Rhyse stood before the glowing schematic of the world's secret wounds. He was the warden of a failing dam, tasked with holding back an ocean of oblivion. With a thought, he dismissed the grand strategic map, and the System interface shifted, granting him access to the outpost's internal schematics. Sunpass was not merely a fortress; it was a miniature, self-sufficient city, a perfect echo of the Ancestral Manor's design philosophy, but built for war and research.
He saw living quarters that could house a full legion, advanced workshops filled with dormant but perfectly preserved golem worker units, an infirmary that surpassed anything in the capital and even a prison cell. Deeper within the complex, nestled behind layers of defensive fields that made the North Gate's protections look like a wooden fence, was a secondary Power Core. It pulsed with a steady, rhythmic light, drawing raw energy from the ley-line convergence below and refining it, powering the entire outpost and the critical Abyssal Containment Field. This was the heart of Theron's fortress, and now, it beat in time with Rhyse's own Synkar Core.
Rhyse pressed his fingers against the cold stone wall, feeling the faint hum of ancient enchantments beneath his fingertips. His thoughts flashed back to the arcane tomes in his grandfather's private study—those overflowing shelves where Theron Synkar had scrawled midnight revelations in manic script across the margins. "Grandfather's blueprints..." he murmured, his breath forming mist against the glowing interface. "The original designs for Sunpass must be archived here somewhere."
With a mental command, he delved deeper into the System's schematics, the azure projection fracturing into subsections of construction logs and tactical revisions. His grandfather's fingerprints were everywhere—hidden notations in archaic cipher, ambitious modifications scratched out in violent strokes of light, entire defense layers conceptually redesigned during the fortress's active years. The current Sunpass layout told one story; Theron's evolving visions revealed another—a palimpsest of shifting strategies against an enemy that defied conventional warfare.
As overlapping blueprints shimmered into focus, discrepancies emerged like wounds: undefended predicted breach points, incomplete auxiliary wards along corridors originally designed for rapid counterstrike teams. But the most important were the general construction plants: by this point, Theron expected Sunpass to have build into the chasm and turned the surface into a military settlement. Instead, it evolved into Rusthaven, and Sunpass was contained into the chasm.
Rhyse shook his head, "Grandfather's plans cannot be followed anymore. Rusthaven would have to be completely rebuilt. With so many people and powers there it would be nearly impossible. Perhaps it would be easier to expand Sunpass to become a giant fortress inside of the Chasm, instead of above it. That way Rusthaven can continue as usual and we can defend against the abyssal tide."
As he mentally explored the outpost's functions, the System chimed, its tone formal and weighty. The previous quests, focused on his personal survival and regional politics, seemed almost trivial in comparison to the new directives that bloomed in his mind. Rhyse read through them one by one:
[New Legacy Quest: Revitalize Sunpass Outpost] [Objective: Restore Outpost Sunpass to full operational capacity. Repair and upgrade the Abyssal Containment Field. Re-establish a permanent garrison. Rewards: System Advancement +50, Rare Class, Rare Schematic.]
Rhyse's fingers traced the faded runes etched into the outpost schematics, his mind racing with possibilities. The weight of Theron's abandoned plans pressed upon him like the chasm walls themselves - towering, unyielding reminders of his family's fading legacy.
"Restoring Sunpass isn't just about following grandfather's designs," he murmured to himself, "This must become our stronghold in the Deeps - to hold back whatever rises from the abyss."
His hand paused over the containment field schematics, cracked parchment revealing arcane matrices that made his pulse quicken. "The containment field repairs and upgrade take priority. Without it functioning properly, we might as well be throwing pebbles at the tide."
The garrison requirements seemed almost trivial by comparison - just bodies and barracks, logistics rather than lost sorcery. But his breath caught when his eyes returned to the promised reward. A Rare Class. Not some temporary system-granted ability, but an actual Class - the fundamental marker of power in this world, the very thing his flawed mana veins had denied him since birth.
His heartbeat thundered in his defective channels. Could the System circumvent his deficiencies where all other methods failed? Would it forge a path where blood and birthright had barred the way? The prospect sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the subterranean chill. For the first time in his life, Rhyse allowed himself to imagine standing beside warriors and mages not as a cripple, but as an equal. Perhaps even as their better.
The moment stretched as possibilities unfurled before him like the outpost's buried expansion tunnels. Then practicality reasserted itself. First the restoration and containment field. Then the garrison. The Class would come in time - assuming he lived long enough to claim it.
Rhyse's mind raced as he considered the monumental task ahead, the system breaking down each major objective into actionable subquests that would bring Sunpass back from the brink of ruin.
[Subquest: Revitalize Sunpass Outpost] [Objective: Restore Outpost Sunpass to full operational capacity. Goals: Power-up Worker Golems (0/1); Repair collapsed mining tunnels for essential crystal deposits (0/5); Restore mana conduits that powered the outpost's defenses (0/3); Scavenge what remained of the abandoned quarters and assess what could be salvaged versus what needed complete reconstruction from the bedrock up. (0/1);]
Rhyse's temples throbbed with the first stirrings of a headache as he examined the initial objective before him. The sheer scope of it all pressed against his skull — weeks, perhaps months of exhaustive planning, logistics coordination, and meticulous oversight would be required merely to start the restoration process. And yet between Synkar business holdings spanning multiple provinces, rising tensions among neighboring duchies, and the ever-present threat of assassination attempts, he barely had time to breathe these days, let alone personally oversee a massive construction project in an underground hellmouth.
The hard truth settled over him once again: he'd need allies. Competent subordinates he could trust with the delicate magitech repairs, overseeing the labor of fortress construction and commanding the garrison. People who could operate autonomously, make vital decisions on-site without constant oversight, and — most crucially — wouldn't betray him the moment his back was turned.
But who remained in his dwindling circle of trust?
Vance's loyalty was ironclad, but the man was born to swing a sword, not manage supply caravans or control magitech golems. Bellweather showed tactical promise, true, but required months, perhaps years of seasoning before he could command anything larger than a patrol. Flint shared the same raw potential but the same inexperience.
Then there was Thorne — brilliant with runic diagnostics and magitech maintenance, yes, yet hopeless with people. No, leadership required more than technical expertise; it demanded the ability to inspire, to negotiate, to see the larger strategic picture.
Somewhere in the labyrinthine corridors of House Synkar's retainers, the right person had to exist. Someone both capable and trustworthy enough to serve as his proxy in this madness. The question burned brighter than the lanterns lining Sunpass's crumbling halls: where to find them?
For now, Rhyse had no choice but to assign Bellweather or Flint for the job. He decided to circle back to this later. Next - the containment field itself:
[Subquest: Revitalize Sunpass Outpost] [Objective: Repair and Upgrade the Containment Field. Goals: Gather specialist materials to reinforce failing runic matrices (0/1); Hire skilled artificers to recalibrate the harmonic stabilizers (0/1); Obtain a fresh energy core powerful enough to sustain its operation for another decade (0/1); Upgrade its capacity beyond Theron Synkar's original specifications to handle whatever new horrors the Abyss had spawned in recent years (0/1);]
Rhyse's knees nearly buckled. The toll of constant decision-making and System navigation had reduced him to a state of fatigue. Yet the true challenge lay not in his body's limitations, but in the monumental tasks ahead.
Securing specialist materials—rare mana-reactive alloys, purified spirit quartz, etheric binding filaments—would be solved with the Synkar Network's near-bottomless coffers and extensive trade connections. The right bribes delivered to the right merchants, a few discreet letters carried by trusted couriers, and the most exotic components would arrive within weeks, ready to be forged into something greater.
Hiring a skilled artificer presented another challenge entirely, though one still within the Synkar's considerable means. The real difficulty wasn't in finding one, but in finding the right one—someone both competent enough to execute such delicate work and loyal enough not to exploit the rare materials or proprietary magitech designs. For a Rank 5 or lower practitioner, the recruitment would be straightforward. But the higher the rank, the more political entanglements and personal agendas one had to consider, turning each negotiation into a dangerous dance of incentives and veiled threats.
The energy core procurement seemed deceptively simple at first glance—another matter of wealth exchanging hands—but enhancements beyond Theron's original specifications? That was where impossibility took root. The original design had been penned by a Rank 8 Nexus Artificer, someone who likely hadn't set foot in mortal workshops for decades, their knowledge bordering on legendary. Replicating, let alone improving upon such work would require either miraculous luck in finding another master of that caliber... or weapons-grade arrogance from whoever dared attempt it.
Rhyse clenched his fists, the System's interface pulsing faintly against his vision. The path forward was clear, but the climb grew steeper with every step—and he had no choice but to ascend.
Finally - the garrison.
[Subquest: Revitalize Sunpass Outpost] [Objective: Re-establish the Garrison. Goals: Soldiers (0/200); Technicians (0/10); Scouts to monitor the chasm's shifting threats (0/5); Housing, provisions, and supply lines (0/3);]
Re-establishing the garrison appeared deceptively simple compared to the arcane engineering challenges of the containment field, yet it unfolded into its own labyrinth of interconnected problems upon closer inspection. Each task was an intricate web of logistical nightmares, with every solution spawning three new problems. The soldiers alone required proper quarters with reinforced sleep wards against Abyssal nightmares, armaments forged from rare chasm-resistant alloys, and supply lines that could withstand the underground's unpredictable seismic shifts.
Rhyse rubbed his temples as the System continued unpacking nested requirements - every solution spawning three new complications, every material shortage revealing supply chain vulnerabilities that stretched across half the continent. Yet amidst this avalanche of overwhelming details, he felt the first stirrings of certainty cutting through the chaos. The System hadn't merely dumped an impossible mission in his lap - it had handed him a living, breathing blueprint that adapted to each new variable, its pathways adjusting like the roots of the great World Tree seeking water through bedrock fissures.
Somewhere between the personnel manifests and provisioning spreadsheets, he realized the true gift wasn't the destination, but the meticulously illuminated path itself. The climb would be brutal, the costs staggering, and the sacrifices unimaginable - but for the first time since inheriting this crumbling empire, every footfall would land on solid, unchallenged certainty. The System had translated his ancestors' cryptic warnings into quantifiable objectives, their centuries of accumulated wisdom now marching in precise formation before him. Death might wait at the summit, but never again would he face it blind.