Chapter 63: There Is Only One Truth

Marlon hadn’t really drawn all that much, truth be told.

The so-called “Little Tyrant Game Console” on his blueprint looked grand on the surface, but in reality, it was far simpler than it appeared. Aside from a few clever modifications — a socket for inserting a magic crystal to provide power, a crimson rune array designed to stabilize the energy output, and a removable “crystal cartridge” for games — there wasn’t anything particularly high-tech about it at all.

As for that most crucial “crystal cartridge,” it was, in fact, nothing new. It was simply a derivative of the image crystal invented and patented by Musa Mein.

Thus, the old “Little Tyrant Game Console” would soon pass into history, to be replaced by a far grander name:
“The Little Tyrant Virtual Glory Duel Machine.”

After all — whether one was the traveler or the one being traveled to — since he had come to this world, he might as well leave behind a mark that declared: “Marlon was here.”

With that wickedly playful thought in mind, Marlon devoted himself to the task, seriously filling more than a dozen sheets of paper with sketches — detailed structural diagrams of each and every component of his so-called Little Tyrant.

When he finally finished, Marlon couldn’t help feeling that his geometric drawing skills had deteriorated to the level of a bored middle-schooler doodling during summer vacation. Yet, when those blueprints reached the eyes of the dwarven blacksmiths and goblin gem-cutters, the old masters regarded them as though they were sacred relics — the divine revelations of the God of Craftsmanship himself!

These seasoned artisans, whose gnarled hands bore the marks of decades at the forge and the polishing bench, could see at once the immense potential hidden within those drawings.

And so, eager to learn more from Marlon, the dwarves and goblins — two races traditionally at odds with one another — decided without hesitation to set aside their ancient grudges and cooperate. They were so determined to stay that they even insisted on working for Marlon without pay!

They were, after all, men who had started from nothing — apprentices once grateful simply to be fed by their masters. Wages were a luxury of later life, not a right.

Thus, though Marlon had originally planned to hire just one dwarven blacksmith and one goblin gem-cutter, he found himself surrounded by a whole dozen of them, all refusing to leave. Reluctant but inwardly delighted, he agreed to take them all in.

Then came Lisp Copperbeard, the kindly dwarven elder. With a grin that made his thick copper beard quiver, he produced a great stack of Yorahan Contracts — blank magical agreements, completely free of charge.

“These,” he said proudly, “you can use to sign confidentiality oaths with the craftsmen, lad. A gift from me.”

Marlon, naturally, did not refuse such a generous offer. Taking the stack, he quickly drew up a binding contract and had each and every dwarf and goblin sign a strict non-disclosure agreement.

According to the terms, all of these master craftsmen of White Sand City — the very best in their trades — were now officially employed for a full year as senior technicians under Marlon’s soon-to-be-founded “Little Tyrant Technology Company.”

At the end of the year, Marlon alone would decide whether to renew or terminate their employment. And if he offered to rehire them under equal or better pay, the signatories would have no right to refuse.

To the dwarves’ and goblins’ surprise, Marlon’s wages were anything but low!

A solid base salary, generous piece-rate bonuses, year-end dividends, and even apprentice mentorship stipends — all these combined into a handsome income. With a little effort, each craftsman could easily earn over two hundred lants a month!

Even among the most skilled artisans in White Sand, few could boast such consistent earnings.

“Everyone,” Marlon asked, smiling now that their relationships were clearly defined by contract, “if we divide the work properly among ourselves, how long will it take to produce our first Little Tyrant Virtual Glory Duel Machine? Ah, that name’s a bit of a mouthful. Let’s just call it the Little Tyrant from now on.”

“Master Marlon,” declared Old Habi, one of the veteran dwarves, thumping his stout chest with pride, “just you wait! By tomorrow noon, you’ll have at least two fully functional Little Tyrants before your eyes!”

The device wasn’t large — the drawings made that much clear. Its inner workings were complex, true, but with six experienced dwarven smiths working together, failing to produce two units by midday tomorrow would be shameful enough to warrant throwing themselves into the forge in disgrace.

Not to be outdone, Old Shanter, the leading goblin gem-smith, slapped his chest as well.
“By tomorrow noon,” he declared boldly, “we’ll have at least two dozen crystal cartridges ready — all perfectly to standard!”

A dozen meant twelve, so two dozen was twenty-four. Combined with two prototype consoles and twenty testing cartridges, that was more than enough to begin trials.

“Excellent!” Marlon said with visible relief. “Then I’ll leave it to all of you — though it seems I’ll have to trouble you to work through the night.”

He smiled, the tension in his chest finally easing. Now he no longer had to worry that, after boasting publicly earlier that day, he’d end up empty-handed in two days’ time and lose face all the way back to his home plane.

The dwarves and goblins immediately set to work. Since Marlon’s Blossoming Courtyard lacked forges and gem-polishing equipment, they returned to their respective guilds to work through the night.

Still uneasy — especially after having thoroughly offended both the Barrier Masters’ Guild and the von Stein family earlier that day — Marlon asked Grand Druid Clawmaster Conchita to escort them. Ten strong men from the construction crew were recruited as guards, and together they formed an impressive procession escorting the craftsmen back to their workshops. They would return together by midday tomorrow.

“You’ve done well, young Marlon,” said Lisp Copperbeard, who had not departed with the group. Watching the druid’s silhouette disappear into the darkness, he turned to Marlon with a warm smile. “Cautious, prudent — just as a clever lad should be.”

“What can I say?” Marlon shrugged lightly. “After nearly being assassinated once, you learn to keep your guard up.”

As he spoke, he glanced toward Amy, the little fox-girl standing quietly by his side, his eyes filled with gratitude.

Amy felt his gaze and lifted her head, her gem-bright blue eyes shimmering with wordless emotion. The message in them was clear: Wasn’t this what Amy was supposed to do? Why are you looking at me like that? Keep staring and… Amy will get embarrassed, you know!

Marlon chuckled softly and turned his gaze away. “Elder Copperbeard,” he said, “if you have something to say, please speak plainly. What is it that you want from me?”

“As expected of the young genius they all call ‘Prodigy Marlon,’” Lisp Copperbeard replied with a teasing, almost syrupy tone. Then, after a thoughtful pause, his voice grew slower, heavier.

“Actually… there’s only one reason I sought you out.”

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