Apocalypse Architect: A Tower Defense LitRPG

Chapter 81: Misfire

Director Kaine stood there, holding the velvet marker, his expression one of utter bewilderment.

“What is this?”

His assistant leaned in, keeping his voice low. “It’s Aris again. Another one of his ‘games’. I’m getting sick of his antics.”

Kaine sighed, his grip tightening on the ball. “Of course. The man doesn’t know the meaning of gravity. Does he not realize how precarious our position is?”

He marched toward the stage, the crowd parting before him.

“Ahem! Ah… Director!” Dr. Aris forced a laugh, realizing he had just beaned his boss with a projectile. He quickly repeated his spiel to cover the awkwardness. “As I was saying, the lucky catcher gets to choose the test parameter. Shall we start with the tensile stress test? Or perhaps the impact velocity?”

Kaine wasn’t listening. His mind was still reeling from the blueprints he’d just seen in the safe room. The efficiency numbers of that Power Conversion Core were burning a hole in his brain. He didn’t have time for Aris’s theater.

“Skip the preamble,” Kaine said curtly, tossing the marker back. “Go straight to the composite armor test.”

Aris’s smile faltered. He had planned a dramatic, multi-stage sequence to build suspense and stroke his own ego. But Kaine’s offhand command shattered his script.

“Fine,” Aris snapped, his tone dripping with displeasure. “If that’s what you want, we’ll skip to the finale.”

Kaine ignored the attitude. He knew Aris was a petty, vindictive man—a genius with a fragile ego who held grudges over spilled coffee. But Kaine didn’t care anymore. He had an ace up his sleeve now. If Aris failed, the mysterious designer behind Sawyer would be their salvation.

That Power Conversion Core, Kaine thought, his heart racing. If we can retrofit our existing towers with that tech… we could double our defensive output while halving our crystal consumption.

Resources in The Sprawl were finite. Every scrap of metal, every energy unit was “real gold and silver.” Efficiency wasn’t just profitable; it was survival.

Kaine looked at Aris, then at the looming tower. He was almost impatient for the test to end so he could track down this “Jax.”

The preparations for the Penetrator Ballista were complete.

The tower stood tall against the grey sky, a jagged silhouette of steel and hydraulics resembling a mechanical titan. One hundred meters downrange, a heavy iron frame held the target: a thick slab of composite armor, marked with concentric rings to measure accuracy.

Standard protocol for Defense Tower certification was rigorous. Power, accuracy, fire rate, durability—every stat had to be verified by the Defense Tower Inspection Agency before mass production could begin. While the Great Families controlled the credits, the State still held the keys to military certification.

A red flag waved from the control booth. The range was hot.

“Commencing firing sequence!” Aris announced, his finger hovering over the console.

He pressed the button. The tower hummed to life.

Whirrr-CLANK. Grind. Hiss.

The internal gears groaned, the sound harsh and rhythmic.

Kaine frowned, leaning toward his assistant. “That doesn’t sound right. It sounds… loose. Like it’s missing teeth.”

“Poor calibration,” the assistant whispered back. “Or the drive train is misaligned. This isn’t going to end well.”

Most of the crowd didn’t have the ear for it, though. They cheered as the massive alloy crossbow arms began to draw back.

Buzz. Click. Click.

Aris wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Is the tension rod slipping again? This is the third revision. It shouldn’t be doing that.”

He glanced at the cheering crowd and forced a mask of calm onto his face. He had to bluff his way through.

THWACK.

The release mechanism triggered. A massive, five-centimeter-thick steel bolt screamed out of the launch rail.

“Whoosh!”

The crowd gasped, instinctively recoiling from the sheer kinetic energy.

“Look at that velocity!” someone shouted. “If that hits a Tier 3 Arachnid, it’ll punch right through!”

“Impressive,” another nodded. “Aris is arrogant, but he delivers. That bolt will shred the shield.”

“Finally! Our spring has come! More jobs for us!”

Hundreds of eyes tracked the bolt as it arced toward the target.

Then—CLANG.

A sharp, metallic snap echoed from the tower’s gut, loud enough to cut through the ambient noise.

Mid-flight, the heavy bolt seemed to lose its will to live. It wobbled, the tail dipping as its momentum evaporated.

Thud.

It hit the dirt ten meters short of the shield.

The heavy steel shaft rolled pathetically in the dust, not even scratching the paint on the target.

Silence descended on the range.

“Uh…”

“What happened?”

“Did it… run out of gas?”

“It didn’t even touch the target,” someone scoffed. “It’s a hundred meters! I can throw a rock that far!”

“All flash, no bang,” a worker sneered, spitting on the ground. “Just like last time. An embroidered pillow—pretty on the outside, useless on the inside.”

The disappointment in the air was palpable. Aris stood on the platform, his face burning.

“This… what is the meaning of this?” he stammered.

Sensing the crowd turning against him, Aris grabbed a megaphone and marched down to the bolt. He inspected it with feigned professionalism, then turned to the audience.

“Calm down! This was merely a calibration test!” Aris lied through his teeth. “We were testing the launch rail alignment, not the range! The real test begins now!”

He hissed at a junior aide, his voice trembling with panic. “Get me the lightweight bolt. The hollow one. Now! I don’t care about penetration anymore, just make sure it hits the damn target!”

The aide nodded, understanding that this was about saving face, and sprinted to the ammo cache. He returned with a bolt that looked identical but weighed half as much.

Aris loaded it personally.

Kaine watched from the sidelines, sighing. He knew exactly what was happening, and he knew exactly how it would end.

“Fire!” Aris screamed.

The tower groaned again. The arms snapped forward.

Phut.

The lightweight bolt didn’t have the mass to engage the tension spring correctly. It flopped out of the barrel and nosedived into the mud three feet in front of the tower.

Plop.

For a second, there was total silence. Then, the laughter started. It began as a giggle, then roared into a wave of mockery.

“Good god!” a guard howled, slapping his knee. “That tower needs some blue pills! It’s completely limp!”

“Hey Aris!” a worker shouted. “My shooting range is better than your tower’s! And I can tell my wife that proudly!”

“What a piece of junk. Let’s go, show’s over.”

“Credits down the drain. Shameful.”

Humiliated beyond words, Dr. Aris didn’t even try to make an excuse. He turned and fled the range, his team slinking away behind him like beaten dogs.

News of the disastrous test spread through The Sprawl faster than the Black Rain. By evening, Dr. Aris was the punchline of every joke in the city.

In the guest wing of Sawyer’s villa, Jax woke up feeling refreshed. It was the best sleep he’d had in months.

He showered, changed into the fresh clothes provided by the butler, and headed to the dining room.

The table groaned under the weight of the feast. Roast meats, fresh vegetables, wine—it was a spread fit for a king. Even Jax, who remembered the abundance of the pre-apocalypse world, was impressed by the extravagance.

“Haha! Jax, my friend!” Sawyer stood up, beaming. “You’re awake! Hungry? Come, sit, eat!”

Jax nodded, taking a seat without ceremony. He was starving. He picked up a fork and dug into a massive steak, focusing entirely on the food.

Sawyer watched him, eager to build a rapport but unsure how to break the ice with the stoic young man.

“Ahem,” Sawyer cleared his throat, pouring Jax a glass of wine. “Brother Jax, something quite entertaining happened while you were asleep. I think you’ll appreciate the irony.”

Jax swallowed a mouthful of beef and looked up. “Oh?”

“Dr. Aris tested his Penetrator Ballista today,” Sawyer grinned, his eyes twinkling. “It was a total catastrophe.”