Chapter 32: Chapter32-Dalton’s Iceberg and Heavenly Chasm

At the gates of Dalton Town.

After paying the astronomical “entrance fee,” the great powers of every faction stepped forward with reverence in their hearts, and with a desire that no amount of suppression could ever extinguish.

They entered through the gates of Dalton Town as though they were devout pilgrims heading toward a holy sanctuary.

And in the very next instant, what unfolded before their eyes completely engulfed them.

Their souls were struck with a force far more violent than any of the battles they had just witnessed outside the walls.

Before them rose buildings that soared into the clouds, edifices that seemed to have been forged from solidified moonlight and the flowing radiance of the stars themselves.

Under the soft but brilliant illumination, these towers shimmered with a dreamlike luster, as if the very essence of the cosmos had descended into tangible form.

Beneath their feet was no ordinary stone.

Instead, they stepped upon gold-inlaid arcane tiles, warm and smooth as jade, each infused with a vast reservoir of mana.

Every step felt as though they were treading upon the very spring of energy itself.

The air they breathed was thick with magical elements—so dense it seemed to have congealed into a mist of liquid energy drifting through the streets.

Along the avenues, elegant elves debated with stout dwarves over the intricate structures of runes.

Human merchants haggled with curious elemental beings, describing goods with gestures and smiles.

Overhead, several star-born travelers with radiant wings of light strolled leisurely as though such wonders were commonplace.

Patrolling the streets were squads of city guards, their weakest members already at the level of Magus Lord.

They marched in perfect rhythm, their gazes unshaken by the marvels around them, clearly accustomed to a world that would shatter ordinary imaginations.

Shop windows by the roadside displayed magical artifacts with casual negligence.

The energy waves they released—each one powerful enough to spark a blood-soaked conflict in the outside world—were here lined up like apples or pears in a fruit stand, openly priced and waiting to be purchased.

The so-called overlords, who once imagined themselves to stand at the pinnacle of civilization, suddenly felt like primitive savages who had just emerged from the forest, stumbling into Odin’s own Hall of the Slain.

Their pride was crushed to dust. Their ignorance was laid bare beneath the scorching light of reality.

That shame—born of the immense gap between civilizations—gnawed at their pride like countless ants chewing on their hearts.

The magic towers they had once boasted of, the palaces they had raised as symbols of greatness, the temples they declared sacred—all of it, when compared to this miraculous city, seemed nothing more than childish sandcastles. Fragile, laughable, and pitiful.

From a tall tower that overlooked half of the city, Lupotin gazed downward at his fellow colleagues and rivals—those newly arrived and now standing dumbstruck, their faces carved into masks of shock.

Their demeanor radiated the aura of bumpkins who had strayed too far from home.

On Lupotin’s aged face emerged a smile—complicated, indescribable, and tinged with emotions he could not name.

He knew at that moment: from the instant those men tremblingly stepped through Dalton’s gates, the old world they had once clung to had already collapsed into rubble.

A new age—defined and dictated by Dalton Town—was descending upon their heads.

An era carrying both the despair of overwhelming disparity and the intoxicating brilliance of unimaginable grandeur.

“Master Lupotin.”

Magnar appeared, clothed in robes of dignity and refinement.

Far from withering under the erosion of years, his body seemed revitalized, bursting with vigor, his tissues brimming with youthful energy.

His expression bore a calm and serene smile as he spoke:

“What you see now is merely the most basic surface of Dalton.”

“The President often says: To recognize the vastness of the world is the first step toward freeing oneself from ignorance.”

He halted his steps and pointed toward the streets below.

Following the gesture, Lupotin’s pupils contracted violently.

Beneath what appeared to be ordinary streets, he discerned not mere dirt or stone, but an intricate labyrinth of luminous, liquid-like energy channels.

They formed a colossal mana network, more complex and refined than any array he had ever studied, resembling nothing less than the blood vessels and neural pathways of the city itself.

Tiny constructs scurried along those veins—metallic beetle-like arcane drones, working tirelessly at key junctions. Their precision and efficiency bordered on the terrifying.

“Th… this… what is this?” Lupotin’s voice cracked with dryness.

“The Citywide Energy Conduit System,” Magnar replied with ease, as though discussing something trivial.

“It is responsible for the transmission and distribution of energy across the city, for recycling and transforming waste etheric matter, and for maintaining part of the spatial stability matrix.”

“Oh, and by the way—the rich elemental energy you just breathed in? That was not naturally gathered. It was drawn directly from the void by the Elemental Siphon Arrays of District Three, purified and compressed through seventeen stages, and then evenly diffused into every corner of the city via this very network. Both concentration and ratio are fully adjustable.”

Lupotin: “?!!!”

Drawn directly from the void?!

Purified and compressed?!

Adjustable concentration?!

Each word was like a war hammer smashing into the frail framework of his traditional magical knowledge.

The magic-gathering formations he had spent a lifetime perfecting were, compared to this, no different than a caveman rubbing sticks together to kindle fire.

As though the blow were not devastating enough, Magnar gestured again, this time toward a region encased in a soft radiant dome.

“That,” he explained, “is the Arcane Botanical Conservatory. It employs a technology adapted from a plant-based civilization, accelerating and optimizing the growth of magical herbs. And beside it stands the Elemental Symbiosis Embassy District, where several elemental races reside. It greatly facilitates cultural exchange and technological cooperation.”

Lupotin felt suffocated.

Accelerated potion growth? Plant civilizations? Races of living elements?

This had already stepped far beyond the limits of “magic.” It had ventured into an uncharted territory he could scarcely comprehend.

“Vice President…” His voice trembled. “Dalton… how… how is all this even possible…”

Magnar’s smile deepened, carrying the weight of hidden meaning.

“Master, what you behold is but the tip of the iceberg rising above the ocean.”

“The true Dalton—its depth and breadth—cannot be grasped in a single glance.”

“The President once said: Knowledge is like the stars. The more you gaze upon them, the more you realize your own insignificance. To maintain reverence and curiosity—that is the best attitude one can keep.”

He paused, then added almost casually:

“For instance… did you know that this very tower beneath our feet is itself a colossal magical weapon? Its true purpose is not for observation, but rather—”

Magnar deliberately halted, leaving a dangling silence filled with sinister imagination.

Lupotin was utterly speechless. His gaze remained locked upon the city below—this miracle that functioned with flawless rhythm and terrifying order. The final fragments of pride he had retained as a master of the Starseer Tower dissolved into dust.

At last, he understood. The 1.2 million mana stones and those shards of star cores he had surrendered had not purchased him a mere ticket. They had bought him an opportunity—an opportunity to rediscover the world itself.

He felt like a child who had only just learned to crawl, now cast into a library built from constellations and mysteries without end.

Step by step, Lupotin followed behind Magnar, his movements cautious and reverent, as they walked along the spiral corridor inside the tower.

On one side of the corridor stretched solid walls.

On the other side, however, was an entirely transparent surface of magical crystal, so clear it seemed not to exist at all.

Beyond it, the magnificence of Dalton Town unfurled in full panorama, revealing a vision of civilization that shattered the imagination and beckoned toward infinity.

At the very same time—

Inside a spacious reception hall just past the city gates, a young mage, no older than his early twenties, adjusted his crystal-framed spectacles. His expression was calm, self-assured, almost clinical. He faced a group of powerful leaders—titans of their respective factions—who had only moments ago paid the exorbitant “entrance fee” and now stood half-terrified, half-consumed with curiosity.

This youth was Colt, the prized protégé of Vice President Magnar, carefully groomed to become his heir.

Colt lifted his hand, tapping a sleek luminous stylus. With a sharp gesture, a screen of light unfurled before him, displaying a simplified structural map of Dalton Town.

“Honored guests, welcome to Dalton Town.” His voice was clear, steady, carrying an academic weight, like a scholar presenting the conclusions of an experiment.

“I am Colt, chief pupil of Vice President Magnar, assigned to give you a brief orientation.”

He pointed at the glowing diagram. “As you can see, Dalton is divided into three distinct regions.”

The light screen shifted, portions of the map highlighted with colored markings.

“Where you currently stand is the Outer City,” Colt explained. “It bears responsibility for commerce, diplomacy, portions of basic industry, and residential quarters. Your permitted activity is restricted to specific areas of this district. Unauthorized entry into military control zones or magical restricted sectors is strictly forbidden.”

The projection shifted inward, revealing a section bathed in deeper radiance.

“This,” Colt continued, “is the Inner City—the seat of administration, research, advanced education, and residences of core personnel. Entry is prohibited without special authorization.”

Finally, the projection soared upward, depicting the faint, resplendent silhouette that hovered above the clouds.

“And that,” his voice grew solemn, “is the Aerial City. The true heart of Dalton. There you will find the High Council, the Arcane Sanctum, the Garden of the World Tree, the Time Tower, and many other core institutions. Only those granted direct permission by the President or the Grand Secretary may ever set foot there.”

The introduction was concise, but the tone carried the weight of absolute law.

The visitors trembled as they listened. Words like Aerial City and Time Tower left their throats dry. It was as though they had just glimpsed the dwelling place of gods.

Everything they had once considered rare and noble paled into insignificance. Their towers, temples, even their empires—compared to Dalton’s grandeur, all seemed like crude imitations.

At last, Marshal Otto of the Crossbridge Empire could restrain himself no longer. His voice quavered with suppressed excitement:

“Mr. Colt… tell me, might we—by fortune—be permitted to purchase a residence here? Even the smallest dwelling… we would pay any price!”

His words struck the hall like thunder. At once, every gaze turned to Colt, eyes burning with desperate hope.

To reside long-term in such an environment, where mana saturated the very air… even by doing nothing, their cultivation would skyrocket at unimaginable speed. And beyond cultivation, there was the promise of knowledge and technology beyond measure.

Colt’s lips curved into a smile—polished, formulaic, as though he had anticipated this moment.

“According to the Dalton Outer City Foreign Asset Management Ordinance, property within Dalton Town… may only be leased, not sold.”

A ripple of dismay ran through the crowd. Some leaders nearly cried out, but they swallowed the impulse. Who among them would dare voice complaint here?

Colt smoothly continued:

“However, the Outer City is equipped with the Starlight Hotel and several magical apartments available for lease. Rates vary according to size, location, and mana density grade.”

“The most basic single-room apartment begins at roughly one million mana stones per month, with a minimum lease term of one year.”

The crowd erupted.

“One… one million mana stones?!”

“For a month?! And that’s the cheapest?!”

The figure hit them like a bolt of lightning. It wasn’t rent—it was daylight robbery!

No, even robbery wasn’t this ruthless!

But after a heartbeat of silence, after the pain of blood dripping from their hearts—

“I’ll rent! I’ll take three units!” Otto roared, leaping to his feet, afraid someone else might beat him to it.

“I’ll take five!” another shouted.

“I’ll take ten on behalf of the Thunder Mage Tower!” cried the Thunderclap Tower Master, slamming down a pouch that burst open with dazzling mana stones of every element.

“The Dwarven Kingdom shall take twenty! Payment in kind—three rich mana stone veins, mined for one hundred years!” declared King Thrain, his booming voice echoing like a hammer-strike. The dwarves, ever the quiet hoarders of wealth, had no shortage of resources.

“My Frost Temple will also—”

“The Giants demand—”

Chaos exploded. The hall became a frenzy, less a dignified reception than a savage bidding war.

The lords who ruled nations, who commanded armies, were now red-faced, bickering like peasants in a marketplace, each desperate to secure their claim.

Why? Because they had already tasted it. Just breathing Dalton’s air for a short while had loosened bottlenecks in their cultivation, soothed long-buried injuries, even rejuvenated old scars.

This city was no mere dwelling. It was salvation.

Here, a million mana stones was nothing. Even ten million would be a bargain. The only thing that mattered was securing a foothold inside.

For if the quotas ran out, and they were left outside, regret would drive them mad.

Colt observed the pandemonium with detached calm. He produced several enchanted contract scrolls and a crystalline device inscribed with glowing runes.

“Please form an orderly line. Submit your down payments, along with collateral equivalent to a full year’s rent. Based on your financial strength and credit reliability, allocations will be made accordingly.”

And just like that, all dignity was cast aside. Imperial pride, martial honor—these titans of the outside world trampled it all. The only thing that mattered now was securing even a humble corner in this miraculous city.

Dalton’s true divide, its heavenly chasm, was not merely its unthinkable military might. It was the yawning gulf in lifestyle, in civilization, in the very level of existence itself.

Meanwhile, outside Dalton’s walls—

The earth was quiet now, the thunderous clash of titans stilled.

The White Crystal Behemoth heaved breaths that steamed like glaciers, its crystalline chest rising and falling heavily. Its glacial-blue eyes glared at the human across from it: Reize.

Though his body had shrunk back to human form, though his armor bore dents and scuffs, his battle spirit still blazed undimmed.

The Behemoth’s eyes flickered with rage, unwillingness, and—most humiliating of all—a faint sense of helplessness.

This puny human! His raw power was inferior, yet his cursed armor and that Titan-bloodline resilience made him impossible to crush.

No matter what it tried—stomping him into the earth, hurling him into swamps, punting him across deserts—Reize would crawl back, lightning still crackling in defiance.

Every strike, every technique, every storm of power—absorbed, deflected, neutralized.

And so the battle had reached an awkward stalemate.

“Rooooar!” the Behemoth bellowed, then jabbed a claw toward the shimmering seven-colored barrier that shielded Dalton, then jabbed at itself.

Its meaning was clear: Let me in!

Even this colossal creature, reckless by nature, understood by now—this city was not something it could simply barge into. But every instinct screamed that something inside Dalton was calling to it, like a magnet dragging iron, a hunger it could not deny.

Reize rested the Thunder Warblade across his shoulder, flashing a grin. His expression said, I understand you perfectly.

Then he rubbed his fingers together.

“Rules. Ten million mana stones—or the equivalent in treasures.”

The Behemoth froze.

It tilted its massive head. Its crystalline horns caught the light as its eyes blinked in baffled innocence.

The mighty beast… looked utterly lost.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep