The weight of the coin pouch in Misaki's hands had become familiar over the past two days - fifty gold coins, each stamped with the profile of King Ashtherion'vaur on one side and the seven-pointed chakra star on the other. Even after paying off his five-gold debt to Chief Shy'yao, forty-five gold remained. More wealth than he'd ever possessed in his life, on Earth or Vulcan.
He sat at the small table in his dwelling as Ulth'rk, the primary star, climbed toward its zenith. The twenty-five-hour daytime cycle was in its fourteenth hour, leaving plenty of productive time before the shift to night. Misaki had learned to appreciate Vulcan's extended days - once you adjusted to the rhythm, the extra hours felt like a gift. More time to work, to plan, to build.
But build what, exactly?
Misaki spread a piece of rough parchment across the table - purchased from the village scribe for two copper pieces - and began sketching with a charcoal stick. His engineering background demanded organized thinking, systematic planning. The money was a resource, but resources without direction were just potential energy waiting to be wasted.
First priority: expand the dwelling. His current structure was functional but cramped - a single room with a sleeping mat, a small cooking area, and storage. He needed space to work, to prototype, to think. A separate workshop area where he could design and build the tools this world desperately needed.
Second priority: transportation. The village of M'lod operated on foot traffic and occasional beast-drawn carts, but those were expensive to maintain and feed. A human-powered cart - something with proper wheels, axles, and load distribution - could revolutionize local commerce. And a smaller pushing cart for moving materials around the village would save countless hours of carrying heavy loads by hand.
Third priority: something he was still figuring out. Investment? Long-term security? He needed more information about how the economic systems worked here.
Misaki rolled up his sketches and stood, wincing slightly as his healing wounds protested the movement. The cauterized injuries from Null'kwe's attacks were sealing properly, but the tissue remained tender. Vellin had warned him to avoid heavy lifting for another week.
Small price to pay for being alive.
He found Chief Shy'yao in the village center, mediating a dispute between two farmers over irrigation rights. The chief's advanced age - two hundred seventy-six years - showed in the patient way he listened to both sides, asking clarifying questions until the root of the disagreement became clear. When he finally rendered judgment, both farmers departed looking satisfied, which Misaki suspected was the mark of true diplomacy.
"Misaki," Shy'yao greeted him warmly. "I trust your wounds are healing well?"
"Slowly but surely," Misaki replied. "I have a question about village administration, if you have a moment."
The chief gestured to a wooden bench near the communal well. "Of course. What troubles you?"
"Not trouble exactly - planning. When do the tax collectors return to M'lod?"
Shy'yao's expression grew more serious. "One month from their last visit. Twenty-eight days, to be precise. They operate on the lunar cycle of Thalanox, the lesser moon." He studied Misaki curiously. "Why do you ask? Your debt is cleared, and you're not yet established enough to owe significant property taxes."
"I'm thinking about expansion," Misaki explained. "Building a workshop, possibly acquiring materials that might attract tariff attention. I want to know my timeline before the kingdom's representatives come looking."
The chief nodded approvingly. "Wise. Many newcomers forget that prosperity attracts scrutiny. The tax collectors from Ul'varh'mir are thorough, and they do not appreciate surprises." He leaned back against the bench. "Twenty-eight days gives you time to establish proper documentation. I can help you register your property improvements with the village records. That way, when they arrive, everything appears legitimate and above board."
Misaki felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "I'd appreciate that. I don't want any complications with the kingdom."
"None of us do," Shy'yao said quietly, and something in his tone suggested deeper currents of tension between M'lod and the capital. But he didn't elaborate, and Misaki didn't press.
Torran's smithy occupied the eastern edge of M'lod, strategically positioned downwind so the smoke and heat wouldn't trouble the residential areas. The blacksmith himself was working the forge when Misaki arrived, his one hundred sixty years showing only in the silver threading through his beard and the deep knowledge in his eyes. Muscles like corded rope flexed as he hammered a piece of heated iron into a plow blade.
"Haruto!" Torran called out, recognizing him immediately. The smith had a gift for names. "Come to commission something, or just watching a master at work?"
"Both, if I'm honest," Misaki replied, grinning. "I need materials for construction. Lumber, nails, hinges. I'm expanding my dwelling."
Torran set his hammer aside and wiped his hands on his leather apron. "Expanding already? You've only been here what, six months?"
"Six months and two near-death experiences," Misaki corrected. "I figure if I'm going to keep almost dying, I should at least have a proper workshop to show for it."
The blacksmith laughed, a deep rumbling sound. "Fair reasoning. Let me show you what I have available."
The materials yard behind the smithy held organized stacks of lumber - various grades and cuts from the surrounding forest. Torran explained the options with the patience of someone who took pride in his craft. Mizox'tra wood, the rare hardwood that made up much of M'lod's economy, commanded premium prices. Cheaper alternatives included Tra'lith mountain pine and common Tra'tze'the rainforest softwood.
Misaki examined the pine boards, mentally calculating load-bearing requirements and structural needs. The cheaper wood would suffice for a workshop - he didn't need rare hardwood for prototype work surfaces and storage.
"I'll take forty boards of the mountain pine," Misaki said. "Two-inch thickness, eight-foot lengths. And I'll need a hundred iron nails, four door hinges, and two window frames."
Torran tallied the costs on a wax tablet, his experienced hand moving quickly through the calculations. "Comes to four gold, eight silver," he announced.
Misaki felt his eyebrows rise. Four gold represented nearly a tenth of his remaining wealth. On Earth, he would have negotiated, shopped around for better prices. But the guild's merchants had already taught him that Vulcan's economy operated on different principles - attempting to haggle with established craftsmen was considered insulting.
"Done," he said, reaching for his coin pouch.
Torran paused, studying him with those knowing eyes. "You could afford better materials," the smith observed. "The Mizox'tra would last three times as long."
"Could, yes," Misaki agreed, counting out the coins. "But I'm building a workspace, not a palace. Function over form. Besides..." He paused, considering how much to reveal. "I'm planning other projects. Transportation improvements. I need to conserve resources."
Understanding flickered across Torran's face. "Ah. You're thinking long-term. Smart." He pocketed the coins. "I can have everything delivered to your dwelling by tomorrow afternoon. Will you need help with the construction?"
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll manage," Misaki said. "I need to work slowly anyway, with these injuries. Gives me time to think through each step."
The construction took five days.
Misaki worked methodically, measuring twice and cutting once, his engineer's precision guiding each decision. The cauterized wounds limited his strength, forcing him to work in short bursts with frequent rest periods. But the limitation proved beneficial - it gave him time to think through each structural choice, to ensure the workshop would serve his long-term needs.
The first two days were spent on the foundation. M'lod's construction techniques relied heavily on packed earth and stone footings, a sensible approach given the village's proximity to the Tra'lith mountain ranges. Misaki dug shallow trenches, filled them with river stones mortared together with clay mixed from the communal pit near the well, and let everything cure under Ulth'rk's intense heat.
On the third day, he began framing the walls. The mountain pine proved easy to work with - straight grain, minimal knots, and lightweight enough that he could lift boards even with his injuries. He designed the workshop as an extension to his existing dwelling, a twelve-by-twelve-foot space with high ceilings to accommodate standing workbenches and tall storage shelves.
The roof presented the biggest challenge. Traditional M'lod roofing used overlapping wooden shingles sealed with tree sap resin, a time-intensive process that required precise cutting and layering. Misaki spent two full days on the roof alone, working slowly in the blazing afternoon heat, pausing frequently to drink water and rest his healing body.
By the evening of the fifth day, the structure was complete. Not beautiful - the pine boards showed their economy-grade origins, and Misaki's carpentry skills were functional rather than artistic - but solid. Weatherproof. Secure. A dedicated space where he could think, design, and build without the constraints of his cramped living quarters.
He stood in the new workshop as the first stars began appearing in the darkening sky. A simple table dominated the center - his first project using the new space, assembled from leftover boards. A chair salvaged from the village's communal storage area. Shelves along the walls, empty now but ready to hold tools, materials, and prototypes.
This was progress. Real, tangible progress.
The next morning, Misaki walked to the Adventurers' Guild hall carrying a question that had occupied his thoughts since finishing the workshop. The guild occupied a sturdy stone building near the village center, its entrance marked by the seven-pointed chakra star symbol that represented the organization across all of Ul'varh'mir.
Inside, the reception area bustled with activity. Adventures reviewed quest boards, clerks processed paperwork, and the air hummed with conversations about dungeon expeditions, monster bounties, and resource collection contracts. Misaki recognized several faces from his dungeon expedition - veterans who'd acknowledged Team Seven's survival with respectful nods.
The receptionist, a middle-aged woman named Kerra, looked up from her ledgers as he approached. "Haruto. Recovered from your wounds?"
"Mostly," Misaki replied. "I have a question about guild operations. Do you have a moment?"
Kerra gestured to a quieter corner of the reception area, away from the main traffic. "Of course. What's on your mind?"
Misaki chose his words carefully. "I've come into some resources - enough to consider long-term investments. I'm wondering if the guild offers any investment opportunities. Funding expeditions, supporting infrastructure, that sort of thing."
Kerra's eyebrows rose with interest. "That's an unusual question from someone of your rank, but not an unwelcome one." She pulled out a different ledger, this one bound in dark leather with guild insignia stamped on the cover. "The guild does maintain an investment program, yes. It works on a percentage-return basis."
She explained the system with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this many times before. Investors could fund specific expeditions - providing equipment, supplies, or hiring additional members - in exchange for a percentage of the expedition's profits. Alternatively, investors could contribute to the guild's infrastructure fund, which financed new buildings, equipment maintenance, and training programs, earning modest but steady returns through guild membership fees.
"The expedition investments carry higher risk but higher potential returns," Kerra explained. "Thirty to forty percent profit sharing if the expedition succeeds, total loss if it fails. Infrastructure investments are safer - five to eight percent annual returns, guaranteed by the guild's charter."
Misaki processed this information through his engineer's analytical mind. High-risk, high-reward versus slow, steady growth. The same fundamental principles that governed investment on Earth, just with dungeon expeditions instead of stock portfolios.
"What's the minimum investment threshold?" he asked.
"For expeditions, ten gold minimum. For infrastructure, five gold minimum." Kerra studied him with curiosity. "You're seriously considering this?"
"I'm considering a lot of things," Misaki admitted. "I'm trying to build something sustainable here. Something that lasts beyond just surviving the next dungeon run."
Understanding flickered across Kerra's face. "Smart thinking. Most adventurers burn through their earnings on equipment and celebrations. The ones who think long-term" - she gestured around the guild hall - "they're the ones who end up running places like this."
Misaki left the guild hall with more questions than answers, but at least they were productive questions. The investment options gave him pathways to consider, strategies to evaluate. He had forty-one gold remaining after his construction expenses. Enough to make meaningful investments while maintaining emergency reserves.
But first, he needed to finish his transportation projects. The human-powered cart and the pushing cart represented immediate, practical improvements that would benefit not just him but the entire village. Building tools that helped others - that was how you became valuable to a community. And being valuable to a community was how you survived in a world where survival couldn't be taken for granted.
He walked home through M'lod's dusty streets as Ulth'rk began its descent toward the horizon, already mentally sketching wheel designs and axle configurations. Tomorrow, he would start prototyping. Tomorrow, he would build something that moved.
Tomorrow, he would continue laying the foundations of a future he could believe in.