Chapter 98: "What the Hell Are You? I'm Crafting, So Get Lost!"
As Vulcan stepped into the locked workshop, a man in the classic blacksmith's garb bellowed at him.
"What the hell are you? I'm working here—get lost!"
Was his hunch wrong? No. At a glance, it looked like a perfectly ordinary workshop. That was just the typical reaction from blacksmiths who couldn't afford to break their focus and botch a job.
"Damn, they really went all out on this setup."
But Vulcan didn't give a damn. His eyes could see it plain as day: that blacksmith wasn't human. It was a magical illusion.
In any normal situation, he'd jump in surprise, apologize, and back out. That's why he'd casually scoped the place out without flinching. The thing was just a phantom anyway, and even without Dragon Eye spotting the dungeon entrance, a calm inspection would've revealed something off.
"No fire in the forge, and you're 'working'? Yeah, right."
There was zero heat in the air, despite the workshop being packed with it—or so it seemed. The forge blazed, molten metal flowed, but no warmth at all. Those flames spitting in the forge? Fake as hell.
And that forge interior, with the hole-like passage spilling molten metal? That was the dungeon entrance.
"What the hell are you? I'm working here—get lost!"
As Vulcan checked for anything else, the blacksmith yelled the exact same line again. Probably the script only went that far. It was confirmation this was their hideout, so Vulcan ignored the illusion and headed for the forge.
He leaned in and slipped into the dungeon.
Hidden Dungeon: You have entered the Secret Underground Workshop.
'A tunnel?'
No EXP or drop rate bonuses, probably because it wasn't a standard dungeon. And it was too cramped for a proper dungeon—likely just a burrow leading underground.
Not teleporting to a new space, but connected to an underground area beneath Smell. Even with all the workshop noise, building too close to the surface risked alerting other artisans.
'Long one. No end in sight.'
The narrow, elongated passage was pitch black, nothing visible, no clue when it'd end. But Vulcan stayed cool. Dragon Eye nullified the darkness completely.
What actually prickled his nerves was the eerie aura permeating the place.
'Feels familiar...'
-Filthy bastards. Hoarding this sticky emotional sludge.
Vulcan hadn't clocked it right away, but Tud's grumbling tipped him off. That damp, viscous air resembled the emotional energy from the homunculi.
Concentrated, tangible power from humanity's darkest emotions: rage, frustration, despair, sorrow.
'Is the False Philosopher's Stone made here too?'
-High chance. Scraping together artisans' joys and sorrows during crafting.
Failed crafts or subpar results hit hard. And with clients watching? Their disappointment and despair piled on.
In Smell, where this happened endlessly, rigging a setup like this—and strong enough to feel in your bones—made it likely the False Philosopher's Stones came from here.
'Wasn't sure what to do with 'em, but stockpile more and maybe...'
Massive negative energy crystals. He'd snagged some shards but hadn't figured out crafting uses. Too bleak—high risk of cursed items. No point risking it, so they sat in inventory.
'Gotta hustle then.'
Sizing up the situation, Vulcan picked up the pace. Ash's Blessing shielded him, but normals would crack mentally just from exposure. Rescue 'em as vegetables or psychos? No thanks. He hurried down the tunnel.
"Shadow Assimilation."
He cloaked in darkness, scanning far ahead for enemies and artisans' positions.
'They clueless?'
Good news: no reaction from deeper in. If they knew he'd entered, there'd be a response, an attempt to block. None so far meant they hadn't spotted him.
Relief, but no complacency. Maybe they'd already bailed. Vulcan sped up, descending far until he found the secret workshop.
'Water?'
Deep down, the tunnel opened to a wide cavern. No idea when they prepped this underground, but the effort showed.
And at the entrance floor: pooled black liquid. Looked like water, but nah. No aquifers here.
Sensing wrongness, Vulcan halted, activated Dragon Eye instead of stepping over.
A pool condensed from the thoughts of wandering souls.
When the living pass, the souls rise, drag them in, and wail to inflict profane effects.
Bingo—a trap. Grabs ankles, hinders movement, wailing souls debuff. Plus, the cries alert insiders like an alarm. Safety net.
Why no reaction yet? They trusted this.
'Can't ignore this.'
Vulcan pondered. Would Ash's Blessing nullify it? Status effects, maybe—but probably not. Souls acting directly.
Edging closer, the calm pool bubbled in response. Scent of life rousing them.
'Hold up...'
But backing off wasn't an option. Had to cross. Mid-leap idea, he spotted something odd.
Not his life force triggering it? It reacted bigger up close, but tests showed proximity alone wasn't it.
'Sound?'
Footsteps. Or ground vibes. One of those.
'Then...'
Solution. Maybe.
"Air Walk."
Skill triggered—Vulcan's foot hit air. Brief, but Air Walk let him tread empty space.
Extra option on Shadow Hound Boots, not from reinforcement. But reinforcement enabled it.
Wings of the Wind God. Installed via Gremori—boosted speed, added Air Walk.
'Works.'
Five seconds-ish duration. Short, but treated air like ground. He launched, soared over—no reaction. Pool stayed silent, unaware.
Five seconds covered serious distance. Speed boost applied midair, high strength fueled leaps.
Could reach insane heights with this. Bypassed the trap easy. Kept Dragon Eye up for more surprises, pressed in.
'Should craft vision aids sometime.'
Prisoners meant no reckless charge. Scout locations, states, enemies' spots and powers for optimal fight. Felt limiting—no pet or familiar like hunters/mages.
Ideal with Dragon Eye baked in, but greedy. For now, gripped weapon, shadow-cloaked, scouted.
'Found 'em.'
Digging tunnels, carving spaces? Tough. Even pros needed ages for stable, massive voids without collapse. Plus secrecy limited size.
Not huge, but Vulcan mapped quick.
'Mind spells? Or this gloom broke 'em.'
Kidnapped artisans huddled unbound, but eyes dead—given up on life. Mind-controlled or shattered beyond resistance.
Treatment post-rescue would tell. No stirring 'em during chaos.
"Lured the pursuit squad—success."
"Our brothers' sacrifice brings us closer to the great cause."
"Yeah. Lay low here till it quiets, disguise 'em, split into carriages. No slacking till the end."
Oblivious to Vulcan, they shared good news. Comms orb intel: bait squad neared decoys.
Sacrifice bait to fake artisans' route, slip away via carriages split up.
"Yes. Death's Seeker lost all research data—we must succeed."
"Hmph. Don't even mention that idiot filth. Even if he succeeded, it'd be worthless. Can't fathom why Death's name was granted to scum like him."
"S-sorry."
'Bad blood, huh. Enjoy hell together soon.'
Confirmed: allies of Ahelrn, the Death's Seeker he'd killed. Factions? Tense relations. But their affiliation clear.
'No Main Scenario Quest pop?'
Part of the 'Black Humans' Main Scenario tracked. Waited, but no message. No more delay.
'Go.'
Drew the Arrow of Impiety from his belt like a snake. No bow draw—psychokinesis hurled it from floor/wall shadows at them.
"Gahk?!"
"S-Seeker!!"
"Wh-what?!"
Shadow Assimilation didn't fully hide the arrow, but darkness concealed till point-blank. Snake-like strike pierced a throat.
Assimilation broke. Vulcan's sword flew at the panicking foes.