Silas stared at Jax, his jaw practically unhinged.

“You… say that again? You want to buy Sector 33?”

Jax adjusted the strap of his rifle, shrugging. “At least make it my private territory for a while. Do you know how? A long-term lease works too.”

The more Silas looked at Jax, the more he felt the kid was unfathomable. This wasn’t just a lucky scavenger.

“Brother, are you pulling my leg?” Silas lowered his voice, glancing around nervously. “Renting a Sector costs a mountain of Credits. Sure, nobody wants Sector 33 because it’s a ghost town, but that doesn’t mean the Guild gives discounts. And don’t think just because you survived a couple of nights you can relax. That place is really weird. People go in and don’t come out.”

Jax suppressed a smirk. The “weirdness” of the Valley of Death was just a gang of bandits playing dress-up to scare off competition. He had already put those ghosts in the ground, but the rest of the world was still in the dark.

“I’m not worried about ghosts,” Jax said calmly. “I’m naturally bold. Just tell me, is there a way to secure the land?”

Silas scratched his greasy hair. “There is. But it takes a lot of money. You have to go to The Guild Hub and sign a long-term lease.”

“Good. Do you know the price?”

Silas rolled his eyes. “You’re joking, right? I don’t know everything. Besides, if a guy like me went asking about buying Sectors, they’d laugh me out of the building.”

He paused, a sudden realization dawning on him. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Brother… have you really thought this through?”

“I have.”

Jax turned to leave, but Silas scrambled after him, grabbing his arm.

“Wait! That… do you actually have a Defense Tower up there?”

Jax knew he couldn’t keep the towers secret forever. Legitimacy required disclosure. He nodded.

“That’s right. I have two Sentry Towers.”

Silas froze, his brain seemingly short-circuiting.

“Two… two Sentry Towers? Private ownership?” He stammered, his eyes bulging. “That’s impossible. I’ve never heard of a private individual owning one, let alone two!”

He circled Jax, studying him with renewed intensity, as if looking for a hidden guild emblem.

“Can… can you take me to see them?”

“Sorry. Not right now,” Jax said, brushing him off. “I need to get to The Guild Hub.”

“Wait! I’ll lead the way!” Silas’s attitude shifted instantly. The skepticism vanished, replaced by a fawning, eager grin. He smelled opportunity. “The bureaucrats at the Hub love to rip people off. You need a local guide. And hey, is what you said true? Sentry Towers are worth a fortune!”

“I don’t have time to give tours,” Jax said, walking faster. “If you want to visit, go there yourself.”

“Right, right. Well, how about I head back with you tonight?” Silas trotted alongside him like a loyal dog. “I can help carry supplies! Food, water, whatever you need!”

“Suit yourself.”

Silas transformed into a chatterbox sidekick, pestering Jax with questions about the towers. Jax gave non-committal answers, his mind racing elsewhere.

He was worried.

Currently, his two Sentry Towers were sitting in Sector 33 completely unguarded. If word got out that a lone wolf with no guild backing owned such valuable tech, he would have a target painted on his back. Assassination, theft, sabotage—it was all on the table.

He possessed nothing of value on his person and looked like a beggar. In the wasteland, looking weak was a sin. He didn’t want to “play the pig to eat the tiger.” That was a stupid trope for novels. In reality, if you looked like a pig, you got eaten before you could reveal you were a tiger.

He needed to look the part.

“Brother Jax, we’re here!” Silas pointed to a large, official-looking tent ahead. “That’s The Guild Hub office.”

Jax stopped dead. He looked at the guards outside the tent, then down at his own worn, dusty clothes.

“I think I should come back later,” Jax said abruptly.

He turned on his heel and walked away.

Silas stood there, dumbfounded. “What the hell? We just got here! Is he messing with me? Does the tower even exist?”

Silas began to doubt. Sentry Towers cost millions. Ordinary people couldn’t afford a bolt on one, let alone the whole structure. And Jax, in his early twenties and dressed like a refugee, didn’t scream “wealthy tycoon.”

But Silas had survived this long by trusting his gut. His scout’s intuition told him Jax wasn’t lying. There was a reason for the hesitation.

He hurried after Jax, following him to a shop with a sign depicting a hammer and anvil. A leatherworker.

Jax stepped inside. The air smelled of tanned hide and sweat. A shirtless middle-aged man was hammering rivets into a chest piece, his muscles glistening in the heat.

Seeing a potential customer, the smith put down his hammer.

“Ahem. Hey, Kid. Looking for protection? My leather is top-tier cowhide. Stops knives, stops axes.”

Jax didn’t speak. He walked along the racks, fingering the merchandise.

“How much for this one?”

“Oh, that? Fifty thousand Credits,” the smith said with a salesman’s grin. “Buy it, and I’ll throw in a free long knife. Or an axe.”

Jax kept his face neutral, but internally he winced. Fifty grand? For leather? Inflation is a bitch.

Seeing Jax hesitate, the smith took the armor down. “Kid, I won’t say it’s the best in The Sprawl, but it’s close. Three layers of cured hide, vented for heat. It’s a masterpiece.”

Jax ignored the pitch. “Chief, do you have anything cheaper?”

“Cheaper?” The smith eyed him, gauging his wallet. “How cheap?”

Jax knew if he revealed his budget, he’d get fleeced. “What’s the absolute lowest price you have?”

A flicker of disdain crossed the smith’s eyes. He reached under the counter and pulled out a flimsy piece of chainmail with two distinct, molded leather cups on the chest.

“Top quality cowhide,” the smith sneered. “Women’s model. Cheapest thing in the shop.”

Jax stared at him coldly. “If your eyes don’t work, go see a doctor.”

The smith chuckled awkwardly, realizing the insult hadn’t landed. He pointed to a rack in the dark corner.

“Fine. Second-hand rack. That one there is beat up, but cheap. If you’re serious, ten thousand Credits and it’s yours.”

Jax pulled down the armor. It was heavy, scarred from battle, and had a few patch jobs, but it looked intimidating. It had history.

“Five thousand,” Jax countered.

The smith scowled. “Kid, don’t waste my time. Nine thousand. Not a penny less.”

“Deal.”

Jax reached into his pouch and counted out nine glowing Cores. “I don’t carry cash. Cores okay?”

The smith’s eyes lit up. Cores were better than Credits; they were the hard currency of the new world.

“Sold,” the smith said quickly, reaching for them.

Jax pulled his hand back. “I want that Poleaxe on the wall, too. Throw it in.”

The smile vanished from the smith’s face. He hesitated, eyeing the weapon, then the glowing crystals. Greed won out.

“Fine. Take it.”

Jax handed over the Cores, grabbed the scarred armor and the heavy Poleaxe, and walked out.

Outside, Silas watched Jax emerge, looking like a battle-hardened mercenary rather than a scavenger.

“Smart,” Silas whispered, hurrying to catch up. “Jax, wait up! I know a way to keep people from eyeing your gear!”

Silas had figured it out the moment Jax pulled out the Cores. Jax hadn’t bought the battered armor for protection; he bought it for the image. He was building a persona to match his claims.