Underground City – Logistics Storage (Armory). Military Sector.
Sterile white fluorescent light flooded the room, an expanse as vast as a stadium. The light was too even, too cold, feeling as though it stripped bare every speck of dust that dared to drift in the air. A low hum from the servers and air conditioning units filled the silence, acting as a mechanical pulse that replaced the ragged breathing of the expedition party.
They stood at the threshold of the gargantuan warehouse, mouths agape. The sight before them shattered every preconceived notion they had ever held about "treasure."
To Riven and the Iron Mercenaries, treasure was synonymous with shimmering mounds of gold coins, gems that refracted the colors of the rainbow, or legendary blades glowing with aura. However, what lay here was fundamentally different. Instead of the glitter of precious metals, they found rows of five-meter-high steel racks standing rigid, like an army of iron sentinels awaiting orders. Atop them were neatly arranged, vacuum-sealed metallic crates—cold, mysterious, and silent.
"Wait... is this really an armory?" Captain Garrick asked, his voice thick with doubt. He lowered his spear slowly, his eyes scouring the room. "Where are the swords? Where is the armor?"
His voice sounded like a small echo swallowed by the sheer immensity of the space.
Rianor stepped inside, his legs trembling slightly—not from fear, but from a burgeoning, explosive excitement. His eyes sparkled behind his cracked lenses, as if the neon light reflected infinite possibilities. He brushed against a large, gray machine in the center of the room; a mechanical beast with robotic arms and precision drill bits.
"Garrick, you don't understand," Rianor whispered, his voice hushed with solemn reverence. "Gold can be spent in a heartbeat. But this..." He patted the machine's cold chassis. Clack. "This is a High-Precision Lathe. And over there? That's a Hydraulic Press. With these tools, we can forge a thousand swords in a day. We can produce Titan parts in hours, not weeks."
Rianor turned to Riven with a wide, triumphant grin. "This isn't just a treasure, Brother. This is a factory."
Rianor sprinted toward the racks at the back, his fingers tracing labels until he found exactly what he was looking for.
MATERIAL: ADAMANTITE – REFINED.
Holding his breath, Rianor pried open the metallic chest.
HISSS...
The air seal broke, releasing a scent of sterile void. Inside, rows of deep blue-black ingots were neatly stacked. The color seemed to absorb the surrounding light, looking incredibly dense and heavy.
"Wait, this is Adamantite?" Rhea hissed. She tried to lift one small ingot, but her forearm muscles tensed instantly. "Tch, it's heavy! This little bar weighs more than my head!"
"That is the material for our rifle barrels," Rianor stated firmly. "Take it all! Empty these racks! Don't leave a single speck behind!"
While the soldiers began hauling the heavy metal bars onto anti-gravity carts, Elara and Rumina busied themselves at an electronic panel. Elara dismantled a wall section, pulling out a glass tube that pulsed with a bright blue radiance.
"Rianor! I found a Mana Capacitor!" Elara shouted enthusiastically. "It's still at eighty percent capacity! Just one of these could power the entire castle's lights for a month!"
"Take it! Strip everything you can carry!" Rianor commanded without hesitation.
"But Brother," Rumina held up a small, round object—a light bulb. "How do we take this 'light' back up? Our castle doesn't have wires like these."
Rianor offered a devious smirk. He snatched a large blue sheet of paper from a workbench in the corner. "We aren't just bringing the lights, Rumina. We're bringing the knowledge."
Rianor showed them the sheet: a blueprint for a Steam-Powered Electric Generator. "We are going to start an industrial revolution up there. While Morvath is still fumbling with candles and torches, we will have spotlights."
Underground City Streets. One Hour Later.
The expedition party emerged from the central tower. They were no longer running in terror; they walked with chins held high, pushing anti-gravity carts laden with the spoils of the future.
The first cart was weighed down with Adamantite ingots. The second held Mana Capacitors and invaluable electronic components. The third carried a mini-lathe and advanced workshop equipment.
"It's a pity we can't take those flying vehicles home," Riven muttered, glancing at a car wreck by the roadside. "They look formidable."
"Those are just scrap metal for now, Brother," Rianor replied dismissively. "Focus on what we can use for the war tomorrow."
Suddenly, the city's sirens wailed again.
WOOOP... WOOOP...
The robotic female voice echoed from the cavern roof once more. "Warning: Energy Reserves Critical. Central Tower will enter Hibernation Mode in ten minutes. Defensive Systems will be deactivated."
The streetlights began to flicker and dim. Darkness started to crawl back from the edge of the streets, and from within the shadows... the Click... Click... Click... returned. The mutants were emerging from the sewers, realizing the defense turrets were about to go dark.
"Shopping time's over!" Rianor yelled. "Everyone, to the gate! I am not getting locked in here when the lights go out!"
"Push the carts! Leave nothing behind!" Riven ordered sternly.
They sprinted for their lives, keeping their precious cargo steady, as the darkness slowly consumed the city's light behind them.
Iron Hearth Castle – Workshop. Two Days Later.
The atmosphere in the workshop had transformed completely. No more oil lamps emitting grimy smoke. Hanging from the ceiling was a large bulb that shone with a brilliant, steady light, powered by the looted Mana Capacitor. The light was so stable that old servants passing by had to shield their eyes from the glare.
"It's so bright..." Grimm whispered in awe. "It's like we've trapped a miniature sun in a room."
At the workbench, Rianor held an Adamantite rod being processed by the new lathe. Its sound was a smooth, precise hum—a world away from a hand saw.
WIRRRRR...
The hardest metal in the world was being sliced with micron-level accuracy. Riven walked into the workshop, a few bandages still clinging to him, but his face was bright.
"How is it, Rianor? Is it ready?"
Rianor held up a long, sleek, jet-black object. Its design was minimalist, surrounded by copper coils and clear blue crystals. There was no opening for gunpowder.
THE GAUSS RIFLE (MK-1).
"This is no ordinary rifle," Rianor explained, wiping sweat from his brow. "This is a magnetic launcher. The projectile travels at Mach 5. It can pierce the Iron Empire's plate armor from five hundred meters away. No explosion. No smoke."
Riven balanced the weapon in his hands. It was light, balanced, and lethal. "How many can we make?"
"With this new machinery?" Rianor smirked. "I can finish fifty units before Morvath's forces reach us next week."
Riven cocked the weapon. The energy charge sounded with a futuristic whine. Ziiing.
"Next week..." Riven stared toward the southern window with a sharp, focused gaze. "Let them come. They bring fire, but we will greet them with lightning."
Aethelgard's Industrial Revolution had officially begun from a garage in the North.