Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

Chapter 552 A Thousand Years of Scandalous History
Before embarking on any technological endeavors, Ron made a crucial decision:
He must first understand the true source of this resentment.

Viewing it merely as a "negative energy" is the mindset of engineers.

However, as a historian and a future ancient alchemist, he must explore the "story" behind it.

He gently closed his eyes, letting his consciousness brush over the "silent mineral salt" as lightly as a feather.

【Deep Echoes】—This is a precious trait gained after advancing the Historical Research skill to the "Proficient" level. It allows you to read the time imprints sealed within materials and recreate historical fragments they experienced.

When his mental energy touched the surface of the ore, Ron felt a tremendous attraction, like the gaping maw of an abyss, fiercely devouring his consciousness!
To be precise, his perception of the "present" was swept away by a mighty historical torrent, like a fragile sandcastle crumbling in the face of raging waves.

Ron felt himself falling.

Traveling through the long river of time, crossing the rifts of years, we finally fall into an ancient era filled with stench and malice.

He became a ghost, a historical ghost forced to witness everything yet powerless to change it.

The first thing that catches the eye is a majestic altar carved from pure mineral salt.

Every carving on the altar is precise to the millimeter, showcasing construction techniques far exceeding contemporary standards.

The enormous floating stone pillars around him were all suspended in mid-air, maintaining their balance according to some principle that Ron couldn't understand at all.

Such a scale of construction and level of technology would be considered a wonder even in the wizarding civilization of the main world.

However, what truly made him uncomfortable was the "road" beneath the ruler's feet.

An indigenous ruler, clad in a magnificent sacrificial robe, is slowly ascending to the highest level of the altar, treading a path of flesh and blood paved with living people.

The carpet beneath his feet was by no means a precious one.

Those were hundreds or thousands of lowly slave laborers.

They lay prostrate, facing the earth, motionless.

They used their backs to pave a road straight to the altar for the rulers.

Whenever the ruler's boots trod on the heads and backs of these slaves, a series of cracking sounds would be heard, like the low groans of a broken bellows.

What's even more terrifying is yet to come.

When these slave laborers were brutally trampled on, what appeared in their eyes was not hatred.

Instead, it is a numb, even somewhat "glorious" fanatical belief.

They have been so thoroughly domesticated that they regard their suffering as a devout offering to the gods.

The priests' chanting echoed in the air:

"Using oneself as a stepping stone, one can receive the divine footsteps;

Using bones as a path, paving the way to heaven;
Dust to dust, yet eternal life;
Suffering is joy, death is glory.

This poem is recited in the ancient fire-breathing language, with each syllable carrying a hypnotic rhythm.

Ron could sense the implication within it.

This spiritual poison is more entrenched than any shackle, having long since eradicated the seeds of rebellion from their souls.

The historical perspective shifts like a dream.

He found himself in the deepest part of the mine, surrounded by furnaces that burned like magma, the air thick with the mixed smell of sulfur and blood.

In this hellish environment, he witnessed the ultimate display of human depravity.

A "Stoneborn" overseer, according to the hierarchy, was only one rank higher than the slaves themselves.
The foreman was waving a piece of moldy, black bread in front of several hungry miners:

"Want it? It's simple, just push that old good-for-nothing down there."

He pointed to a hunched figure not far away.

That was an old man of "fire lineage".

Because of working near the furnace for many years, his skin has been burned beyond recognition by the high temperature.

He was struggling to drag a cart of ore, panting with every step.

Hunger breaks reason.

Several young miners exchanged a glance, then rushed forward.

The old man didn't even have time to scream before he was pushed into a deep pit next to him, where lava was churning.

In the firelight, Ron could see the expressions on the young miners' faces.

A numbness tinged with a hint of satisfaction, as if what had just been pushed away wasn't a fellow human being, but merely an inconvenient tool.

In another corner of the mine, a group of Fireborn were surrounding a Dustborn child.

The child looked no more than seven or eight years old, and was so thin that he was just skin and bones.

"Come on, let me see what this little good-for-nothing can do."

The leader of the fire-born laughed loudly and stomped on the child's right arm, breaking it.

One of the fire-born said with a sinister grin:

"I wonder if this little beast can move ore with its teeth."

The child's piercing cries echoed deep within the mine, but the slave laborers around him wore expressions of morbid excitement.

In this utterly distorted world, the only source of happiness is bullying those weaker than oneself.

【Triple Undesirable Status】—Ron understood the viciousness of this system.

The "Stone Descendants" are in charge of mining and hold the highest position, allowing them to oppress the other two classes.

The "Fireborn" are in charge of smelting and hold a middle position.

The "Dust Descendants" are the lowest of the low, who handle waste and corpses.

This division is passed down through generations, like a blood curse that cannot be escaped.

Even more insidious was the strict prohibition against marriage between people of different social classes, and even basic social interactions were restricted.

This is to solidify social hierarchy and extinguish all hope of upward mobility.

The most insidious aspect of this system lies in its "divide and rule" strategy.

Every social class has someone to bully.

Even the lowest-ranking "Dustborn" can always find someone weaker than themselves.

These slaves gain a false sense of superiority by oppressing others, thus forgetting the fact that they are also slaves.

Hatred is passed down, and suffering intensifies with each passing moment, eventually forming a closed loop.

The value of slave laborers was calculated by the rulers to an appalling degree.

How many times can one endure whipping? How many hours can one work continuously until exhaustion and death? And what kind of material can one's remains be used for after death?

Every life was reduced to a string of cold numbers, recorded in the ruler's ledger.

Before the final scene began, Ron thought he had witnessed the extreme ugliness of human nature.

Until he saw the full picture of the "revitalization" ceremony.

It was a hollow deep within the core of the mine, surrounded by hundreds of totem poles carved from human bones.

Each totem pole is inlaid with a still faintly beating heart, providing the entire space with an eerie blood-red glow.

In the very center of the cave stood an altar built of obsidian.

The indigenous priests, dressed in robes sewn from human skin, are conducting a large-scale "revitalization" ceremony.

This is by no means a simple "human sacrifice".

More accurately, it was an extremely sophisticated dark ritual made from bloody organs.

Ron watched as the priests, like the most skilled surgeons, precisely harvested organs from the still-living slaves:

Their movements were chillingly skillful, each strike precise and deadly.
First, the heart is removed while it is still beating and immediately immersed in a special preservative solution.

Next were the eyeballs, strung together with silver needles, each retaining the final look of fear before death.

Finally, the spine was peeled off segment by segment, ground together with mineral powder, and mixed with flesh and blood to be pressed into bricks.

Throughout the process, the priests were even discussing technical details:
"The fear concentration in this batch is not high enough; the torture time needs to be extended next time."

"The heart's activity has remained good, so it seems that the fasting therapy is indeed effective."

"The flexibility of the spine has decreased, which may be due to insufficient physical exertion."

They discussed these things like farmers assessing this year's harvest.

The whole process was filled with an eerie sense of order.

They chanted profound incantations, using the blood of slave laborers to draw energy-guiding runes on the mine veins that Ron had never seen before.

They were not indulging in bestial brutality; on the contrary, they were like the most meticulous alchemists.

It precisely "modulates" and "catalyzes" the concentration and "quality" of resentment.

The path of every drop of blood, the pitch and frequency of every scream, and the timing of every organ separation are all precisely calculated to serve the ultimate goal of the entire ritual.

Then, the perspective underwent a crucial shift.

Ron noticed one of the priests, who was clearly of very high status.

Carefully, a fist-sized piece of ore, radiating a deep purple light, was taken out from the core of the newly "activated" ore vein.

The surface of this ore shimmers with a liquid-like luster.

It seemed that countless tormented souls were sealed inside, and faint but clear wails could be heard from time to time.

The high priest solemnly embedded the ore into his chest.

In an instant, a terrifying energy surge erupted from his body!

The strength of this power far surpasses that of the "All-Gold Captain" that Ron had seen before.

It may even have reached a terrifying level approaching that of the Dark Sun!
Moreover, such priests are not unique in the scene.

Ron counted at least twelve priests of the same rank surrounding the altar, each with a similar core of resentment.

If these are the true high-level combat forces.

Then the overall strength of the indigenous forces will far exceed Vinard's estimates!
All these priests were simultaneously kneeling and worshipping in a certain direction deep within the mine.

There was a figure completely obscured by thick black fog.

Although he couldn't see the specific shape, the sheer pressure emanating from the figure was enough to give Ron a strong sense of crisis.

It's an instinctive fear that only arises when facing a high-ranking wizard!
Ron's consciousness snapped out of his reverie like a drowning man, and he gasped for breath.

However, what shocked him even more than the physical exhaustion was the gradual formation of a terrible suspicion in his mind:

"We were all wrong," he thought to himself.

Vinard was wrong, Alistair was wrong, Silas was wrong, everyone was wrong.

They had always believed that the resentment in the dormant salt deposits was a form of "pollution"—an unfortunate byproduct of the mining process, an obstacle that needed to be removed.

The truth is quite the opposite:
These grievances are the real "main product"!
Those seemingly precious mineral salts are nothing more than containers for cultivating resentment!
The indigenous forces have been engaged in a kind of "breeding" from the very beginning.

They irrigated this mine with the blood and tears of countless generations of slave laborers, allowing their resentment to ferment, concentrate, and sublimate like aged wine.

Now, this batch of "fine wine" is nearing maturity.

This is not pollution at all.

"This is 'enchantment'! A high-level soul enchantment made from blood and tears!"

The Vinard Project Team has always held the view that the native inhabitants of Stoker Star were unable to deal with the mineral salt pollution due to their outdated technology, which allowed them, the "advanced" outsiders, to reap a huge advantage.

But now it seems that this "contamination" that complements the enrichment of magic was intentionally created!

Indigenous forces not only possess a complete system for effectively utilizing it.

These resentments are even the source of their core and most powerful strength!
Ron thought of the "All-Gold Captain" who seemed to be the strongest fighting force among the natives.

Looking back now, he was most likely just a figurehead "security captain".

Moreover, it's understandable why the opponent and their "Single Gold Warrior" squad were countered by Vinard's modified "Resentful Gold".

Because this kind of "resentful gold," and the power it symbolizes, may itself be a superior application of the art of burning gold.

Vinard's ability to develop "resentful gold" based on the gold-burning technique may be guided by the rules of this world.

The true, terrifying power of the indigenous civilization, enough to threaten even the level of a great shaman, lies hidden beneath this resentful mineral vein, which is considered an "abandoned mine"!

They were never incapable of dealing with these grievances.

On the contrary, they have been carefully "raising" and "nurturing" this force, just like a farmer tending to crops with patience and meticulousness!

"The waters behind this are much deeper than Vinard imagined."

Ron took a deep breath.

He was well aware that the strategic value of this discovery might even exceed the purification plan itself.

It was enough to overturn the entire colony's understanding of Stoker Star and rewrite all strategic plans.

At the same time, he also realized the danger of this secret.

"This information must be told to Vinard in person at the most appropriate time."

Now, what he needs to do is solve the immediate "technical problems".

With this new understanding of the nature of resentment, Ron finally realized that the so-called "purification" was a complete false proposition from the very beginning.

These resentments are not "impurities" that need to be eliminated, but rather "beasts" that need to be "trained".

What he's going to do is taming!
"Acelia, please keep an eye on the outside for me and try not to disturb me for the next ten hours."

"I need to conduct some unconventional experiments."

Aseria keenly noticed the change in his tone, a somber feeling that came from having seen the truth.

"Do you need any other assistance? Nari and I, um... and now Carlos, should be able to help you in some way."

"Not for now. This stage can only be completed by me alone."

………………

The night was as dark as ink, and Ron had been sitting in front of the sand table for three hours.

The darkness in the virtual mine seemed to come alive, surging, roaring, and tearing with each of his attempts.

Those resentments, like imprisoned dragons, retaliated with the most ferocious hostility towards any outsider who tried to approach.

"The seventh attempt."

He took a deep breath and traced intricate patterns in the air with his ten fingers.

Magic flowed from his fingertips like threads, weaving into an intricate matrix of runes in the air.

The power of improvisational fugue is fully activated.

A runic matrix radiating a cold, silvery light took shape at the core of the mine.

That was the "Chapter of Purification" that he had meticulously designed over two hours.

As soon as the mother plant settled, it rapidly split and grew like a seed breaking through the soil, giving rise to hundreds of child runes in the blink of an eye.

They formed a neat array, like a knightly order clad in silver armor, and began to advance in all directions.

Each sub-rune radiates a pure light of order, attempting to forcibly bring the chaotic resentment under its rule.

At first, everything seemed to be going according to plan.

The resentment began to shrink under the light of order.

The frenzied mental fluctuations gradually subsided, and even a few strands of dark energy began to be absorbed and transformed by the sub-runes.

However, just when Ron thought he was about to succeed...

"Roar--!"

A roar that transcends a thousand years erupted from the depths of the mine!
That was the furious roar of countless souls simultaneously.

Every syllable carries blood and tears, every shout speaks of resentment.

The resentful spirits viewed these runes that attempted to "purify" them as new oppressors.

Like those overseers who wielded whips a thousand years ago, trying to erase their existence and deny their suffering.

The counterattack was swift and brutal.

Darkness surged up like a tide, quickly engulfing the "Silver Armor Knights".

The child runes shattered like paper under the onslaught of resentment, and the mother body collapsed and disintegrated under immense mental pressure.

boom--!
A violent explosion occurred in the mine.

The shockwave even broke through the limitations of the sand table, giving Ron's consciousness a jolt.

"Cough cough."

He opened his eyes, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Even though it was just a simulation, the backlash from that resentment still caused him minor psychological trauma.

It was a failure, a complete failure.

Ron wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and fell into deep thought.

Outside the window, the three stars had completely sunk, and only the faint light of the Crystal Tree still flickered in the distance.

Azalea didn't dare disturb him at all, and simply floated silently to the doorway, like a loyal guard.

The only sound in the room was his rapid breathing, interspersed with a few coughs.

"No. The method is completely wrong."

He stood up and paced slowly around the room.

Moonlight streamed through the window, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

"I'm still thinking like a watchmaker." He shook his head self-deprecatingly.
"Always thinking of replacing rusty parts with a more sophisticated set of gears, and covering up a chaotic system with more advanced rules."

He stopped and turned to stare at the still churning darkness in the sand table.

"But these resentments are not malfunctioning machines; they are the souls of the dead who have been weeping for thousands of years."

Ron closed his eyes and recalled the scenes he had seen in the historical replay:
A trampled back, stripped organs, eyeballs strung together like a necklace.
"They do not need to be 'corrected' or 'purified'."

He spoke softly, his voice tinged with pity:

"What they need is to be heard."

………………

In his next attempt, Ron adopted a completely different strategy.

He did not build any more offensive runes.

Instead, a special force field based on chord resonance is created.

The composition of this force field is extremely unique:
There was no purifying holy light, no suppressive cruelty, only three most primal emotional frequencies:
Solemn, like the silent mourning before a mass grave;
Witnessing is like a historian's solemn record when facing the truth;
Understanding is like a mother's gentle acceptance when listening to her child's cries.

This force field seemed to be saying silently:
“Your pain is real, your anger is justified, and your existence is meaningful. Tell me, what exactly have you been through?”

As this force field slowly unfolded, something wondrous happened.

They were still churning and roaring, but their hostile aggression had vanished.

It's like a prisoner who has been locked up for a thousand years suddenly discovering that the person standing outside the cell door is not a jailer, but someone willing to listen to his story.

The resentment has really started to "speak".

No, to be precise, they began to rhythmically release their mental fluctuations.

The originally chaotic flow of energy gradually formed a strange yet harmonious rhythm.

If I had to describe it, it would be like a requiem written in pain.

Some of them spoke of the exhaustion and despair of labor;
Some poured out their anger and loneliness at being betrayed by their companions;

Some cried out in despair and fear at the moment of their death.
"very good."

Ron offered a soft word of encouragement while beginning to implement the next step of the plan.

He used improvisational fugue again.

But the original rune used for this inscription was extremely simple.

There is only one word: "door".

The rune on this "gate" means "release" and "rest".

It neither forces nor commands; it simply stands there quietly, like a door that is always open.

Then, something happened that surprised even Ron.

Guided by the [Chord Resonance] force field, the letter runes of the "Gate" began to operate on their own.

It did not spawn child runes as usual.

Instead, they treated those flowing resentments themselves as "living sub-runes" that could be shaped!
Guided by the "gate," the resentful thoughts spontaneously formed energy channels.

They flowed out slowly, like wandering souls who had found their way home, in an orderly fashion, even with a sense of relief.

This process lasted a long time.

Ron is like a patient shepherd, using his force field and runes.

Guiding these souls that have been weeping for a thousand years, step by step they are led out of their prison.

(End of this chapter)