Tasmalin Province, the battle reached a stalemate.
Several days prior, the human army had advanced once more, attempting to extend the railway tracks from Lake Rebe southeastward. Each attempt was repelled by the forces stationed at the southeastern corner. Yet, while they could not drive the tracks deeper into the Angaso Forest, neither could they uproot the heavily guarded rails from the open fields.
After several back-and-forth skirmishes, the conflict reached a stalemate, and both sides once again held their positions. Sentinels from both camps kept constant watch over the rail line's exposed sections. Even on such a gloomy night, Amazons remained concealed in the trees across the open fields.
This hollow tree served as her shelter. The druid's magic and the Amazonian's camouflage skills allowed the warrior Hetty to blend seamlessly within it. The disguise was so intricate that even the brightest moonlight couldn't reveal her presence. Her scent was masked by herbal juices, rendering her undetectable to hounds. Hetty remained silent and still as a branch, her gaze sweeping the shadows of the tracks among the troops. Tonight, these men seemed unusually alert, heightening the Amazon warrior's vigilance.
She clutched a signal flare, ready to launch it at the first sign of trouble. The army in the southeast corner was divided into several groups, with men on standby at all times. Once the signal was fired, the others would follow swiftly, even in the dead of night like this.
The night deepened, and the shift change approached. Even Hetty felt a hint of weariness. Then, a sound carried from the distance.
Woo-woo—
South-east of Angaroth Forest lay the steep coastline. The Amazons who lived here were no strangers to the sound of the tides. At first, she suspected she was hearing the untimely sound of waves, but the noise grew louder, coarser, and sharper, sending a chill down every listener's spine.
The earth trembled.
Signal flares had already shot skyward from other positions; sentries there had likely spotted the approaching enemy assault. Even without flares, the commotion was unmistakable—the enemy's presence was too loud: countless wheels pounded the rails with clanging din, countless smokestacks screeched as they belched white smoke, a racket powerful enough to rouse the dead from their graves. The steel serpent on rails rumbled forward. It was coming! It had arrived!
The Amazon sentinel exhaled, quickly regaining composure. The Dungeon Lord had foretold the "train's" arrival days prior; its rough image and descriptions had spread throughout the entire underground city. It was a machine, indistinguishable from anything the artisan dwarves could craft. Even if it appeared more colossal and awe-inspiring, there was no need to fear it. Hetty's position remained undiscovered, so she did not retreat, merely lying prone as she watched the train draw nearer.
The train, towering several men high, approached, its black-painted metal shell barely reflecting light, as if swallowing the faint moonlight that fell upon it and all eyes that gazed upon it. Even knowing it was no monster, it still looked terrifying, like a steel dragon spewing hot smoke from its body. This colossal, seemingly endless machine outpaced galloping horses, appearing before her in an instant before its speed began to wane.
The brakes screeched to a halt, sparks flying from the friction of iron wheels against rails. A piercing, teeth-aching noise filled the air as countless sparks erupted and vanished in the darkness, momentarily illuminating the monstrous, slowing carriage. The train came to a harrowing halt at the end of the tracks. Before the smoke had even cleared from the chimney, the doors swung open and soldiers poured out.
Hettie drew her bow.
The tree stood close enough to the stationary train that if the soldiers ran just a few more meters forward, they would enter arrow range. The hollow trunk connected to the retreating path—taking a few lives before retreating wouldn't be too late. Hetty patiently aimed at the bustling soldiers, waiting to extend the Amazonian welcome.
Their movements were far slower than she'd anticipated. For nearly five minutes, they merely shuffled in and out of the carriages, seemingly preoccupied with some task, utterly unconcerned about wasting time or alerting the enemy. The sentry squinted at them. A cloud obscured the moon, leaving only the soldiers' lanterns as light sources. The Amazons couldn't see what happened in the unlit areas—this was truly odd. Soldiers wouldn't fight with lanterns. Why would these humans, equally incapable of night vision, choose such a night?
The doors swung open, and the passengers finally emerged.
The lantern-bearing soldiers halted near the train, spreading out to form a wide passageway. What emerged next were not soldiers, but colossal automatons.
They were so immense they had to bow their heads to crawl out of the carriages. The train carriages swayed under their movements. Monsters with glowing red eyes leapt beneath the carriages, their massive feet sinking slightly into the earth. These animated iron hulks were clumsy yet undeniably powerful—their sheer weight alone could crush ordinary men to pulp. They advanced one by one, step by step, their heavy treads crushing the green grass beneath them into mud.
What force could make these colossal beings move of their own accord? Amazon Sentinel wondered in astonishment. She had heard rumors of the Iron Golems beforehand, but she'd never grasped concepts like "magic-enchanted" or "technology." Hetty scrutinized the golem passing by with unease, feeling like a mosquito examining a turtle—utterly unable to find a weak spot.
The anomaly occurred as the first golem neared the great tree.
It trudged forward with heavy steps, its slow pace abruptly shifting three meters from the tree. One moment it shuffled forward like a mindless giant zombie; the next, it turned with astonishing speed, accelerating in an instant like a high-speed train, crashing violently toward the Amazonian's hiding place.
Hetty had no time to react. The transformation from clumsy iron block to killing machine took less than a second. The night was so dark that by the time she spotted the golem, the tree had already been struck. The trunk shattered like it had been struck by a massive iron ball, splitting and collapsing from the center. The canopy, along with Hetty perched atop it, crashed down with a thunderous roar. Only then did the sentry snap out of her shock. She forced her body to disappear into a thick mass of branches and leaves, attempting to tumble away with the falling canopy, desperate to escape.
She hid well.
The Amazon sentinel had always concealed herself well. Her camouflage in the trees had been flawless, and her current hiding spot was no different. Even if ten lamps were lit around her, human soldiers would never find her. But the iron golem that could locate her in utter darkness clearly didn't rely on sight—at least not human sight.
A claw as large as a fan plunged into the collapsed branches and leaves, seizing Hetty's calf with pinpoint accuracy. It lifted her up and slammed her back down onto the ground. The disparity in strength and physique was too great. The tall Amazon's form felt like a flimsy doll in the golem's grasp. Most of her bones shattered under the impact, and internal injuries caused the sentinel to cough up blood. Archers were never known for defense. Her agility was useless once seized; she could only clumsily raise her longbow to block. The iron golem's other fist followed swiftly, effortlessly snapping the bow in two. It loomed over the Amazonian, poised to crush her into pulp.
At the last possible moment, countless vines shot up from the ground, their supple tendrils wrapping around the steel golem's descending fist. Wild grasses and branches temporarily bound the golem's movements, halting the swift-as-a-hare killing machine in its tracks. The druid's seeds attempted to snatch the Amazon sentinel from the jaws of death, but the iron fist tightened its grip. Hetty let out a wail of agony as her twisted calf screamed in pain.
The other golems sprang into action. They made no effort to break their bonds, yet their aimless movements alone were enough to snap the vines binding them. Hammer-like fists smashed trees, tore up ground, or swung wildly at the sky. Hidden sentinels and scouting spirit beasts were violently dislodged from their hiding places. The steel golem needed no night vision; within its crystalline eyes, living souls burned as brightly as torches.
Snap! Snap! Snap! The next blow was about to land. Hetty gritted her teeth and drew her dagger. Close combat was an archer's last resort. The blade was useless against steel armor, but at least it could cleave flesh.
The final vine snapped. The Amazon sentinel swung her blade, severing the calf that had been gripped. She crashed to the ground in agony, swiftly enveloped by the druid's vines.
Her decisive action saved Hetty's life, but not all the suddenly exposed sentinels were as fortunate. Flesh proved woefully fragile against steel, especially in the darkness that caused no end of trouble. Even if the entire human army in the southeast corner pressed forward, they would likely only be feeding the reapers.
The southeast corner held more than just human forces.
The sound of wings beating filled the air as a squadron of dragon riders descended from above. The dragons and their riders remained unrevived, but the dragon riders, trained over years, were capable of operating independently. Gripping their dragons' reins tightly, they assessed the situation in the darkness through the creatures' subtle reactions, then issued precise attack commands. The dragon riders steered their mounts, the dragons acting as extensions of their senses. They plunged through the pitch-black night, their lances thrusting to unbalance the iron golems. Then the dragons' claws seized the swaying metal hulks.
The dragons lacked the strength to lift the golems skyward, but they could drag them along, hurl them, and force them to collide. The steel golems' orderly formation quickly shattered. Tree-speakers seized the opportunity to rescue many sentinels and animal companions. The earth cracked open in the darkness, and the Headless Knight emerged from the soil, surrounded by hordes of the undead. His spectral warhorse trampled ghostly flames beneath its hooves. The steed reared up with a bellow, and the knight, wielding a greatsword, charged into the midst of the golems.
Steel golems continued pouring out of the train. The human military seemed determined to settle this battle once and for all. Meanwhile, reinforcements had arrived at the dungeon.
Marion gazed down from the hillside, night as bright as day in her eyes. The iron puppets in the distance seemed close enough to touch. She saw pairs of glowing red eyes, iron monsters rampaging across the battlefield, their powerful fists capable of snatching dragons from the sky. Blood and flesh splattered, brains and guts spilled. This scene abruptly overlapped with her memory. Marion recalled that night when her entire tribe was annihilated—steel monsters had also stormed their settlement.
Human torches swayed wildly as the blood-red monsters slaughtered indiscriminately, spears and swords snapping against iron armor. Human soldiers swung slaughtering blades at fleeing elders, women, and children, while the tribe's finest warriors faced a monstrous golem. Every strike against it felt like scratching through a shoe, yet each swing of its palm left lifeless flesh in its wake. Her father's roar was severed at the waist by that steel giant's fist... That hellish scene haunted Marion's childhood nights. Was it because it was too terrifying, or had time blurred memory with nightmare? She had forgotten the truth of that night, dismissing the steel beast as a creature from her dreams.
Now she remembered.
Marion's heart pounded, her body trembled, blood boiled beneath her skin—yet none of it stemmed from fear. Rage ignited a fiery inferno within her bones, powerful enough to consume everything before her.
She hadn't worn the necklace. It lay safely in the room that belonged to Marion within the dungeon. Her room held her mother's teeth, gifts from friends, a wardrobe crafted by artisan dwarves, a pouch of herbs sewn by Mavis, a scabbard forged by her long-lost kin during the orcish festival, the cloak draped over her by that nobleman after one of her shapeshifting returns... Her home held her treasures.
Once more, the nightmare that shattered her childhood home stood at Marion's doorstep. This time, it was her turn to stand her ground.
Marion had grown. Countless people and events had forged her now formidable body and spirit. She was no longer helpless. She possessed sharp fangs and claws, and she had family, friends, kin. This was Marion's refuge and final resting place, her homeland and sanctuary. She would defy the world for it, shatter her bones if need be.
This time, she would win.
Mother—the wolf girl used this word in her heart for the two women who had changed her life—I am no longer afraid.
Amid the crackling snaps of growing bones, a colossal wolf materialized on the hillside. Its pure white fur bore not a single blemish, its radiant silver gleaming like moonlight. Its staggering size rivaled that of a golem. Had any shamans of the werewolf tribe remained, the resemblance between this beast and the wolf god's depictions would have stunned them.
"Marion the Werewolf underwent multiple natural initiations that reverted her bloodline to its ancestral state. When she transformed, she approached the primordial werewolf—that mighty silver wolf revered by ancient tribes as either deity or demon. She could shift without moonlight. A druid scholar who studied this enigmatic creature once said: 'It is not the full moon that calls the silver wolf, but the silver wolf that calls the full moon.'"
A wolf's howl tore through the night sky.
Unnoticed, the clouds obscuring the sky had parted. A full moon now hung high, illuminating the brutal battlefield and the hillsides teeming with warriors. A single howl was echoed by countless others. Behind Marion, the beasts who had undergone natural baptism were transforming. The druid of the beast-shifters cast his spell, and the spirit beast companions of the beast-speakers were eager to join the fray.
Predators stretched their claws under the moonlight, while herbivores like rhinos, antelopes, and wild oxen lowered their heads. Their charge proved more formidable than heavily armored cavalry. The second howl sounded the charge, and led by a massive silver wolf, the pack surged onto the battlefield.
...
The golem crashed to the ground.
Tasha pulled the curved blade from the golem's skull, frowning at the scorched marks on its edge. By dismantling the sixth small golem, her blade had already suffered considerable wear. Perhaps a polearm would be more effective against these tin cans.
They were roughly one or two hundred meters beneath the capital city, navigating winding caverns patrolled by small golems. These humanoid creatures were roughly human size—not particularly difficult for Tasha to defeat, but exceedingly annoying. Upon spotting an enemy, they would summon reinforcements. If not dealt with swiftly, the party risked being surrounded and chased, potentially drawing even greater trouble.
Still, Tasha found this area preferable to the outer layers. The witch's entrance was an unofficial path littered with collapses and rubble. The lowest sections of the cavern required crawling, and the narrowest passages were so constricting they made breathing difficult. Tasha wasn't fat, but she possessed a pair of exceptionally bulky dragon wings. These massive appendages proved an unbearably cumbersome hindrance in such confined spaces. She couldn't help recalling a movie she'd once watched, sipping tea while watching the protagonist struggle to squeeze through narrow alleys. She'd never imagined she'd find herself in such a predicament one day.
Thankfully, that narrow passage finally ended.
Artificial carvings appeared within the cavern, and the wandering golems gradually multiplied until evasion became impossible, then dwindled until they vanished entirely. Beyond the golem-infested zone, a labyrinth with numerous branching paths unfolded ahead.
"Strange..." Victor muttered. "This feels a bit too conventional."
"A traditional maze?"
"Traditional mage academy," Victor clarified. "The human empire that rejects spellcasters has a perfectly functioning traditional mage tower labyrinth beneath its capital, filled with all manner of mage tricks."
"Can you solve it?" Tash asked bluntly.
"Of course," Victor replied, his dismissive tone suggesting Tash had just asked an Olympiad contestant a primary school math question.
Victor really wasn't lying.
This was an incredibly complex maze, pulsing with all manner of magical fluctuations. The concentration of magic here was worlds apart from what lay above ground—the deeper they ventured, the more astonishingly dense it became. With Victor's navigation device, Tasha sailed through smoothly, swiftly making her way out of the labyrinth.
"That was surprisingly easy," Tasha remarked, taken aback.
"What, disappointed?" Victor rolled his eyes. "If you think this adventure lacks challenge, you can back out right now. I'll shut up this time."
"What I meant was, thanks to you," Tasha said frankly.
"Hmph, no big deal," Victor declared smugly. "Even badly damaged, for a great demon like me, this little underground palace is a piece of cake. I could guide you through it with my eyes closed..."
Victor abruptly stopped.
"What is it?" Tasha halted.
"Um... could you take a few more steps?" Victor asked, his tone subtle.
Tasha walked a few paces, stopped, and nothing happened.
"Um... are you feeling unwell?" Victor asked cautiously. "Any pain? Dizziness? Nausea? Sudden strange urges? Heart discomfort?"
Tasha promptly pinched the neck—or possibly the face—of the Dungeon Book through the link. After all, it's tricky to identify body parts on a book.
"Speak properly! If you have something to say, say it properly! I just guided you here!" Victor shouted, barely struggling—unlike his usual self, who would've thrown a fit by now. This "I've served the nation" attitude of bringing up past favors clearly meant he'd done something he felt guilty about. Tasha lifted the book, and Victor immediately confessed.
"You crossed some boundary line just now," he said weakly. "You were talking to me, and I didn't notice."
"What happens when you cross a boundary?"
"Generally, complex arrays like this eliminate anyone who enters without the proper command—through physical annihilation," Victor explained, choosing his words carefully.
"...For a moment there, I actually thought you were reliable."
"My soul is deeply scarred... Since you're unharmed, it must be fine, right? I knew you'd be okay!" Victor chirped cheerfully, perhaps a tad too exuberantly. "Glorious Dungeon Mother! My magnificent master! The incomparable... Ugh!"
After punching Victor, Tasha carefully examined the spot she'd just crossed.
Upon careful observation, she could indeed sense a boundary there. Layers of intricate fluctuations bound the space, maintaining a precarious equilibrium. Even with her limited understanding of magic, Tasha could imagine what would happen if an outsider entered carelessly—like lighting a cigarette in a room filled with gas.
Yet she had entered, completely unaware.
"Something about you accidentally met the conditions," Victor said. "I can't pinpoint what it is. But this is highly peculiar... If such a barrier existed, how could its creator have failed to anticipate the possibility of dungeon constructs invading?"
That could wait. The battle in Tasmalin Province raged fiercely, and Tasha couldn't afford to linger.
Beyond the maze lay a single path, stretching straight into the unknown. Magic lamps emitted a soft glow; the concentration of magic here was even higher than within the dungeon itself. Perhaps that was why the lamps and golems had functioned until now.
The path suddenly opened up ahead.
Tashan's irises fluttered, pupils contracting as they adjusted to the sudden brightness in half a second. The cramped cavern transformed into a vast, soaring underground hall. Along the broad path, various objects were arranged on both sides, neatly displayed like in a museum.
When she recognized what those objects were, Tasha froze in place.
It wasn't monsters or astonishing weapons, nor bizarre, terrifying contraptions. Her shock stemmed precisely from the fact that a large portion of them looked eerily familiar.
She had seen similar things before, but not in this world.
A row of oddly shaped test tubes, a metal box studded with rivets, a wooden dashboard with a glass screen hanging from it, a lamp with a conical switch that seemed ready to light up at the slightest touch, a small square box resembling a radio, a large box with a familiar screen... They appeared to share the same lineage as the capital's magical technology, yet they bore an uncanny resemblance to countless technological artifacts from Tasha's memories. If this corridor were presented as nineteenth-century or early twentieth-century technology, many on Earth would believe it.
It felt like discovering a cell phone in an ancient tomb, leaving one rooted to the spot.
They all appeared quite old, quietly displayed in layers upon layers of display cases lining both sides of the passageway, stretching endlessly into the distance. Tasha had assumed Erian's magical technology specialized solely in military applications, making no progress elsewhere. Now it seemed that wasn't the case.
"I see," Victor's voice drifted into her mind. "No wonder you weren't stopped outside."
When Tasha looked up, she understood too.
Embedded in the ceiling of the subterranean chamber was a familiar garnet. A dungeon core, shrouded in layers of runes, served not as the barrier's centerpiece but merely as one node within its network—and beyond lay likely many more. It had become so seamlessly integrated into the vast magical array overhead (so immense that only a segment of its arc was visible to the naked eye) that Tasha herself hadn't sensed it. As one of the materials composing this barrier, the dungeon core naturally wouldn't bar her entry.
This also implied that when this barrier was erected, humanity likely no longer needed to fear the dungeon.
A vague premonition stirred within Tasha. She quickened her pace, striding forward along the passageway. The exhibits lining both sides receded behind her, many of them unsettling (that massive thing with a cluster of tubular structures—could it be a primitive computer?!). Further ahead, Tasha saw repetition.
Everything along the earlier corridors had been unique, inexplicably reminding her of Noah's Ark—each creation preserved in a single specimen. But in this section, Tasha now saw vast quantities of identical objects, neatly stacked in boxes upon boxes.
Muskets.
She suddenly recalled the great clock at the capital's center. At twelve o'clock each day, the cuckoo emerged to announce the hour, and a tin soldier clutching something marched out in step. Now it seemed clear—what he held wasn't merely "something resembling a musket." It was a musket.
In the era that clock was forged, muskets were still wielded on battlefields.
Tasha questioned Victor. Upon receiving assurance it was safe, she drew one of the guns and awkwardly dismantled it. She detected no trace of gunpowder in the chamber. Within the barrel, adorned with peculiar patterns, lingered a faint residue of magic.
So, this was why they had been retired.
She dropped the gun and pressed onward, her heart racing like never before. The palpable sense of drawing closer to answers stirred Tasha's soul. She felt herself nearing the truth.
The truth of arcane technology, the truth of humanity, and even... the truth of this world itself.
Beyond the gun lay something else, something odd: shelves upon shelves of books and wands strewn haphazardly. "I've seen the owner of this thing. Victor exclaimed at an ornate piece of wood. "Good heavens, who dismantled the Archmage of the White Tower's orb?" No answer echoed through the vast subterranean space. How long had it been? Just how long was this path? After passing a mountain of mages' relics (or what remained of them), Tasha finally reached the end.
Here stood a massive door.
A wooden door devoid of any magical fluctuations, possessing only a lavish exterior.
Tasha felt she subtly understood the reason for this door's existence: reverence. After the long journey, within the pilgrimage-like sentiment revealed by the designer of this space, the door was the revelation of the endpoint, the conclusion of everything. Her hands pressed against the door, pushing outward.
Victor, who had chattered incessantly all along, fell silent.
Crystal coffins filled the space, each containing a desiccated corpse. They formed a colosseum-like circular chamber—no walls were visible, only coffins. Within this vast underground chamber, surrounded by crystal sarcophagi filled with corpses and set upon a magical array so intricate it made one dizzy at a glance, the carcass of a blue dragon occupied the entire space.