Infinite Hoarder: Storage of the Void

Chapter 7: A Warehouse Full of Threats

The crackle of the dying campfire was the only sound that dared fill the gap between Baskara and the golden-armored commander. The Temple guard stood stiffly, his heavy gauntlet resting on the pommel of a mace that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic white light.

“You’re still talking about efficiency?” the commander spat, his voice echoing inside his visor. “You’re a failure, Baskara. You were given the keys to the kingdom’s greatest potential, and you turned it into a closet for rocks and broken wood.”

“Technically, it’s a high-performance inventory solution,” Baskara countered, tapping his temple. “But I wouldn't expect a guy who dresses like a luxury birdhouse to understand the beauty of streamlined operations. Do you have any idea how much junk you guys throw away at the Cathedral?”

The commander stepped forward, his boots crushing a piece of dried kindling. “We discard what is useless. Like you.”

“Useless? Man, you really didn't check the manifest, did you?” Baskara grinned, his blue interface flickering with a series of rapidly scrolling categories. “Mayari, Kiet, look alive. I’m opening Trash Box Number Four.”

“Trash Box?” Kiet asked, adjusting his grip on his longsword. “Is that where you keep the backup pews? Because as much as I appreciate the furniture, I’m not sure a chair is going to stop a Holy Mace.”

“Oh, it’s not just chairs, Kiet,” Baskara said, his eyes scanning the Knight Leader’s positioning. “It’s everything that was 'too messy' for the storage mages to handle. Compressed gasses, biological runoff, unstable kinetic residue. Basically, the stuff the environmental board would give you a massive fine for.”

Mayari moved slightly to the left, her hand lingering near her dagger. “Is this going to be loud, Baskara? My ears are still ringing from your 'barricade delivery' earlier.”

“It’s going to be more than loud, Mayari,” Baskara muttered, focusing on a specific icon labeled Vapor-Spark Synergy. “It’s going to be a complete failure of the knight's health and safety protocols. Hey, Commander! Last chance. I can still file this under 'Incident Resolved' and let you walk away with your dignity somewhat intact.”

“Enough!” the Commander roared. “Acolytes, form the circle! Sunder his wards!”

“Wards? I don't have wards,” Baskara chuckled. “I have items. Item ID: Seven-Four-Niner. High-density swamp gas from the eastern marsh. Item ID: Zero-Two-One. Stored embers from that cookout I had three hours ago. And my personal favorite, Item ID: Five-Five-Eight. The leftover compressed air from when I stored your buddy’s sonic scream.”

“Why are you listing ingredients?” the Knight Leader growled, raising his mace. “Kill him!”

“I’m not listing ingredients,” Baskara said, his voice dropping an octave as his hand shot forward. “I’m initiating a transaction! Release Item Group: Trash Box #4. Synergy: Combustion. Target: Directly in front of your smug, golden faces!”

With a sound like a giant’s lungs bursting, the space between the two groups turned a hazy, shimmering green. Then, a single tiny spark hit the cloud.

“Wait, is that—” the Commander started, but he never finished the sentence.

The explosion wasn't just a fireball. It was an organized catastrophe. Because the air was already compressed, the expansion happened at three times the speed of sound. The shockwave tore through the grass, turning the campsite into a vacuum of white-hot light.

“Store!” Baskara yelled, his hands forming a protective arc in front of Mayari and Kiet.

The world seemed to turn inside out. The heat of the blast hit an invisible blue wall and simply vanished, sucked into the voids of Baskara’s storage capacity before it could touch a hair on his head. On the other side of the line, however, it was a different story.

“What the hell!” Kiet shielded his eyes. “Did you just... organize an explosion?”

“I directed the flow, Kiet!” Baskara called out over the roar of the fire. “It’s all about the interface! Energy doesn't like to sit in the same slot as raw materials! When you release them at the same time, physics has to resolve the conflict instantly!”

Mayari peeked around his shoulder, her indigo eyes wide. “The knights... they are gone.”

“Not gone, just relocated,” Baskara said, squinting through the smoke. “They’re currently spread across the next fifty meters of shrubbery. I think the Commander might be stuck in a bone-white tree.”

The smoke cleared partially, revealing the golden commander flat on his back, his armor scorched a dull, smoky grey. He was groaning, his mace lying ten feet away, its holy glow flickering like a dying lightbulb.

“My face...” the commander rasped. “The stench... it smells like a sewer.”

“Well, yeah, it was swamp gas,” Baskara said, walking over and poking the man’s breastplate with his boot. “What did you expect? Lavender and sandalwood? You called it trash, Commander. I just agreed with you and gave it back. Return to sender, right?”

“You used... garbage... to defeat the Golden Guard,” the man choked out, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Logistics rule number one: Everything is valuable if you know how to ship it,” Baskara said, checking his inventory logs with a satisfied sigh. “We’re down to forty percent capacity now. Much better. My head feels almost clear.”

Kiet walked up behind him, sheathing his sword with a look of genuine confusion. “I have spent twenty years learning the art of the blade. I have studied under three grandmasters. I have fought in wars that leveled mountains.”

“And?” Baskara turned to him.

“And I have never seen anyone win a fight with a cloud of fart-gas and a magic box,” Kiet said, shaking his head. “It’s insulting. It’s brilliant. I think I’m actually a little bit nauseous from the genius of it.”

“Welcome to the team,” Mayari said, walking past him to check the items Baskara had dropped earlier. “He makes a very good steak, too. Assuming it wasn't next to the 'Trash Box' inventory.”

“It wasn't! I have categories, Mayari!” Baskara defended himself. “I’m a hero, not a monster! My food items stay strictly in high-security, climate-controlled slots!”

Kiet looked at the devastation, then at Baskara. “You said there were multiple items in that box. Why the gas? Why not just hit them with the heavy timber again?”

“Variety, Kiet. You have to keep the customers on their toes,” Baskara explained. “If I only use logs, people will start wearing log-resistant armor. But no one prepares for a spontaneous chemical reaction fueled by clerical waste products. It’s niche. That’s where the profit is.”

“You speak about violence like it’s a ledger,” Kiet observed, his eyes scanning the unconscious knights in the trees. “What happens now? They’ll report this back to the Cathedral. They’ll send more than just acolytes next time.”

“Let them,” Baskara shrugged. “The more they send, the more free inventory they provide me. Did you see that mace? I’m definitely storing that. That looks like it has a high resale value once I clear the religious encryption on it.”

“I’m staying,” Kiet said suddenly, his voice firm. “I was a traitor for trying to save my own skin, but now? Now I want to see what happens when you finally open the inventory slots you haven't shown us yet.”

“I'm not sure there’s enough space for all your ego, Sir Knight,” Mayari teased.

“Hey, he’s roughly seventy-five kilos in full gear,” Baskara said, looking at his UI. “Wait, Kiet, are you over the weight limit? If you join as a companion, do you count as carry-on or freight?”

“I... what?” Kiet blinked.

“Don't mind him,” Mayari said, already picking up the leftover ceramic plates. “Just don't stand too close to him when he looks like he’s doing mental math. He might try to store your common sense to save space.”

“It’s a valid concern!” Baskara called out as they walked back toward the table. “Do you have any idea how much RAM your fatigue-processing took up? I practically had to uninstall my feelings just to keep your legs moving!”

Kiet sat down at the table, looking at the ceramic plate in front of him as if it were a holy relic. “So... you mention a tart? For dessert?”

“Slot Twelve,” Baskara said, grinning as the blue box shimmered over the tabletop. “Lemon. Only slightly squished by a pair of reserve leather boots. But the flavor? Pristine.”

Kiet leaned back, watching the stars above the Dark Forest. “I think I could get used to this. Even the sewer smell.”

“Great,” Baskara said. “Because tomorrow, we’re cleaning out Trash Box Number Five. And I think that one’s filled with acidic mushroom spores.”