Building Zoids in a World of Titans

Alex pressed his palm against the humming core shell. The System answered without prompting.

BLUEPRINT UNLOCKED: GUN SNIPER

The schematic unfolded in his mind—not the usual biological blueprint, but something cleaner, more precise. Military specifications.

The Gun Sniper. A relic from the old wars, back when the Helic Republic still had something to prove. Small-scale mass production, they called it. Not like the monsters Alex built, but clever in its own way. Limited Organoid System meant any pilot could hop in and make it work, which explained why the Republic's casualty rates were so much lower than their enemies'.

All-rounder combat, the data said. Nothing flashy. But here was the trick—it could jettison its weaponry entirely when closing to melee range. Sacrifice firepower for speed. Trade precision for brutality.

Alex had read about this tactic in the old texts. Republican doctrine called it "the raptor's gamble." Get close enough that your enemy's superior firepower couldn't track you, then let claws do what cannons couldn't.

The variants scrolled past—Leena's Special Configuration with twin missile pods, Naomi's Red Flash optimized for precision shots, the Wild Weasel upgrade for electronic warfare. Each one a different answer to the same question.

Because the Gun Sniper drew its core from a Redridge Stalker, it has gained a unique ability that allows the machine's hide to bend light and scatter heat signatures.

The blueprint filled his vision with clean lines.

Small-scale mass production. Nothing like the monsters he built. But clever.

Stealth capability from the Stalker's camouflage. Long-range options. Speed trade-offs. Weapon flexibility. The raptor's gamble—get close, then go brutal.

Alex traced the schematic with his finger. Good design. Practical.

Not flashy. Not legendary. Just... solid.

He could build this one. Maybe Rhian could pilot it.

Rhian's voice cut through, snapping Alex out of his reflection.

"Is it done?"

Alex's fingers traced the core shell's edge. "Yeah. Core's stable." He exhaled. "Shame I can't build the body yet."

The blueprint flickered in his mind—compact, predatory, built for speed over brute force. A raptor's frame, not a thunderous assault unit.

"But I know what it'll be." Alex's thumb brushed the activation node. "Small-scale hunter. Stealth plating, jettison weapons for melee. The kind of Zoid that gets in close and finishes clean."

Rhian leaned against the cockpit frame. "Sounds perfect for someone who likes getting out of tight spots."

Alex's lips quirked. "Exactly."

Alex checked the Gun Sniper core one last time. The shell hummed steady in his hands.

"Since we've got nothing else to do, I'll start maintenance on the Zoids." He looked at Rhian. "Meeting's still tomorrow. Might as well keep them in fighting shape."

* * *

The morning sun hit the town hall like a spotlight.

Alex adjusted his grip on the tool satchel. Ziya walked beside him, hands clasped behind her back in that way she got when she was trying not to fidget. Rhian had insisted on coming despite the early hour, bouncing ahead by three steps before remembering to slow down.

The building itself was typical Millcross—functional stone on those mysterious Oldfoot foundations, its roof pitched to shed rain that wasn't falling anymore. A wooden sign hung crooked, painted with a hammer and wheat stalk. Someone had added a new symbol overnight: a cracked river.

The town hall door groaned open.

Alex stepped inside first, his boot heels clicking against packed earth floors. The space smelled of pine resin and old stone—someone had laid fresh boards over the original foundation. Dozens of faces turned toward him, all of them carrying the same tight expression.

Ziya moved close behind, her hand brushing his arm. Not quite touching, but enough that he knew she was there.

"Alex."

He turned. Old Man Hemlock stood near the front, his weathered face lined with worry. Behind him, Mara from the river stall was arguing with a guard about water rations.

"Hemlock." Alex nodded. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Neither did I, two days ago." Hemlock gestured to the packed benches. "Sit. We could use more ears on this."

Rhian slipped between them, her eyes wide at the crowd. She spotted Mara and waved.

"Mara!"

The stallkeeper's head snapped up. Recognition softened her features.

"Little shadow. You made it."

"I caught a fish bigger than your eels."

Laughter rippled through the tension. Alex found himself smiling despite the weight in his chest.

They settled on a bench near the back. Ziya sat primly, hands folded. Rhian bounced until Alex nudged her knee.

"What do you think they'll say?" she whispered.

"That the river's gone and nobody knows why." Alex kept his voice low. "Same as us."

More people trickled in. A woman with a baby pressed against her side. Two teenagers who'd been helping with the harvest. The miller's wife, clutching a waterskin like it might refill itself.

The town hall doors groaned open again.

Alex turned toward the sound. Three figures stepped through—two men and a woman, all carrying themselves like they owned the weight of every worried face in the room.

The older man had a beard streaked with iron-gray, his coat marked with the same hammer-and-wheat symbol from the sign outside. The woman wore practical leathers that showed scars from tool cuts, her hair braided back severely. The younger man kept one hand on a ledger, fingers drumming against wood grain.

"They're the Council of Seasons," Hemlock murmured beside Alex, nodding toward the newcomers. "Elder Thorn, Keeper Mara, and Master Rowan. They rotate leadership based on... well, based on who's best suited for whatever's happening."

Alex followed his gaze. Elder Thorn—he assumed—spotted the crowd and raised a hand. Not calling for attention, just... acknowledging. The kind of gesture that said he'd seen this worry before.

Keeper Mara moved to the front benches. She didn't speak. Just sat, which was enough to settle the room's hum of conversation.

Master Rowan stayed near the door, his ledger forgotten against his knee.

Alex noted how they didn't scan the crowd for strangers. Didn't fix on him or Ziya or even Rhian, who was waving at someone near the back. Just settled into the rhythm of their people's fear.

The river was gone. That was the only thing that mattered here.

He felt the familiar itch in his fingers—his hands wanted to be working, checking the core synthesis, calibrating something. Instead, he watched Elder Thorn pull a waterskin from his coat and hold it up.

Empty.

The room went perfectly still.

Advance chapters on my p@tR$0n/Najicablitz.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!