Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

Chapter 512 The Indigenous God of Resentment

The illusion of history gradually fades, and Ron returns to reality.

The slag had completely melted, revealing the intact rune circuits underneath.

But he became somewhat absent-minded.

"A hierarchical society entirely based on metal-like magic."

He continued working, but the scene he had just witnessed kept replaying in his mind.

A few hours later, while dealing with the tin dust, Ron once again activated his Historical Research skill.

This time, he "fell" into a completely different world—the depths of the bottom city.

There was no splendor or magnificence of the upper town here, only endless darkness and despair.

In the vast underground space, countless "coal smoke workers" toil among the dimly lit industrial facilities.

Their bodies developed various ailments due to prolonged exposure to industrial waste; their skin turned an unhealthy gray, and their eyes were filled with exhaustion.

Ron "felt" the painful experience of being a "tin-eyed" person.

In order to hear instructions clearly in the noisy factory environment, this young man named Clough burned an excessive amount of tin metal to enhance his hearing.

Now he can hear every sound within a radius of several kilometers.

The sounds of laughter and chatter from the upper class, the crying of the neighbor's child, and even the scurrying of mice in the cracks of the wall.

This extraordinary hearing brings not an advantage, but endless torment.

Every sound in the world was amplified infinitely, making it impossible for Clough to fall asleep, concentrate, or even communicate normally with others.

But what was most painful was that he could clearly hear the conversations of the nobles coming from the upper town:

"Those insects in the bottom city are crying again, how noisy."

"Ignore them. The insects' cries are never important. What matters is whether tomorrow's production will meet the target."

Clough's heart burned with rage, but he could only bury it deep within.

Ron continues to "experience" this history.

He "saw" the daily lives of the workers in the bottom city.

They work sixteen hours a day, and their only food consists of nutritional paste and liquid purified from industrial wastewater.

From birth, the children are assigned to different "metal squads" and are forcibly transformed into "bronze arms," ​​"iron legs," or "tin eyes" based on their talents.

But he also "saw" a spark of hope.

In a secluded underground gathering, the leader of the resistance—an old man with a bronze arm named Sally—is demonstrating to the crowd the mysterious technology he obtained from extraterrestrial visitors.

"Fellow countrymen!" Sally held up a strange device emitting a blue light:
"This mysterious wizard from a distant world has brought us hope in our fight against the nobles!"

A long-suppressed excitement erupted from the crowd.

Ron recognized the device at a glance.
That was some kind of energy converter that Vinard made, capable of turning industrial waste into usable energy.

"We no longer need to beg for the favors of the nobles!"

Sally's voice echoed in the underground space: "We can create our own weapons and establish our own order!"

But Ron also "senses" the fear in the crowd.

Everyone knows what the price of resistance is.

Historically, every uprising has ended in bloody suppression, and the families of the rebels have also been implicated.

However, despair has surpassed fear.

"For our children!" a mother with tin eyes cried out in a trembling voice:
"So that they will not repeat our fate!"

"For those brothers and sisters who have already died before the furnace!" another voice rang out:
"For the dignity that has been trampled upon for centuries!"

The historical images gradually blurred, and Ron returned to reality.

The tin dust in his hands had been completely removed, but his mood became even heavier.

"Great Wizard Vinard. So this is your plan to conquer another world."

He recalled Cassandra's earlier mention of "big moves" and now finally understood what it meant.

Once the surrounding contaminants were cleared away one by one, the scene at the center of the Starforged Titan's foot was fully revealed to Ron.

It was a vast black tar lake.

Tar has a deep, dark color that absorbs light.

The occasional dark gold spots on its surface are remnants of incompletely fused blast furnace slag;

Those flickering silver specks, like fireflies, are fragments of spiritual energy contained within the dust of the tin body.

Most disturbingly, there were the occasional faint sounds coming from deep within the tar.

The clanging of metal, the groans of the dying, and the distant echoes of war drums.

These sounds overlapped and intertwined, forming a discordant symphony about death and hatred.

Ron stood at the edge of this "liquid tomb," already having a rough idea of ​​what he would see next.

Having read the historical information twice before, he now clearly knew what lay buried beneath this filth.

A world of class hatred, a meticulously planned rebellion, and the joys and sorrows of countless people who perished in the conflict.

“Those sounds… are not simply residual energy.”

Ron listened intently to the strange noises emanating from the depths of the tar. His [Spirit Realm Perception] allowed him to "see" the essence behind those sounds:

"This is the resentment of the dead, the unresolved obsession, and... the weeping of history itself."

He carefully took a specially made energy tweezer from the toolbox; it was a precision tool specifically designed to deal with mental pollution.

The tips of the tweezers are inlaid with miniature purifying crystals, enabling them to convert energy in real time upon contact with the source of pollution.

The moment the tweezers touched the surface of the tar, [Spiritual Perception] was triggered.

Ron's consciousness was swallowed up by a giant wave, plunging into a historical scene filled with bloodshed and despair...

He was “standing” on the edge of a huge open-pit mine.

This is a tar mine.

The sky was a sickly yellowish-green, and the two stars were obscured by thick industrial smog, only able to emit a faint blood-red glow.

The mine extends downwards like a wound in the earth, and from the bottomless dark abyss, the sounds of metal clashing and machinery roaring can be heard from time to time.

At this moment, a tragic uprising is unfolding here.

Tens of thousands of "coal smoke workers" flocked from all directions to the fortified complex surrounding the mine.

Their weapons were a motley collection—modified industrial tools, hastily forged swords and knives, and even steel pipes and iron bars that were taken off machines by hand.

The same flame burned on everyone's face: anger born of despair.

"So that we no longer have to live on our knees!"

A mining leader with a bronze prosthetic eye embedded in his forehead raises his arms high:
"So that our children can hold their heads high and be proud of themselves!"

"Overthrow the vampires' rule!"

"Take back the tar that belongs to us!"

The shouts of tens of thousands of people converged into a thunderous roar, and even the earth trembled in this rage.

But the enemy they faced was equally formidable.

The private soldiers of the "blast furnace nobles" guarding the mine are already on high alert.

Those elite warriors, known as "Single Gold Warriors," wore heavy armor made of pure gold, each radiating a scorching aura like a furnace.

Even more terrifying were the three "All-Gold Warriors" standing in front of them—the highest fighting force among the blast furnace nobles.

These beings have completely replaced their flesh and blood with active metals.

They are no longer human beings, but killing machines created for the purpose of war.

The battle began with an overwhelming disadvantage.

The weapons of ordinary miners are like toys in front of the metal armor of the "Single Goldsmith".

Each time "All-Golden Warrior" makes a move, he can easily take away dozens of lives.

Ron "saw" the most horrific scene on the battlefield:
A young "copper arm" miner attempts to attack a "full goldsmith" with a modified steam hammer.

But the other party simply waved his hand casually, and the young man's body was torn to pieces by the iron storm.

"This is the difference between the noble and the lowly."

The "all-golden man" coldly stared at the bloodstains on the ground:
"An insect will always be an insect; no matter how much it struggles, it can never change its nature."

Just as the rebel army was about to collapse completely, some strange figures appeared on the battlefield.

They were a group of mysterious warriors that Ron had never seen before.

Their bodies have also undergone metallization modifications.

However, instead of the pure metals used by nobles, they used a dark alloy that exuded an ominous aura.

“Resentment Gold.” Ron deduced the essence of this material through historical information.

These warriors were forged from metal fueled by resentment and despair. Though their quality was far inferior to the pure gold equipment of nobles, they contained a far more terrifying power.

That was a destructive energy that could rival the "All-Golden Warrior".

"Bros!"

The leader of the "Gold-Worshipping Warriors" raised a warhammer forged from black metal:
"Let these vampires taste our suffering!"

The tide of battle turned in an instant.

Although "resentful gold" is not as strong as pure gold in terms of physical properties, the contamination it carries leaves even the "pure gold warriors" helpless.

Every time weapons collide, they leave an indelible "scar of resentment" on the metal surface.

Most importantly, the "Gold-gatherers" seem to possess some kind of special ability.

They can "hear" the voices of their fallen comrades and translate those voices into actual combat bonuses.

With each additional death on the battlefield, they become stronger.

Suddenly, Ron "heard" a conversation containing crucial information.

A severely wounded "All-Gold Warrior" howled desperately at the sky and the earth:

"Steel Soul! Iron Heart! Why have you betrayed your people!"

"We gave everything! Our flesh and blood, our souls, and even our dignity as human beings!"

"Why did the gift disappear when we needed it most?"

These words gave Ron pause for thought.

Based on this, there must be some indigenous gods in this world.

The reason those blast furnace nobles were able to control the power of metal was not entirely due to technology, but rather through a contractual relationship with the indigenous gods. Otherwise, these so-called "all-metal warriors," although their strength appeared to be quite considerable...

However, even the strongest leaders are only equivalent to the Dawn Star level, and even then, they are among the weaker Dawn Star level leaders.

Even if there are still hidden powerhouses, they shouldn't have reached the Dark Sun level...

But judging from Vinard's appearance, he only dared to carry out some covert operations, clearly showing that he was very afraid of these native gods.

The illusion of history began to dissipate, and Ron's consciousness returned to reality.

The energy tweezers in my hand are still working, and a small area on the surface of the tar has been cleaned.

But more questions churned in his mind:

What role does Vinard actually play in this world?
What exactly are those mysterious "Steel Souls" and "Iron Hearts"?
Since the feet of the "Starforged Titans" were tainted with these contaminants, the fate of both sides in this uprising was already self-evident.

So why did Vinard specifically ask himself to clean up this pollution?

Just as he was lost in thought, Vinard's voice came through the communicator:
"It looks like you've made contact with the 'core area'."

There was a hint of satisfaction in his tone:

"Tell me, Ralph, what did you see in those lingering memories?"

This question set off alarm bells in Ron's mind.

Vinard clearly knew all along that these pollutants contained historical information, and may even have deliberately arranged for him to conduct this "observation".

but why?
“An uprising, a suppression, and…” Ron carefully chose his words:

"Some power systems that I cannot fully understand."

“Very good.” Vinard’s voice revealed approval:

"What you see is a display of the results of my 'Experimental Zone No. 1'."

The following explanation made Ron fully understand how terrifying this great wizard was:
“I simply gave those ‘coal smoke workers’ some technical assistance they could never have dreamed of, as well as a few key ‘resentment money’ samples.”

"Then they put on a perfect 'stress test' for me."

It not only clearly identified the local power structure but also eliminated the most threatening elite groups on both sides.

Vinard's voice became deeper:

"This world has far greater potential than I initially assessed, but it is also far more dangerous."

"Those so-called 'Soul of Steel' and 'Heart of Iron' are very likely to be the native concept gods of this plane."

They gain real-world influence through contracts with intelligent beings.

"It would be unwise to launch a full-scale conquest before fully understanding their nature and weaknesses."

"So, that mine became my bridgehead and laboratory."

Communication was temporarily interrupted, giving Ron time to think.

But soon, Vinard's voice rang out again, this time with a hint of expectation:

"Now, I'd like to know your analysis of this situation."

"If it were you, how would you handle the issue of contact with 'indigenous gods'?"

This question caused Ron to put down all the tools in his hands.

He realized that this "cleaning job" was not a punishment from the beginning, but a carefully designed test.

Vinard was testing his observation skills, analytical skills, and—strategic thinking.

Ron did not rush to answer Vinard's question.

He remained silent for nearly a minute, his eyes slowly moving in the darkness as he pondered this seemingly simple yet all-encompassing strategic problem.

Finally, he spoke, but his first words surprised Vinard:
Before answering that question, I'd like to ask you a question first—what do you think 'God' is?

The mechanical puppet leaned back slightly, and the sensors flashed a few times:
How is this question relevant to the current discussion?

"There is a strong connection."

Ron's tone took on the familiar Riddler's hue:

“If we define ‘God’ as an existence that transcends the laws of physics, then contact with Him is impossible—because we ourselves are bound by the laws of physics.”

"But if we define 'God' as a highly conceptual set of rules, then they become... vulnerable."

This line of reasoning reminded Vinard of a certain annoying guy who was always tripping him up.

He urged with great interest, "Continue."

Ron nodded:

"Your experiments on the Stoker Star have actually confirmed a key hypothesis: the power of those 'native gods' comes from the faith and contractual relationship of their believers."

"When the blast furnace nobles cried out for the 'soul of steel' and the 'heart of iron' in defeat, they actually exposed a fatal weakness: they needed to be believed in order to exist."

Vinard's robotic arm stopped moving: "You mean, the native gods are dependent on you?"

"It's not just about dependency."

Ron recalled some secret knowledge that Yutel had imparted to him before his departure:
"More accurately, it is an 'existential paradox'."

"In fact, there are many such examples. Even our wizard civilization encountered a similar situation in the early days of the main world."

The more powerful these indigenous gods are, the more believers they need to maintain that power;

But the more believers there are, the easier it is for their power to be diluted, misunderstood, and transformed.

"Just like what happened on the Stoker's Star—when the 'Ghost Gold Warriors' started using weapons forged from resentment, they were actually creating a new concept of metal."

“These new concepts conflict with the traditional ‘Soul of Steel’ and weaken the original foundation of the god’s power.”

Vinard finally understood the brilliance of Ron's thinking:
"So you believe that the most effective way to deal with the native gods is not through direct confrontation, but rather..."

“Pollution,” Ron answered.

“We don’t need to destroy them, we just need to… transform them.”

His voice became calmer, but the danger it contained was chilling:

"Inject new elements into the belief system, so that the original divinity can gradually transform into the form we need."

"The advantage of this approach is that we will not incite a religious war at the level of a civilization."

Because, in the eyes of most believers, God still exists; only the way He 'manifests' has changed.

"What are the specific implementation plans?"

Ron took out a soul energy crystal from his storage bag, letting the purple light flow between his fingers:
"Three-step strategy".

"Step 1: Concept Penetration."

Through technical assistance, cultural exchanges, and other means, new metal concepts are introduced to the target civilization.

For example, 'the gold of wisdom,' 'the steel of progress,' and 'the iron of harmony,' etc.

"Step Two: Faith Integration."

We do not deny the original 'Soul of Steel' and 'Heart of Iron,' but rather claim that the new concepts we bring are their 'evolutionary form' or 'awakened state.'

"Step 3: Concept replacement."

As the old and new concepts fully integrate, the influence of the new concepts gradually strengthens until they completely replace the original divine characteristics.

As he said this, a mischievous glint flashed in his eyes:
"By then, the 'Soul of Steel' will still be the 'Soul of Steel,' but its concern will no longer be the interests of the Stoker Star itself, but the prosperity of the entire wizarding civilization."

"This is true 'conquest'—not destroying the other side, but making them willingly serve us."

Vinard fell into a long silence.

When he spoke again, his voice contained both admiration and something akin to awe:

"Your line of thinking... is extremely dangerous, but also exceptionally ingenious."

"If this method is successfully implemented, its efficiency will far exceed my original plan of dividing and disintegrating the civilization, and it will hardly generate long-term resistance from the civilization."

His robotic arm drew an upward arc in the air:
"But have you considered the risks? Pollution is a double-edged sword. While we are transforming the other side, we may also be transformed by it."

This question touched upon the core difficulty of the solution, but Ron was clearly prepared:

"This is the biggest challenge. We need a complete cognitive 'firewall' to ensure that our operators are not infected by the target."

"Moreover, this risk itself can also be exploited."

His voice carried an absurdist philosophical tone:

"If we can create some 'bait'—ideas that seem valuable but are actually traps—we can make the gods who try to infect us fall into our trap instead."

"Use the opponent's aggressive desires to complete the final transformation of them."

Vinard's entire mechanical body was still, with only the core energy crystal pulsating slowly.

After a long silence, he finally let out a sound that was almost a sigh, in an electronic voice:
"Now I understand why that awful guy chose you."

"This way of thinking...is not simply wisdom or cunning, but a profound insight into the essence of reality."

His voice became more solemn:

“Ralph, I am now formally inviting you to join me as a developer on the Stoves Star project.”

The weight of this invitation made the air in the room feel heavy.

Ron knew exactly what being a developer meant.

Vinard has begun to treat him as a real partner, not just an apprentice who comes to work for him.

But Ron's answer was unexpected once again:

“I am honored, Professor Vinard.”

But before accepting this invitation, I'd like to confirm one detail.

"explain."

"You just mentioned the two-way risk of pollution, which reminds me of another issue."

"If our plan succeeds, we will transform the native gods of the Stoker planet into beings that serve the wizarding civilization."

So, what is our relationship with these 'new gods'—are we tools and users, or...?

He posed another question, seemingly alluding to something: "Mutual symbiosis, or even... mutual erosion?"

This question even caused sparks to fly from the puppet controlled by Vinard.

It touches upon the core paradox of the entire colonial strategy:
When you successfully transform your opponent, is your opponent still the same opponent?

When you establish a deep connection with the conquered, is the conqueror still the same conqueror?
In the end, who conquered whom?
Vinard remained silent for a longer period.

When he spoke again, his voice carried a clear hint of hesitation:

"Perhaps... this is exactly why I need you."

(End of this chapter)