Chapter 72: Chapter 72: Farewell to the Forge

The rhythmic footsteps of the small group echoed softly against the damp earth, which was increasingly carpeted by a layer of fine, velvet-like moss. Behind them, the warm, artificial amber glow of Terragard’s industrial lamps began to fade, slowly eclipsed by the pale, ethereal emerald luminescence radiating from the gargantuan roots that snaked across the cavern ceiling. Dayat paused for a moment to adjust the heavy straps of his tactical rucksack, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the Silver Thorn—the Adamantite blade of the fallen Verdian hero—strapped securely to his back. To Dayat, the sword remained an enigma; a relic of history he had yet to draw, though he valued its molecular density as raw material far more than the sharpness of its edge.

They had barely traversed a hundred meters from the organic gateway opened by Lunethra when a frantic, metallic clattering echoed from the shadows behind them. It was the sound of heavy plate armor in a desperate hurry.

“Lord Dayat! Wait!”

Dayat halted and turned. From the darkness of the corridor they had just abandoned, a short, stout figure in soot-stained plate armor emerged. Captain Grimbar skidded to a halt, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his neatly braided white beard swaying rhythmically with every ragged breath.

“Grimbar? What are you doing here?” Dayat asked, his brow furrowed in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be at the primary vanguard post?”

Grimbar leaned over, hands on his knees, forcing oxygen into his lungs. “Damn it… you humans… walk too fast. I only just received word that you had departed via the Root Way. I could not let our savior vanish into the dark without a proper farewell.”

Lunethra stood a few paces back, her emerald eyes tracking Grimbar with a relaxed yet vigilant poise. “Captain, this sector is outside the Dwarven patrol radius. You are taking a significant risk by abandoning your post, even for a moment.”

“To hell with protocol for today, Lady Elf,” Grimbar retorted, finally straightening his back. He looked at Dayat with a solemnity that matched the gravity of the situation. “Dayat, I had to tell you. The situation above… at The Iron Threshold… is reaching a boiling point. The Brassvale Inquisition has dispatched an armed diplomatic envoy. They are formally demanding that Terragard surrender you, Dola, and the Elf on charges of possessing forbidden technology and high treason against the Divine Order.”

Dayat’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “And the King’s response?”

Grimbar offered a wide, toothy grin that glinted in the bioluminescence. “King Ironbeard told them to return home and wipe the oil off their backsides. He declared that Terragard would never surrender a single one of its Honorary Citizens to a race of men who don’t even know how to properly temper high-carbon steel. This may spark trade tensions—perhaps even a localized conflict—but the King does not care. He is convinced that the ’Logic’ you brought is enough to make Terragard the strongest kingdom on the continent, even if Brassvale marches their entire legion.”

Dayat went silent, a strange, warm hum of emotion stirring in his chest. King Ironbeard was gambling the stability of his entire realm for the sake of a stranger. “I didn’t expect him to go that far, Grimbar.”

“You saved our Deep Vents, Dayat. That is more than enough. But now, I wish to offer something as a personal parting gift,” Grimbar reached into his pouch, but Dayat raised a hand, stopping him mid-motion.

“No, Grimbar. It’s the other way around. It’s only right that I give you something before I truly disappear into the roots,” Dayat said, his voice carrying a new authority.

He turned his head toward Dola. “Dola, I need a blueprint. You can read the frequency of my current thoughts, right?”

“Certainly, Dayat. Your cerebral output is quite loud. You intend to provide a thermal optimization system for their forge,” Dola replied, her voice flat yet inherently obedient.

Dayat extended his hands. In a heartbeat, the familiar sapphire-and-purple radiance flared in his palms. This time, the manifestation was calm, precise, and surgical. He didn’t need to pull complex data from Dola; he simply reached into his own memory of the architectural tools he had used back in Jakarta.

ZRAAAP!

In Dayat’s left hand, a large roll of high-quality Tracing Vellum appeared—a translucent, waterproof material designed for permanent archival. In his right, he manifested a complete set of Rapidograph Technical Pens and a stainless-steel precision ruler.

“Dola, execute. A0 paper size. Blueprint: [High-Efficiency Steam Engine with Closed-Loop Condenser System],” Dayat commanded.

Dola accepted the tools with a mechanical snap. With a velocity that was physically impossible for a human eye to track, her hands began to move like a high-speed CNC plotter. The Rapido pen danced across the vellum, depositing indelible black ink to form perfect isometric projections, cross-sectional valves, and detailed technical specification tables. The sound of the nib scratching against the paper was a soothing, rhythmic hiss in the silence of the cave.

Grimbar, Kancil, and even Lunethra watched with their jaws dropped.

“What… what is this sorcery of lines?” Grimbar whispered, mesmerized by the sheer complexity.

“A farewell gift for Terragard,” Dayat explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dwarves are magnificent at generating steam pressure, but you are abysmal at energy conservation. You vent your used steam into the atmosphere through those giant pipes, don’t you? It’s a massive waste of distilled water and latent thermal energy.”

Dayat pointed to a specific section of the drawing Dola was finishing. “This is a Condenser System. The steam that has already moved the piston is not discarded. It is channeled through this radiator, cooled back into a liquid state, and cycled back into the heating tank. With this, your furnaces don’t have to work at 100% capacity 24 hours a day. Your coal or Mana consumption will drop by at least 60%, and your overall engine efficiency will triple.”

Grimbar leaned in, his eyes bulging as he took in the intricate details of bolts, gaskets, and pipe-routing that were so complex yet fundamentally logical. “By the ancestors’ hammer… this is genius. If we can retrofit the Great Forge with this… we can produce ten times the weaponry without ever worrying about a steam shortage!”

“Give this to the King, Grimbar. Tell him to distribute it to the Senior Artisans. Tell them it’s from the Honorary Rock-Slayer. With this, Brassvale will never have a reason to look down on Terragard’s industry again,” Dayat stated firmly.

Dola finished the final line with a small, stylized signature in the bottom corner: Mustafidl-Dola Tech Industries. She rolled the vellum tightly and handed it to Grimbar.

“Thank you… by the sacred anvil, thank you, Dayat!” Grimbar hugged the roll of paper as if it were a solid bar of gold. “I will see that this reaches the King’s hands before the morning cycle.”

The emotional weight of the farewell began to lift, replaced by a sense of accomplishment. However, Dayat looked at the path ahead—dark, silent, and potentially monotonous. He glanced at Kancil, who was staring blankly at the moss, and then at Lunethra, who looked decidedly bored with the mechanical talk.

Dayat offered a small, mischievous smile. “I need something to accompany us on this walk. It’s too quiet in these roots.”

Once more, Dayat extended his hand. He visualized a small, rectangular box made of matte-black synthetic polymer with a refined texture. He imagined a mesh grill, a lithium-ion battery, and a Bluetooth receiver module.

The purple light subsided, and in Dayat’s hand lay a Portable Digital Music Box (Bluetooth Speaker).

Dayat tapped the play button. He had pre-loaded a playlist from a “data cache” Dola had archived from a trendy Jakarta café back in 2024—a smooth, lofi-chill track with a deep, velvety bassline.

DUM… DUM… TSSSS…

The clear, high-fidelity sound of modern electronic music resonated against the ancient basalt walls. A relaxed melody, featuring rhythmic beats and a tempo entirely alien to the ears of Aethera, began to flow through the tunnel.

Kancil nearly jumped out of his skin, his eyes wide and sparkling. “Whoa! Big Bro! What is that sound? It’s… it’s bouncing around inside my head!”

Lunethra froze, her ears twitching. She closed her eyes, feeling the rhythmic oscillation of the frequency. “A melody of such perfect harmony… Dayat, is this a blessing from the Goddess Riha? This sound… it is as if the wind itself is singing inside that small obsidian box.”

Dola immediately pivoted toward Lunethra, her gaze carrying a very human-like sneer. “Your analysis is functionally inaccurate, Elven Unit. It is not a blessing from any mythological deity. It is merely the frequency oscillation of sound waves compressed into a digital format and projected through an electromagnetic diaphragm. To associate hard science with mythology is a symptom of cognitive regression.”

Lunethra opened her eyes, meeting Dola’s stare with a provocative, thin smile. “Sometimes, beauty does not require a technical manual, Dola. Just because you cannot feel the soul behind the sound does not mean the soul is absent.”

“The ’Soul’ is an abstract construct used to mask ignorance of biological cerebral processing,” Dola retorted sharply, her sapphire eyes flickering.

Dayat let out a long, weary sigh. “Okay, okay… don’t start this again. It’s just music to keep us from getting bored. Let’s enjoy the vibes.”

Grimbar let out a booming laugh at the interaction. “Hahaha! You truly carry miracles in every step, Dayat. Very well, I shall hold you no longer. The path ahead will only grow darker and colder. Remain vigilant, my friend.”

Grimbar offered a traditional Dwarven military salute—a clenched right fist over the heart. Dayat returned the gesture with a firm, respectful nod.

“Let’s move out,” Dayat said.

They began their trek, leaving the secret Dwarven outpost behind. Dayat took the point, his LED headlamp slicing through the gloom of the Root Way. On his back, the Silver Thorn shimmered faintly, catching the reflection of the light. The music from the speaker in Dayat’s hand continued to play softly, providing a surreal contrast between 21st-century technology and the mystical, primordial environment.

Kancil followed closely behind Dayat with a bouncy step, occasionally trying to mimic the drum rhythm he heard. Meanwhile, Dola and Lunethra walked side-by-side in the rear, maintaining a strict one-meter distance as if there were an invisible, electrified border between them.

The darkness truly swallowed them now. The sounds of steam and machinery from Terragard were gone, replaced by the low-fi beats, the sound of boots on damp earth, and the faint, rhythmic hiss of Mana pulsing within the gargantuan roots surrounding them.

The true journey to Verdia had begun. No Dwarven army, no city walls—only the technology in their hands and the ancient magic at their side.

“Master,” Dola’s voice broke through the music.

“Yeah, Dol?”

“Your happiness levels have increased by 8.4% following the transfer of the blueprint. Does the sharing of technical data provide a high dopamine reward for humans?”

Dayat chuckled. “It’s not just about the data, Dol. It’s about friendship. Something you won’t find in a string of binary code.”

“I shall include the ’Friendship’ variable in my priority database, Dayat. Although, in my estimation, possessing me alone should be efficient enough for your continued existence.”

“Yeah, yeah… you’re getting pretty possessive, aren’t you?” Dayat muttered, stepping deeper into the encroaching emerald dark.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep