Our squad gathered at the entrance to the dungeons of this extremely fascinating mountain. All those who would venture into the dark depths of this dungeon. Raiders who don't know they are raiders, and I'm not telling. From the outside, it's just a cave like any other, no different from the rest. Stonetalon Peak, a sharp mountain of red-yellow stone reaching into the sky, and a perfectly ordinary cave, of which… there are actually almost none here. So, it's nearly impossible to mistake the cave.
And yet… this is the place. Inside, the Oracle awaits us—or rather, Medivh—but that concerns me the least. Watching the sentients huddle at the entrance, I was washed over by a sense of nostalgia. And the anticipation of what we would find inside. Jewelry, gold, artifacts, Arms, or Armor; maybe runestones or something else exotic. This place belonged to the ancient elven nobility, so the items there should be extremely intriguing. Many years have passed; low-quality items have been destroyed by time. Only what truly has value has survived. And I already want to know what it will be! Like a gift you're about to open! There was so much interesting stuff in Karazhan, and that wasn't even close to this level.
There are two groups in total, twenty-four sentients. Mages, Priests, Warriors, and marksmen, tanks and healers—a real raid, but with a touch of realism. And then there's the three of us: me, Dartaola, and Alastir, who will go with Jaina Proudmoore's group. Dartaola and I are on "Cranes." Yes, Veni won't be coming into the cave with us; as the pilot of the Pepelats, she'll stay outside to cover the entrance and hold back the enemy. But that doesn't mean she can't see us off. The Pepelats is parked right here, nearby, and the Rogue is with us.
Overall, the mood in the squad is Neutral. Yes, the sentients understand it's dangerous, but for them, it's a job. Some, mostly in my squad, have clearly set their sights on valuable loot. Over there, to the side, a male Dwarf Warrior is clearly explaining something to his daughter, who for some reason is carrying both a bow and a rifle. A Gnome is attaching a flashlight to his rifle in the best traditions of shooters.
It's better not to step onto the field behind our backs unnecessarily; it's mined. It was long, it was difficult, I even had to lean on my reputation as a seer to get them to listen. But it was decided that standing at the dungeon entrance to the death was unproductive. If The Horde gets desperate, they'll push through anyway, so let them walk through a minefield.
But the amount of mines poured here… however many there were, that's how many were laid, including some from the warehouses of Theramore. It'll even be curious to see exactly how Thrall manages to bypass this barrier. Surely he won't send his troops to clear the mines with their faces, will he?
Glancing up, my gaze settled again on the mountain looming over us. From this vantage point, it looks quite aggressive; they didn't call it "Stonetalon Peak" for nothing—it's very pointed. Impressive, almost hanging over those who wished to conquer its depths. Who would have thought there was a mass of interesting things inside… I thought so, which is why I'm here.
"It doesn't look impressive," the Paladin remarked boredly, standing nearby. "Are you sure we're going in there? No, I don't doubt you, it's just that I imagined an elven palace of the ancient empire to be… different. Like Silvermoon, but much more spectacular. Or more massive, at least. Not just… a mountain."
A question that interests me as well. I hope that from the books found inside, we'll understand the reason why this place looks like this. An underground bunker? A secret hideout? Or did the architect just feel like it? Maybe ten thousand years ago there were beautiful underground gardens of eternal night here, and no volcano under the city. But the fact remains that there is indeed a complex there. A complex, pfft. An entire underground fortress, a city even. We had to search the territory quite thoroughly with golems while mapping it out. And we found far, far from everything.
Venidan answered our Paladin:
"We conducted reconnaissance of these caves. By bird, of course. The caves are vast, many leagues and miles beneath the mountain. And deep down, these caves truly transition into an underground palace. There is no mistake, Dartaola, it is there. Though, we'll have to take a walk. About a mile's journey under the mountain through natural caves. Quite a distance. And rather hot, even hotter than in The Barrens. There's volcanic activity inside or something like that. Boiling water springs, hot gas. We need to be careful."
And by the way, we showed the ruins we found to an expert. Alastir, that rascal, has started to become quite good at archaeology over ten thousand years of wandering. Plus, he's personally familiar with ancient elven ruins; he lived during that period. The Druid himself will go with Jaina's group; maybe he'll suggest something clever. And to the question, he nodded:
"I have seen similar structures," the Druid nodded. "This place was built by elves, a very long time ago, even before the Great Cataclysm. There may be traps and magical schemes unknown to me; I can't help you there, alas. After all, I am not a Mage, and I haven't been to this specific place, so I cannot be your guide. But I will help however I can. I know the language; perhaps I can detect something useful. As a Druid, I will help with the exploration of the caves and the underground fauna."
Well, yeah, I'm the Mage. And I'm going with the "looter" group. It was decided to split the squad entering the caves into two parts. "Assault" with Jaina and Alastir, whose task is to reach the Oracle—who is Medivh—as quickly as possible. And the "Looters," which includes me. Our task is to loudly and cheerfully vacuum the territory. Of course, no one is forbidding the "Assault" from engaging in territory robbery as well, but for them, it's not the primary objective.
I'd love to take more people and more bags… but the problem is that it's a bit cramped in the cave. We'll just get in each other's way, crowding and pushing. And it's hot in there. By our estimates, the deeper we go, the hotter it gets, from about thirty-five Celsius to fifty and higher in the depths of the caves. This means the squad should be equipped with protection against high temperatures. Signs of volcanic activity have been spotted, and that could be a problem.
"I'm taking a couple of crates of Hacks with me. Specifically to send them into traps and for Territory Control. Since you successfully lost the bird," I said, expressing all my disappointment.
Alas, the mechanical bird sent into the caves fell victim to its own design, which limited its maneuverability. And a bunch of monsters, Kobolds, and Undead. It's annoying, frustrating; we'll need to destroy the bird when we find it. I've firmly decided for myself not to leave samples of my creations to the enemy if possible. It doesn't matter if it's Goblins, Gnomes, or Wardens. If there's an opportunity, I'll either take it back or destroy it.
Dartaola immediately clarified:
"You lost Davilinia's recon golem? How exactly? They are quite durable and fast."
Venidan grimaced.
"Undead, again. Skeletons for the most part, but these were in Armor. Just the thing for a Paladin. And Skeleton archers with Fire Arrows. There were animals in the caves; they ignored the bird, but as soon as it poked into the structures, the dead reacted immediately."
We chatted a bit more until Jaina approached us, drawing everyone's attention. As expected, she had no backpack, but on her belt was a whole array of bottomless bags, quite expensive ones judging by the material. And not just her: everyone present has six-to-ten-liter ones, and more than one. It looks like we'll be hauling out everything not nailed down as a whole creative collective. It's nice when your words are valued, even if it means losing part of the loot. For good sentients—I don't mind.
Jaina made her staff flare, and everyone turned to her. Ensuring she was being listened to, she spoke:
"A minute of your attention," the sorceress requested. "Very soon we will enter an ancient elven dungeon. There, the Oracle awaits us—the one who will answer our questions, determine our future, and become the one who shows us the path to peace. To a new beginning. Lordaeron is ravaged by war, Undead, and demons. That is why we are here. To find a new path."
Yeah, things are very "cheerful" in Lordaeron right now. Plus, Quel'Thalas is destroyed, and with the worsening news from Lordaeron, many have finally started moving across the sea to the south, to Stormwind. To the land ruled by King Varian Wrynn. Unfortunately, we have no information on what's happening there. Just like with Lordaeron; the Magister has effectively been placed under house arrest. For harboring. Me.
But in any case, the south is better than Lordaeron, that's a fact. No, rumors say the human kingdom is holding out, but the onslaught of Undead and demons is beyond measure. In the south of Lordaeron, on the peninsula, is Gilneas, walled off; in the north are elven ruins full of Undead and poisoned by Death Magic. By all indications, the new Plaguelands will be right here. From the east, demons and the dead are crawling in, so the human lands have been simply cut off from all neighbors by land. Those who can are fleeing on ships; that's actually where the news comes from. Those who can't… I suspect many have already buried the people of Lordaeron and their King Arthas Menethil, especially after the effective loss of the capital. The most recent information:
Legions of Undead and demons broke the defense and staged a slaughter in the city; meanwhile, gargoyles cut off the capital from the sea, and very few escaped. King Terenas was killed, so his son took the post of ruler. I wonder how things will turn out for them. It might be cowardly, but I'm glad I'm here and not there.
Jaina continued her speech:
"The path to the Oracle will be a trial for us. A trial of endurance, strength, and wisdom. This dungeon is vast, an entire underground city. It is full of enemies. But it is also full of trophies left hundreds and thousands of years ago. Everything collected will be divided among the participants. The majority will go to the city and the technical team, but by all indications, even what remains will be enough for everyone with plenty to spare. Everyone will get a share, and if you perish, it will go to your families. If you can wrest it from the Undead and monsters."
At this, the crowd stirred. I can understand them; we have a medieval class society here. Which means whatever you looted in a military campaign against the neighbors is all yours. No, the ordinary workers will likely sell the Magical Items; it's profitable. But rare Armor or some artifact, they might keep. That brings immediate honor, respect, and people will buy you beer. And it remains for descendants as family gear. Where else can you raise a heap of money except by taking it from a competitor? In short, financial interest is good and understandable. And even respectable.
"And yet I urge caution," the sorceress reminded them. "These caves are full of Undead and the Cursed who have remained in them forever. And from the south," Jaina pointed to several visible smoke trails in the distance, "The Horde is moving; an army of Orcs is right on our heels. Time is limited; we must move quickly. They will take the same route as we do. Those who fall behind will have to face them. Davilinia, summon the golem."
I gave a short nod and summoned Billy. They looked at the golem—or elemental—with interest and wariness. Jaina pointed to him and said:
"There will be a powerful Shaman with the Orcs. I'm not sure I could defeat him underground. So we shouldn't waste too much time. More importantly, the entrance will be collapsed to delay the Orcs. That means there will be no way back. Only forward. When we reach the Oracle, I will open a portal, and we will be able to retreat. But not before the task is completed. For the last time, I ask: are you ready to face this trial?"
I'm actually curious who wrote Jaina's speech. She was never a particularly powerful orator, but here she laid it out so well that no one backed down. Nodding to herself with satisfaction, the sorceress finished her speech with the words:
"Then we go in. Finally, before we enter, I want to ask you to be ready. Much can happen today. Much may turn out not to be what it seems; much may change. It may seem strange, or even wrong, unexpected. Just… don't rush to conclusions; weigh everything. And now—let's go!"
Humans, elves, Gnomes, and Dwarves made some noise, and I turned to Veni:
"It's time for us. Well, try not to crash my ship. And don't die yourself. I'll resurrect you and remind you of it every day."
Venidan gave a light punch to my back; after all, the shoulders are covered in metal. I staggered and chuckled through my helmet. The Rogue laughed but also decided to speak up:
"And don't you forget that treasures aren't everything. Wealth is of no use to a dead man. Good luck to you in there; I'll be waiting outside," and she briskly ran toward the Pepelats parked nearby.
Dartaola followed her with her gaze, then waved toward the group waiting for us.
"It's time for us too, Davilinia. Let's go. We need to hurry so we don't have to deal with the Orcs. May the Holy protect us."
We entered the dungeon in high spirits. Yes, we'll still have to fight our way to the treasures, but we know for sure we're not going in for nothing. Hacks are buzzing around; the cave is wide enough for the "Crane" to pass without stooping. It'll be fine for Taurens here too; they could even jump around. My "Crane" moves alongside Dartaola's machine since I'm controlling the space through golems, and looking at the road as well… is difficult.
For now, the cave looks perfectly natural. Stone walls glowing with crimson veins and covered in mushrooms. Large, white-and-red mushrooms taller than us. Not just mine. Yes. Overall, nothing interesting. Quite hot, about five degrees warmer than outside. I can't judge the smell due to the helmet, but it should stink of sulfur. It'll get even hotter further in; we checked.
Strangely enough, there is water here; judging by the color… a Hack went down to collect samples. It's interesting, after all. There's nothing more curious here anyway. Surely I'm not supposed to watch sweating soldiers? Naturally, they collapsed the entrance:
"Get ready! Explosion!"
A roar sounded behind us, and the cave shuddered; the roar quickly turned into the rhythmic tapping of falling stones, escalating into an outright crash that even deafened me. Waiting for it to stop, everyone froze, staring at the dust cloud in the distance. The cave has enough light sources not to be dark, mostly those same glowing veins in the stone and the mushrooms. Yes, they are red, which makes everything look specific, but there is light.
While we wait, I used telekinesis to dig out one of the glowing things. They turned out to be mushroom roots, warm and glowing. What's the point, why do they glow? Hack, come to me; you'll be the circular saw. And inside you… luminescent sap and pieces of mycelium. Hm? Oh, I get it! There's no wind here, so animals will eat the roots and carry them around, spreading the mushroom! Got it. Okay, I'm taking this with me; I have a dungeon, I'll try to plant it at my place. Into the bag.
The dust began to settle, revealing a pile of crimson stones. Everything worked perfectly.
"The tunnel is blown; there's no way back," someone said. "Shall we move on?"
Jaina, walking with the "left" group, nodded.
"A fork is visible ahead. It's about another half-mile from there, then another half-mile and the underground complex will begin. Watch the territory; there could be Kobolds or other underground dwellers here."
The transition went quite smoothly. No Undead, no lizards, no Kobolds—and if the latter were there, they decided not to mess with a large squad. And even when we split up, no one risked disturbing our peace. The people even relaxed a bit. The team in the "Looters" group turned out to be quite diverse. Twelve sentients: three Warriors, three marksmen, three Mages, and three riders. We could have taken more, but again, we assessed the cave size and agreed that a larger squad would just get in each other's way.
Finally, we reached the entrance to the underground complex. Or rather, it's a hole in the wall that someone dug or smashed through a long time ago. A thunder lizard, maybe, or other subspecies of Kodo. Or maybe some other creature, I don't know.
If you look into the breach, you can see a corridor and stone blocks lying on the ground, scattered by whoever made this entrance. Of course, decorative items rotted away long ago, making the room look frankly empty. Bare stone walls, minimal light sources, at least there are no cobwebs, just very dusty. No plants either, though that might be explained by the heat and lack of food and water sources; even the mushrooms prefer the caves to the structures of the ancient city. But, assuming that no one besides Medivh has been here for the last fifteen to twenty years, it makes sense. In any case, we have definitely arrived.
The corridor clearly relates to civilization now. As do the perfectly ordinary humanoid Skeletons-warriors in plate Armor, standing in a bunch by the wall and staring at said wall as if there's something interesting there. A wall is just a wall; maybe a beautiful painting hung there once, I don't know. Now it's gone; nothing remains. And under their feet lies my mechanical bird, crumpled and hacked. The Skeletons don't move; they just stand and stare at the wall.
"Four Skeleton-warriors in Armor in the corridor ahead. Haven't noticed us yet."
We tumbled into the corridor according to all the rules of a storm. Warriors in front, marksmen and Mages behind them. The cavalry came last; after all, the hole clearly wasn't designed for a "Crane," so we had to stoop. But the corridors of the elven underground city—perfectly fine. Ten-meter ceilings are very convenient. By this point, the Skeletons had already crumbled into bones all over the corridor, and the soldiers were inspecting their Armor. The Mages were too; there's a clear enchantment felt on the Armor. But the Arms—total rusty, jagged crap. Which survived ten thousand years, but alas, these blades are now junk.
"The bones are flimsy, as usual, but the Armor isn't bad," one of the soldiers noted. "Shall we take it?"
They didn't get a chance to answer because I moved ten meters to the side and the "Crane" thundered a burst from its machine gun at three more Skeletons idling in a room with crates. They were just sitting on boxes and staring into space, ignoring the noise we were making. Their own fault; they missed their chance. I took the Armor into account, of course, and aimed for the heads. The bone-heads had their skulls scattered and crumbled to the floor with a crunch.
A good thing, those Dwarven machine guns of yours—large-caliber, powerful. True, there are downsides: low accuracy, overheats quickly. The recoil is such that without a mount, only Taurens or Ogres could fire them. That doesn't make the weapon bad; you just have to remember: in a world of sword and magic, caliber isn't a panacea. Но it's a very weighty argument.
After the burst, they looked at me quite disapprovingly, and a helmet from one of the dead guys flew at me from Dartaola's side.
"Hey, what's that for?"
The Paladin tapped her head and pointed to the other sentients, who had torn off their helmets and were now rubbing their ears.
"You deafened everyone with your machine gun! Think about what you're doing!" She's clearly holding back from showing me examples of Thalassian profanity.
But she held back, unlike the other sentients. And there's no need to get so indignant; well, yeah, the helmet has good noise cancellation, I specifically tuned it. I know how loud the weapon on the walker is. And anyway, we should have started with the fact that some people didn't fully clear the corridor but already started dividing the loot. And there's such an interesting warehouse right here! Though now I understand why that girl took both a bow and a firearm.
Jumping down, I used telekinesis to crack the lid of the nearest crate, the one the Skeleton had been sitting on. And inside… little jars glowing with blue energy. Twenty-four of them. And in the next one? Green jars, though half are broken, but half are intact. In four of them, the sludge is murky—spoiled? Probably.
And in the next? Scroll tubes in slots. Not one, but dozens. They look good; they don't crumble in my hands. Coarse yellow paper covered in a complex magical pattern, black but slightly glowing magical ink depicting circles and runes. Essentially a spell formation, but autonomous and infused with Mana—take it and use it. A good find, and right at the entrance.
So to hell with the indignation; we're here on business.
"Take what you want, but don't forget to destroy the Undead so nothing comes at your back. There's a warehouse of potions and scrolls here, by the way," I'm not going to apologize, you've got plenty of firearms here, "strip everything that looks valuable. We'll sort it later. Time is limited. Forward, boys and girls, don't sleep!"
The process started immediately. Crates were pried open, potions were stuffed into pockets, bags, and boxes. Scrolls, just as they were, followed them. A couple more Skeletons showed up at the noise, but the bone-heads didn't even have time to realize what was happening before they were destroyed by passing blows of swords and axes. Our creative collective was fiercely vacuuming the warehouse, and nothing could stop them.
Twenty minutes later, only debris and piles of externally moldy empty crates remained of the more or less tidy warehouse. To the credit of the warehouse owners, the cargo was well-preserved. You can see the vials are well-enchanted, and the crates are covered in strings of magic with a durability enchantment. Though I'm not an archaeologist and I'm not sure how many years this stuff has been lying here. And I don't care, really. The main thing is the loot. Good loot at the start of the dungeon. I want more!
"Continuing!"
The emboldened crowd of marauders moved down the corridor, peering into every door, every ancient marble table, and under it. Past huge statues of warriors in heavy plate with elven tower shields. A couple of Skeleton archers sitting there vanished in Dartaola's flashes of Holy light. Funny, usually people talk about "dragon sickness" in the context of Dwarves. But I clearly see that the desire to possess the treasures of this place has gripped us all, even the Paladin.
The first truly good catch was magical books standing in a small room, clearly a former Mage's dwelling. Unfortunately, the furniture had rotted over time, and not even dust remained of it. But the cabinet survived, thanks to its strings, and we cleaned it out. I even inspected the cabinet itself; it might come in handy.
In the process, several well-preserved statues were also expropriated, and well, no one is counting the Skeletons. But there are quite a lot of them: warriors, archers, we even saw a Mage capable of throwing a fire arrow. But without protection, the bone-head was destroyed by the very first blow of a war hammer. Nothing can stop us. More and more! More loot, and who cares who's guarding it! We'll take it all!
"Whoa-hooo…" a soldier exhaled as we briskly ran out onto what used to be a square.
The sensors in the Armor immediately showed a temperature rise of about ten degrees. The square is quite large, surrounded by numerous houses, but as everywhere else, nothing but the stone of the walls survived. Which makes it frankly empty here, well, almost. This "lovely" place is interesting for the heat breaking through holes in the floor and the piles of skulls heaped in the far part of the square. The smell of sulfur and ash wafts in the air; the air itself is very hot and dry. I checked—not an illusion; the skulls are real, though reinforced by magic. Benches stand separately, with Skeletons sitting on them too; a couple are slumped against the wall as if tired.
Curious, but it seems that in Azeroth, thermodynamics works by some of its own, very different from the usual laws. I've noticed this and am observing this fact firsthand. Judging by the picture the Manhack provided, there is a lava lake beneath us, about fifty meters down. The problem is that this lake is connected to the ancient palace by sizable holes in the floor. And I don't see any clear ventilation here.
And by all rules, the temperature rise shouldn't be ten degrees, but closer to a hundred, by the most modest estimates. And the floor stones should be so hot that feet would simply burn off at a single touch. Still not enough? I could be wrong? I could. But in Azeroth, there exists such a fascinating place as Ironforge. And there, the main forge in the center of the city is surrounded by lava rivers, which both Dwarves and other races ignore. No one even thinks about roasting, not even the griffons' feathers burn. And that's with an actual lava waterfall in the center of the city.
Still not enough? Ragnaros, a living aggressive lake of hot and aggressive lava, sleeping in a lava lake. It would be physically impossible to approach him due to the heat, let alone oppose him. Not to mention walking through the Firelands, where lava is something like puddles on the street. And half the monsters are various lava constructs and elementals who don't care about the heat. But no, players are fine.
I suspect this is somehow connected to the elemental planes and magic. This also gives me hope that our reactor won't melt down completely. But that's for another time—right now we're standing on the edge of a square with holes into lava, and at the far end is a pile of bones and skulls, clearly radiating magic. Since the heat isn't incinerating us, I don't mind.
"Don't rush; I'll check."
I don't like the strings on those skulls. Even if I can't identify the specific spell… I can blast from a distance!
"Fireball!" If they are Undead, they'll react. They can't not react.
The ball scattered the bones, but that served as the signal for the attack. As I thought, the Undead reacted.
"Undead! Get ready!"
An ear-splitting howl swept across the square, and everything around set into motion. The piles of skulls rose up like towers. Skeletons popped out from everywhere, armed with whatever they could find. And a side door was kicked in by some completely monstrous skeleton in, even to the eye, very heavy plate, with a two-handed sword. And behind him ran another in the same Armor, with a huge double-bladed axe. And behind him—a third. Fortunately, the squad reacted instantly:
"Close shields! Fire! Burn the Undead!"
We carried out the order with visible pleasure. Mages struck with fireballs; marksmen began to fire. The cavalry—with machine guns, and both Dartaola and I added magic as well. If the bullets didn't destroy the dead, they served as an excellent deterrent. After all, a Skeleton is much lighter than a living being. A magnificent feeling!
"Today's lesson topic: bullet energy and momentum! Everyone down! Everyone stay down! No permission was given to rise! Hm? Stay down, I said!"
Somewhere in the distance, the frequent and loud ringing of a bell sounded, meaning only one thing: an alarm signal. More dead guards jumped from the second-floor windows, followed by Skeleton archers who raised their weapons. Crap! I yelled:
"Marksmen on the balconies!"
And sent them Magical Arrows as a gift. Unfortunately, firing accurately with a machine gun and throwing magic at the same time doesn't work, so the marksmen are more important. And in close combat, the Warriors will sort it out; I don't doubt them, they'll manage. The ancient square filled with the clanging of Arms and the roar of volleys. A balcony with archers collapsed when the Dwarves threw grenades there, burying several Skeletons under it and blocking one of the passages. The Hacks also quite successfully shredded the Skeleton archers. They have no Armor—nothing to protect themselves with.
"More Skeletons!" A new batch ran out of the smashed gates on the right; judging by the plate—guards.
"Don't get distracted!"
These ended after a machine gun burst and a dose of Holy magic from the Paladin, who then continued to douse the giants with bullets and magic. Actually, if you think about it, they aren't such giants, just the Armor is very large, massive, like an exoskeleton. A much bigger problem is the tower of skulls, firing those same biting skulls at everyone. And they stay back, not allowing the Warriors to reach them.
"Grenades on them!" a Dwarf marksman demanded, and black balls with burning dots flew at the towers. "There's gonna be a blast!"
It blew up real good. It's good that these "turrets" don't hold up against crushing and explosive damage; bones shatter just like that. And the fact that the floor held and didn't collapse completely is also good. It would be extremely frustrating if the square collapsed downward. I don't know how to teleport.
And then the Skeletons simply ran out. And we remained on the square amidst the destruction, burning infrastructure, and other ruins. In the twilight illuminated by the underground heat and rare burning objects, it looks very gothic.
"Well, that's that," the Dwarf chuckled. "Not a bad fight. Where to next?"
We had to wait while Dartaola healed everyone, but we moved on. Toward where most of the enemies had come from. Into the armory. There, sets of plate Armor were found, metal staves—I pocketed one of those, it'll come in handy. And a Mage's robe, enchanted. We'll sort it out later. And a solid pile of gold was collected from the Skeletons; many of them had pouches. Not all, but many. The squad's mood improved. I twirled a gold coin with the emblem of the ancient empire in my fingers. Quite soft, a beautiful coin. A piece of metal, yet it lifts the mood so well, heh.
"This is an entire underground city," Dartaola said softly, also examining the contents of a pouch. "Streets, houses. And our ancestors built all of this. Who would have thought?"
I giggled, but she's right. Even if this place is gloomy now, with lava heat breaking through from underground, and the dark, empty, and somber streets are full of Skeletons-warriors, archers, Mages, and just Skeletons, this was definitely a city. A dead city.
"And judging by the number of Undead, these were all residents."
The Paladin nodded, casually putting a twitching half of a Skeleton to rest with a flash of Holy light.
"Poor souls…"
We continued clearing street after street, inspecting houses and shops. Still, this isn't quite a full-fledged city. More like a palace complex combined with a town for servants and personnel. We brazenly robbed a clothing store, putting the saleswoman to rest. The things don't look very good, so some wanted to leave them, but we didn't let them.
"They'll go for magical materials. Enchantment allows for disenchanting items. Just pile them up so they take up less space."
Apparently, the soldiers hadn't thought of that, so in the process, we had to go back and clear out a couple more shops. And here, luck smiled upon us. Or upon me. The chests and counters had rotted away, making the items look like a gray dirty pile at first glance. But we aren't proud, and the strings on this pile clearly say—this isn't just trash. Not just trash at all. And yet at first glance—an empty room with dirty gray piles by the walls.
I shook out a roll of fabric to see… a perfectly intact material. Thin, dense, magical, and presumably very, very expensive.
"Dartaola, look!"
I'm no tailor; I'll ask someone who knows better. The Paladin removed her plate gauntlet, inspecting the material.
"He is perfectly preserved, Davilinia. Amazing! Such fine fabric. And dense, strong! This roll must be worth an indecent amount of gold! They would surely buy it in Silvermoon for a huge sum. We need to examine everything here; maybe there are more like it?"
You won't have to persuade me! I even summoned Billy, though I made him thinner and more humanoid so he could help carry things. This is awesome! An invisibility cloak! Well, not exactly; the pattern still blurs when you move, making it noticeable. But if you stand in the dark, it's invisible! On one side the fabric is visible, and on the other, it's not. Want a tabard? You got it. Want an invisibility cloak? Cool! I'm taking this; I'll ask Mom to tailor it for me at home.
And what's this, invisible clothes? More like one-way. From the inside it looks normal, but from the outside, it looks like you're wearing nothing. Gear for fetishists? And there are several items like this here. And the weave is so fascinating!
And what do we have here? A lemon-yellow men's vest. Billy, come over here; we're going to turn you into Dio. It's made from the skin of some unknown beast—I don't think it's a kodo or a simple lizard. Dragon, probably; maybe even the hide of a bronze dragon. Right, we're taking this, and this. And this too.
Oh, another transparent dress that isn't transparent at all—it's just an enchantment. And everything is of very high quality; the enchantment is top-notch. Clearly a boutique for the wealthy. If it's women's clothing, it's all so light, flowing, not restricting movement. There's a dress, but I don't wear those; I just tossed it into the crate. Though it is enchanted; we'll see what it actually does later.
Now, this little item I would try on, but I won't—no time. A purple pantsuit, hasn't lost its color at all. With heraldic embroidery on the shoulders. I like it!
It's almost a shame so few items were well-preserved. I'd even try that one and this one on, and that mantle over there looks good. Alas and alack, time is short; we'll try on all the fun stuff later—for now, it all goes into the crate.
"Right, Dio?" but the stone warrior remained silent.
Unfortunately, we didn't find anything else like THAT, though even so, I consider the find a stroke of Outland luck. A non-mage would have walked right past, or just burned it all as trash, thrown it into the nearest hole in the lava. It would have been a waste of extremely valuable material. On the other hand, another group found a liquor stash. I don't know if it's even fit for consumption after all these years, but they cleared it out completely. Still, it's not for me to judge them; I'm tossing absolutely any Magical Items into the crate—I'll process them into dust for enchanting if I have to.
And yes, we've already created new blockades on the streets we've passed to delay the Orcs. This has become quite relevant—my first hack left in the tunnel was smashed; the Horde has passed the outer Line of Magical Defense. But the Orcs are still far off; there is time.
Scrolls, potions, clothes, Armor, Arms, and gold. The more we take, the more we want. And even the fact that we've already encountered three squares full of skulls and rising Undead doesn't dampen our enthusiasm. So much money! So many valuables! Loot! I ended up with a ring of protection on my plate-clad finger, and Dartaola got two bracelets with the same enchantment and a helmet, also magical.
It wasn't without incidents. The place we found seemed to have served as a prison. A dungeon with large cells and bars. Or a warehouse, doesn't matter. Most of the cells were empty, just ancient, half-rotted bars leading into empty niches in the gloom. But one... the bars there were smashed, and there were relatively intact crates. However—the floor had collapsed, becoming a sort of "hot springs," judging by the steam, the sharply rising temperature, and other indicators. The small lake is actively bubbling and emitting clouds of hot steam, hinting that it's boiling water.
"No, there's no point in dragging people here; we need telekinesis."
Pull the crates over, pry them open, loot them. I hope there's something worthwhile inside.
It all happened in a second. I stepped to the edge of the lake, watching so as not to step into the water and get scalded. The water was a pinkish-yellow color, very, very murky. I hooked the crates with telekinesis. And then the water exploded with boiling liquid.
Yes, I screamed in surprise, thankfully my shield is always up. I managed to catch the explosion of water, a huge gaping maw, after which the world began to shake violently. Everything around became dense and elastic, hot. And then, with a jerk, the movement stopped; the Magic Shield groaned under the pressure of some clearly aggressive sludge. Something else is floating around. Wood or mushrooms?
After a minute, fear was replaced by curiosity. Nothing is happening; no one is trying to kill me. Yes, it was sudden, confusing, made me extend my claws, which simply slid along these warm and pulsating walls. Hmm, the sludge is actually seeping under the shield. Is the sludge too passive for the barrier? And anyway, where am I? I need to get out of here; the water burns.
To be honest, the culture shock was replaced by a strange fit of amusement. I don't know what it is, but my body began to relax, and I felt like shouting. I realized what happened! I realized! A damn circus. It looks like this was a bath for a thunder lizard who was bathing in it. And apparently, he didn't like someone trampling right in front of his nose. Ha-ha-ha-ha! What a ridiculous death! He swallowed me and probably went back to his bath. Unbelievable!
And I'm starting to get the giggles. I want to relax and enjoy the pleasant burning sensation. No, this doesn't suit me!
"Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! My dear fellow, greed has definitely been your undoing! Ha-ha-ha! Reaction speed of a drunken sloth, simply amazing."
Ahem, I don't understand why I'm tripping like this, but the situation is so stupid that I just can't stop. The more I look at this situation, the more ridiculous it seems, really! Perhaps it's oxygen deprivation. Or maybe poison in this monster's gastric juice to keep the victim from resisting, from trying to cut through the monster's insides with sharp horns, knives, or an axe. But I have protection, and I'm just a little high.
"Comrade thunder lizard, it seems you have indigestion! My dear fellow, you are eating all wrong!" My gloves, obeying the command, began to unfold into a Power Shield hammer. "Enema!"
The lizard shuddered; the body around me trembled. I continued to rant.
"Looks like you're constipated. Don't worry, the doctor will help you! Enema!"
The second pulse of the Power Shield hammer, judging by how I was spun around, caused the lizard frantic suffering. The hammer is capable of crushing walls; now part of the lizard's organism has turned into mincemeat. And the water receded—apparently it leaked out through the wounds! But most importantly, I had space to use my claws and cut my way out! To the exit! If you've been eaten, you have two exits, from both sides, so to speak! But I'll make a third! Devouring!
Perhaps... I won't mention how I left the lizard's friendly organism. Let's just say a high-explosive flatulence occurred. The lizard, as it turned out, had successfully left the boiling puddle and was rolling on the ground, crushing the surroundings with its multi-ton carcass. Dartaola and the warriors were found here, having engaged the mad, suffering behemoth. And they were extremely surprised by my sudden appearance. The Paladin both healed me and shared an antidote.
"Alastir warned that their innards could have such an effect to keep the victim from resisting," she confirmed my conclusions, "so I brought an antidote with me. How are you?"
I shuddered at the realization of the situation. If it weren't for the shield, I wouldn't have even been able to free myself—terrifying. And also because after all the abuse, the lizard's carcass is good for nothing but meat. And yet the hide is clearly fireproof... What a shame...
"Let's not tell anyone about what happened, okay?"
The Paladin shrugged.
"Fine, but you owe me a favor."
At a certain point, we came out to the edge of the underground city, where the buildings met the caves. It turned out to be a wide balcony overlooking a red, murky river and the rough stone vaults of the caves around the palace, glowing with crimson fireflies. And also overlooking the second group entering the city, which, judging by the corpses, had cleared out the Kobolds. Naturally, we immediately fired into the air, attracting our colleagues' attention. Jaina appeared in a flash of Teleport a second later. She looked us over—dusty, a bit battered, chewed on, but extremely satisfied—and demanded:
"Report."
"Everything looted and dealt with, Boss. Only the walls are left," and then added seriously, "The first Hacks in the cave were smashed. The Orcs are inside; they passed the outer defense, Lady Jaina. We've blocked several passages; the Undead will delay them."
The Wizard nodded, sending the crates of collected resources through a portal to Theramore. Now our hands are free again; it's about time.
"Good. We will head straight to the Oracle; you continue. But do not linger. Do not underestimate the Orcs and their allies."
And we were all for it. Looting! Especially since the further we go, the richer the surroundings become. And, having carved a path through another batch of dead guards, we penetrated the palace. And that's where it began... Rich fabrics that time hadn't touched. Thin and strong, looking rich even after millennia, flowing in complex strands. Very expensive material.
Entire magic libraries full of books and scrolls. Yes, many of them were outdated or destroyed by time and rats, but there are preserved materials too! And we're taking them! Rich chambers full of jewelry and Magical Items. The furniture had perished, but the metal had passed through time, waiting for new owners. Enchanted Armor. And all of this was an order of magnitude, two orders richer than what we saw in the city.
Of course, this also affected the security. Dead mages, much stronger than before, with proper equipment. Undead warriors possessing not only Armor but skills. Moreover, the Armor significantly buffs the bone-heads. The soldiers of our squad even began to cautiously put on pieces of Armor, looking for what fit their build. Mostly Arms, shields, less often helmets or gloves. What was taken off went first into bags, and then, when they were full, just into a pile on the tables. Bags found in a local tailor shop were immediately put to use. They are made from some rare and clearly expensive hide, by the way.
"We'll pick up our things later," the soldiers decided, putting on the new equipment.
A separate headache was the SUDDEN archers with magical arrows. This heresy just crawls out of every crack to unexpectedly put an arrow in your back from the most sudden angle. Flaming, or electric—enemies without enchanted weapons had long since ended. They walk silently, they don't creak; tracking them before the shot is almost impossible. And if one hides well, he manages to get off a second shot, and a third. The consumption of Alchemy rose sharply, though we had gathered quite a bit of it.
And the Boss of this gym: a hulking lich glowing green with a tower shield and a rune-covered battle scythe, nearly three meters long. A very stylish black battle scythe with green runes. Cool...
"I WANT IT!"
It seems our collective roar made the ancient dead man shudder. Or maybe he just reacted to the noise, I don't know. And I can confess: at that moment, we weren't driven by a higher purpose or salvation. Not by vengeance or the drive to reach the Oracle, who wouldn't tell me anything I didn't already know anyway. We were driven by greed.
Said corpse blocked the bridge leading into the depths of the palace, over boiling water covered with flaming geysers. On one side, something like an embankment. On the other—massive closed gates in a stone wall, to which a stone bridge leads. He stood between us and the loot. Big mistake.
To the credit of said dead man, he caused quite a bit of trouble. Both with his support group, consisting of skeletons firing at us from windows in the wall, and himself, for he hides behind a Magic Shield, delivering sweeping scythe strikes from behind it. Dartaola had to focus entirely on healing the warriors until we first took out the shooters, and then, as a united collective, the skeleton itself.
This parasite left us with the most injuries. Strikes from behind the shield created many problems, as did Shield Bash with the tower shield itself, which resulted in two warriors having to be fished out of the boiling water with telekinesis. After which they had to be revived with Alchemy. While we were busy with that, the Dwarfs collectively discussed a problem and approached the others with it.
"We should mine the bridge. There aren't many passages here; we'll delay the enemy."
True. It seems the palace is surrounded on all sides by an underground river. Maybe it was once beautiful, and the pier had flowerbeds with glowing purple and blue flowers and trees. Now it's a river of boiling water and sulfur; even hovering over it leads to severe burns. Proven by almost personal experience.
"Let's do it."
We barely made it. We had just finished stuffing the equipment into crates, crossed to the other side, finished mining the bridge, and moved toward the gates when new visitors appeared on the pier—the green-skins. They smashed through the locked gates, making so much noise they drowned out our conversations and the bubbling of the boiling water, instantly drawing attention to themselves. Especially when the warriors, noticing us, let out a Battle Shout:
"LOK'TAR OGAR!"
How interesting. Thrall, mounted on a Wolf, alongside wolf spirits and the eternal hammer, Brutes, and those in the rear look like Trolls. We looked at them, they at us. Of course, we could have waited for them to attack, but the plan was different, and our squad Commander was aware of it. Don't drown the Warchief of the Orcs in boiling water. Even if you really want to.
"Blow it."
"Yes, sir!" the Dwarf barked happily while his colleagues aimed their rifles at the Orcs running along the embankment.
And he turned the detonator handle. I have no idea where they got this stuff; apparently, it was in a bag. But I'm glad they had it; I hadn't thought of such a thing.
The world shook; we nearly fell as the stone slabs of the bridge plunged into the water. It's very beautiful to watch the stone slabs, like a house of cards, collapse from quite small charges, plunging down and kicking up spray block by block. And so it went until the bridge completely disappeared, leaving fifty meters of churning boiling water between us.
The Orcs, who had already sent the wolf spirits forward, froze, watching as the path to us vanished in a cloud of dust. So close and yet so far, heh-heh. Must be frustrating.
"That will delay them," Dartaola smirked, examining the enemy from the height of the Crane, just as I was.
Yes, a couple of Trolls threw spears at us, the Dwarfs fired back, but in fact, both sides can do little in such a situation. Exactly what we need.
Let him look for a detour, fight through the Undead, waste time. And the official corridors leading to the throne hall await us. Huge, with a colonnade, decorated with numerous statues. And a treasury behind it. Jaina and the others had already cleared the Undead here, so no one will stop us from gathering treasures!
Moreover, we found a statue of a Night Elf woman on a tiger, demanding we bring her a "heart." A problem Jaina bypassed simply and mundanely—with a portal. After which she decided to wait for our group. And she readily listened to the latest news, then teleported the crates to Theramore. We still haven't looted the palace; we need to hurry! The Orcs won't wait; it would be good to collapse the second bridge too. And maybe a third; I suspect Thrall is capable of raising the earth from the depths. The riches of this place will belong to us!
***
Venidan. A few hours before this.
The Pepelats banked into a turn with a hum, dodging a pair of particularly persistent wyverns. These Brutes, or rather their riders, Trolls with skulls on their heads, had become a separate source of headache. Flashes of magical volleys passed by as the Troll banked, accelerating his beast and moving into the ship's blind spot.
The Trolls quickly realized from which sides the machine could only respond with missiles and try to stay precisely in the blind spots. When this is all over, I'll need to tell DaVi about this. She was planning to build a larger ship; she'll find it useful. But for now, I need to not die.
The helmet on my head shows the image around me; fingers in leather gloves gripped the control levers. Familiar, but it wasn't always like this. At first, controlling the massive apparatus terrified the Rogue. It's one thing to control your own body, when you feel every movement, every part of yourself. And it doesn't matter if it's a battle, a dance, or something else, pleasant or not. Well-fitted clothes allow you to move equally easily in any situation.
It's a completely different matter—controlling the Pepelats. No physical feedback, orientation only by the visual image, essentially. She would never admit it, but the first few times she was incredibly scared to take the control levers; everything seemed so sharp and completely non-intuitive. Like a huge, unbroken beast that behaves however it wants, but not how you need it to.
With time, it passed, of course. She got used to it, and watching how the Midget controls the ship in all sorts of poses, often nearly falling asleep in the pilot's seat or lying across it, on the floor, on the table, or under the table, made her stay quiet and learn. And respect DaVi, of course. In the end, she is a child, albeit a talented one. And even despite how serious she can be.
She learned. First, just to fly the machine more or less steadily. And after—combat as well. And the fact that DaVi freely allows her to control the Pepelats is flattering. Still, the small Elf loves all her mechanisms; she even tries to fix the birds and Manhacks, regardless of the degree of damage. Free access is a clear indicator of trust.
Alright, time. There's enough space around; we won't crash.
"And now—a surprise! Everyone hold on!"
The engines rotated, the hum turned into a roar, and a jet of incandescent hydrogen sharply turned the machine in space, bringing its guns to bear on the wyverns. They only managed to throw pots of incendiary mixture once before the Troll riders and their transports were sent to experience the acceleration of free fall. Venidan caught her breath after the sudden G-forces and smirked, watching their uncontrolled fall into the dust. That's where you belong.
"Tsk, I've picked up words from the Midget," and then clarified louder, "Damage?"
Yes, the Pepelats has its own crew from among the Theramore soldiers. DaVi, as I recall, wasn't particularly happy and took everything she deemed important off the ship. Including the Umformer, which generates Mana, and the supplies of dark magic artifacts. She doesn't trust these humans and Dwarfs. But she didn't contest Lady Jaina's will. Which was strange; Veni was sure the Midget would be sharply against it. But she reacted, though negatively, with extreme calm.
"Five more targets ahead. Fifteen coming in from the west. The enemy is breaking through the minefield," the Dwarf at the tactical table reported, "they will pass the mines within an hour."
Bad. The plan assumed the minefield would delay the Orcs for a long time. It did, until their leader, an especially powerful Shaman, summoned a bunch of earth elementals who are carving a path with their magic. They rolled the earth into a tube and rolled the resulting cylinder, triggering the mines. The mound protects against explosions, and if anything happens, the elementals fix it.
"Then we'll drive them off."
It will help for a while, until the Shaman summons new elementals. The attempt to get the Shaman himself ended with a scorched Force Field when an electric storm struck from the heavens. A whole wall of lightning, hitting a single point, burned through the Pepelats's shields and damaged the machine. And that clearly wasn't the limit. Message received—we're not messing with the Shaman anymore. But the elementals can be knocked out by missile runs from a safe distance. And besides the most unhinged Shaman, there are several others in skins, and they are helping the leader. Bad.
"Fire in section six. The junk burned through the hull."
Tsk, what exactly these Trolls are throwing isn't clear, but they do it accurately, and this gunk is sticky and burns through Armor, stone, and many other things. In section six we have... nothing. Fine.
"Jettison section six."
The ship shuddered as the cubic room was sent on its short flight to the surface. Now the dynamics will change slightly. Но better this than a fire on board. Signs are hung everywhere on the Pepelats: there is nothing worse than a fire on board. So... let it be so.
"Good. Let's go after the golems. We need to buy a little more time."
The ship smoothly picked up speed and banked in a circle over the cave entrance, allowing a view of the Battleground. Craters, corpses, burned equipment, and destroyed human fortifications. It seems the Shaman continued to burn, simply collapsing the wall along with everyone who was on it. And thereby protected the passage to the underground complex from shelling. And now the Orcs are calmly advancing across the minefield behind the elementals. And not just them. Venidan had never seen such Brutes before.
A short gesture and the image zoomed in, showing huge, truly huge humanoid cows armed with half-meter logs. Three meters, no, four tall. Like Ogres, yes. And the largest and strongest cow with an axe that could cleave a Crane or a Dwarf Mechanical Spider along with the pilot. A huge, bearded cow with an axe and a wooden Y-frame on its back made from a log. The Shaman walking nearby tilted his head and seemed to meet Venidan's gaze. It's impossible; she isn't looking at the Shaman with her eyes, but through a spell. And yet, the smirk of this green giant bodes nothing good.
"We've been spotted!"
"I see," the Rogue said intently, aiming the missiles with gestures. Need to take the shot and then immediately pull back.
There are no clouds in the sky, but that means nothing. Who knows what this Shaman needs to arrange another rain of lightning. The Pepelats jerked. What, where? Where is the enemy? Again. Looking around frantically, she realized:
"Enemy on the engines."
These... beings look relatively humanoid, though without legs. A body made of swirling air currents, with "arms" and a "head," and lightning flashes and jumps within this living cloud. What's worse, they don't seem bothered at all by such a trifle as being on a flying and maneuvering ship. Damn Shaman!
Boom! The Pepelats spun, shook, a nasty screeching sound rang out, tossing the Rogue in the pilot's seat. A notification arrived.
"Missile block lost. No equipment signal."
It seems one of these beings struck the missile block with an electric fist. The cabin Armor held... for the most part. But new messages about deformation appeared, and the screeching couldn't be anything good. Something will probably tear off soon. Plus, stabilization was disrupted; the gyroscope began to malfunction. If we survive, I'll hug the damn Goblin for turning the cabin into an armored capsule.
Turrets? They managed to take out a few, but these... beings, like an aggressive swarm, swarmed the Pepelats, striking wherever they could with fists of lightning. Magic turret shots dissipate some, but others hide in blind spots, delivering blows. In any case, without missiles, we can't do anything. We could burn a few elementals with the guns, but the Shaman raised his hammer to the sky and it's glowing. I don't really want to check what else he's come up with.
"Taking us out, I'll try to shake them."
An explosion. Venidan was nearly thrown from her seat.
"Engine two lost."
That's the front right. It seems the pest somehow shorted the system and the hydrogen exploded. Not enough to flip us, but still unpleasant. An explosion, this time the rear engine, spitting flames from both sides, turned into a torch. Cut the fuel.
"Engine three lost! Wyverns on the right!"
And as if on purpose, the damn Trolls on their damn flying freaks swooped in while the ship's maneuverability was reduced. Don't even hope! Missiles! Tsk, the block is dead. Laser? Ready! A flash, and three wyverns turned into flaming remains, rapidly losing chunks of organic matter. The others scattered but didn't fall behind. Twelve, two groups joined up. And five more are cutting off the path to the city. Bad.
"Fire in the second. The cabin is burning on the outside!"
Magic turrets are boiling the enemy, but they are also actively maneuvering, continuing to throw flaming pots. One Troll even fell off his wyvern so it could perform a maneuver, dodge, and caught the rider a hundred paces below.
"Fire in the technical zone! Another one! Breaches in the technical zone!"
Venidan shuddered. In the technical zone, among other things, is the hydrogen tank. If it blows... rather, when. The Pepelats can still move, but...
"Everyone assemble on the bridge. Immediately!" she demanded over the intercom, "prepare for jettison."
Half a minute later, the cabin detached in a flash of ejection from the burning and spinning hull, which began an uncontrolled flight toward the surface. And to confuse the enemy in the form of four wyverns, the other sections also rained down in different directions. However, the riders preferred to chase the largest piece until it hit the ground at high speed, detonating in a bright flash.
And inside the stabilized bridge, four remained. Venidan, the Dwarf, and a pair of humans. Her own reconnaissance team. They fell in silence, seeing off the machine that had saved them from many problems on its final journey.
"Get ready; after landing—we move. We shouldn't stand out in the open."
The bridge will have to be blown up; we shouldn't leave technology for the Goblins. The Midget is prudent, after all. Even if she didn't want to lose the Pepelats, she thought through the evacuation system. What's worse, the ship ended up on the wrong side; between them and the city is the route the Orcs are taking into the cave.
In the silence, the bridge crashed into the grass of the Barrens with a nasty screech. Naturally, before stepping out, the scouts made sure—the wyverns had flown away. And they changed helmets, leaving the pilot's helmet in the seat and putting on the combat one, white and green. A familiar hood went over it. The air filter hissed to life, becoming silent a second later. Everything is normal.
"It's time for us. Goodbye, Pepelats," the Rogue sighed, "you fulfilled your task."
Though she didn't consider the ship alive, and it wasn't. DaVi... would have appreciated it, probably.
The Dwarf jumped down after her, scanning the area with pistols ready.
"It was a good machine."
The humans followed the Dwarf. They might seem large, clumsy. But Venidan knew—these brothers are stronger and more agile than they appear.
"The main thing is that we're alive. We need to get to the city. Or move south, to Theramore. Where did we land?" the elder of them asked.
Veni snorted, finishing the self-destruct sequence.
"The city is to the east. The Orcs are there too, to the south. Theramore is to the southeast. In any case, we'll have to pass them."
The younger brother grimaced slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"Tsk, just perfect. Couldn't you have landed somewhere else?"
"I couldn't," Venidan snapped, "there was a gas tank in the technical zone that fed the engines. If it had blown, we wouldn't be talking right now."
The Dwarf waved it off, looking around.
"What are they doing?"
Venidan turned. From the nearest empty section that had fallen after detaching, spider-mines emerged, having apparently survived the fall. Seeing them, she relaxed.
"Automation. To make looting harder. Davilinia is sharply against the Goblins getting their paws on the machine. There are a few left inside too. If we go in—it'll blow."
The elder brother muttered discontentedly:
"Why didn't you say so earlier? I thought maybe there was something valuable there. Something that would be useful to us."
Venidan ignored this perpetually dissatisfied man. In the end, that's exactly why the mines are there, so people don't go looking for "something valuable." But what is worth doing is grabbing a couple. So Venidan approached a Manhack hovering by a crate and, with a familiar motion, poked its camera with her finger. The machine obediently clicked and folded into a cylinder the size of a small thermos. Repeating this twice more, she turned back to the waiting scouts.
"In any case, it's time to go," the younger one reminded her, and the Dwarf agreed, "we're out in the open here."
True. We need to get to our people.
***
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