Chương 238

Orion slid the glasses back onto his face. The cool metal of the adamantine wire rested lightly against his skin, immediately sending a subtle thrum through his body, and almost instinctively, he channeled a thread of mana through it. At the same time, the back of his head pinged with a System Notification, but unlike before, when the two had remained separate, this time it felt as if the ping echoed through his thoughts and was reflected in his mana into the glasses.

System Notification Item Upgraded: System Detecting Glasses (Adamantine-Forged) Effect: Enhances analytical Traits. Reduces mental fatigue. Grants Arcane Overlay. +102, 500 Exp Level up! It wasn't as if anything out of the ordinary had just happened, since he was one of the few who could easily summon their own Status Screen, but this kind of notification was something he'd never received before. In fact, the System had always been very sparse with the reasons it granted him exp.

He'd usually be able to understand them from context clues, of course, but that wasn't always the case, and this time, it provided a full explanation, unprompted. This might actually be a bigger upgrade than I expected. But then, if it was so great, why had he gained so much experience? He wasn't the one who forged the adamantite; that was Daelin. Unfortunately, no more information was coming, and he pursed his lips.

The one thing that comes to mind is that I might not have fully grasped the experience when I reforged them myself. I did get some, but what if it's been incomplete until now, and the functionality I managed to use was only part of its full capacity? If that were the case and Daelin simply finished his work, the large number of experience points would make more sense. After a moment of hesitation, he gently pushed another thin thread of mana into the frames and activated [Hypotheticism] to learn more.

Normally, his Trait flooded his mind with a chaotic storm of raw data. The Field appeared as blinding geometric shapes, tangled streams of elemental density, and confusing numbers he had to interpret manually. It was a tough mental challenge that inevitably caused severe migraines if he did it for too long or tried to grasp too much, and despite his recent progress, he had reached a hard limit because the phenomena he faced were just too complex for him to fully understand. Things were different now.

The adamantine served as a perfect conductor for his mana, filtering out extraneous noise before it reached his mind. The blinding auroras and chaotic tangles disappeared, replaced by an elegant, structured overlay of the world. The variables of reality—temperature gradients, energy potential, structural stress, and mana density—flowed across his peripheral vision in neat, cascading lines.

It wasn't the kind he'd see from his old equipment back on Earth, but it more closely resembled it than anything he'd managed to recreate so far. It was reality expressed through the universal language of mathematics. A step closer to the Truth. Curious, he looked down at the anvil. A string of pale text hovered near its base, indicating a microscopic crack in the iron caused by centuries of repeated thermal expansion, but also informing him that this was an artifact crafted by a tier four artisan.

He examined Daelin, observing the exact flow of mana that strengthened his muscles, as outlined in clear, flowing diagrams. The headache he was sure would have accompanied this precision in his analytical magic was completely gone. Instead, his mind felt light, free from the burden of intense interpretation. With this, I might actually be able to fully parse a tier four profile. I bet tier fives will still be able to spoof me, but that might change when I finally rank up.

"Well?" Daelin asked, crossing his thick arms.

"Are they any good?"

"You perfected them," Orion admitted, pulling his gaze away from the fascinating data streams to meet the dwarf's eyes.

"The clarity is astonishing. I don't have to fight the Field just to understand it anymore. I can read the environment almost effortlessly. Thank you, Daelin." The dwarf gave a short, satisfied nod, pleased that his craftsmanship had held up to the task.

"A smith is only as good as his tools. I couldn't let you face the Iron State while squinting through plain glass. Come on, the elders will be insufferable if we keep them waiting, and the artisans should be done with the rifling by now." They returned to the engineering bay, while Pauline quietly fell into step beside them. Orion looked at her, curious about how his new overlay interpreted her unique magic.

The dense, absorbing nature of her shadows was shown as a series of negative-value equations, representing a lack of light and heat that constantly consumed the ambient energy of the forge. It was beautiful in its own way, and it sparked many ideas on how to replicate it. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Not that he was particularly interested in shadow magic the way she used it, but if those same principles were applied to his light magic, especially the reflective kind he'd been working on lately… That bears further thinking. They found the dwarven engineers gathered around the modified magma projector, which was now heavily altered and bolted securely to a sturdy testing rig. A grizzled blacksmith with half his beard singed off approached Daelin.

He gave a deep, respectful bow that spoke volumes about the young heir's true standing among the working class of the clan, and extended a ceramic flask sealed with hardened wax.

"The rifling is complete, Heir Lazuli," the smith rumbled, his voice rough from decades of breathing forge smoke.

"We aligned the acceleration matrices to the new grooves just as the human suggested. We just need the blessing of the First Foundry before we spark the core." Daelin picked up the flask and uncorked it with a flick of his thumb. A harsh smell filled the air, with prominent notes of fermented alcohol. If Orion were honest, it smelled more like a cleaning solvent than a drink.

"To the stone that endures," Daelin intoned, pouring a small amount of the clear liquid directly onto the bronze barrel of the modified weapon. Surprisingly, the liquid immediately vaporized with a sharp hiss, leaving no stain behind.

"And the fire that shapes it."

"To the fire," the surrounding engineers echoed in unison, striking their hammers against the stone floor. Daelin took a quick sip from the flask, grimaced slightly, and passed the vessel to Orion.

"It's tradition. You helped design the internal modifications, so you have to share the blessing." Orion watched the flask cautiously. His new overlay conveniently displayed the liquid's chemical composition across his field of vision, only increasing his concern. It was an extremely high-proof spirit, nearly volatile, especially with the many fires around the room. Still, when he looked to Pauline for help, she simply gave him an amused smirk, and he accepted his fate.

Deciding that diplomacy required a small sacrifice of comfort, he lifted the flask and took a sip. It burned like liquid fire sliding down his throat, leaving his eyes watering and his chest heaving as the fumes filled his lungs. He forced his expression to stay neutral, fighting the urge to cough with sheer willpower. The older smith let out a booming laugh, slapping his knee in amusement.

"He drinks like a proper delver! Alright, let's see if the new lady can still break her enemies." They moved behind a reinforced viewing barrier made of thick quartz. At the far end of the testing tunnel, fifty yards away, the engineers had set up a metal plate that he recognized as coming from the only Crawler they had managed to take down, because it slightly blurred in his sight, a clear sign that it contained Silence.

"The feed lines are primed with cooled slag," the older smith reported as he took his position behind the firing grips of the newly christened Slag-Spitter.

"Acceleration runes are holding steady. Engaging rifling tracks." A low hum built within the barrel, and Orion watched through his glasses as the mana gathered. Instead of pooling into a compression chamber to generate thermal pressure, the energy flowed smoothly into a series of linear accelerators etched along the newly carved spiral grooves. The efficiency of the spell structure was impressive, a perfect blend of arcane power and physics, even though the dwarves were mostly unaware of the latter.

"Fire," Daelin ordered. Unlike the slow, devastating torrent of a typical magma projector, the weapon shook violently on its mount and started emitting a continuous, deafening staccato crack. A burst of shrapnel blasted from the barrel, crossing the distance too quickly for anyone below tier four to respond.

The rifling kept the irregular chunks stabilized, making them spin quickly as they left the muzzle and thus preventing them from tumbling or losing velocity, sending them rushing down the tunnel in an unstoppable cone of destruction. Hundreds of impacts hit the target within a few seconds. Orion closely watched the chemical reaction unfold in exquisite detail.

The Silence armor flared frantically, trying to deploy its anti-magic cloud to counter the incoming force, but the Barrage doctrine proved its effectiveness once again. The massive number of consecutive hits completely overwhelmed the alchemical reaction. The powder sputtered and failed, using up its neutralizing energy on the first few impacts and leaving the underlying metal fully exposed to the rest of the volley.

With nothing to soften the impact, the armor was torn into curled strips and then completely destroyed by the unyielding storm of accelerated slag. A cheer erupted among the dwarven engineers, a raw sound of vindicated pride. Though they had failed initially, they built a weapon that could counter the Iron State's biggest advantage, and they did it using the waste products from their own foundries. The atmosphere in the engineering bay was charged with triumphant energy.

"It works better than I expected," Daelin said, a fierce light burning in his eyes, and Orion had to wonder if he hadn't created a monster. He turned to the foreman.

"I want every projector on the outer walls retrofitted to these exact specifications. Pull every smith from the civilian sectors. We must work until our hands bleed if we want to supply the other fortresses." Before the foreman could acknowledge the order, a deep vibration shook the stone floor, shattering the celebration. One that Orion had already felt earlier today. The cheering stopped abruptly. The engineers froze, turning their heads toward the ceiling together.

Orion frowned as his overlay interpreted the acoustic waves traveling through the bedrock, translating the vibration patterns. Unsurprisingly, it was another coded warning bouncing rapidly through the mountain range's acoustic relays. A runner rushed into the engineering bay a few minutes later, gasping for breath.

"Heir Lazuli," the dwarf panted, leaning heavily against a workbench to keep from collapsing.

"The last of the relays from the coast just went silent." Daelin stiffened, and the last of the triumph faded away.

"The entire coastline?"

"Everything west of the Sunken Peaks," the runner confirmed, his voice trembling as he delivered the news, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying.

"The Iron State overran the coastal guard in a matter of hours, and the westernmost fortress is currently under active siege. They are hitting the outer gates with heavy artillery, and the commanders report that the air is thick with grey fog."

"How long do you think they'll last?" Orion asked, trying to remember what he knew of that specific fortress.

"The Sunken Hold is strong, but they rely heavily on old wards," Daelin replied, his expression turning grim.

"If they are facing the same Silence artillery we just countered, but in larger numbers, the gates won't last more than a few days, or possibly less, if they deploy larger siege engines." Orion looked at the Slag-Spitter prototype smoking on its mount.

"We need to get these retrofits to them immediately. If we can arm their walls with Barrage weapons, they can shred the infantry before the Silence takes hold of the stonework."

"We can't," the older smith interjected, wiping a soot-stained hand across his brow. He looked at the prototype with a mix of pride and deep frustration.

"This hold is too small. We have the artisans to refit our own walls, and maybe another fortress, but we lack the industrial capacity to mass-produce these barrels for the entire Sunken Hold in just a few days. We simply don't have enough materials in our local vaults, and our forges are too small." Daelin cursed softly. He paced in a tight circle around the anvil, clearly trying to work through the logistical nightmare unfolding before them.

They had the cure but lacked the means to administer it before the patient bled out. He stopped pacing and turned to Orion with a look of absolute determination.

"He's right. This is a border hold. If we want to churn out a thousand Slag-Spitters and distribute them to the frontlines before the Iron State punches a hole straight into the Range, we need the resources of the First Forge."