The creature hissed, its obsidian teeth gnashing together like grinding stones. Its six legs flexed, muscles coiling under oily fur, ready to lunge from the wagon hood directly onto Baskara’s chest.“Okay, okay, easy there, buddy,” Baskara whispered, his eyes frantically tracking the monster’s center of gravity. “Look, I’m just the delivery guy. I’m not even a snack. I’m more like a low-calorie appetizer. You really want to risk indigestion for fifty kilograms of disappointment?”The monster didn't seem interested in nutritional facts. It let out a guttural growl, its front claws digging into the wooden panels of the wagon seat.“Seriously? Nothing? No professional courtesy between fellow residents of this planet?” Baskara muttered, his finger hovering over the glowing blue icon. “Last chance. If I activate this, things are going to get weird for both of us.”Thwip.The sound was sharp, slicing through the humid night air with lethal precision. A streak of grey whistled past Baskara’s

The air in the clearing didn’t just heat up; it screamed.The first acolyte, a man whose face was half-hidden by a jagged bone mask, thrust his obsidian staff forward. “Vermin! You think you can toy with the secrets of the Cathedral? Burn in the Rot’s embrace!”A sphere of swirling violet flames, the size of a beach ball and humming with an unstable frequency, tore through the grass toward Baskara.“Whoa, okay, look at that!” Baskara didn’t move. He stood his ground, his eyes darting across his blue status screen. “System, quantify the thermal output. Is that consistent with a standard combustion engine or are we talking high-grade plasma here?”“Baskara, get down!” Valen screamed, her fingers already fumbling for another arrow. “That’s a Void Fireball! It doesn't just burn your skin, it eats your mana!”“Eat my mana? Well, that sounds like an unauthorized withdrawal from my personal account,” Baskara muttered. He looked at the fireball, which was now only three meters away. “Let’s se

The golden flare in the trees was getting closer, moving at a speed that suggested the person was either very motivated or very desperate.“Mayari, stay low,” Baskara said, squinting as his eyes flickered with blue data points. “Target is incoming at... let’s say thirty kilometers per hour. He’s losing blood, he’s losing stamina, and his left boot is dragging. It’s a mess.”“He is a Temple swordsman,” Mayari noted, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. “I recognize the plate design. That is Kiet the Gale. Why would his own brothers-in-arms be hunting him?”“Maybe he missed a shift? Or didn't turn in his paperwork?” Baskara shrugged, his fingers dancing in the air. “Whatever the reason, they’re going to run right over our dinner. And I just cleaned those plates.”“You are worried about the ceramicware?” Mayari asked, looking at him with an expression of disbelief.“I’m worried about everything. That’s my job,” Baskara replied. He stood up and took a step toward the middle of the

The morning in the Dark Forest didn’t bring the usual chirping of birds. Instead, it brought the low, rhythmic hum of Baskara’s interface as he reorganized his mental shelves. The golden-armored commander was still hanging from the tree in the distance, a silent testament to the efficacy of garbage-based warfare.“Seriously, Baskara, do you ever stop?” Kiet asked, leaning against a tree as he scraped the last of the lemon tart from a ceramic plate. “You’ve been staring into space for twenty minutes. You look like a man trying to solve a puzzle that doesn't exist.”“It exists, Kiet. It’s called optimal weight distribution,” Baskara replied, his fingers twitching in mid-air. “If I put the spare tents in Slot Nine, the weight drag on my cognitive focus drops by three percent. Over a ten-mile hike, that’s the difference between a headache and a clear mind.”“He is always like this,” Mayari said, already checking her boots and cinching her belt. “Everything is a number to him. Even the tar

The Grand Prelate Sovann didn’t move. He didn’t need to. He simply looked down from the high ramparts, his eyes fixed on the chaotic scene below with the mild boredom of a gardener looking at a particularly stubborn weed.“Well, this is an unexpected development,” the old man said, his voice carrying clearly despite the distance, echoing through the silence of the bridge. “High Priest Johan, please pick yourself up. You look like a fool, and it’s hurting our brand image.”“My Lord! I... I can’t!” Johan croaked, clutching his useless, blunt sword. “He’s stolen the very concept of its edge! My mana is being devoured by... by a void!”Baskara squinted, his blue interface dancing with a frantic display of yellow warning icons. “Look at you, getting the CEO involved because you can’t handle a simple inventory audit. Really, Johan? This is why you’ll never make it past middle management.”“Baskara, shut up,” Kiet hissed, his hand white-knuckled on his sword hilt. “That isn't just a priest.