The cave was pitch black, with only the faint glow of bioluminescent moss scattered about, barely enough to see one's hand in front of one's face. But Lucian possessed moonlight bloodline and had darkvision—as long as there was even the slightest trace of light, he could see everything clearly.
Reflected in those dark, deep pupils was the spirit form of Angust, wavering like a candle that had shed all its tears, flickering unsteadily before finally guttering out.
"The Lord will awaken and return?" Lucian repeated in a low, solemn tone. It was the most vivid memory impressed upon Angust beyond its rage.
Accompanying those words, its emotions surged violently—filled with awe, reverence, excitement, and joy.
"An aberration has truly appeared in the depths of the Netherworld… Is an truly immortal being about to awaken?"
Of course, Lucian had no delusion that Angust's "Lord" was the Church's God of Truth. This Lord was undoubtedly the object of worship for those high-level undead of the Netherworld, but whether this Lord was an actual deity, a being like the vampire progenitor Aetna, or simply a symbolic representation of some transformation within the Netherworld—that, he could not say.
Without a Soul Sovereign's ability to manipulate souls and memories, it was absolutely impossible to extract every detail from a high-level undead's mind. Moreover, since the gap in rank between Lucian and Angust was not that great, and Lucian was not adept in this area of magic, he couldn't even retrieve memories in any great detail. The only certainty was that something truly significant had changed in the depths of the Netherworld. If left unchecked, it would very likely lead to catastrophic consequences.
Obtaining this intelligence dispelled most of the suspicions Lucian harbored toward Rhein, but he still maintained a pragmatic attitude toward this mission—if it could be done, he would do it; if not, he wouldn't force it. After all, he was merely a high-level mage. Getting entangled in what seemed like a legendary event that could overturn the world was beyond his station. If the danger proved too great, it would be better to take the risk of reporting it to the Supreme Council. With seven Grand Archanists and eleven Legendary Mages standing at the top, he would feel far more at ease.
"So this high-level undead is actually Felipe's summoned creature. Heh, he has no idea about the strangeness of the Netherworld and his contracted creature…" Lucian shook his head with a smile. Aside from the message about the Lord's awakening, Angust's most vivid memory was ridiculing Felipe's arrogance and stupidity, as well as cursing another high-level undead named Adol who had been purified by the Church of Truth and slaughtered by a Legendary Mage.
Thinking of this, Lucian sneered inwardly, "The Pale Hand apparently knows the Netherworld exists, but they concealed this intelligence, wanting to explore it on their own. A pity—they seem to have been used and deceived by the high-level undead."
"If this mission can't be completed, I'll find a way to trigger the high-level undead hidden within the Pale Hand, exposing the existence of this strange world to the rest of the Magic Parliament, thereby lifting its veil. But that would mean thoroughly offending the Soul Sovereign and the Demigod Lich. When there are other paths available, it's better not to take that kind of risk."
Of course, compared to the alternatives, this was still far safer than Lucian personally reporting the situation while the Supreme Council was in session.
His right hand slowly clenched. A ball of bright flame ignited silently in Lucian's palm, completely incinerating the residual spirit dust of Angust. Then Lucian meticulously cleaned up all traces of the battle in the vicinity, to prevent being tracked by other high-level undead of the Netherworld.
Having done all this, Lucian continued deeper underground with the Scrying Eye guiding his path and keeping watch.
In the darkness dotted with faint glimmers, Lucian navigated through countless branching passages for over ten minutes. Gradually, the air grew slightly warmer, and the sound of a rushing underground river reached his ears.
Realizing he was approaching the dwarves' subterranean city, Lucian grew even more cautious. He carefully rounded a junction, and the view before him suddenly opened wide.
It was a colossal passageway—seven or eight meters tall and a full twenty to thirty meters wide. The floor and the walls on both sides were paved with large grey stone slabs. Rows of deep-black stone columns stood down the center, supporting the ceiling and dividing the passageway into three lanes. The sight was overwhelming in its grandeur. The dwarves had carved out such a massive tunnel beneath the earth—what, then, must their city look like?
According to historical records, the ancient dwarves had no knowledge of magic, nor any powerful bloodlines!
Patches of bioluminescent moss grew freely across the floor and both walls, casting the passageway in a dim greenish glow—hazy, dreamlike, as if a corpse might crawl out or a specter drift by at any moment. The atmosphere was eerily silent and chilling.
After exploring carefully with his Scrying Eye, Lucian stepped into the passageway. His footsteps were extraordinarily soft, yet unmistakably audible—da-da-da, da-da-da—the echoes reverberating through the tunnel, hollow and desolate.
Controlling his body, Lucian quickened his pace until his footsteps vanished entirely, breaking into a full sprint while staying within the Scrying Eye's observation range.
Along both sides of the passageway ran two black metal rails, apparently meant for special cargo transport vehicles. Lucian sped along them and很快就 faintly glimpsed the tunnel's exit.
Lucian instinctively slowed his steps, wary and on guard. The information relayed back by the Scrying Eye showed that ahead lay a cluster of buildings steeped in deathly silence, situated within an enormous artificially carved-out cavern.
Natural rock walls and pillars deliberately left to support the ceiling had divided the cavern into more than a dozen districts. Towering stone houses, some collapsed, others overgrown with weeds, loomed over streets that had known no footfall for thousands of years.
What truly sent a chill down the spine were the metal pipes running between the stone houses. They extended from every part of the buildings, converging into massive metal conduits along the ceiling, then rising upward into tall structures bristling with chimney-like protrusions before piercing into the cavern roof, disappearing to unknown destinations.
Walking along the silent, frigid streets, Lucian occasionally spotted familiar metal objects on the ground—axles, springs, pistons, gears—as if he had returned to Earth and stepped into a machine factory.
Ahead, a faint glimmer flashed through a patch of dark grass. Lucian bent down and picked it up with the careful reverence of an archaeologist. It was a massive steam rifle as thick as a rocket launcher. The gear mechanism, though corroded with rust, still betrayed its intricate and sophisticated design. Attached to it was a steel high-pressure steam backpack roughly half the size of a person.
Running his fingers along the cold, rust-eaten barrel that threatened to snap at any touch, Lucian let out a quiet sigh. This represented the extinction of an ancient civilization.
Before humanity had grown powerful, the dwarves—masters of craftsmanship—had invented all manner of steam engines and established a glorious steam civilization.
Compared to their diminutive stature, everything they built seemed impossibly vast: airships so enormous they blotted out the sky, steam-powered vessels sailing the Storm Strait and the boundless ocean, terrifying cannons large enough to stuff several people inside, powerful steam rifles of every description, and the steel smelting plants and machine factories that belched black smoke like living monsters—all of it, as if crafted expressly for dragons.
Without any deep theoretical framework to guide them, the dwarves relied solely on their innate talent for metallurgy and the accumulated wisdom of their craft, miraculously developing their steam civilization step by step. They developed a wealth of knowledge in mechanical forging and design. Even the magic steam trains that the Legendary Alchemist Claus improved, and the airships used by the Church and the Magic Parliament, had drawn upon dwarf heritage in certain structural aspects—though they had been repurposed to run on magical and divine power, reducing the oversized airships and steam trains to practical, affordable, normal-sized versions.
But this civilization was now lost. Had Lucian not encountered records in the high-level Arcane texts and the magic library, he would never have known of it. Even Lazar—a learned mage who had grown up within the Magic Parliament—had never heard of it, believing that humanity had been the first to invent steam trains for transporting goods. And indeed, the magic steam train had been Claus's invention.
Without a Douglas-like figure to raise earth-shaking questions, dwarf steam technology eventually stagnated after reaching a certain level. Meanwhile, the periodic outward expansion of magical creatures from the Dark Mountains inflicted bloody lessons upon them. These terrifying high-level beings were an entirely different concept from the mid- and low-level magical creatures the dwarves had previously bullied. Steam rifles, massive ships, and great cannons were simply not enough to resist them. In less than twenty years, the once-glorious steam civilization had retreated underground.
But the underground was not suited for the development of a steam civilization. Coupled with the presence of numerous monsters and hunters, and after enduring the Age of Dragon Rule, the Elven Nature Civilization, and the Rise of the Werewolves, the steam civilization had likely perished entirely by the early period of the ancient magic empire. Only the dwarves who remained on the surface survived—transformed by the crazed mages into beings with bloodlines and spiritual power, rebuilding their nations anew.
But compared to the dwarf civilization of old, they were fundamentally different. Though they still excelled at metallurgy and were still prone to producing Alchemy Masters.
"Without the power to protect one's civilization, one can only perish in the long river of history. Besides learned mages, long-lived vampires, dragons, and the like— who even remembers?" Lucian murmured softly, his feelings complex.