Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

Dago's eyes flickered slightly, and the metal magic puppets summoned by the [Mirror Soul] spell behind him scattered in all directions.

These puppets were not only reconnaissance tentacles, but also nodes for extending his mental power, analyzing every unusual energy fluctuation in the air for him.

Encased in the [Living Silver Ice] armor, he used the effect of [Spatial Silver Ice] to blink and move forward quickly towards the golden dwarf statue and the plaza.

Each flash is a brief deception of the laws of physics; the form is like erased data, reassembled at the next coordinate point.

In the past two days, apart from a few amazing boxes, Dargo's biggest gain was a large amount of rare metal media.

For a metal wizard, the Heart of the Machine is a treasure trove of resources, with far too many metal forgings left behind by the dwarves.

It was the remnant of an old era, and also the nourishment for new power, filled with an intoxicating, decaying aura of industry and magic.

Although the vast majority of them have been corroded by time, and even Brontë III would not bother to take a bite, the surface oxides are as thick as dead skin.

However, with a little effort, it is still possible to extract some fairly good alloys and metals from those rusted waste materials.

Dargo's rational eyes, piercing through the dust of time, gazed directly at the microscopic structure of matter.

Mental power, like a scalpel, precisely removes impurities; this is the purification of truth, the reverse operation against the increase of entropy in chaos.

Dago collected a lot of them, and selected some to mix with the original living silver ice.

Metal molecules undergo violent recombination and intercalation at the microscopic level, emitting a joyful shriek that can only be detected by the mental power of a wizard.

This caused the metal knight armor, now revitalized, to be two sizes larger, growing to nearly three meters tall, making it even more imposing and extraordinary, its style blending quite harmoniously with its surroundings.

This body is no longer a simple shield, but a mobile metal fortress, every inch of its armor plate flowing with cold, calculating killing intent.

With the advancement to a third-circle wizard imminent, upgrading one's magical medium is an urgent matter, both in terms of quality and quantity.

If he cannot complete the qualitative change of the medium, his soul will decay during the baptism of the rules of ascension due to the lack of a material anchor.

This is not just about becoming stronger; it's about survival, about not perishing halfway through the endless pursuit of truth.

For now, we can only make do with it for the time being.

The air was filled with a high concentration of metallic elements, and every breath felt like inhaling and exhaling rust and electricity.

Soon, Dago entered the metal plaza beneath the golden dwarf statue without incident.

This place seems like an altar forgotten by time, casting a huge shadow that carries the heavy oppressive feeling unique to ancient civilizations.

As soon as they landed, they saw Brontë III bent over, seemingly buried in the ground under the golden dwarf statue, his rear end sticking out.

This greedy creature acts on instinct, and its folly is, in a way, a natural filter against danger.

Dago didn't bother with it. While it was searching for the magic box, he took a closer look at the metal square towers standing in the square.

These steles are not inanimate objects; from Dago's perspective of the Eye of Truth, they radiate a faint informational glow—the twilight of civilization.

The square stele is engraved with some rough-lined pictures, the contents of which seem to record something.

Without the embellishment of words, only the most intuitive images, this primitive way of recording often contains information closer to the essence.

Dago saw a picture on a square tower depicting a group of bearded dwarves surrounding a dwarf wearing a crown and holding a scepter.

That fervent sense of worship was conveyed through the cold metal lines, giving Dargo a feeling of irrational madness.

The contents of the next stone tablet changed; it was still the same group of dwarves, but they were kneeling on the ground, including the dwarf wearing a crown, who seemed to be worshipping some being.

It was an absolute submission, where even royal power had to bow its noble head before that "being".

"Is it some kind of sacrificial ceremony? So this is a square used for sacrifices?"

Dago seemed lost in thought, looking up at the huge golden dwarf statue beside him, searching his mind for information about the dwarf god.

Wizards do not believe in gods. In their eyes, gods are merely a more powerful collection of rules that can be analyzed, exploited, or even hunted.

He was analyzing the belief logic of this civilization, trying to find loopholes in its rules.

Brontë III has disappeared, leaving only a large hole where the arch once stood.

The creature seemed to have crawled into the base of the statue, greed driving it toward an unknown abyss.

Dago withdrew his gaze and continued watching.

Neither gods nor beasts can interfere with a wizard's acquisition of knowledge.

The images displayed on the stele this time suggest that the sacrificial ceremony has ended.

However, the scene shifts, and the atmosphere becomes somber and tense—the calm before the storm.

Oh no, Dagger looked at the contents of the next square tower and realized that the sacrificial ceremony should only be considered to have officially begun at this point.

This was a massacre in the name of "creation," and a plunder in the name of "sacrifice."

In the scene, each dwarf is sweating profusely in front of their own blacksmith's forge, seemingly working hard to forge something.

The lines of the furnace fire are depicted with great tension, as if you can feel the high temperature that burns the soul.

Following that, the group forging activity concluded.

Each piece embodies the soul and effort of its creator; it is their understanding of truth, materialized into the creations they make.

Each dwarf involved in the forging raised his hands, holding up a staff, a longsword, a crown, or similar items.

They seemed to be showing off, or perhaps conducting some kind of brutal selection and display.

Everything glowed, seemingly magical artifacts imbued with the power of runes.

That is the manifestation of rules, an attempt by a lower civilization to touch the boundaries of the law.

Then these pieces of equipment began to collide with each other; some shattered and fell to the ground, while others remained gleaming.

Survival of the fittest is the most naked law, and it is vividly demonstrated here.

It's not about destruction, but about proving who is stronger and who is closer to eternity.

The process of these magical artifacts colliding with each other was extremely tedious and lengthy, so Dago quickly browsed through each of the square towers one by one.

His mental energy was running at high speed, converting these images into a data stream, reconstructing that ancient battle in his sea of ​​consciousness.

After walking across most of the square, they finally saw a hammer-shaped weapon shatter all the forged objects, achieving final victory.

It was an absolute aesthetic of violence, devoid of any frills, only pure, overwhelming hardness and power.

The dwarves described the power of this equipment as an entire square tower, a huge square short hammer, with lightning and fire patterns engraved around it, as well as countless ripples representing the shattering of space.

That was not just a physical blow; the hammer seemed to have touched the rules of space, causing a dimensional tremor.

"Goodness, Thor's hammer?"

Dago reached out and touched the texture of the hammer pattern, muttering a complaint.

The cold touch from his fingertips did not make him back down; instead, it aroused his strong possessiveness and desire to explore.

If he could decipher the spatial vibration runes on this hammer, his [Spatial Silver Ice] might experience a qualitative leap.

The next stone tablet depicts a dwarf who won the hammer forging and was rewarded by the crown dwarf, while countless other dwarves below raised their hands in cheers.

That was the pinnacle of glory, but also the beginning of tragedy, because when mortals create divine artifacts, it often means the arrival of disaster.

Dago understood; this seemed to be an ancient and unique tradition of the dwarves, who used forging ceremonies to worship their god of craftsmen and forging.

Using skills to gain divine access is not uncommon in the wizarding world; many wandering wizards also steal the authority over the rules in this way.

Looking at the next picture, a strong glint flashed in Dago's eyes, and he instantly rushed to the front of the square tower.

At that moment, all the clues came together, and the logical loop clicked shut with a crisp sound.

"The Magic Box!"

Dago stared intently at the picture on the monument, his mental energy frantically scanning every detail of the image like tentacles.

He saw the crowned dwarf carefully place the hammer, which was wreathed in lightning and fire and surrounded by countless crackling ripples, into a square metal box.

The box's surface not only had a sophisticated gear structure, but also faintly revealed an array of runes indicating some kind of spatial sealing.

This is a seal, a protection, and also a way to conceal the excessively violent fluctuations of the hammer's rules.

The box looked exactly like "Melville's Amazing Box"!