Chapter 98: The Magitech Catacombs

The morning sun struggled to pierce the thick smog of the capital.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The massive factory bells of the Kingdom of Iron and Steam rang out, signaling the start of the workday. Our squad was already moving.

We walked through the heavily guarded gates of the Iron Estate.

The clockwork sentinels recognized my Honorary Knight insignia and parted instantly.

We did not wait to be announced. We marched straight into Prime Minister Hardsteel’s private war room.

BAM!

I tossed the black, blood-stained leather mask of the Faceless Guild assassin directly onto Hardsteel’s mahogany desk.

The King-Regent looked up from his paperwork.

His mechanical blue eye whirred rapidly, zooming in on the dark leather.

"The Faceless," Hardsteel rumbled. The heavy brass pistons in his mechanical arm hissed with a sudden, rising shame.

"I failed to secure the perimeter. I ask for your forgiveness, Grik. You saved my daughter and my city, and I allowed assassins to walk right up to your door."

"Just find the rat, Marquee," I stated coldly.

"We did not use the city gates. Someone inside your magical registry is monitoring our teleportation ripples. Do it quietly. Do not let Valerius know his strike team failed. It buys us time."

"I will dismantle the Registry logs myself," Chief Inquisitor Silas promised from the shadows.

"I will find the leak."

Hardsteel looked at Anise. She wore a simple dark traveling cloak over her white and gold armor, the hood pulled low to obscure her face.

"And who is your new companion?" Hardsteel asked.

"A close friend," I replied smoothly.

"And a brilliant consultant. No one outside of this room needs to know she is here. Treat her as my ultimate trump card."

Hardsteel gave a sharp nod, understanding the value of hidden assets.

"You have my absolute cooperation. What is your next move?"

"My pack is going off the grid," I declared.

"We have fifty-eight days. I need access to Master Brakka’s workshop."

Assessment Hub 7 was as deafeningly loud as ever.

We walked past the sparks and shouting mechanics, heading straight for the restricted section. Master Brakka was cursing loudly at a rusted steam-valve.

"Make room, Brakka," I said.

Brakka spun around. His mechanical eye clicked and zoomed in on me, then fell upon Nyssa and Anise.

Nyssa stepped up, pulling a heavy roll of parchment from her enchanted satchel.

"We brought you a project, Master Brakka. The ultimate project."

She unrolled the blueprints for ’The Ironclad’ on his greasy workbench.

Brakka pulled a magnifying loupe over his good eye. He leaned over the glowing blue and white schematics. For a full minute, he didn’t blink.

"This is pre-industrial origin tech," Brakka stammered. His hands began to tremble.

"A flying carapace? The mana-routing alone defies every law of thermodynamics!"

"I handled the physics," Anise said smoothly.

"The suit uses continuous gravity compression. It generates its own kinetic shielding from air friction."

Brakka looked at the human woman, then back to the blueprint. A tear of pure, unadulterated engineering joy leaked from his organic eye.

"It is beautiful," he whispered. "It is the holy grail of mechanics."

"I need five of them," I told him flatly.

"Custom-fitted for every member of this pack. You will have unrestricted access to the Royal Treasury. Nyssa and Anise will stay here. They will handle the arcane weaving and the gravitational physics. You just handle the metal."

Nyssa smiled brightly, already pulling out her measuring tools.

I turned to Rolf, Kaelith, and Lysandra.

"The brains are securing our armor," I said. "Now, it is time for the brawn to secure our power. We are going back into the dark."

---

We stood in the center of the plush, high-tech Administrator Suite inside the Labyrinth.

I raised my right hand. The glowing Eye of the Architect burned brightly on my skin.

The teleportation matrix on the floor roared to life.

Before stepping into the portal, I accessed the central terminal to pull the structural data for the lower floors.

A glowing blue map projected into the air.

"Listen closely," I told my combat squad, pointing at the holographic display.

"I just reviewed the Main Quest data from the Architect. Our ultimate goal is to unplug the continental threat sleeping down in Strata 5. But we are nowhere near strong enough to handle that."

I swiped my hand, bringing up the layout for our immediate destination.

"This is Strata 3. The Magitech Catacombs. The monsters here range from Level 30 to Level 40. According to my Admin privileges, this entire floor is divided into three distinct zones."

Rolf cracked his silver knuckles, his golden eyes glowing with anticipation.

"Give us the breakdown, Boss."

"Part 1 is called the Outer Trenches," I explained, highlighting the first section of the map. "The enemies there are between Level 30 and 35. Part 2 is the Processing Grid, pushing from 35 to 40. Part 3 is the Warden’s Sanctum, which houses the floor Boss."

I looked at Kaelith and Lysandra, making sure they understood the strategy.

"We are going to grind in Part 1," I commanded.

"We fight, we increase our levels, and we maximize the proficiency of our new skills. We will fight in the Trenches all day, and we will return home to rest at night. We repeat this cycle until every single one of us hits Level 40."

"And the Boss?" Kaelith asked, her dark daggers spinning idly in her hands.

"We do not even look at the Boss until we are Level 49 or 50," I stated firmly.

"We do not take unnecessary risks. We over-prepare, and we crush everything in our path."

Lysandra nodded, her maroon wings fluttering with fierce determination.

"We are ready, my King."

"Then let us step into the Catacombs," I said.

VWOOSH!

The blue light of the teleportation matrix swallowed us whole.

We descended miles beneath the earth’s crust, bypassing the Shallows and the Piston Grid entirely.

We materialized in a massive, cavernous trench.

The environment was a horrifying fusion of ancient magic and rusted machinery.

Glowing blue conduits ran along the jagged rock walls like pulsating veins.

The air was freezing cold and smelled strongly of ozone and dried blood.

We had officially entered the Magitech Catacombs.

I drew my steel longsword, feeling the heavy, stabilizing hum of my core.

"Eyes open," I whispered.

"We are in Level 30 territory now."

A low, guttural groan echoed through the foggy trench ahead of us.

Heavy, dragging footsteps splashed through the puddles of stagnant water.

Through the thick mist, figures began to emerge.

My glowing red eyes narrowed as my System interface flared to life.

---

[Target Scanned: Blood-Forged Revenant]

[Level: 32]

[Class: Magitech Undead]

---

My breath caught in my throat.

They were dead men walking. But their bodies were not entirely human.

They were half-rotten corpses violently fused with glowing, pre-industrial magitech plating.

Rusted iron pistons were bolted directly into their exposed spines.

Their arms ended in humming, arcane energy blades.

But it was not their cybernetic enhancements that froze the blood in my veins.

It was their faces.

Their skin was gray and frosted, pulled tight like parchment over their skulls.

Their eyes were wide, vacant white orbs that reflected the glowing blue machinery embedded in their chests.

They moved with a jerky, unnatural, insect-like gait.

They looked exactly like the dead climbers that had crawled out of the walls on Mount Everest.

"No," I breathed, my grip tightening on my sword until my knuckles ached.

"Boss?" Rolf asked, noticing the sudden, violent spike in my aura. "What are they?"

"They are Blood-Forged Revenants," I replied, my voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm.

The mysterious Voice that had doomed Anise to a century of servitude was definitely involved here.

The horrific entities from my past life and the ancient mechanical plague of this dungeon were connected by the exact same supernatural rot.

Another piece of the cosmic puzzle had just fallen into my lap.

The leading cyborg raised its glowing energy blade, letting out a horrific, static-laced screech.

"Formation!" I roared, the shock instantly converting into pure, unadulterated rage.

"Tear them apart!"