Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

Two days later.

"Click—"

The metal magic box opened layer by layer in front of Dago like a flower, the precise mechanical meshing sound particularly jarring in the deathly silent ruins.

The white light emanating from within dissipated, revealing not a pure flow of energy, but a dark green, foul-smelling gas that had been sealed under high pressure for thousands of years, hissing and corrosive as it rapidly emerged.

"Bang!"

Dago's mental energy spread out, not as a simple defense, but to instantly construct a high-frequency oscillating repulsive barrier.

Mental energy compresses the air, creating visible ripples that instantly disperse the released gas.

A strong wind swept through, carrying toxins powerful enough to cause ordinary creatures to rot instantly, and in a flash swept away the odor, leaving only a faint acidic smell in the air.

After doing all this, look at the magic box again, and it's completely empty.

Judging from the appearance, the box originally contained that nauseating, foul-smelling gas, perhaps a failed sample from some ancient biochemical experiment, or perhaps simply a malicious trap.

Dago remained calm, his sorcerer-like indifference making him appear like an emotionless statue.

He casually tossed a golden gear and a few pieces of metal to Brontë III, his movements as practiced as feeding a domesticated hound.

It's hard to say whether I'm disappointed or not. On the path of truth in the wizarding world, failure is also a stepping stone to success.

In the past two days, through Brontë III, he has found a total of seven magic boxes.

He also gained a deeper understanding of the meaning of the word "surprise" in the Surprise Box—it was the mockery of later generations by ancient mechanical civilization, and also a cruel selection mechanism.

Besides the magic box in front of him that contained an unknown foul odor, he also found all sorts of bizarre "garbage" inside the opened box.

The dried excrement of the unidentified creature, after elemental analysis by Dago, surprisingly contained trace amounts of high-energy radiation, indicating that the excretor had a powerful life level in life.

The specimen of that unknown insect-like magical beast still bore the grotesque features of its death on its limbs, and the hardness of its carapace was even enough to deflect low-level wind blades.

There were even completely empty magic boxes, containing only a trace of energy that had dissipated over time.

In comparison, the "invisibility potion" in the first magic box was actually the most valuable find.

For Dago, who currently lacks any trump cards to protect himself, this is undoubtedly a crucial trump card for a critical moment.

Then there are a few runes of relatively low quality, inscribed with long-lost mechanical logic circuits.

And a low-level divination spell called—[Arcane Divination].

This is an extremely obscure spell. Even in the wizarding world, divination often means profound mystery and a huge price to pay.

It took Dago a day and a half to successfully learn the basics of magic.

During this time, he endured the severe headaches caused by the depletion of his mental energy, and forcibly constructed that distorted and complex spell model in his sea of ​​consciousness.

The effect of its application is to condense free energy particles in the air into abstract symbols of unknown meaning.

The symbols danced in mid-air, like living dust particles, arranging and combining to create a kind of chaotic revelation.

For now, he hasn't felt any effect; those symbols seem more like the babbling of spirits to Dago.

Perhaps when one becomes more proficient, or even when one's mental strength undergoes a qualitative change, new changes may occur, such as glimpsing a tributary of the river of fate.

"These magic boxes are actually divided into different grades?"

Dargo didn't rush to have Brontë III continue the search. Instead, he lined up all the opened Pandora's Boxes in front of him.

He activated the microscopic perception state of the "Eye of Truth," his gaze penetrating the surface of the metal to reach its internal structure.

A close look at the appearance of these magic boxes reveals subtle differences, which are differences in manufacturing processes at the micrometer level.

For example, the number of gears on it and the tightness of their meshing.

The way the gears are arranged follows a certain chaotic mechanical aesthetic.

Even the size of the magic box, and the magical patterns that spread across the metal surface like blood vessels.

The sample size is still too small to categorize the Magic Boxes based on these subtle differences and thus deduce the packaging logic of the ancient dwarf civilization.

This is due to a lack of big data, a fog obscuring the truth.

After thinking for a moment, Dargo turned to Brontë III for more in-depth "communication".

He crouched down, looking directly at the strangely shaped creature. His mental energy was no longer oppressive, but rather soothing and guiding.

"Large...the exterior design should be as luxurious and exquisite as possible."

Dago's voice was deep and had a strange rhythm, a low-level suggestion technique that wizards used to enslave familiars.

He didn't know if Brontë III's little goat brain could understand what he meant, after all, it wasn't an intelligent being, but merely a product of certain rules.

The target he set for Brontë III was merely a very subjective and crude judgment of the rarity of the Magic Box.

In this uncharted territory, intuition is sometimes more effective than data.

Brontë III ate Dargo's "metallic feed" for several days, which was mixed with Dargo's specially made psychotropic drugs.

He had raised it to a high degree of familiarity, and its craving for high-purity metals overwhelmed its instinctive fear.

After receiving the command, it let out a "meow," the sound echoing eerily in the empty ruins.

It quickly dashed off, its four hooves striking the metal ground with a crisp rhythm.

Dago exhaled a breath of stale air, which seemed to carry the smell of rust.

He patiently followed behind, his figure moving like a ghost through the shadows of the ruins.

His communication with Brontë III seemed to be effective, or rather, the creature's innate greed drove it to seek a higher-level energy source.

This time, Brontë III ran for a long time, passing through countless collapsed mechanical towers and broken metal bridges, without showing any sign of stopping.

The surrounding environment began to change; the originally dull metallic color began to deepen, and the magnetic field in the air became violent.

Dago felt a slight stinging sensation on his skin, which was caused by free energy particles rubbing against his protective force field.

The thick, reddish-brown metallic fog that had been hanging over the ruined city gradually dissipated. It wasn't fog, but countless tiny metallic particles suspended in the air.

Soon, Dago saw the outline of an incredibly huge building in the distance, like an ancient behemoth sleeping at the end of time.

.......

It was a metal statue that was probably over a thousand meters tall.

It stands there like a backbone supporting the heavens and the earth, making people look up at it and feel insignificant.

The statue depicts a dwarf with thick limbs and a majestic appearance.

But this is no ordinary creature; its exaggerated muscle lines are a perfect embodiment of mechanics and power.

Holding an axe in one hand, the blade of that giant axe, even after ten thousand years, still exudes a chilling light that makes one's heart tremble, as if it could cleave through the void.

He held a hammer in one hand, the hammerhead engraved with intricate runes, from which one could vaguely hear the rumble of thunder.

His thick beard hung down to his feet, each hair made of an unknown alloy, tough and sharp.

The entire statue appears to be cast entirely from gold, which is not just a precious metal, but more like a high-grade alchemical alloy.

Although the luster of the body has become somewhat dull under the erosion of time, obscured by thick dust and the rust of years.

But it is still awe-inspiring to look at, with an ancient and overwhelming sense of pressure that is visually striking.

Dago stared intently at the statue, his pupils slightly contracting.

In his spiritual perception, the statue was not an inanimate object; there seemed to be some kind of stagnant energy circulation flowing inside it.

So much so that he forgot to search for Brontë III, all his attention drawn to the wonders of this civilization.

This is the wizard's instinctive yearning for the unknown, a silent tribute to powerful forces.

So he simply stopped looking for it, since that guy had made a temporary mental contract with him and would come back to him once he found the magic box.

Dago lowered his gaze, his eyes sweeping over the statue's massive base.

Beneath the statue lies a vast metal plaza, smooth as a mirror, yet marked by the ravages of time.

Many metal square towers stand in the square, like silent tombstones or some kind of ancient array, guarding the giant in the center.

Each stone tablet flickered with a faint red light, a warning, but also a trap.

He spent two days with Brontë III wandering through the abandoned city-state of the Mechanical Heart, where every inch of the land held secrets.

The mechanical heart is so large that it inspires despair, as if it were an independent demiplane.

But now he seems to be getting close to the true center of this magnificent city-state, the legendary core hub that controls the entire mechanical civilization.

This area is teeming with wandering metallic life forms, no longer the rigid patrollers found on the outskirts.

Thick, reddish-brown clouds, gathered but not dispersed, are visible everywhere; they are the energy fields generated by their aggregation.

These elements have various life forms, some like flowing liquid metal, and others like thorny steel brambles.

However, after a few days, through calm observation and countless probes, Dago also figured out the habits of these metallic elemental life forms.

This is the power of knowledge: by analyzing patterns, danger can be reduced to a controllable level.

Generally speaking, they don't roam very far, as if they are locked onto fixed patrol routes by some kind of predetermined program.

As long as you don't trespass into their "territory" and cross that invisible warning line, you won't provoke their attack.

This is a mechanical form of ecological balance.

Overall, the Mechanical Heart Ruins are not particularly dangerous, but this is only superficial, or perhaps only to those who understand the rules.

Throughout his exploration, the first headless metal golem he encountered, wielding a hammer, turned out to be the most "dangerous" opponent he had ever faced.