Chapter 24: Chapter 24: Blueprints, Royalties, and Peeping Eyes

The second floor of the Bakasa Adventurer’s Guild was a completely different world from the first. If the ground floor was a noisy bar full of muscles and alcohol, the second floor was a noisy factory full of steam and metal.

Here, the heat from the combustion furnaces stung the skin. The sound of hammers striking iron (Clang! Clang!) competed with the hissing of hydraulic pistons. This was the domain of the Artisans—magic engineers tasked with repairing adventurers’ weapons or creating new killing tools.

Dayat walked behind Master Dalgor’s hunched back. He hugged his Tactical Crossbow tightly, as if afraid the object would be stolen by the small Golems running around his feet carrying nuts and bolts.

“Dol,” Dayat whispered without turning. “You on alert? This place is… chaotic.”

“Full alert,” Dola’s voice sounded calm in Dayat’s ear (via directed whisper). “Environmental analysis: This workshop possesses mid-level equipment. I detect steam-powered Lathe Machines and standard Enchanting Tables. Dalgor is not just any blacksmith. He has access to technology prohibited for the general public.”

“You mean he’s illegal?”

“No. He possesses a Special License. Adventurer’s Guilds often have privileges that transcend city laws. This benefits us.”

They reached the end of the room, at a private work area enclosed by an iron wire fence. The sign in front read: “Dalgor’s Lab – Keep Out Unless Bringing Coffee or Good Ideas”.

Dalgor opened the gate, then swept a pile of blueprint papers from his messy workbench onto the floor.

“Put it here,” Dalgor ordered, pointing to the empty table. His eyes sparkled behind his goggles.

Dayat placed the black Crossbow down.

Dalgor immediately turned on a large crystal lamp above the table. He took a magnifying glass and began examining the weapon inch by inch.

“Composite structure…” Dalgor mumbled, feeling the bow limbs made of carbon fiber. “This isn’t wood. Not iron. Extremely light, yet the surface tension is insane. And this…”

Dalgor’s finger touched the pulley wheels (cams) at the end of the bow.

“Eccentric Double Wheel System. Genius. With this, you can hold a 200-pound load with only 20 pounds of force at full draw. This manipulates force curves.”

Dalgor looked up, staring at Dayat with newfound respect.

“Who is your master, Kid? This design surpasses anything taught at the Royal Academy of Mechanics.”

Dayat cleared his throat. Time to act.

“My master… was a hermit from the Far South. His name cannot be spoken,” Dayat lied smoothly. “He taught the philosophy: ’Machines must help humans, not burden them’.”

“Good philosophy,” Dalgor nodded. “Okay, straight to the point. I want to buy it.”

“Buy this weapon?”

“No. I want to buy the Design. The blueprints. The rights to produce it.”

Dalgor took a sheet of paper and a quill.

“I offer 500 Silver Coins cash right now. You hand this weapon to me to dismantle and study, and you give me the manufacturing schematics. How about it?”

Dayat’s heart pounded fast. 500 Silver! That was almost ten times the money he got from selling the wrench. With that much money, he could rent a nice house, buy new clothes for Dola, and eat good food for a month.

Dayat almost opened his mouth to say “Deal”, but suddenly he felt a small pinch on his waist.

Dola.

“Hold,” Dola whispered in his ear. “Do not accept a ’Lump Sum’ offer. That is a rookie trap.”

Dayat closed his mouth. He glanced at Dola. Dola stood still, her head bowed, but her fingers tapped Dayat’s thigh in a morse code pattern.

“This weapon is a disruptive technology,” Dola continued. “If mass-produced, its value could reach thousands of Gold Coins a year. 500 Silver is an insult. Propose a Royalty business model.”

Dayat took a deep breath. He had to trust his wife’s calculator brain.

“Sorry, Master Dalgor,” Dayat said, putting on a feigned regretful face. “500 Silver is a lot. But this is my master’s legacy. I can’t sell it outright.”

Dalgor’s face turned sour. “Then what do you want? 1000? I don’t have that much liquid budget right now.”

“Not money upfront,” Dayat said. He stepped forward, mimicking the negotiation style he saw on Shark Tank.

“I offer a Production License. Master Dalgor can make and sell this weapon to Guild members. Name it ’Dalgor’s Storm Bow’ or whatever, I don’t care.”

Dalgor’s face brightened slightly hearing his name mentioned.

“BUT,” Dayat continued firmly. “For every unit sold, I request a 20% commission on the selling price. And the design copyright remains mine.”

Dalgor fell silent. He tapped the table with his oil-stained fingers. He was calculating.

“20 percent royalty… That’s a business model rarely used here. Usually, innovators are paid once and then kicked out,” Dalgor grinned slyly. “You’re quite sharp for an F-Rank kid.”

“Eating requires strategy too, Master,” Dayat replied casually.

“Fine. 15 percent. And you must help me solve the material problem. This black stuff…” Dalgor tapped the carbon fiber body. “I don’t know how to make it. I have to replace it with Mild Steel or Ironwood. That will lower performance. You must help me recalibrate the design.”

Dola whispered again: “Accept 15%. But ask for a non-monetary addition: Material Access.”

“Deal at 15 percent,” Dayat said. “But I have one more condition.”

“What else? Are you extorting an old man?”

“I need access to Master’s private Scrap Warehouse. I need materials for… my private project. Anything I take from Master’s trash pile is free.”

Dalgor burst out laughing. “Hahaha! You want my trash? Take it! The back warehouse is full of failed iron and cracked crystals. If you can make them useful, be my guest.”

Dalgor extended his rough hand.

“Agreed, Partner.”

Dayat shook the hand. Dalgor’s hand felt like a coconut grater, but the grip was solid.

“My name is Dalgor. Yours?”

“Hidayat. Just call me Dayat.”

“Okay, Dayat. Come back tomorrow. We start drawing schematics. Now go, get your badge. I want to play with this new toy.”

Dalgor no longer cared about Dayat. He went back to obsessing over the Crossbow, starting to measure the wheel dimensions with a caliper.

Dayat and Dola walked out of Dalgor’s workspace. Dayat felt like he was floating. He was no longer a hobo. He was now a Business Partner of the Guild’s Head Artisan.

“Crazy… Royalty Contract,” Dayat whispered as they walked away. “We’re gonna have Passive Income, Dol!”

“It is a logical step for long-term financial stability,” Dola replied. “And access to Dalgor’s Scrap Warehouse is far more valuable than money. My sensors detect traces of Mithril and Adamantite radiation from that warehouse. Dalgor might consider leftover rare metal cuts as trash, but to me, they are raw materials for Master’s next weapon upgrade… or my chassis repair.”

Dayat smiled widely. The future looked bright.

However, they were unaware that the conversation was not entirely private.

Behind a large concrete pillar, about five meters from Dalgor’s lab gate, someone was standing in the shadows.

He was a tall, thin man with pale skin and slicked-back dark green hair. He wore a neat and clean artisan robe—too clean for a workshop. On his chest was pinned a silver badge: Deputy Head Artisan.

His name was Valmir.

Valmir held a metal file, but he wasn’t working. His slanted eyes stared at Dayat and Dola’s retreating backs.

“New kid…” Valmir hissed softly. “Came out of nowhere… bringing alien designs… and instantly got a royalty contract from that Old Fool Dalgor?”

Valmir’s hand squeezed the metal file until his knuckles turned white.

Valmir had worked for ten years in this Guild. He was the one who always cleaned up Dalgor’s messes. He was the one who made standard weapons used by hundreds of adventurers. But Dalgor never gave him praise. Dalgor always said Valmir’s designs were “boring” and “soulless”.

And now, an F-Rank kid with no Mana came with a weird toy and was instantly considered a Partner?

“Double Wheel Technology…” Valmir muttered, recalling the Crossbow’s shape. “That is not magic. That is Mechanics. And pure Mechanics is… heresy.”

Valmir smiled thinly. A cold and dangerous smile.

He put his file into his pocket. He wouldn’t confront Dalgor. That was career suicide. But that kid named Dayat? He had no protector other than a sheet of paper.

Valmir turned and walked toward the back exit, where paid informants usually hung out.

“Let’s see if this young ’Engineer’ can survive if his tools start… malfunctioning in the field,” Valmir whispered to himself.

Meanwhile, Dayat and Dola had returned to the Guild’s main lobby to pick up their F-Rank badges from Nyssia.

Nyssia tossed a small copper badge onto the table.

“Here. Rank F. Don’t lose it. If lost, pay 5 silver.”

“Thanks, Pretty Miss,” teased Dayat, who was in a good mood.

Nyssia just rolled her eyes. “Missions for Rank F are on the left board. Mostly just cleaning sewers or finding lost cats. Don’t dream of taking Monster hunting missions yet.”

Dayat took the badge and pinned it to his chest. It felt proud, even if it was the lowest rank.

“Dol, we are officially adventurers,” Dayat said.

“Legality status: Confirmed,” Dola chimed in. “Next step: Securing logistics. We must move from ’The Sleeping Rat’ inn. With the advance payment from Dalgor later, we can rent a more decent and private place to conduct experiments.”

“Agreed. And I want a hot bath. I swear, my whole body itches.”

They walked out of the Guild, welcomed by the dusty Bakasa afternoon air.

As they walked, Dola suddenly stopped for a moment. Her head turned slightly toward the Guild’s second-floor window.

“What is it, Dol?”

“Detecting a gaze charged with negative emotion (Hostility) from the second floor, East Sector,” Dola reported. “Someone is watching us. Subject’s heart rate pattern indicates: Envy and Malice.”

Dayat looked up, but only saw dirty glass windows.

“Who? Dalgor?”

“Negative. Dalgor is in the West Sector. This is another individual. Master, it seems Master’s success has triggered natural competition.”

Dayat sighed. “Just got happy for a bit, already got a hater. Who is it?”

“Identity unknown. But tactical advice: Increase vigilance. Enemies born of envy are usually more dangerous than enemies born of hunger. They are cunning.”

Dayat touched the handle of the folding knife in his pocket (since his crossbow was at Dalgor’s).

“Let them be. If they try anything funny, we’ll show them again who owns the ’Technology’.”

They disappeared into the crowd, unaware that the wheels of fate in Bakasa were starting to spin faster, and they had just thrown a wrench into that rusty political machine.

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