straight and picked up the list.
His eyes scanned it, his expression one of utter boredom. But when his gaze fell upon a certain line, he froze.
His eyebrows knitted together. He jabbed a finger at the line and looked up.
"Shadow Demon Spider Gland cost, six hundred Low-Level Magic Stones. Two-thirds used for coating, prorated to a total value of 400 stones?"
Barton’s voice suddenly shot up as he demanded, "Kid, do you think this head of mine is just for decoration? You think I don’t know how much this material is worth?"
He slamd the list on the counter with a sharp CRACK!
"A Shadow Demon Spider Gland, a treasure that lets a chanical Body perform spatial jumps, would get snapped up on the market for eight hundred Magic Stones. And you’re telling
it’s only worth six hundred?"
Allen’s expression didn’t change. He had anticipated the man’s suspicion.
He took another piece of paper from his storage bag. It was the sales receipt from the Divine dicine Potion Shop, stamped with a Magic Seal.
"This is the receipt."
He passed the receipt over. "I bought it on the market at this exact price."
Barton snatched the receipt and held it close to his eyes, examining it carefully.
The shop’s Magic Seal was real, and the transaction date was just a few days ago.
He squinted, channeling his Magic Power into the receipt to verify its authenticity. Every detail was in order; he couldn’t find a single flaw.
But the situation itself just felt wrong.
Having worked in the finance office for over a decade, Barton had seen too many apprentices try to dance on the very edge of the rules.
But he had never seen anyone do it so blatantly. It was only a difference of two hundred Magic Stones, yet the paperwork was so perfect. This was a real headache.
"The Divine dicine Potion Shop... that money-grubbing bastard..." Barton muttered. He knew the shop, and he knew its owner.
He stared at Allen for a few seconds, a glint flashing in his eyes again before vanishing.
He said no more, rummaging through a pile of junk to pull out a personal terminal and infusing it with Magic Power.
"Connect
to the Apprentice Market managent office."
The terminal buzzed. A mont later, a lazy voice ca through. "Barton? What brings you here? Checking the accounts of another unlucky bastard?"
"Cut the crap," Barton said impatiently. "Help
check a transaction. Five days ago, Divine dicine Potion Shop, a record for a Shadow Demon Spider Gland."
The other end of the line went silent for a mont, followed by the rustling of pages.
"Hmm... found it. There is indeed such a record. An Advanced Apprentice nad Allen bought a Low-Level Shadow Demon Spider Gland from the shop. Transaction price: six hundred Low-Level Magic Stones. The record’s been filed. No problem here."
Barton’s expression froze.
’He could tell sothing was fishy.’
But the problem was, the procedure was followed, the receipt was complete, the managent office had it on file, and the discrepancy was only two hundred Magic Stones—it wasn’t unheard of for prices to fluctuate like that on the market.
According to the rules, this gland was worth exactly six hundred Magic Stones.
Barton felt a knot of frustration tightening in his chest.
He picked up a seal engraved with an Audit Array and stamped it heavily onto Allen’s list of materials.
BANG!
"Consider yourself lucky!" he squeezed out through clenched teeth, pushing the list and the receipt back.
Allen gathered his things and turned to leave.
"Wait," Barton called out to him.
Allen stopped and looked back. ’This Barton guy always tells
to wait. Can’t he just say everything at once?’
Barton leaned back in his chair, returning to his usual lazy, dead-eyed deanor.
"Since you’re so eager to participate, I’d better explain the rules clearly, so you don’t die without knowing how it happened."
He held up three fingers. "First place gets three bottles of Spiritual Enhancent Potion. Second place, two bottles. Third, one. Do you know how many people signed up this ti? Thirty-seven! Every one of them is an old-tir who’s been hanging around the Black Tower for years. Which one of them isn’t seeing red over these potions?"
Allen listened quietly.
"The competition arena simulates an abandoned urban alley-fight environnt. It’s filled with all sorts of active Alchemy Puppets—so hiding in the shadows, others patrolling around. Destroy one, you get one point."
"The most exciting part cos later," Barton’s smile widened. "One hour after the competition starts, all contestants’ chanical Bodies are allowed to attack each other. At that point, it’s not target practice anymore—it’s a real hunt. Only the chanical Bodies that are still functional at the end of the match are eligible to win the championship."
He leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"And there’s one more crucial rule."
He tapped his knuckles on the desk, making a TOK TOK sound.
"Throughout the entire competition, contestants are forbidden from directly controlling their creations in any way. Your precious little thing must rely on the Control Core you set up in advance to acquire targets, fight, and make decisions all on its own."
Barton stared into Allen’s eyes, expecting to see panic, shock, or at least a hint of gravity.
A rookie who had just been promoted should find such a rule—a test of one’s ability to calibrate the core—to be a major challenge.
However, Allen’s face was completely blank.
His deep blue eyes were as calm as a deep pool of water, without a single ripple.
He simply gave a slight nod.
"Understood."
A single, understated word.
This ti, it was Barton’s turn to be stunned.
’This kid is either suprely arrogant, or... he truly has an ace up his sleeve.’
"Hmph. I hope your chanical Body doesn’t get torn to pieces by those puppets in the first hour."
Barton waved his hand dismissively. "You’re wasting my ti."
Allen didn’t respond, simply turning and walking out of the finance office.
’Autonomous combat?’
’For , that’s actually my greatest advantage.’
’This competition wasn’t just a test of design and construction skills. It also tested an apprentice’s ability to build the chanical Body’s behavioral logic, preset its tactical modules, and analyze and plan for the entire battlefield.’
’This was a war for engineers and programrs.’
’And he happened to be both.’
’His opponents, who were still struggling to program simple combat logic like "attack on sight, retreat when damaged," could never imagine what was loaded into his Spider Slayer’s core.’
’It was a system designed with the help of DSeek, incorporating the experience from countless strategy gas from his past life, and optimized through tens of thousands of virtual simulations—the art of automated warfare.’
’The Black Tower New Star Cup? A cybernetic beast fight?’
’No.’
’It’s just a ga of auto chess.’
’And his Spider Slayer was hungry.’
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