Apple-Resin threw her sword up in a desperate block, the system’s auto-correction adjusting her trajectory just enough to deflect the automaton’s strike. The force of impact sent a jolt through her avatar, but her grip remained firm as the sword naturally reoriented in her hands, now pointed outward.

  With a swift counter, she sshed at the automaton’s chest, her bde carving a bright arc through the air. Sparks burst from the machine’s joints as it staggered backward, its glowing eyes flickering before finally dimming to bck. She kicked its lifeless form aside and checked the remains. Her brows furrowed.

  "Level 40?" she muttered, eyes narrowing at the unexpected revetion.

  The drops were standard—just regur heavy iron. But the sheer number of automatons...

  "There’s a lot of them," she said, dismayed. "Be careful. They're pretty high level."

  For human pyers, level 40 was barely a concern—completely outcssed by anyone at level 100. Against heteromorphs, however, level 40 mobs were comparable to level 55 humans, their racial advantages making them slightly stronger than their listed stats implied. They still couldn’t actually damage a max-level pyer, but they could slow them down.

  And in a raid, where every second spent on a floor increased the risk of failure, that was a problem.

  Apple-Resin hopped onto a conveyor belt and shed out at two approaching automatons. Mid-swing, she realized—too te—that the massive hammers littered throughout the factory weren’t just for show. One smmed into her side, knocking off a chunk of her health. Gritting her teeth, she dispatched her targets before hastily downing a potion.

  She nded with a heavy thud near her guildmates. "We're going to have to take this slow," she warned. "The hammers actually deal damage."

  Yaddler raised a hand and fired [Dragon Lightning] at the nearest conveyor belt. He frowned. "They're not entities. They're part of the environment."

  "Great." Apple-Resin scowled. "Alright, everyone, filter in slowly. We’ll advance together. Move fast, but don’t rush—we need to clear this floor as efficiently as possible."

  The raiding party followed her lead, steadily advancing through the factory. Automatons fell one after the other, their numbers seemingly endless. The environmental hazards—the va pits, the hammering arms—were a nuisance but not insurmountable. With clerics healing their wounds, they pressed forward.

  It wasn’t until they reached the tower at the heart of the floor that Apple-Resin felt a twinge of unease.

  Where was Ainz Ooal Gown?

  No traps, no counterattack, no resistance beyond the standard defenses. Did they really think her guild wasn’t worth their time?

  Her frustration was cut short when something dropped from the tower’s heights.

  A towering automaton nded with an earthshaking thud, sleek and humanoid, its thin frame belying the raw power behind its movements. In one cwed hand, it gripped a bayonet, treating it like a spear. Its other limbs flexed, sharp talons gleaming in the dim lighting.

  Apple-Resin’s gaze locked onto it. "That's the floor guardian."

  "Must be," someone muttered. "Get ready to attack it."

  Unlike pyer characters, floor guardians weren’t particurly intelligent. To compensate, YGGDRASIL's developers had granted them passive area buffs that made them formidable defenders. This one wouldn’t be as strong as a pyer automaton build—but it would be close.

  Lightning-fast, the guardian lunged.

  Apple-Resin barely raised her sword in time, the force of the impact reverberating through her entire body. She staggered back, automatically shifting her stance, arms moving in a calcuted shake to re-establish her block.

  Projectiles rained down on the guardian as the rest of the guild joined the fight. Their formation was solid—two lines of pyers, tanks in front, bruisers mixed in for damage, while mages and rangers fired from behind.

  The guardian didn’t falter. It fired a missile, the explosion forcing one tank to stagger back. Then, in rapid succession, it unched needle-like projectiles that tore through the second line, striking their supports.

  Two tanks rushed forward. The guardian responded instantly—raising its rifle and firing at point-bnk range. One was knocked back while the other found himself cut off by a sudden conjured wall. Ballistas formed on top of the structure, bolts firing down at the raiders.

  Then came the magic circle.

  "Tier 10 spell!" someone shouted. "We have time to prepare!"

  Clerics immediately began stacking defensive buffs. When the spell finally activated, raining down a barrage of sers, their shields held firm. The damage was substantial, but with their buffs, it wasn’t enough to turn the tide.

  Apple-Resin smirked as the guardian’s health dropped into the red.

  "Last push! It’s almost dead!"

  Tanks surged forward. Bruisers momentarily stepped back before rushing in with devastating strikes. One tank fell, their health bar obliterated by a single, well-pced blow. A revive spell brought them back immediately—but Apple-Resin clicked her tongue in annoyance.

  Wasteful. They shouldn’t be spending revives this early.

  A final barrage of spells smmed into the guardian. With a flickering of its artificial life, it colpsed.

  The guild pressed forward.

  Slowly, cautiously, they crossed the factory floor. That was why they noticed too te that—of the four motionless automatons waiting ahead—one was casting [Upgrade Armory].

  The next iteration of Antikythera stood before them within moments.

  Its six arms split into weaponized limbs—daggers protruded from one pair, another wielded spinning buzz saws, and the remaining two bore massive, reinforced shields. The moment their berserkers struck, it raised its defenses and retaliated with brutal efficiency.

  "Another one?!" someone shouted in frustration.

  Their front lines struggled. The bruisers dropped one by one, while the tanks barely held on.

  "We need to cycle tanks!" someone yelled.

  Slowly, painfully, the automaton was brought down.

  They pressed forward—but even as they did, Antikythera was already being rebuilt in the distance.

  The floor guardian buffed itself, preparing [Mega Rocket]. The raiders didn’t notice until the massive magic circle bloomed beneath it.

  A tank shouted, "It’s casting again!"

  Too te.

  The missile unched into the air before diving back down onto the backline.

  An explosion rocked the factory.

  The pyers gave chase—but Antikythera moved like a ghost, retreating while unching Ballistic Shot, Missile Barrage, Heavy Ordinance, White Sulfur Bath, and rapid Rifle Shots whenever its higher-tier abilities were on cooldown. The moment Mega Rocket was avaible, it halted and cast it again.

  Bit by bit, the raiders' numbers dwindled.

  Their mercenary NPCs were left behind, too expensive to waste revives on.

  The hazards of the floor chipped away at them.

  And all the while, the floor guardian harassed them from a distance—an eternal thorn in their side.

  By the time they reached the final stretch, they were a fractured, exhausted force.

  Then the realization hit them.

  Even if they managed to push through, Ainz Ooal Gown was waiting for them outside.

  Fully buffed. Unexhausted. Ready.

  The raid ended in a complete wipeout.