Neloth had been pursuing Mora's Daedric artifact, the Oghma Infinium, for a long time. In truth, it was also the ambition of countless seekers of knowledge.
The Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora claimed that the Oghma Infinium contained all the knowledge in the world. Of course, that was impossible—but omniscience itself was a relative concept. The knowledge a mortal could grasp in a lifetime was like a single drop of dew, while the Oghma Infinium was a vast ocean stretching ten thousand miles.
"You're looking for the Oghma Infinium? I know where it is. It's actually in Winterhold Hold," Skyl said. "If you're interested, when we sail back, you can come aboard."
Neloth yelped in shock. "Something this big and you're only saying it now? I'm definitely going back with you."
Brelyna's eyes lit up. "Master, are you interested in joining the College?"
Right in front of them, Neloth still couldn't be bothered to hide his contempt for the College. "Why would I go to a place like that? It's a waste of my time. Those people aren't even qualified to be my apprentices."
Brelyna ground her teeth silently. No matter what, she had to find a way to lure Neloth to Winterhold.
After touring Tel Mithryn, there were only two things Skyl cared about.
One was the staff enchanter—he'd already learned it and improved it into something better.
The other was Hermaeus's Daedric artifact, the Black Book. Strictly speaking, it wasn't one book, but a whole series. Any volume infused with Hermaeus Mora's alien power could be called a Black Book. Within were absurd, ancient, and unfathomably profound contents, carrying a seductive evil that could addict the reader—so much so that it could summon them into the realm of the Prince of Knowledge.
Neloth had already agreed to lend the Black Books he'd collected to Skyl and the others. But when it came to the invitation to cooperate and venture into the realm of Oblivion together, the old mage suddenly became extremely cautious, dodging with vague, slippery answers.
For a spellcaster as obsessed with chaos and "trying things" as he was to survive this many years, he clearly relied on one principle: cautious to the bone. Any dangerous experiment—he never tested it on himself. Every expedition—he prepared for it to the point of paranoia. It was an attitude worth learning, especially in a world as perilous as this. Everyone understood his concerns.
"Then we'll head back first," Skyl said, stuffing the Black Book into his shoulder bag as the group said their farewells to Neloth.
"Wait!" Neloth hurriedly blocked them. "You're just leaving? Aren't you going to the realm of Oblivion?"
Skyl replied calmly, "If you don't want to take part in our operation, then there's no need to do the next stage of work here at Tel Mithryn."
"But the book is mine. You're only allowed to study it here."
"Keeping that book might not be a good thing for you. When you study knowledge, you don't realize that knowledge is studying you, too."
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"Tel Mithryn is under Mora's gaze. He's been watching everything about you," Skyl said with absolute certainty. Lady Moonshadow also agreed.
"That's ridiculous. I don't believe it. You're just trying to trick me so you can steal my book."
"You know Miraak built altars on this island and used mind control to turn civilians, bandits, and primitive natives into his slaves," Skyl said. "Don't tell me you didn't know."
"I did. So what? Oh, I get it—you're saying I've been influenced by Mora without realizing it."
Skyl nodded. He knew Mora well enough; among everyone present, only Moonshadow might know more. Back in Riverwood, when living beings were tainted by Mora's presence, they'd been just as unaware.
"If you don't mind," Skyl said, and cast a powerful dispel on Neloth, forcing the alien taint out of his soul.
As a yellow-green mist seeped from Neloth's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, it gathered in midair into a floating, cloudy eyeball. Neloth exploded into furious curses. "Mora! You bastard! He's been stealing my research results this whole time! None of these Daedra are any good!"
"Calm down," Skyl reminded him kindly. "Don't blast everyone at once. If you want to curse someone, curse Mora."
Neloth was still livid. "Fine. Then I'll have to pay him back in kind. I'm not just going to swallow this loss."
Lady Moonshadow's gaze was full of pity. "Child, you should swallow this one."
"Don't underestimate me. And don't call me child," Neloth snapped, irritable as ever. "I'm going to show you a true masterpiece! He's just a Daedric Prince—I can teach him a lesson too!"
He stormed into the laboratory like a gust of wind and even slammed the door shut behind him.
The guests could only rest in the hall, waiting to see what earthshattering thing Neloth would produce.
Neloth's house steward, Varona, brought everyone canis root tea—an oddly flavored, bitter drink. Only Dumbledore seemed to genuinely like it. For someone with such a sweet tooth, being able to enjoy bitter tea was surprising.
From the laboratory came nonstop strange sounds: at times, it was like someone hammering hard on iron; at others, a roar like an electric drill. Through the carved-open doorway, dazzling magical glows kept spilling out, giving the whole place a trippy, midnight-nightclub vibe.
"What is he doing?" the Dragonborn asked, utterly baffled.
"Bear witness!" Neloth's mad laughter rang out. The laboratory door was kicked open by a massive brass foot, and out walked a hulking Dwemer machine. Neloth himself sat inside the construct, only a shiny bald head poking out, grinning with smug satisfaction.
"...My god, it's Iron Man," Skyl said, covering his face.
Everyone stared, dumbstruck. Lady Moonshadow couldn't hold it anymore and burst out laughing.
Before them stood a heavy mechanized suit of armor, its whole style screaming Dwemer engineering: thick, resolute brass plating; solemn, reliable linkages; a ruby power core embedded in the chest; and two rows of six exhaust pipes on its back, belching rolling steam. Its footsteps thundered—and yet its movements were surprisingly agile.
Skyl's verdict was simple: it was way too steampunk.
"This is the Neloth Armor I've been researching!" the old mage declared shamelessly. "You'd never guess what it can do."
Lady Moonshadow said evenly, "You copied the Dwemer Brass God, Numidium, trying to obtain that kind of brute force that denies all things. But a toy like this can, at best, keep a Daedric Prince from noticing you."
Neloth's cackling stopped dead. "How do you know that?"
Even Brelyna couldn't help complaining, "This is clearly Dwemer technology, and you still named it after yourself."
"Alright, alright. That's not important," Neloth said. "The point is, now I can go with you to settle accounts with Mora."
After donning the armor, it was as if no hardship or danger could shake him. Clearly, he had absolute confidence in this gear.
Skyl raised the Black Book high and opened it. An oily green light poured out, covering Tel Mithryn, and everyone was transported into another dimension.
In the blink of an eye, the world became something entirely different.
The group stood together on a lonely island in the middle of the sea. Looking around, they saw a desolation that didn't belong to the mortal world.
The sky felt like it was suffering—cold, heavy, and dim. Bright green, twisted rays stretched across the heavens, interlacing like neurons.
The black sea shimmered with an oily sheen. A clammy wind blew from all directions. The land underfoot felt like the carapace of some prehistoric giant insect, paved with filthy, timeworn pages torn from books.
A weary, desolate, sluggish voice echoed through the air.
"Ah—another group of mortals chasing knowledge. I am the master of fate's tides, the guardian of forbidden knowledge: Hermaeus Mora. This is my realm of Oblivion, Apocrypha. Pursue knowledge here… but I advise you to flee quickly, before you are assimilated by this place. Heh… heh heh heh… hahahaha…"
Skyl threw his head back and shouted into the sky, "Hermaeus!"
"Hm? Mortal, what are you—" The voice paused. "Wait. It's you?! Get out of here!"
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