Common Sense

Steven's eyes remained fixed on the revolver.

It was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Every instinct born from years of playing RPGs, MMORPGs, dungeon crawlers, and adventure games screamed inside his head.

Don't touch it.

He slowly folded his arms.

"...Yeah..."

"I'm not falling for that."

He looked back over his shoulder.

Fifty motionless constructs.

Every one of them looked perfectly capable of tearing him apart.

"If I touch that gun..."

He pictured every glowing eye in the hallway lighting up simultaneously.

"...Every single one of those bastards is going to wake up."

Steven nodded to himself.

"Classic treasure room."

"No thanks."

Instead of reaching for the revolver, he began carefully examining the rest of the workshop.

Old crates.

Stacks of machined gears.

Bundles of copper wiring.

Boxes filled with springs, screws, rivets, and polished bearings.

Nothing looked particularly magical, but it all appeared valuable.

"These should sell to Engineers..."

One by one he stored whatever wasn't bolted down into his Player Inventory.

Neatly machined brass plates.

Coils of copper tubing.

Boxes of precision screws.

A handful of polished gear blanks.

Several steel rods that looked useful for crafting.

If nothing else, the raw materials should fetch a decent price on the Player Market.

As he searched, he paid close attention to every inch of the room.

Loose floor tiles.

Pressure plates.

Hidden wires.

Tiny holes in the walls.

Anything.

Nothing.

Not a single obvious trap presented itself.

Steven frowned.

"...That's somehow worse."

He looked around once more.

"The guy who built this place made that office impossible to break into."

"So why would his traps be obvious?"

He chuckled nervously.

"They probably aren't."

His gaze drifted back toward the silver revolver.

Still resting peacefully on the blue cloth.

Still waiting.

Still tempting him.

"...You stay right there."

"I'll come back when I'm stronger."

With that, Steven quietly backed out of the room.

The rows of silent constructs never moved.

Not even once.

Only after he had completely left the chamber did he finally let out the breath he'd been holding.

"...Definitely a trap."

He wasn't disappointed.

If anything...

He felt proud of himself for resisting.

There was no rule saying treasure had to be claimed the moment it was discovered.

Sometimes surviving today meant getting richer tomorrow.

Returning to the central workshop, Steven chose the remaining unexplored hallway.

Unlike the eerie corridor lined with dormant sentinels, this passage was far more active.

The rhythmic clanking of machinery echoed ahead.

Steam hissed from vents along the walls.

Every few seconds something metallic scraped against stone somewhere deeper inside.

Before long the corridor widened into a network of intersecting passages.

Pipes crisscrossed the ceiling overhead, dripping the occasional bead of condensation onto the metal floor.

Scattered throughout the corridors wandered squat mechanical golems.

Most stood only about three feet tall.

Their bodies were assembled from thick iron blocks reinforced with brass joints.

Round blue lenses served as eyes, glowing softly as they patrolled predetermined routes.

Each carried a different tool rather than a weapon.

One dragged an oversized hammer behind it.

Another held a heavy wrench nearly as large as itself.

A third carried a spinning circular saw attached to one arm, sparks occasionally flying as the blade clipped the walls while it walked.

"...Maintenance workers?"

Steven whispered.

The nearest golem suddenly stopped.

Its glowing eyes brightened.

Its head rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees with a sharp mechanical click until it faced him directly.

A shrill whistle echoed through the corridor.

The construct lowered its hammer.

Then charged.

"...Guess not."