WorldCrafter - Building My Underground Kingdom-Chapter 118: New Materials

The accuracy required was ridiculous. One misalignment, one delayed mana pulse, and the entire firing array could jam, misfire or worse detonate mid-use. And that was before factoring in the chaotic battlefield, the erratic movement of a sprinting Krell, and the need for long-term reliability.

In short: Ben wanted a magic-powered, auto-loading rifle with bottomless ammo that could survive a warzone.

Ben let out another sigh, thinking maybe—just maybe—Elvira had finally let go of her distractions. Until her next words landed like a fireball. "Oh, and don't use the jacuzzi anymore. I'm shutting it down to redirect all the mana toward research!"

Ben spun around, offended. "Hey, that's different! Fine, but only one day of memory access! One. Then I'm going to help One driving the Rv."

Elvira didn't argue. But she also didn't need to. She knew full well Ben's excuse was weak. One could easily drive the Workshop RV. In fact, their four Krell soldiers already took turns maintaining it, and handling navigation.

Sure, she could make the RV run entirely on mana—but she didn't. Not because she couldn't, but because it burned too much mana.

As they pushed deeper into the biome, they were getting farther from the white gemstone mine. That meant rationing power, balancing priorities, and making do with what they had.

Besides, Elvira wasn't being entirely honest either. She didn't need more of Ben's technical memories—she had already absorbed everything useful from his world. Every theory. Every process. Even all the documentaries he watched as a kid, forced on him by his parents.

No, her real interest now was in something far more delicate. His culture.

What did he expect from someone close to him? What kind of affection did he value? What did love mean to him—romantically, emotionally, physically?

To Elvira, it's something important.

Aetheri didn't hide what they wanted. From the moment two people chose to be together, everything was laid out openly—preferences, needs, expectations, and boundaries. There was no shame in being honest, no judgment in stating desires. It was simply negotiation, clear and mutual, without emotional weight pulling either side down.

Among her people, a statement like, "I want to sleep with someone else," wasn't a betrayal. It was information. The partner might respond with agreement or refusal, and that would be the end of it. No guilt, no resentment, no dramatic fallout. Feelings were acknowledged, not weaponized.

But with humans, things were different—messy. From Ben's memories, even bringing up certain topics could trigger emotional chaos. Conversations came laced with hesitation, implication, and the constant fear of saying the wrong thing. A simple truth could become a minefield of misinterpretation.

To Elvira, it was baffling. How could a species expect to build deep connections when they had to navigate invisible traps just to speak honestly? How did trust survive when truth itself was filtered, softened, or hidden?

Still, she wanted to understand it. She didn't just want to study Ben from afar like some fascinating anomaly—she wanted to understand him as her partner. Not as a case, or a curiosity, but as someone she loved.

She could have pushed her thoughts into his mind through the hive connection. It would have been easier. Cleaner. But she knew—Ben still clung to his humanity. He hadn't truly let go of the culture that raised him, the beliefs etched into him since birth.

He carried unspoken expectations. Unvoiced wants. The kind that didn't come with labels, but sat buried beneath expressions and gestures. He may have lived in new world, but the old one still shaped him.

And Elvira? She wanted the place he protected most. The one he never said aloud. She wanted to be chosen—not because of a ritual or an agreement, but because his heart pointed to her. Without doubt. Without hesitation. She wanted to be his wife—for real.

With Ben agreement, Elvira wasted no time. She began her work immediately, placing her palm between his shoulder blades as thin lines of light traced across his skin—creating glowing runes.

While Elvira focused on extracting and diving into his memories, Ben flipped open his system interface and checked his inventory.

The list had grown.

Over the past month, they'd gone deeper into the underground mushroom forest biome, and found many useful plants. He took out his notes than scrolled through item after item—each tagged, sorted, and annotated with notes in his own handwriting.

There was the Duskgill Vine, a soft, violet creeper that secreted a mild paralyzing agent. Elvira had already used it to coat several prototype traps.

Then there was the Ironcap Bulb, a squat, rock-like fungus that looked useless until you cracked it open. Inside was a sticky, metallic resin that hardened on contact with air—perfect for crafting lightweight armor plating. In fact Ben have used this to cover Elvira's workshop, turning it into Rv cars

But the real surprise had been another new type of Mushroom. It looked deceptively similar to the rubbery purple-spotted variety they'd used for tires. Same spotted cap, same thick stalk, but the texture was completely different. Its fibers weren't elastic—they were absorbent.

When wrung out like a towel, the mushroom released clean, fresh water. Ben had nearly cried when he discovered it.Clean water that replenished itself every few days? In a place like this, it was as valuable as gold. He'd already marked the area and designated it as a "High-Priority Resource Zone."

Further down the list, he spotted the Glowleaf Fern—a delicate, bioluminescent plant that gave off a soft blue glow. When exposed to mana, its leaves shimmered and changed color, reacting almost like a mood light. Elvira had gotten a little too excited over it, claiming it could be the base for some kind of enchantment matrix—or maybe even a mana-based sensor system.

Then there was the Mirefruit Cluster.

Ben grimaced just seeing the name. A mud-caked, pulpy fruit with a sickly green sheen that oozed a faintly acidic gel. The description didn't exactly scream "edible," but of course, Ben had to test it.

He hadn't expected the burning. Or the cramps. Or the six hours of lying on the floor, curled into himself, whispering "I regret everything" into the dirt.

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"Definitely don't eat that," he muttered to himself, lips pulling into a frown at the memory. He'd only taken one bite And no amount of regeneration magic could help with that kind of pain.