CHAPTER 7: CH 7: TRICKS TO SURVIVE - PART 4

Lucian pressed his tiny hand against the cold metal of the gate. His eyes glinted faintly in the darkness as he funneled a trickle of mana into the lock.

It resisted at first. A lattice of unfamiliar mechanisms clicked faintly under his senses, but to Lucian, who had tinkered with countless locks and barriers in past lives, it was only a puzzle.

He narrowed his focus, pushing just the right amount of mana into the seams, forcing the metallic latch to shift.

Click.

The sound was soft, but it was enough. The gate loosened, swinging open by just a hair. Lucian slipped inside like a shadow, his small body making no noise.

Once through, he placed his hand back on the lock and pulsed mana into it again.

Click.

The lock sealed behind him.

He exhaled, relief washing through him. He was in.

The junkyard stretched wide before him, a sprawling graveyard of twisted metal and discarded machines.

Towers of rusting panels leaned precariously against heaps of shattered gears. Blackened pipes jutted from the snow like broken bones.

The air smelled of iron, oil, and something faintly acidic.

Lucian crouched low and let his eyes adjust. The place was vast—too vast for him to comb through recklessly. He had to be careful.

Movement caught his attention. Not far ahead, the humanoid figures he had followed were gathered again.

Their protective suits gleamed faintly beneath the pale light. They stood around a fresh heap of debris, their instruments flickering as they poked and prodded through the pile.

"System-"

[Mana will be used to enhance your senses.]

Mana surged to his ears, heightening his senses.

The world became sharper, clearer. The crunch of boots on snow, the hiss of steam escaping a pipe, even the faint hum of energy from their tools—all of it filled his perception.

And then, their voices.

"The new trash just came down from above."

"Looks worse than the last batch. Useless scraps."

"Doesn’t matter. Record it and mark it. Orders are orders."

Lucian’s brows furrowed.

’New trash’? People above? Are they being supplied? Or... dumped on?

He filed the information away. For now, it wasn’t his concern. Their distraction was his chance.

Moving low and silent, Lucian slipped between two heaps of corroded panels, scanning for anything usable.

His breath came slow and steady, his senses stretched wide to track the figures’ position.

And then, he saw it.

Half-buried beneath a pile of rusted rods was a set of familiar-looking scraps. Fragments of alloy plating, scorched but intact. Lucian’s heart skipped.

He knew this material. He had worked with it before—in other lives, on other worlds. Durable, heat-resistant, and most importantly... conductive.

He pried one free, brushing frost off its surface. Then he pushed mana into it.

The metal hummed faintly in response, a soft glow rippling across its edges before dimming again.

Lucian’s lips curled into the faintest smile.

"Perfect."

This was exactly what he needed for his furnace. With alloy like this, he could build a core chamber capable of sustaining constant mana ignition.

It would save his body from exhaustion and keep the mana stones burning efficiently.

Without hesitation, he pulled more scraps free, testing them quickly, confirming their conductivity. Piece after piece vanished into his inventory.

But the more he looked, the more he realized just how much he needed.

One furnace would not be enough. He needed multiple chambers, regulators, conduits. More than a single trip could carry.

"Tch. Looks like I’ll have to come back again and again."

He clicked his tongue.

It was a risk, but he had no choice. Survival demanded it.

As he stuffed the last piece into his inventory, Lucian began edging back toward the gate. His muscles were tense, his eyes constantly flicking toward the suited group.

They were still busy, still distracted.

Then—

A ripple of movement.

Lucian froze, his instincts screaming.

Something was moving deeper in the junkyard. Heavy, deliberate steps crunched against the snow and metal.

A low growl reverberated through the heaps, rattling loose shards of scrap.

Lucian darted behind a bent panel and pressed himself flat against it. His breathing slowed, his presence folded tight.

A beast.

It emerged from the shadows, its hulking form prowling between the heaps. Its body was twisted, malformed, as though the scraps of the junkyard had fused into its flesh.

Shards of metal jutted from its shoulders, and its eyes glowed faintly with a feral hunger. Drool hissed as it hit the snow, burning faint holes into the ice.

Lucian’s pulse pounded in his ears. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare breathe.

The beast sniffed the air, its glowing eyes sweeping over the piles of junk.

For a moment, Lucian thought it had caught his scent. His muscles coiled, ready to flee.

But then, the creature turned.

Its attention snapped to the small group of humanoids.

With a guttural roar, it lunged.

The suited figures reacted instantly. Weapons flashed in their hands—rods that pulsed with light, blades humming with energy.

In seconds, they surrounded the beast, moving with sharp, practiced precision.

The clash was brutal but swift. The beast’s claws lashed out, scattering sparks as they scraped against glowing blades.

One of the figures raised a device and fired—an arc of searing light struck the beast’s chest, sending it crashing to the ground.

Another figure stepped in, driving a weapon straight through its skull.

The beast gave one last shudder before collapsing, motionless.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

They had taken it down in seconds. Without hesitation. Without struggle. Their coordination was flawless, their weapons efficient.

He pressed his back tighter against the scrap heap, every nerve alight with tension.

’It would be best if I don’t engage with them at the moment. I need a more advantageous position to face them.’

He doubted these people would go easy on him even if he was in a child’s body.

Lucian waited, unmoving, as the group began scanning the beast’s corpse. Their voices were muffled, their movements methodical.

They weren’t panicked—they were professionals. This was routine for them.

He swallowed his frustration. He had what he came for—at least enough for now. Engaging with them was suicidal. For the moment, the only path was patience and shadows.

His small hand tightened around the scraps hidden in his inventory.

"Fine. You keep your trash. I’ll take what I need. And when I’m ready... not even you will be able to stop me."

He whispered to himself.

He turned his gaze back to the locked gate, waiting for the right moment to slip away.