Spirit Pact Hundred Scenes Record

Chapter 41 The Border of the Fiery Mining Region

The experience of spatial jumps is difficult to fully adapt to, no matter how many times you experience it.

It wasn't a simple displacement or high-speed movement, but rather a process where the entire being was briefly "disassembled" into the most basic streams of spiritual particles, passing through the fragile gaps in the structure of reality, and then "reassembled" elsewhere. Although the Narwhale's psionic shield and stabilizing array could minimize this discomfort, for those sensitive to spiritual veins, those few seconds of nothingness and reconstruction still felt like countless cold hands simultaneously tugging at every thread of their soul.

Karen opened her eyes the instant she completed the leap, finding herself gripping the edge of the bed tightly, her knuckles white from the force. Beside her, Dawn shifted restlessly; the cub, clearly sensing the psionic disturbance from the spatial shift, let out a soft whimper. Shadow remained curled up beside Dawn; the black cat's body hadn't moved an inch during the leap, but its silver eyes had opened a crack, a deep light swirling within their pupils.

"It's over," Karen said softly, reaching out to stroke Dawn's back. The cub gradually calmed down, nuzzling Karen's hand with its forehead before closing its eyes again. The senses transmitted through the contract link told Karen that Dawn's condition was slowly but steadily recovering—the bloodline of the Lightwing Lion King granted it powerful self-healing abilities, but the depletion of its essence required time.

The hatch opened, and the red-haired Leah poked her head in. Her face was pale, clearly also affected by the space jump. "We've arrived. The outer airspace of the Fiery Mineral Zone. The captain wants you to come up to the deck and take a look, saying... there's something he needs to confirm."

Karen nodded and carefully picked up Dawn. Shadow jumped onto his shoulder; the black cat's body was lighter than before, and its recovery seemed to be faster than expected. Grom and Windwhisperia had also gotten up—to make it easier to distinguish them, the people on the ship began to call the Windwhisper tribe girl "Windwhisperia," although she herself felt somewhat resentful of the name.

The group went up to the deck.

The heat wave that hit Karen almost suffocated her.

It wasn't ordinary heat; it was a dry, scorching heat with a sulfurous and metallic smell, seemingly capable of directly burning the respiratory tract and skin. The air distorted under the intense heat, and distant objects appeared as if viewed through flickering flames, their edges blurred and trembling. Karen instinctively channeled his psionic energy to form a thin protective layer on his body—a natural ability gained from the fusion of Dawn's light psionic energy and his spiritual veins. Although it didn't consume much energy, it was crucial in this extreme environment.

He looked around.

The Narwhale was sailing under a crimson sky. The sky itself wasn't red, but the smoke and steam rising from the ground below had dyed the entire airspace a rusty dark red. Sunlight, filtering through this red "veil," appeared dim and scorching, like the afterglow of a red-hot iron block.

The land below was a sight Karen had never seen before.

There are no forests, no grasslands, and no rivers.

There are only mountains.

Endless, crimson, barren mountains.

The mountain ranges are jagged and steep, like relics of the earth torn apart, kneaded, and carelessly discarded by immense forces in some distant era. Their surfaces are covered with crisscrossing rifts and ravines, some bottomless, with glimpses of dark red light flowing at their base—magma, or highly active geothermal veins.

Most striking of all are the plumes of smoke that continuously erupt from the cracks in the mountain and from the crater at the summit.

It wasn't a violent eruption like a volcanic eruption, but rather a continuous, steady stream of gray or black smoke, like factory chimneys. Hundreds of smoke columns rose from all directions, converging in the air to form thick, churning clouds. Occasionally, dark red lightning flashed within the clouds, accompanied by low, rumbling thunder, like the groans of the earth.

Fine ash floated in the air, quickly accumulating into a thin layer on the deck. Visibility was extremely low; even at the Narwhale's altitude, only a range of a dozen kilometers below could be seen, with everything beyond completely obscured by smoke and dust.

"Welcome to the Scorching Mineral Region." The captain's voice came from the bridge, echoing across the deck through a loudspeaker. "The average surface temperature is seventy degrees Celsius, and in some geothermally active areas it can reach over two hundred degrees. The oxygen content in the air is only sixty percent of that in normal areas, but the concentration of sulfides and other mineral dust exceeds the standard by three hundred percent. It is not recommended for people without protective equipment or without fire-attribute psionic adaptability to be exposed for extended periods."

Grom walked to the ship's railing and gripped it tightly with both hands. The dwarf's expression was complex—a mixture of excitement at returning home, worry at seeing his homeland deteriorating, and a deep, unspeakable sorrow. He stared at the mountains below, their plumes of smoke billowing out, his lips trembling slightly.

"Ironforge... is on the eastern side of the third peak," Grom murmured, pointing to a particularly massive volcano in the distance, its summit constantly spewing bright lava. "See that mountain that erupts most violently? That's 'Soulforging Volcano,' the location of the Dwarven Royal Court. Ironforge is built inside its mountain, using geothermal heat and lava as its energy source and forging power."

Karen looked in that direction. The volcano was indeed different—it didn't erupt gray-black ash, but bright orange lava flows, like luminous rivers cascading down from the summit, flowing along the ravines on the mountain's surface, and finally cooling and solidifying into black rock at the foot of the mountain. Above the volcano, the smoke column was golden-red, and strong psionic fluctuations constantly erupted from within.

But Karen also noticed something unusual.

The eruption of that volcano—the Soul Forging Volcano—seems...unstable.

The brightness of the lava flow fluctuated, and the frequency of the eruptions also changed drastically. Even more noticeable was the psychic field around the volcano, which fluctuated violently, like the disordered heartbeat of someone experiencing heart failure. Even from this distance, Karen could feel that discordant and unsettling pulse.

"The Soul of the Forge..." Grom's voice grew even deeper, "Its fluctuations are chaotic... far more chaotic than when I left three years ago... Back then, although it was also declining, at least there was still some regularity... Now it's almost like..."

"It's like a struggle before death," Shadow suddenly spoke. The black cat, perched on Karen's shoulder, stared intently at the direction of the Soul Forging Volcano, its pupils shrinking to slits. "I can feel... the life force of that 'Forge Soul' is rapidly draining away. And the way it's draining away is very strange—it's not natural decay, it's more like something is... drawing it out."

"Extracted?" Karen's heart tightened. "Like how the mineral veins in the Emerald Forest were contaminated by spirit realm remnants and had their energy extracted?"

"Not exactly the same." Shadow shook his head. "The Emerald Forest is a place where pollution directly erodes and transforms pure psionic energy into chaotic energy. But here... it's more like some kind of precise, purposeful siphon. Someone is using some kind of device or ritual to directly extract energy from the core of the Forge Soul, and they're extracting it very aggressively, completely disregarding whether the Forge Soul will collapse as a result."

Grom's face turned ashen. "High Tinker...it must be him...only he has access to the core control mechanism of the Forge Soul...but why? Has he gone mad? The Forge Soul is the foundation of Ironforge; if it completely fails, the entire dwarven forging tradition will be severed!"

"Perhaps he found an alternative energy source," Feng Liya speculated. "Or... he was promised even greater benefits."

"Greater benefits?" Grom sneered. "What benefits could compare to the future of the entire dwarf race? Unless..."

He stopped, his eyes flickering, clearly thinking of something but not daring or willing to say it.

Karen didn't press the matter. He knew that some truths could only be confirmed by seeing them with his own eyes.

The Cloud Whale began its descent, heading towards a gentle plateau on the outskirts of Forge Soul Volcano. That area was the outer airport of Ironforge, specifically for receiving trade airships and visiting guests. As the altitude decreased, the details of the ground became clearer.

Karen spotted the vein of minerals.

These are not underground veins, but exposed psionic veins that meander across the mountainside like blood vessels. These veins are composed of crystals of various colors—fiery red molten crystals, golden sunstones, silvery-white mithril, and deep purple void amethysts—each emitting its own light under high temperatures, adorning the mountainside like luminous ribbons.

However, these veins are also in very poor condition.

Many veins were dimly lit, their crystal surfaces covered with grayish-black rust and cracks. Some sections had even gone completely extinguished, turning into piles of ordinary stones devoid of any psionic energy. The veins' "blood"—the flow of psionic energy—was intermittent, like a blood vessel severely clotted.

Even more disturbingly, Karen saw artificial installations.

Instead of a traditional dwarven forge or mine entrance, there were some... unfamiliar, cult-style mechanical structures.

A silver-gray metal tower stood atop a key ore vein node, its top adorned with rotating detection artifacts. Thick pipes extended from the tower's base, piercing the depths of the vein, their surfaces shimmering with dark red runes—runes of the same origin as the energy contaminated by the remnants of the spirit realm. Small, spider-like machines crawled across the vein's surface, drilling holes in the crystals with sharp bits and inserting tiny probes.

All of these facilities are continuously extracting psionic energy from the veins. Although Karen's psionic vision has been greatly weakened due to previous depletion, she can still "see" the extracted psionic energy flowing along the pipes and probes in a unified, concealed direction.

"The Order..." Karen clenched her fist. "They've already infiltrated this place."

"And it's infiltrated very deeply," Shadow added. "These facilities weren't built in a day. It took at least six months of continuous construction, and it required cooperation from within the dwarves—otherwise, it would have been impossible to make such a big fuss in such an important mining area right under the nose of the dwarven royal court."

Grom's face grew even more grim. "I've only been gone for three years... how could Ironforge have become like this in just three years..."

The Narwhale eventually landed on the airport platform.

The platform was built on a relatively flat ridge, protected by thick stone walls patrolled by dwarven soldiers. However, the soldiers were few in number, their armor worn and old, many with visibly damaged equipment. Their morale was also low; their eyes were unfocused, and they moved with sluggish steps, completely unlike the elite dwarven warriors Karen had imagined.

Even more strangely, when the Narwhale landed, the soldiers did not come forward to inspect or greet it. They just glanced at it from a distance and continued their perfunctory patrol, as if they had no interest in this airship that was clearly not on a regular trade route.

"Something's not right." The captain also came down from the bridge. He frowned as he looked at the soldiers. "Ironforge's airport is always strictly managed. Any foreign airship must undergo detailed inspection and registration. Now this... it's like an abandoned, unattended port."

"Because the real power has been diverted to the interior." A voice came from the platform entrance.

The crowd turned and saw a dwarf soldier—or rather, an old dwarf in tattered armor, leaning on a cane, with a noticeable disability in his left leg—limping toward them. He looked at least three hundred years old, with a tangled, gray beard and a face covered in scars and wrinkles, but his eyes were still sharp.

The old dwarf walked up to the Cloud Whale, looked up at the ship's markings, then at the people on the deck, and finally fixed his gaze on Grom.

"Grom Anvil," the old dwarf spoke, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping, "you're finally back."

Grom's body visibly stiffened. He stared at the old dwarf for a few seconds, then said incredulously, "Bran? Is that you, Bran? Your legs... what are you doing guarding the airport? You're the vice-captain of the Royal Guard!"

"I used to be." The old dwarf named Bran gave a bitter smile. "After you were branded a traitor and stole the relic fragments to escape, everyone connected to you was implicated. I was relieved of my post, had one leg broken, and was relegated to guard the airport—the most insignificant post in Ironforge."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Karen and the others, especially Xiguang in Karen's arms and the shadow on her shoulder.

"These are your... friends?" Bran asked, his tone ambiguous, neither sarcastic nor genuinely inquiring.

“Yes,” Grom said firmly. “They’ve helped me a lot. We also know the current situation in Ironforge… Bran, what exactly happened? How could the Royal Court allow the Order to build those… those energy extraction devices on the mines?”

Bran's expression turned serious. He glanced around to make sure no other soldiers were nearby, then lowered his voice: "This isn't the place to talk. Come with me to my duty room. I have something to show you—and some things to tell you."

He turned and, leaning on his cane, walked toward a stone house at the edge of the platform. The stone house was small and looked like it had been built temporarily; there were cracks in the walls and the roof tiles were incomplete.

Grom looked at Karen.

Karen nodded.

The group followed Bran into the stone house.

The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a bed, a table, two chairs, and a fireplace with a faint flame. Bran closed the door, checked through the window to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then turned and dragged a heavy iron box from under the bed.

He opened the iron box, and inside were not gold and silver treasures, but a pile of documents, blueprints, and some small mechanical parts.

"These are the pieces of evidence I've secretly collected over the past three years," Bran's voice deepened. "They concern the collaboration between the High Tinker and the Azureflame Order, the truth about the Forge Soul's energy being siphoned off, and... the King's current condition."

He picked up a drawing and spread it on the table.

It was a detailed cross-sectional diagram of Ironforge's internal structure, marking the functions of each area and the direction of psionic energy flow. However, the diagram contained dozens of "anomaly nodes" marked in red ink, each node connected by a red line, all converging at one point—

"The Deepfire Mines." Grom stared at the convergence point, his voice trembling. "That's Ironforge's oldest and deepest mine, said to reach the Earth's core. But it was sealed off three hundred years ago due to excessive temperatures and psionic surges. What... what did they do there?"

"We've built 'Psionic Siphon Devices'," Bran said, pointing to the markings on the blueprints. "At least ten units, each capable of drawing energy from a direct branch of the Soul of the Forge. The drawn energy is transported through underground pipes to... an unknown destination. I tried to trace the pipes, but all of them disappear after entering the 'Forbidden Zone.' There are powerful members of the Order guarding that area; I can't get in."

He picked up several more documents: "These are material dispatch records. The Grand Craftsman, under the guise of 'furnace maintenance' and 'energy system upgrade,' transferred a large amount of rare materials and psionic crystals from the Royal Treasury. But according to my calculations, the amount of those materials used far exceeded the needs of maintenance or upgrades. What's even more suspicious is that at least 30% of the materials are not the type that dwarven craftsmen would use at all—those are materials specifically for the Order's psionic machinery."

Finally, Bran produced a small, disassembled mechanical part. It was a complex gear set, its surface covered with dark red runes, with a small, pulsating black crystal fragment embedded in its center.

Karen's heart skipped a beat the moment she saw the crystal fragment.

Although it was small, and although it was encased in layers of mechanical structures, that familiar feeling...

"Remnants of the spirit world..." Karen murmured, "exactly the same as those in the Emerald Forest... only much smaller..."

Bran looked at Karen: "You know this thing?"

“We know,” Karen nodded. “We just dealt with a much larger one in the Emerald Forest. It was spectral debris, fragments that fell when the two worlds collided. It corrupts everything, devours psionic energy, and twists life.”

Bran's face turned pale: "So... the Order is using this thing... to extract energy from the Soul of the Forge? Why? What are they trying to do?"

"I don't know," Karen shook her head, "but it's definitely not a good thing. We have to stop them."

Bran remained silent for a long time. He looked at Grom, then at Karen, and finally took a deep breath.

"I can help you get into Ironforge," he said, "but on one condition."

"What are the conditions?" Grom asked.

"If you find the truth... if you have a way to save the Soul of the Forge..." Bran stared into Grom's eyes, "You must step forward. You must clear your name of the traitorous charges, you must take on the responsibility of the 'Forge Master.' Ironforge needs a true leader, not a High Tinker controlled by the Order, nor... that king who has lost himself."

Grom clenched his fist.

He could sense that this was a heavy promise.

A promise that could change his life.

But looking at Bran's expectant eyes, at the shocking evidence on the table, and at the decaying Soulforging Volcano outside the window...

Grom nodded.

I promise you.

Outside the stone house, a scorching wind swept across the airport platform, stirring up ashes from the ground.

In the distance, the Soul Forging Volcano erupted violently once again.

Dark red lava shot into the sky and then fell like blood rain.

It looks like she's crying.

It was as if it were issuing a final warning.