The corridor stretched on, dimly lit and humming with the low buzz of energy lines hidden beneath its surface.
Cain's footsteps were steady, his eyes sharp as he retraced his path back to where he started.
The Bar was more than just a place to drink — it was a gateway.
He'd heard the stories, seen the subtle glances, and now he understood.
If the barkeeper pointed him in this direction, it meant only one thing — there was money to be made.
Clicking his terminal, it blinked to life with a soft vibration. A map unfolded across his vision, flickering with points of interest scattered across kilometers of harsh terrain.
Beside it, links to the local socials of trusted groups — those with a reputation for trade and survival in the Shardling Zones.
Cain scrolled through the list, eyes narrowing.
Most of the hotspots were scattered both near and far — some as close as five kilometers, while others could be found up to eight hundred kilometers away.
They weren't just random locations, they were shardling nests, each with its own price tag — a reflection of the core's quality.
[Shardling Core - Abysmal Quality] - [19 Bronze]
[Shardling Core - Inferior Quality] - [71 Bronze]
...
...
...
[Shardling Core - Common Quality] - [1 Gold - 12 Silver]
[Shardling Core - Uniform Quality] - [2 Gold - 4 Silver]
'So, these little shiny things make pretty good cash, huh? I better read more price charts from now on.'
Cain had learned to discern the difference — the denser the glow, the purer the shard.
Scattered along his path toward Sliabh'Verdan City, these hotspots were more than obstacles — they were opportunities.
He studied the images embedded in the map — creatures of steel and stone, their forms jagged and grotesque.
The first kind moved in packs, their mouths brimming with rows of needle-sharp teeth glowing with a sickly cyan light.
The second floated like cursed embers in the sky, their molten cores seething with volcanic fury.
Shardlings didn't just appear out of nowhere, they were born of something ancient and colossal — the blood of Titans.
Areas where Titans fell or bled became hallowed grounds for these monsters, and the lingering heat persisted for years, sometimes even generations.
Stone and fire, obsidian and magma. It was no wonder those places burned even now.
If he had gone into the city to ask about these locations, Cain knew the response would have been different.
He'd be lied to, misled, or worse — sold off to the highest bidder without his knowledge.
But here, in the dark-lit corridors of the Syndicate's bar, he'd bought precision. He'd bought truth.
With that truth came opportunity.
He stared at the map again, the flickering points of light glimmering like distant stars.
This wasn't just information — it was wealth, if he could grasp it in time.
Cain's eyes darted to the map on his terminal, the blinking icon marking the destination with cold precision.
He knew someone or something might try to get there first.
His hand brushed over his boots, activating the enchantments woven into the sole.
A soft hum resonated, barely audible, but potent. The friction-reduction spells activated with a flicker of light, followed by the faintest lift as the hover function kicked in. He took a breath, bracing himself.
And then he was off.
The hum grew louder, rising into a crescendo as his body shot forward, the valley blurring past him. Wind lashed at his coat, whipping strands of hair across his face, but his eyes stayed fixed on the path.
He hurtled through streams that splashed and sprayed, droplets beading off his boots before hitting the dirt. Rivers passed in mere seconds, their surfaces rippling from the pressure wave of his speed.
Cliff faces rushed at him like walls of stone, but with a slight shift in balance, his trajectory adjusted, skimming just inches from jagged edges.
Ruined skyscrapers loomed ahead, relics of an age long past. Towers jutted into the sky like broken teeth, wrapped in vines and splintered glass. Some leaned against each other, held up by nature's stubborn grip.
Birds scattered in his wake, cawing in surprise as he zipped through rusted car frames and crumbling highways that hung suspended in the air like fractured bridges.
He didn't pause, not even to take in the beauty of it.
'I need to go faster, someone might stumble their before me.'
The hum of his boots deepened as the terrain grew harsher, the landscape shifting from overgrown ruins to scorched earth and jagged rock.
Ash puffed up with each glide of his boots, swirling in brief storms of gray before settling back down.
The air thickened with the stench of brimstone, sulfur biting at his nostrils as he crossed into darker lands.
He finally came to a halt, his momentum fading as the humming died to a whisper.
Cain stood at the edge of the wasteland — a dozen acres of land cratered with small mounds, its soil cracked and scorched.
Lava oozed in thin lines along the surface, like veins of molten blood tracing through stone. He knew better than to assume they were just hills.
These were Shardling grounds. Those mounds weren't just formations — they might be camouflage.
When not consuming ores or stones to fuel their growth, they burrowed and rested, disguising themselves as part of the earth.
Cain knelt, fingers sifting through the scattered stones, feeling their weight and texture.
The softer ones crumbled under his grip.
"These are worthless."
He tossed them aside, his hands moving methodically.
The hard ones, dense and unyielding — he slipped into his pockets.
One by one, until the fabric bulged with the weight of nearly a hundred stones. His gaze flicked up, locking onto a thin unnatural hill cresting the landscape.
Without hesitation, he took one of the stones and murmured the incantation under his breath.
'Enhanced Vision.'
The world around him sharpened, edges crisp, every crack and fracture in the hill coming into stark focus.
He rolled his shoulders back, assuming a stance, knees bent, arm cocked back like a baseball pitcher.
With a flick of muscle and intent, he hurled the stone forward. It cut through the air with a clean whistle, striking the mound with pinpoint precision.
Dust exploded from the impact, fragments crumbling down the side — but nothing stirred beneath.
Cain didn't care.
He reached for another, then another, throwing with a steady rhythm.
One after the other, each stone finding its mark, each mound cracking and splintering under the force of his aim.
He wasn't stopping.
Not until something began to stand up.