Underground City – Logistics Storage Room (Armory). Military Sector.
The sterile white light from long neon lamps flooded the room, which was as vast as a football field—a light too even, too cold, until it felt as if it were stripping bare every speck of dust that dared to linger in the air. A low hum from servers and air conditioners filled the silence, not merely as background noise, but as a mechanical pulse that replaced the ragged breathing of the expedition members, who were still struck speechless.
They stood at the threshold of the giant warehouse with their mouths agape, as if the sight before them was not just shocking, but a slap to every imagination they had ever possessed.
To Sir Riven and the Iron Mercs, treasure was always synonymous with piles of glittering gold coins, light-reflecting gems, or legendary swords that glowed as if harboring ancient tales. However, what lay before them was entirely different—not the glitter of gold, not the radiance of jewels, nor the magical aura of ancient weapons.
The room was filled with five-meter-high steel shelves, rows standing like silent iron soldiers awaiting orders. Atop them were neatly arranged vacuum-sealed metal crates—cold, rigid, and offering no clues other than that something valuable—or dangerous—was stored within. There was no gold. No gems. Nothing they had imagined.
"This is... the armory?" Captain Garrick asked in confusion, slowly lowering his spear. "Where are the swords? Where is the armor?" His voice sounded like a small echo swallowed by the vastness of the room.
Sir Rianor walked in with trembling steps—not from fear, but from a near-childish excitement—like a little boy entering a giant toy store. His eyes sparkled behind his cracked glasses, as if the neon light reflected infinite possibilities. He stroked a large gray machine sitting in the center of the room, a device with robotic arms and precision drills that looked like it had been pulled straight from a future that had never been told. "Garrick, you don't understand," Rianor whispered, his voice full of awe. "Gold can be spent on shopping. But this..."
Rianor patted the machine.
"This is a High-Precision Lathe. And over there is a Hydraulic Press. With these tools, we can make a thousand swords a day. We can manufacture spare parts for the Titan in hours, not weeks."
"This isn't a treasure chest, Brother," Rianor turned to Riven. "This is a Factory."
Rianor ran to the shelves at the back. He spotted the label he had been searching for since the beginning.
MATERIAL: ADAMANTITE – REFINED.
Nor pried open the metal crate with great effort.
HISSS...
The air seal broke.
Inside, bars of jet-black metal with a bluish tint were neatly stacked. The color seemed to absorb light, appearing heavy and incredibly dense.
"Adamantite," Lady Rhea hissed, attempting to lift a single bar. "It's so heavy! This small piece is heavier than my own head!"
"That's the material for our rifle barrels," Rianor said. "Take it all! Clear these shelves! Don't leave a single speck of dust behind!"
While the soldiers busied themselves moving the super-heavy metal bars onto anti-gravity carts they had discovered, Elara and Lady Rumina focused on the electronics.
Elara was dismantling a wall panel. She pulled out a glass tube glowing with a bright blue light.
"Nor! I found Mana Capacitors!" Elara shouted. "They're still at 80% capacity! One of these tubes could power the castle's lights for a month!"
"Take them! Rip out everything that can be uninstalled!" Rianor commanded.
"But Brother," Rumina held up a small object. A Light Bulb. "How do we take this 'Light' back up? The castle doesn't have wiring."
Rianor offered a sly smile. He grabbed a large blue sheet of paper from a workbench in the corner.
"We aren't just taking the lights, Rumi. We're taking the knowledge."
Rianor showed the paper. It was a Blueprint for a Steam-Powered Electric Generator.
"We're going to start an Industrial Revolution up there. Morvath is still playing with candles and torches; we're going to have Searchlights."
Underground City Streets. One Hour Later.
The expedition party moved out of the tower. They were no longer running. They walked with pride, pushing anti-gravity carts filled with loot.
Cart 1: Filled with Adamantite bars.
Cart 2: Contained Mana Capacitors and electronic components.
Cart 3: Carried a Mini Lathe and advanced workshop tools.
"It's a shame we can't bring home that Flying Car," Riven said, pointing at a vehicle wreck on the side of the road. "It looks cool."
"It's junk, Brother," Rianor replied. "The technology is different. We focus on what we can use for tomorrow's war."
Suddenly, the city siren wailed again.
WOOOP... WOOOP...
The robotic female voice returned.
"Warning: Energy Reserves Critical. Central Tower entering Hibernation Mode in 10 Minutes. Defense Systems will Deactivate."
The streetlights began to flicker and dim.
Darkness began to creep back from the edges of the street.
And from within that darkness... the Click... Click... Click... sound returned.
The mutants hiding in the sewers began to emerge again, knowing the turrets were about to go dead.
"Shopping time is over!" Rianor shouted. "Everyone, run for the gate! Don't let us get locked in here when the lights go out!"
"PUSH THE CARTS! DON'T LET ANYTHING FALL!" Riven ordered.
They ran for their lives, pushing their treasures of the future, chased by the darkness that devoured the city lights behind them.
Iron Hearth Castle – Workshop. Two Days Later.
The atmosphere of the workshop had completely transformed.
There were no more dim oil lamps.
Hanging from the workshop ceiling was a large Light Bulb that shone brilliantly, powered by a looted Mana Capacitor.
The light was so bright and stable that the elderly servants squinted and shielded their eyes.
"It's so bright..." Grimm whispered in awe. "Like a small sun inside the room."
At the workbench, Rianor held an Adamantite bar being sliced by the new Lathe. The sound was smooth, not noisy like a hand saw.
WIRRRRR...
The hardest metal in the world was cut with micron precision.
Riven entered the workshop, still sporting bandages here and there, but his face was bright.
"How's it going, Nor? Is it ready?"
Rianor held up a long object.
It was a rifle barrel, pitch black in color. The design was sleek, surrounded by copper coils and blue crystals. There was no place for gunpowder.
"It's ready, Brother," Rianor handed the weapon to Riven.
THE GAUSS RIFLE (MK-1).
A Semi-Automatic Magnetic Rifle.
"This isn't an ordinary rifle," Rianor explained. "It's a hand-held version of a Railgun. The bullet is just a small iron needle. But its velocity is five times the speed of sound. It can pierce Iron Empire plate armor from 500 meters away. No muzzle blast. No smoke."
Riven weighed the weapon. Light. Balanced. Lethal.
"How many can we make?"
"With this new machinery?" Rianor smirked. "I can produce 50 units before Morvath's forces reach us next week."
Riven cocked the weapon. The sound of it charging was a futuristic hum. Ziiing.
"Next week..." Riven stared toward the southern window.
"Let them come. They bring fire. We'll welcome them with Lightning."
The Industrial Revolution of Aethelgard had begun. And it started in the Sudrath family garage.