As Jack approached the two bickering men, the sharp clink of trowels against stone grew louder. Now that he was close, he could get a better look at what was going on. The pair of masons were working on an older building. Like the rest of the city, it was made from dark volcanic stone, neatly cut and tightly fitted. Scaffolding clung to its face, where the younger man was methodically smearing mortar into each joint.

  “What do you mean you didn’t pack extra, Junior?” the older man shouted from somewhere up above.

  “How was I supposed to know it would be in such bad condition, Pops?!” the younger man shot back, exasperated. “You’re the one who inspected it!”

  “I did inspect it. But I didn’t expect us to have to redo the chimney. That’s why I always tell you—bring extra. You never know what you’ll find in a project,” the old man replied, waving his trowel like it was a sword.

  “And I told you! You should’ve asked the client for two days, not just half a day. Now one of us has to leave to get more mortar, and we won’t make it in time.”

  “Excuse me for enjoying a little challenge!”

  “Stubborn old fossil!”

  “Rebellious, ungrateful brat!”

  “Excuse me,” Jack said, stepping forward.

  Both men turned sharply. “What?!” they said in unison.

  Jack raised his hands slightly, palms open. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. I overheard your conversation. Sounds like you’re short on supplies. I don’t mind picking some up, if that helps.”

  The older man squinted down at him for a moment, trowel still in hand. Then his expression softened, the deep crease in his brow easing as he huffed out a breath.

  “Appreciate that, lad,” he said, straightening up. “Name’s Barney. Barney Senior. Most just call me Senior.”

  “Barney Junior,” the younger man added from the scaffolding, tipping his helmet with two fingers. “But everyone calls me Junior.”

  “I’m Jack. Nice to meet you both.”

  “Sorry if we didn’t greet you properly at first. My son and I can get a little loud when we’re working.”

  Junior gave a small grunt of agreement, scooping more mortar and moving toward the next joint.

  Jack smiled. The two were capable of arguing and name-calling without missing a beat on their work. It was a twisted version of keeping themselves motivated to work hard. Miners chanted in unison. These two bickered.

  Senior tilted his head. “Were you serious just now? You really want to help?”

  “I am,” Jack said. “I actually have an interest in construction. I’d love to see how you work and help however I can.”

  Senior turned to glance at his son. It was a short, silent exchange, the kind built from years of shared labor. Junior gave a slow, approving nod.

  “Well, if you’re sure,” Senior said, “we could use more mortar. Do you know how to make it?”

  “I do not,” Jack replied without hesitation.

  Senior grinned. “That’s fine. Junior will teach you.”

  “Wait! Pops!” The old man had already disappeared on the roof, whistling as he worked.

  The youngman shook his head. “Don’t mind him, Jack. He’s already going senile.”

  “I heard that!” came the reply from the roof.

  “His hearing still works fine, though,” he said, chuckling. “Why don’t I give you the list of materials, and once you bring them over, I’ll show you how to mix them?”

  Jack nodded. “Sure.”

  “You’ll need thirty seashells, thirty portions of sand, and ten portions of water.”

  “Very well! Be right back!”

  Jack took off toward the nearest marketplace, just a couple of blocks away, and was back in under five minutes with everything he needed. When he returned, he found the two masons mid-debate again.

  “Of course, the hammer is the most important tool!” Senior declared, as if he were delivering gospel truth.

  “What are you talking about, Pops? It’s the knife,” Junior countered, shaking his head. “More useful, more versatile.”

  “What if you need to nail something in?”

  “I’d just use the pommel of the knife. Easy.”

  “Bah! Young people and their crazy antics.”

  “Hey, guys! I’m back!” Jack called out.

  The two turned to him, both blinking in surprise.

  “That was… fast!” Junior said, clearly impressed.

  Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t far.”

  “Good! Good job, Jack!” Junior climbed down from the scaffolding, dropping to the ground with the agility of a cat. Now that they were face to face, Jack got a better look at the man—tall, broad, and built like someone who hauled stone more often than he slept.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Do you have the seashells?”

  “I do.”

  “Beautiful,” Junior said, with a glint in his eye that was almost reverent. “There’s nothing better than a fresh batch of binder. Mortar’s the soul of any good wall. You get the mix wrong, the whole thing crumbles. Get it right...” He gave a satisfied nod. “...and you’ll still be admiring your handiwork fifty years from now. Let's get started then. The first thing we want to do is to heat these seashells."

  "That's no problem. I can get a fire going here, and I also have cooking supplies."

  Junior barked a short laugh. “That won’t be hot enough. We need heat—real heat. The kind that melts metal and makes the shells cook all the way through. Open fire won’t cut it.” He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a small silver token, etched with two crossed hammers. “Take this to the Masons’ Association and show it at the reception. They’ll let you use one of the kilns for free. Just be sure to return it when you’re done.”

  Masons’ Association’s coordinates have been added to your map.

  Jack accepted the token. He figured the kilns at the Potters’ Association would probably do the job just as well, but since he had a free pass to the masons' setup, it didn’t hurt to check it out.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’ll head there now.”

  “Fine! We’ll be waiting.”

  “Hurry up, young man! We need that mortar! Stat!”

  Jack didn’t dally and took off toward the Masons’ Association.

  *

  The Mason’s Association was only a block away from the Pottery Association, so most of the route was familiar. As he got closer, Jack passed handcarts groaning under stone loads and apprentices shouting over each other as they carried planks and barrels.

  The building itself was a squat, two-storey structure—boxy and utilitarian. Jack spotted a wide gate where several workers were hauling massive stones into the building.

  “And pull!”

  (Collective grunt.)

  “And pull!”

  (Collective grunt.)

  They rolled them over logs, using ropes and rhythm.

  “Thank goodness for our inventories," Jack muttered. The game would be a lot harder if they had to carry things around like these guys.

  He veered left and made his way to the main entrance. Inside, he was greeted by a bare room. Stone floor, stone walls, and only one door at the far end. To the right sat a narrow desk, behind which lounged a man in a flannel shirt, steel-toed boots kicked up, and a helmet tipped over his face.

  Jack approached.

  “I’m not sleeping!” the man barked, startling him.

  Jack paused. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “But you were thinking it,” the man shot back, without shifting from his reclined position. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to use one of the kilns. Barney Jr. gave me this.” Jack placed the token on the desk.

  The man groaned—long and drawn out, as if movement itself was an insult—and lifted the token for inspection. He gave a grunt of acknowledgment, tossed the coin back, and resumed his slouch.

  “Kiln Five. It’s free.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jack left the odd man behind, wondering what his deal was, and whether there was a quest there to complete, but the Barneys were waiting. He opened the door and stepped into the heart of the Masons’ Association.

  The room stretched wide and high—part warehouse, part forge, part factory. The building might have been the same size as the Butchers’ Association, but the lack of walls made it grander. The ceiling soared above him, held up by massive stone arches. Moonlight filtered through high, narrow windows, supplementing the red glow of torches, kilns, and fires.

  Mountains of freshly quarried stone filled one corner—gray, black, and dark red blocks stacked high. Nearby, teams of men wrestled huge saws, moving in synchronized motion to slice through slabs, their blades whining with each pass.

  From the top of the stack of stone blocks was an NPC, surrounded by players. Occasionally, he barked orders, grumbled about angles and edge finishes. From the way players lingered and moved their hands, that had to be the masons’ XP store.

  On another corner, wooden beams of various lengths and thicknesses were laid out in organized rows. There was no one cutting them. That was the lumberjacks’ job.

  Massive vats, situated over fires, were attended to by men who dumped sand, ash, and powders of different colors. And near the far wall—lined up like sentries—stood the kilns.

  They looked the same as the ones in the Pottery Association, but bulkier. He quickly found the one he could use.

  “Kiln Number Five. Here we go.”

  He opened the hatch. He set the tray of seashells on the loading rack and slid it in. A progress bar popped up immediately.

  Time remaining: 4:59

  Jack sighed and wiped his forehead. While he waited, his gaze wandered to the players working the nearby kilns.

  Many of them wore advanced gear and bore guild insignias. As the guide said, masonry was a favorite among guilds. They were the ones with the most to gain from building and the only ones with the resources to nurture dedicated masons.

  Seeing how filthy rich these guild players looked reminded him… The girl from the Chefs’ Association—she was covered in mid-imbued gear, and sang praises for the Basilisks’ financial power. She’d made it sound like they could shower him in gold if he joined.

  His current plan to earn half a million credits still rested heavily on Amari’s channel and on crafting or finding rare, high-value items. Selling fifty-credit pot hives or slightly pricier ocarinas wasn’t going to get him there. Not in time.

  But these guilds? They were swimming in money. What if he could tap into it?

  What could I sell to them?

  Could he sell information, for example? He’d been keeping his secrets close, betting on the long game—steadily producing golden eggs instead of selling the goose outright.

  The thing was, he was already squeezing value out of the valuable intel in his hands.

  Amari was sharing how Jack obtained his hidden class on his channel. As for how to beat the Breach, or how to build a village? That knowledge belonged to the whole team, and Amari was going to use his channel to make money off that information, too.

  So what else? What else could he sell them?

  He could always reach out directly. Offer exclusive deals. Tip a guild off about a unique item only he could craft, and open the floor for orders. Even if he offered a discount, bulk sales could bring in serious revenue.

  Nari had mentioned he could work as an imbuer for the Basilisks. He imagined a guild placing an order for 1,000 fiber-imbued items. Amari had said each imbuement could fetch fifty credits. That’d be fifty thousand credits in one go—ten percent of his goal.

  But could I even fill that many orders in the time my dad has? Even working nonstop, how much could I really produce in a day?

  He scratched his head. That scale wasn’t realistic. He needed to focus on fewer items, but ones with serious value.

  The teleportation pots were the best candidate. If he could sell full sets for 1,000 gold or more... that could help him rake in the money.

  I could always join a guild, he thought. If one hired me and paid me up front... But that would mean giving up a share of the profits he could generate. That kind of cut could be the difference between affording his dad’s treatment and falling short.

  He didn’t have the perfect plan yet. But one thing was clear: if he wanted to pay for his father’s treatment, he’d have to tap into these guilds' deep pockets.

  I guess a little networking doesn’t hurt. Maybe I should start making some contacts.

  Just as he was about to approach the richest-looking player nearby, a soft chime rang out.

  Congratulations! You’ve crafted 30x[Calcinated Seashells].

  +3XP in Masonry.

  The seashells were done.

  He opened the hatch and pulled them out. Each one looked charred and brittle. “I guess that’s it then.”

  He gave the guild players one last look, then shook his head and turned back toward the exit. For now, he’d focus on becoming a mason.

  He could figure out how to milk the rich later.