It no longer resembled a church. Crimson metal panels had replaced the crumbling stone, and golden circuitry traced its surface like veins of divine energy.
Once dilapidated, the structure now stood as a striking monument to rebirth. Hardened resin coated the walls, shimmering subtly with a metallic sheen. The gold circuit-like etchings, inspired by the sacred iconography of the Adeptus Mechanicus, gave the facade an almost holy presence.
Inside, the central hall remained mostly unchanged—cold, metallic, utilitarian. The same metal slab sat in the center where Luthar often rested while planning. The difference now was the increase in floating servitors, patrolling silently like ghosts of forgotten labor. Mounted units on the walls hummed softly—ventilation systems, power converters, atmospheric filters. Unnecessary, perhaps, but operational. Efficient.
Flanking the hallway, six rooms had been restored. Each featured polished floors, reinforced doors, and basic bedding. Toilets had been reconnected to the city's rudimentary plumbing system. A proper bathhouse was still lacking, but Luthar had personally built a simple cleansing unit. It was minimal. Functional. Sufficient—for now.
Beneath the structure, at the sub-level, he had excavated a basement using specialized drones and plasma cutters. Part research facility, part assembly line, it housed rows of mechanical arms now locked in idle position. One sealed chamber remained empty, reserved for future weapon storage.
Above ground, few locals dared to approach. Whispers about the "crimson church" circled cautiously. The Guild had visited once. No laws had been broken, no damages reported. They left him alone.
---
On Day Five
Sunlight barely filtered through the cracked window of Hestia's small room when muffled groaning echoed down the corridor.
"Uuugh… I don't wanna sell potatoes… What kind of goddess sells potatoes?"
She buried her face into the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "I was supposed to be worshipped, pampered, adored—not bargaining with old grannies over root vegetables."
With another groan, she kicked off her blanket like it had personally betrayed her. Eventually, she dragged herself to the door, cracked it open, and peeked out with half-lidded eyes.
A servo-skull floated by, its optic sensors scanning lazily for dust. A nozzle attached to its underside released a fine mist, disinfecting the air and surfaces as it drifted past.
Hestia stared at it, then sighed.
"Hey… you. Yeah, you." She pointed without lifting her head. "Wanna work my shift today? No? Tch. Worth a shot."
The skull offered no reply. It just continued its cleaning cycle like an obedient ghost.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms hanging loosely, and muttered, "Would be nice if one of you knew how to cook, too..."
---
Back in the central hall, Luthar paused mid-calculation as the goddess's voice echoed down the corridor. Again with the potatoes.
His mechanical eye whirred faintly as it adjusted focus, catching the drifting servo-skull.
She treated them like toys. Tools with personality. He doubted she even realized they were once human—stripped of name, identity, and soul. The idea of using one to prepare breakfast or pour water was... unsettling. It would be like asking a rotting corpse to make you tea. Even he, a man of efficiency, drew a line.
Of course, he was planning to design purely mechanical variants for chores—limited-AI domestic drones. But for now, he let her believe what she wanted. Eventually, when she saw him constructing new units, she'd understand. He didn't see a need to correct her just yet.
With a low sigh, he returned to his work. His fingers moved precisely across his interface, causing schematics to unfold in layered projections. Blueprints for a new servo-unit. Diagrams for a modular chainsword powered by harvested monster cores.
Soft, barefoot steps padded across the metal-plated floor.
Hestia appeared, arms folded lazily behind her back as she peered at the holograms flickering above the slab. Her eyes followed the shifting outline of two different chainblade tooth designs.
"So what's that thing?" she asked, gesturing toward the schematic.
"Chainsword. Variable teeth. Power source derived from harvested cores."
She squinted. "Doesn't look like a sword. And hey, you haven't stopped working at all, have you? Don't you think it's a bit much? Even for a blacksmith?"
"I'm not a blacksmith," Luthar replied calmly, attempting to correct her. "I'm preparing before heading outside."
"What kind of 'preparing' takes that long?" she muttered, turning away. "Forget it—I still have to go sell potatoes..."
She disappeared from the hallway with an exaggerated sigh, off to face her divine punishment in the form of daily labor.
Luthar, now alone again, visibly relaxed. The tension in his shoulders faded. He turned his focus to the hovering servo-skull nearby.
They were entirely encased in metal. No visible bone. That made them easier for others to accept. But soon, he would modify them—outfit them to hunt monsters and harvest cores directly. It would simplify resource gathering, make crystal farming more efficient. Those same crystals could be converted into low-tier energy cells for his downgraded weapons.
Take the chainsword, so durable it could last thousands of years. It could be powered by solar, thermal, or any type energy. A blessing for warriors. A curse for merchants.
After all, if people never needed replacements, how would he profit? And without profit, how could he buy materials? Without materials, how could he continue his research?
So, Luthar planned to sell unique equipment and energy packs—intentionally making them more complex to maintain. As for bad reputation? Impossible. No matter how much lower-quality his weapons were, they would still outclass the local alternatives.
The best example was the so-called "magic swords" of this world—expensive and only usable a handful of times. Yet despite their flaws, they remained in high demand.
His chainsword would be the optimal weapon for high-intensity combat And With enough monster cores and raw materials, he could churn out a steady supply of standardized gear.
Of course, flooding the city with weapons would devalue them. It was better to sell in limited quantities locally while expanding sales across the world. That way, he could amass enough resources to rebuild machines capable of traveling to other worlds—and forge weapons new weapons for himself.
To achieve that, he'd need trusted people,
And most importantly—he needed more time.