Starting With an SSS-Rank Goddess Summon!

’Sovereign Distribution Nexus?’ Silas thought, fighting the overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. ’What in the hell is a Sovereign Distribution Nexus? How does a pile of timber and slate suddenly become a cosmic nexus?!’

The System truly had a flair for dramatic names yet, despite the theatrical naming conventions, Silas knew better than to question the results.

The Absolute Upgrade System had never once failed him.

Every single time he sank UP into a structure, the evolution fundamentally shattered the conventional laws of physics and magic alike.

It reconstructed reality... easily at that.

He tilted his head back, catching Thora’s eager wide-eyed gaze.

"Ready?" Silas asked.

"Do it, my Lord!" Thora urged, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. "Push the bloody button and let’s see the magic!"

Silas smiled and raised his hand, his index finger firmly pressing the glowing golden [Y].

BZZZZT-KRA-BOOOOOOOOM!

The instantaneous reaction tore through the atmospheric pressure with the concussive force of an artillery barrage.

A blinding dual-layered aura of incandescent azure and radiant gold violently erupted from the foundation of the Tier 1 warehouse.

The wooden walls, the slate roof, and the iron brackets didn’t merely change... they dissolved into pure, glowing particulate matter, expanding outward in a swirling vortex of raw magical energy.

’Thinking back on it... Won’t this look weird from Evelyn’s point of view?’

He thought about the black haired woman and sighed, if she asked any stupid questions, he would stuff her mouth full of cake.

’Meh...’

FWOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!

A violent gale-force shockwave blasted through the western courtyard, instantly scouring the three-foot snowdrifts into fine sparkling mist.

Silas’s cultivator robes whipped furiously against his legs, the hem snapping like gunshots, but his dense physical constitution kept him rooted to the earth as if he were forged of solid tungsten.

Above him, Thora clamped her thick thighs tightly around his neck, burying her fingers into his dark hair to keep from being thrown off by the howling pressurized wind.

KRRRRRR-CRUNCH! GRIND!

Within the swirling pillar of blue-gold fire, colossal structural changes were violently taking place.

The footprint of the building changed, elongating into a low-slung, sweeping rectangular form.

The modest cedar lumber and grey stone were overwritten at the atomic level.

In their place, colossal blocks of dense pitch-black obsidian-mythril composite slammed down from the ether, locking together with seamless precision.

Deep hums of spatial distortion echoed through the night air like low vibrating bass notes that resonated directly in Silas’s ribcage.

Pale-blue runic arrays carved themselves across the dark masonry, glowing like cold neon against the midnight black of the stone.

And then, with a final tectonic tremor that pulsed through the bedrock, the blinding light snapped inward, collapsing into the core of the structure.

CLANG!

The wind died instantly as the scattered snow drifted lazily through the sudden eerie quiet.

Standing before them, where a humble warehouse had existed mere moments before, was a structure that belonged elsewhere.

The dark obsidian-mythril walls swallowed the torchlight, broken only by a continuous unbroken slit of pale blue light bleeding out from beneath the roofline.

The front entrance was no longer a pair of hinged doors, but a single colossal sliding mythril vault gate, deeply etched with the crest of Blessed Land... a cracked obsidian shield, an upright golden sword, and a crossed pickaxe.

’I... I... I like it.’

Silas and Thora stared at the finished building in stunned silence.

A single simultaneous word slipped past both of their lips, their voices echoing softly into the cold night:

"...Woah."

"Sweet mother of the forge..." Thora breathed, her jaw practically hanging open as she tugged urgently at Silas’s robes, trying to shake him out of his trance. "My Lord! Look at the stone! That’s not refined granite... that’s void-tempered obsidian laced with mythril veins! You couldn’t crack that wall with a battery of siege ballistas! Come on, move your boots! We have to go inside! We have to see what the hell it looks like in there!"

"Hold on, Thora. Wait a second," Silas laughed, gently grabbing her wrist to keep her from violently yanking his collar. "Let me read the parameters first so we know what we’re actually walking into."

He swiped his hand through the lingering azure mist, bringing the updated System window into clear view.

[Sovereign Distribution Nexus]

[Tier: 3 Construct (Epic)]

[Durability: 3,200 / 3,200]

[Passive Effects:]

[Void-Compression Shelving]: Interior storage space is spatially compressed, allowing the warehouse to hold roughly ten times its physical footprint in actual resource volume.

[Zero-Decay Field]: Completely halts organic/material degradation on all stored goods... no more spoilage, rust, or weather damage regardless of what’s stockpiled inside.

[Auto-Sorting Runeline]: A self-operating conveyor and sorting rune network automatically categorizes and shelves incoming resources by type without requiring manual labor, freeing up worker hours for other tasks.

[Instant Requisition]: Any Lord-authorized officer can mentally query the warehouse’s exact live inventory from anywhere within the territory, without physically walking to the building to check stock.

Silas read through each entry with slow meticulous focus with a deep sense of satisfaction warming his chest.

’Ten times the physical footprint...’ Silas calculated, his analytical mind rapidly projecting the territory’s industrial trajectory. ’And a Zero-Decay Field... That means we can stockpile monster carcasses, rare alchemical herbs, and delicate mana ores indefinitely without losing a single percentage of potency.’

The automation was the real masterpiece.

With the Auto-Sorting Runelines handling the physical categorization of goods, the girls wouldn’t have to spend hours after brutal expeditions hauling crates and sorting iron ingots by hand.

They could dump their carts at the door, and the facility would swallow and catalog the resources automatically.

And then there was [Instant Requisition].

Silas glanced up at the dwarven woman perched on his shoulders.

Thora was the beating heart of the territory’s production lines.

She was the one who forged the armor, refined the ingots, and built the Phase 2 Golems.

Giving her direct mental access to the territory’s stockpile would eliminate the need for a lot of things.

"Thora," Silas said, stepping forward toward the mythril gate. "I’m binding this place’s master requisition rights directly to you."

Thora blinked down at him, her bushy eyebrows furrowing.

"To me? My Lord, that’s authority over the kingdom’s breadbasket... You sure you trust a thirsty dwarf with the keys to the kingdom?"

"I trust you to build my empire," Silas replied smoothly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "And you can’t build an empire if you have to walk across the territory in a blizzard every time you need ten bars of tempered iron."

As Silas reached the threshold, he raised his hand to find the door’s locking mechanism, but he never had to touch it.

SHRRRRRRRRRRR!

With a deep frictionless mechanical hum, the mythril vault gate parted smoothly down the center.

There were no hinges and no grinding stone, the two halves of the massive gate simply slid into recessed pockets within the obsidian walls, revealing the expanse beyond.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the air changed completely.

The warm living cedar scent of the previous structure was completely gone.

Instead, the air inside was cold and the place was dead quiet, save for a low-frequency hum that vibrated so deeply it bypassed the eardrums, thrumming straight through the marrow of their bones.

And the visual scale was breathtakingly impossible.

From the outside, the building appeared to be a modest low-slung hall roughly eighty feet wide.

But stepping through the gate, the space violently expanded.

The interior was colossal like a vast cathedral of industry that stretched out for hundreds of yards in every direction, fading into a soft glowing blue haze in the far distance.

"By the ancestors’ golden beards..." Thora whispered, her voice completely stripped of its usual boisterous volume.

Towering rows of obsidian-mythril shelving racks rose forty feet toward the vaulted ceiling, stretching into seemingly endless aisles.

The racks were currently empty, their polished dark surfaces gleaming under the ambient light.

Along the edge of every single shelf, a thin recessed strip of glowing cyan runic script flickered and scrolled silently... the dormant Auto-Sorting Runelines, waiting for inventory to categorize.

Beneath Silas’s boots, the floor was a masterpiece of polished dark volcanic stone.

Inlaid into the surface was a sprawling intricate network of branching pale-blue veins that pulsed with soft light, resembling a circuit board etched into living rock.

These were the physical routing paths designed to magnetically guide automated pallets across the facility without a single worker lifting a finger.

And hovering in the center of the colossal expanse, suspended five feet above the floor with nothing physically supporting it, was the core.

It was a perfect, slowly rotating sphere of pure compressed void-space, roughly the size of a bowling ball.

Its surface was an impossible light-swallowing black, flecked with tiny, swirling motes of silver starlight that drifted within its miniature event horizon.

’In a Tier 3 building?!’

It was the beating heart of the spatial compression here, the anchor that bent the laws of physics to allow a mountain of resources to fit inside a single room.

’Well at least it has a barrier... a very strong one at that...’

Silas wasn’t confident enough in reaching it.

"Look at this place..." Thora muttered, sliding down from Silas’s shoulders and dropping onto the polished stone floor with a dull clatter of her iron boots.

She walked slowly down the central aisle, her thick calloused hands trailing along the smooth edge of an obsidian rack with her fingers tracing the dormant cyan runes.

"It’s not just a warehouse. It’s a bloody machine my Lord... you could store an entire mountain range in these aisles!"

Silas walked up beside her, admiring the clean ruthless geometry of the hall.

Unlike the Beast Pavilion, which was warm and comforting, the Nexus was sterile as it was built for one purpose... Total industrial domination.

"Do you see the pedestal near the entrance?" Silas asked, pointing back toward the gate.

Just inside the mythril doors stood a sleek waist-height pillar carved from solid obsidian.

Embedded into the angled top of the pillar was a smooth, glowing glass-like terminal pulsing with pale blue energy.

’Wait let me confirm first with a query...’

A few moments later, Silas looked at Thora.

"That’s the Requisition Anchor," Silas explained, walking over to it with Thora trailing eagerly behind. "To grant an officer permanent remote access to the territory’s stockpile, both the Lord and the designated officer have to physically synchronize their mana with the terminal."

Thora didn’t hesitate for a second.

"Say no more, my Lord. Let’s link it."

Silas placed his broad palm flat against the left side of the smooth runic terminal.

Thora stepped up beside him, planting her rough, soot-stained hand firmly on the right.

VUUUUUUUUUM!

A sharp warm current of azure mana surged from Silas’s Gold Core, shooting down his arm and flooding into the stone pedestal.

Simultaneously, Thora’s dwarven mana flared with a deep amber hue as the two magical signatures collided within the runic array, swirling together before locking into place with a crystalline chime.

[Authority Granted: Forge Master Thora has been registered as a Master Logistics Officer.]

[Instant Requisition Function: Active.]

Thora gasped softly, her amber eyes widening as her mental field suddenly brushed against the vast empty digital ledger of the warehouse.

She could feel the precise capacity of every shelf, the status of every automated routing vein, and the dormant void-core humming in the center of the room, all accessible with a single stray thought.

"Incredible..." Thora whispered, pulling her hand back and staring at her palm in pure wonder.

A toothy grin split across her face.

"Tomorrow morning, my Lord, the moment we return from mining, I’m clearing out the entire Foundry floor! Every scrap of raw iron, every crate of coal, and every single unrefined gem is moving straight into these racks!"

"Good," Silas nodded, his blue eyes gleaming. "Clear the forge so you have room to assemble the heavy cannons we were planning to mount on the walls."

"Aye, that we do!" Thora barked happily, turning toward the open mythril gate.

She looked up at Silas with an expectant cheeky glint in her eye.

"Now, my Lord... seeing as I’ve graciously helped you commission the greatest warehouse this world has ever seen, you owe me a ride back to the Barracks. The ale is calling my name, and my legs are far too short to wade through three feet of fresh slush!"

Silas chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Let’s go check on the recruits."

He was planning on heading to the Barracks anyway.

Aurelia and the Princess were both currently attending the post-expedition feast, and while the Saintess was relatively composed, the Princess of the world was out of her element.

She was twenty-five years old, but her sheltered sanitized upbringing in the royal palaces meant she had zero resistance to the ungodly potency of Sovereign Realm alcohol.

Dwarven stout alone was dense enough to strip paint off armor... if the Princess started chugging high-tier spirits, she might literally melt her liver, and the absolute last thing Silas needed on his hands was a dead global royal lying in his mess hall.

They stepped out into the freezing night, the mythril gate sliding shut behind them with that smooth hum.

Thora scrambled effortlessly back up onto Silas’s broad shoulders, her boots hooking comfortably under his collar as Silas set a brisk steady jog through the snowy streets.

The wind was howling fiercely, but the dense heat-radiating walls of the newly constructed Nexus shielded the road, giving them a clear path toward the glowing noisy area ahead.

Within minutes, the towering silhouette of the Barracks loomed before them.

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