Chapter 87: The Golden City

Chapter 87: The Golden City

Tove stepped forward in the direction indicated by the compass needle, her small figure instantly swallowed up by the thick fog.

Harald and Pachak exchanged a glance and could only follow close behind.

The fog grew denser and denser. At first, they could still see their companions twenty or thirty paces away, but soon, they could only see the people right next to them. Anyone who ventured even a few steps into the mist would immediately become a blurry grayish-black shadow. It was impossible to tell whether the indistinct figures looming in the fog were their own people or the mountain's trees and rocks.

So the group had no choice but to tie ropes around their waists, linking everyone together in a chain—both to prevent anyone from getting lost in the fog and to be able to rescue anyone who slipped and fell off a cliff.

Tove walked at the very front of the line, her waist-rope connected to Pachak, with Harald and Dwarin behind Pachak. Past that point, Tove could no longer see anyone clearly.

Every few steps, she'd glance down at the Golden Compass to make sure she was still heading where the needle pointed.

Suddenly, the compass needle started shaking violently. Tove stopped short, and Pachak, caught off guard behind her, bumped into her. Tove worried she might have bruised his knee.

"What's wrong, Miss Tove?" Pachak asked warily, glancing around, one hand on the curved blade at his waist, suspecting an enemy lurked in the fog.

"The compass—it..."

After spinning wildly for a moment, the needle gradually slowed to a stop. This time, it was pointing northeast.

Tove was now doubly bewildered—physically and mentally. How could the location of the Golden City change? Did it sprout legs and run around?

Not believing it, Tove took a few more steps forward, and a massive boulder suddenly appeared before her. It was blocking the narrow rocky valley, cutting off their path.

A nimble warrior might be able to climb it, but for ordinary folks, scaling the boulder was nearly impossible.

Was the Golden Compass changing direction to tell them to take a detour?

Tove pulled herself together. She trusted this relic, which Sylen had gone through so much trouble to get, was absolutely reliable—or rather, she trusted Sylen, her companion.

So she changed direction and continued, following the compass's guidance.

The group grew restless. The dwarves and natives were puzzled by the change of direction, but in the end, they chose to follow Tove, trusting her as their companion.

After walking for about half an hour and going around a small peak, the Golden Compass changed direction once again. Following the new heading for a little over ten minutes, Tove was surprised to discover that they had already gone around the boulder.

"Just as I thought—the compass leads us around obstacles."

Tove's appreciation for this wondrous relic deepened. It wasn't a simple compass; it was more like a guide who couldn't speak, faithfully leading them through the mist.

And so, taking a winding path, they traveled for nearly a full day. As dusk gradually fell, the already abysmal visibility dropped even further. Now everyone could barely see the rope around their own waist stretching forward into the endless fog.

If they didn't reach their destination by nightfall, they'd have to set up camp. But camping in fog like this was incredibly unsafe.

Suddenly, Tove stopped again.

This time, it wasn't because the compass had changed direction, but because there was no more road ahead!

"Tove, what's wrong?" Harald hurried over, gripping the rope at his waist.

He and Pachak stood on either side of Tove, staring at the scene before them, both stunned into silence.

They were standing on a cliff.

The fog ahead had thinned somewhat, allowing them to see farther into the distance.

The sheer cliff face dropped away vertically, at least a hundred meters, perhaps more. Below lay a lush forest, mist drifting through the trees, giving off an atmosphere of deep, serene stillness. Strangely, there was no birdsong or animal calls. Not even the wind. It was as silent as a grave.

Tove looked at the compass. The needle pointed straight ahead without the slightest tremor, as if it were welded in place.

"This thing's broken, isn't it?" Harald couldn't help saying. "Or maybe the Golden City is at the bottom of the cliff. We can find a way around to the bottom tomorrow."

Pachak nodded in agreement. "Everyone's tired. Let's set up camp here."

"But whenever we've hit an obstacle along the way, the compass always pointed us around it. But this time, it's pointing at the cliff..."

Tove bit her lip, a spark of understanding flashing in her eyes.

"...Maybe that's why no one's been able to find the Golden City for thousands of years," she said quietly.

"Huh?" Harald looked at her, confused.

This was the "magic" the Golden City's inhabitants had cast, she thought. It didn't just mess with your sense of direction, making you get lost in the fog—it also messed with your perception of the world around you.

When people saw a cliff, they'd naturally choose to go around it. But was this "cliff" actually a cliff?

Unless someone had been told the right path in advance, or had a reliable tool that couldn't be messed with, outsiders would never find the Golden City in their lifetime.

And Tove just happened to have exactly such a tool.

"The compass hasn't made a single mistake the whole way. This time, I'm choosing to trust it too!"

With that, Tove loosened the rope around her waist and took a step toward the cliff's edge.

A small pebble rolled from under her foot and tumbled down the cliff, its faint impacts growing ever more distant.

"Wait, Tove, you're not really going to—" Harald's eyes went wide as he hastily grabbed the rope. "Don't let go! If you fall, at least we can pull you back up!"

Tove, her back to him, raised her thumb to show she understood.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

A feeling of weightlessness hit her instantly. For a brief moment, a flicker of panic crossed Tove's mind: This is it, I'm really going to die!

But her fear soon faded.

Because she still had the rope behind her, connecting her to her companions. No matter what, they'd pull her back up.

Back on the cliff, Harald and Pachak stared in shock at the rope in their hands.

Tove had stepped off the cliff. Logically, she should have fallen, pulled down by gravity. The rope in their hands should have gone taut, and they should have grunted and groaned hauling the adventurous dwarven girl back up and giving her a thorough scolding. But...

Tove was gone.

She'd taken one step off the cliff and vanished without a trace.

The rope did indeed go taut—but it was taut going forward, into the open air. The front half was still in their hands, but the back half seemed to have turned invisible.

The dwarf and the human exchanged a glance and, without a word, both stepped forward.

The brief sensation of weightlessness lasted less than half a second before their feet landed on solid ground.

They looked at the rope in their hands—it stretched forward, connected to the dwarven girl's waist.

And beyond that lay a wide stone staircase.

This was definitely not a natural formation—it was man-made!

The stone steps continued upward, their surfaces worn down unevenly by millennia of wind and rain, covered in a thick, velvety layer of moss.

The fog was a bit thinner here, letting them see the weathered stone pillars lining the steps. They had once been painted with intricate designs, but relentless time had worn the colors away, leaving only faint, unrecognizable blotches of color.

From the dense forest on either side of the steps, the chirping of birds never stopped, making this hidden realm feel even quieter.

The rope behind them gave a tug, and Harald came stumbling in, bumping into them. He rubbed his nose, looking at the three of them in surprise, then looked up at the top of the steps in awe.

"Is this really...?"

Tove didn't answer, just nodded slowly.

No words were needed. They climbed the steps together.

One by one, the dwarves and natives followed the rope in. They barely had time to marvel at the wonders before them before being pulled along to climb higher.

Tove climbed faster and faster, until she was scrambling on all fours. The climb felt like a long ritual, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum urging her to go faster.

When she reached the top step, the view suddenly opened up before her.

A fleeting gust of wind happened to sweep by, like an invisible hand gently lifting the veil of fog.

A massive city sprawled out before her.

The entire city was built of stone, not on flat ground but layered up the steep mountain slopes. Countless terraced platforms, raised foundations, and crisscrossing stone walls wove together into an incredibly complex stone maze.

Many structures had long since collapsed, leaving only crumbling walls and ruins. Stubborn ferns sprouted from the cracks between stones, thick vines cascaded down from above like waterfalls, and massive tree canopies burst up through courtyards and rooftops.

The city was utterly empty, like the corpse of a dead giant eroded by wind and rain down to bare bones, yet on that corpse, new life was sprouting.

Brightly colored birds circled among the trees, their calls echoing beautifully. The sound lingered around them, like a hymn welcoming them to the end of their journey, or a requiem for the dead city.

Tove looked at the Golden Compass again.

Its needle pointed due north, just like any ordinary compass. Which meant its mission was complete.

***

On June 24th, the prisoner convoy from Cape Prison finally reached Crow's Rest Harbor on the east coast of the continent.

This port was one of the few deep-water harbors on the east coast. To the north was the Holy City, capital of the Holy Nation, and to the south, the colonies. Nearly all ships heading north or south stopped here to resupply, making Crow's Rest a major trading hub on the east coast.

A merchant ship called the "Star Guide," which had a partnership with the Holy Nation's navy, was docked at Pier Two. Sailors worked nonstop, loading and unloading cargo and supplies, getting ready for the next voyage.

Captain Brockhurst was a portly, bushy-bearded man in his fifties. In his booming voice, used to barking orders in storms, he greeted them loudly: "Welcome, Inquisitor Aurolan! First time meeting you—well, well, I didn't expect such a young and talented man!"

"Captain Brockhurst," Aether said, shaking his hand politely. "May Saint Catherine, patron saint of sailors and the sea, always grant you sunshine and fair winds."

"Oh, thank you for your prayers! With such a distinguished Inquisitor aboard, we won't have to fear fierce pirates or the dreaded Storm Fleet!"

Captain Brockhurst's eyes narrowed, his thick beard rising as he broke into a big grin.

Aether asked, "Have you prepared the quarters for the guards and the prisoners?"

"Yes, all set! Take a look!"

The captain gestured grandly, pointing at the docked ship: "The Star Guide's a fine lady! She's the latest three-masted sailing ship—thirty meters long, eight meters wide, three hundred tons displacement, and a top speed of eight knots with a tailwind! Don't think she's slow; she's far more stable than your average cargo ship! With the saints' blessing, we'll make it to the Holy City in three weeks!

"The esteemed guards will stay in the upper cabins. I can't give them private rooms like the senior officers—sorry to make them share four to a room—but I promise they're spotless! And of course, Your Honor the Inquisitor, you'll have a private cabin. As for the prisoners, they're all packed into the lower holds. I've added extra locks; there's no way they'll escape."

Aether had little interest in or knowledge of the ship's specs, caring only about prisoner security.

"We've also brought horses and dogs. Is there room for them?"

"Of course! We've got cattle and sheep aboard too—we slaughter them mid-voyage to give the sailors fresh meat and keep scurvy away. Your horses and dogs can bunk with them."

"Is the sea safe these days?" he asked.

"I came from the Holy City and didn't run into any pirates," the captain said, wrinkling his nose. "I hear the Storm Fleet has shown up in the eastern waters, and the pirates are running scared. Alas, I hope we don't run into those monsters! Saint Catherine save us..."

Aether followed suit, tracing the Sun Emblem over his chest: "The prisoners are being held in the City Guard prison here in Crow's Rest. Tomorrow I'll transfer them to the ship, and then we'll set sail."

"No problem! I'll have the sailors speed up the loading. If there's anything you need to bring aboard, just bring it along!"

Aether asked a few more questions about the route, and Captain Brockhurst answered them all.

A flock of seagulls flew overhead, mercilessly snatching bread from a few unsuspecting passersby, leaving behind a string of mocking cries. The gulls circled briefly before flying into the city, weaving through the winding streets until they landed on an unremarkable, standalone house.

A man in a pitch-black cloak stood in a dark alley across the street from the house. He was nearly one with the shadows; if a white seagull hadn't landed on his arm, no one would have noticed him there.

"Caw! Wise two-legged sir, the one you're looking for lives here!" The gull raised its wing, pointing at the house across the street.

Lyman patted the gull's head.

Today the prisoner convoy had arrived at Crow's Rest, and all the prisoners were temporarily held in the local jail.

Lyman, thanks to his privilege as a horse handler, was allowed to rest in the stables (in chains, of course). He found a chance to take the puppet out of the Divine Casket and, using "Spirit Domination," controlled it to ask Crow's Rest's animals about the whereabouts of Carlos's wife—Anna Blanco.

Or rather, Carlos's "widow," so to speak.

The street-smart harbor gulls soon brought good news. They guided Lyman to a house on the edge of the dock district. This neighborhood sat on the border between the docks and the slums, with poor security, and the house looked run-down—a clear sign of the owner's money troubles.

Lyman waited patiently until nightfall. When the streets were empty, he melted into the shadows, walked up to the house, and rang the bell.

He then noticed a paper pasted on the wall by the door, tattered from wind and rain, with a faint picture of a young man's face.

At first, Lyman thought it was a wanted poster—after all, this was a port town, probably hunting some Pirate Lord. But on closer look, he read: "Missing Person: Joyce Blanco, male, 16..." The rest was unreadable.

The door creaked open a crack, revealing half a pale face and a pair of scared eyes.

"Who is it? ...Huh, no one there?"

Lyman stepped out of the shadows, pulling his hood low to hide his featureless face. He intended to play the part of a mysterious man in black.

"Hello, are you Mrs. Anna Blanco?"

The woman inside gasped: "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. My eyes are getting worse..."

She muttered to herself for a moment before asking, "Did you come because of the missing person poster? Do you have news of my Joyce?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. I'm a friend of Mr. Carlos. He asked me to—"

Bang! The door was thrown open. A gray-haired woman in a patched dress grabbed Lyman by the collar, her gaunt face filled with disbelief.

Lyman was startled, but then figured—Mrs. Anna had been separated from her husband for years; hearing news of him would naturally shock her.

"Carlos! You really mean Carlos?" the thin woman exclaimed, her face lighting up with emotion. "Don't you dare fool me just because I'm a woman! Did you hear my husband's name somewhere and come to beg for a few coins..."

"Oh, the Carlos I mean is really tall, half a head taller than me, with black tattoos on his face."

The woman's eyes went wide, and she pulled Lyman inside.

The room was small, cluttered with fabrics everywhere, and several wooden mannequins leaned against the walls. Mrs. Anna seemed to earn her living as a seamstress. But Lyman noticed that both the fabrics and the mannequins were covered in a layer of dust, as if the lady of the house hadn't worked in a long time.

Mrs. Anna apologized repeatedly for the mess in the room, motioned for Lyman to sit in the only chair, and hastily poured him some water from the kettle on the stove. The cup's rim was chipped, but Lyman could tell it was the best cup in the house.

"Is Carlos still alive?" Mrs. Anna clutched at the hem of her dress, asked nervously. "It's been so many years; I thought he was dead. Why hasn't he come home? Why does he only think of me now?"

Lyman wanted to tell her everything about his brief time with Carlos at Cape Prison, but that would mean informing this poor woman that her husband was a pirate, a prisoner. Could she bear such a blow?

Even if she could endure it, what if the neighbors found out that her family had a prisoner? Would they ostracize Mrs. Anna?

His mind racing, Lyman blurted out, "He went to the southern colonies to make a living, ma'am. That's why you haven't heard from him."

"Colonies... I see. So far away that even writing a letter would be difficult..." Anna's eyes went vacant as she murmured, "And how is he now?"

"Unfortunately, ma'am, he recently fell seriously ill and passed away."

Anna covered her mouth, letting out a choked sob.

"Before Carlos died, he asked me to give this relic to you. It's quite valuable—if sold to someone who knows its worth, you'd never have to worry about food or clothing again."

With that, Lyman pressed the Message Conch into Anna's hands.

The gaunt woman held the shell, at a loss. Big tears welled up in her eyes and spilled onto the shell.

"How could this be, Carlos..." she sobbed. "Back then he said he was going to sea to make money, and no matter how I tried to stop him, he wouldn't listen—he just walked away without looking back... After all these years, suddenly I hear he's dead..."

Lyman looked at her helplessly. He honestly didn't know how to comfort a grief-stricken widow. Saying "my condolences" felt too cold, but as for speaking words of warmth and comfort, he simply didn't know what to say.

He'd dealt with cultists, fought Paladins, witnessed the spectacular chaos of superhuman battles—but now, faced with a weeping woman, all his past experience was useless.

He just stood there, frozen, feeling awful.

After a long while, he stammered, "Mr. Carlos once... once looked out for me. If there's anything I can do for you, just say the word."

Anna wept quietly for a while, then grabbed a cloth to wipe her eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir, for making such a scene." She turned her face away, not wanting a stranger to see her fall apart. "It's just... thinking about my son, it's all so ironic..."

A son? Carlos never mentioned having a son. Lyman remembered the missing person poster tacked up outside the door and asked, "You mean Joyce?"

"Yes. After Carlos left, I discovered I was pregnant. He... he probably never even knew Joyce existed." Anna said, her voice heavy. "I raised that boy on my own. He's a good kid—always helped around the house since he was little..."

"Then he must've had a fine mother raising him," Lyman said. "How did he go missing?"

"Not long ago, he said he was sixteen, old enough to sail, so he wanted to sail out and find his father, to ask him to his face why he abandoned us."

Anna sniffled loudly. "I tried everything to stop him, but he wouldn't hear of it. He never had a father growing up, and everyone around him mocked him for it. I guess he resented Carlos... One day, he walked out and never came back. I searched every dock until I found out he'd boarded a merchant ship headed for the Eastern Seas."

"So that's why you made those missing person posters?"

Anna nodded. She looked at the shell in her hands, then suddenly shoved it back into Lyman's hands.

"Sir, you said these things are valuable. Can I hire you with this? Please find Joyce and bring him home..."

With that, she hurried into the back room and came out clutching a big stack of missing person posters.

"I had these made. Take a look!" She shoved the papers into Lyman's hands as well.

This world hadn't yet invented the Gutenberg printing press, so the posters were printed using a woodblock-like method. The ink was dark and smudged, and Joyce's portrait was so crude you could only tell he was a young man. Fortunately, the poster described his appearance and physical features, or Lyman wouldn't have had a clue how to find him from that crude sketch.

"Ma'am, I happen to be headed to the Eastern Seas, so I can keep an eye out for him," he said. "You should keep the shell. Carlos left it for you."

"But I'm just a regular person—I wouldn't know the first thing about selling these. I'm afraid of being cheated. Better to leave them with you; you look like you know what you're doing." Anna looked distraught. "And I can't have you working for nothing..."

Lyman was stumped. He hadn't thought of that. For someone like Anna, just finding a way to sell a relic would be tough. Even if she didn't get cheated, what if she caught the attention of the Dawn Church?

"It won't take that much out of it," he said. "I'll take my fee out of the relic's value and convert the rest into gold or jewelry for you. That way, you can sell it easier if you need to."

Anna tried to refuse, but Lyman put on a stern voice: "I'm a busy man and don't have time to chat. It's settled. I'll be back before dawn."

With that, he got up quickly, grabbed one of the posters, and tucked it into his coat.

Anna called after him: "Thank you so much, sir. May the Patron Saint Catalina watch over you! Oh, and what should I call you?"

She reached the door, but a night breeze blew through, and the man in black was already gone.

*

Lyman slipped into the shadows at the corner and, as Mr. Shadow, reached out to Sylen, saying he wanted to sell the Message Conch. Now that he possessed the "Divine Council," he could communicate with Apostles at any time, and they with each other—so the Message Conch had become far less useful.

Sylen replied promptly.

"You want to sell a relic? The transport station is indeed in need of supernatural power right now. The Message Conch would be very useful during our operations." The merman youth mused. "Well then, how about I trade you some jewelry? As you said, it needs to be something easy to sell without arousing suspicion."

In the end, Sylen exchanged a gold bracelet set with gems for the Message Conch. Lyman took out the less easily sold gems, wrapped the bracelet, quietly placed it at the doorstep of Mrs. Anna Blanco's home, knocked on the door, and quickly hid himself.

A poor woman having to sell a family heirloom bracelet to make ends meet—that sounded perfectly reasonable. She could use the money to improve her life, and combined with her tailoring, she should never want for food or clothing again.

The next day, the prisoner convoy boarded the "Star Guide" and began their long sea voyage. Oh, it could no longer be called a convoy—it should be called a fleet now.

Although the "Star Guide" was a merchant ship of the Holy Nation, its crew wasn't entirely composed of Saintlanders. They came from various nations, and a few even bore features clearly indicating they were natives of the southern continent. Sailors bustled about the deck speaking in different accents—some foreign sailors with poor Saintlandish could only communicate through their native tongues and hand gestures.

Aether seemed frustrated by his inability to understand the sailors' conversations, so he summoned Lyman to serve as his translator. Thus, Lyman was promoted from stable hand to interpreter—truly a cause for celebration.

A crisp sea breeze carrying a salty tang blew from behind, the "Star Guide's" sails billowed, and the ship sped forward at full sail. With such fine weather on departure day, everyone was overjoyed.

Lyman leaned against the ship's rail, gazing at the land receding into the distance. And so began another new journey.

He looked at the Book of the Evil God.

【Your Apostle Sylvira has completed the mission "Cleansing of Sin." Please choose one of the following Supernatural Abilities to bestow upon your Apostle.】

After Sylvira shot Lamanor, the mission was complete. At the same time, the Book of the Evil God indicated that Sylvira had unlocked a new mission—"Sowing Hope."

"Supernatural Ability: Master Farmer (B-rank). The blood of a farmer flows through your veins. Affinity with the land is your innate gift. You excel at cultivation, animal husbandry, fishing, and brewing. Your hands can grow a land of splendor."

"Supernatural Ability: Ocean Explorer (B-rank). You are the darling of the sea, a resilient sailor. At sea, all your attributes will be comprehensively enhanced. You instinctively master swimming and diving, with a higher chance of finding underwater treasures or encountering maritime wonders."

Lyman couldn't help but smile. This farming skill he'd complained about for so long had finally found its rightful owner.

"I choose 'Master Farmer,'" he thought.

【Your Apostle Sylvira has completed the mission "Cleansing of Sin." Please choose one of your existing Supernatural Abilities to upgrade.】

Without hesitation, Lyman chose to upgrade "Gravity Reversal."

"Supernatural Ability: Gravity Reversal (B-rank) → Gravity Manipulation (A-rank). Gravity is now under your command. You may select a target to strengthen or reverse the effect of gravity upon it. Now, for you, physics truly no longer exists."

The upgraded "Gravity Manipulation" could be used not only on himself but also on other people or objects. Moreover, it could not only reverse gravity to make targets float but also "strengthen" gravity...

If used wisely, this would be an incredibly powerful ability for both offense and defense!

"Xiaoqi! Xiaoqi!!! Come quick!"

Tove's cry rang out in Lyman's ears. Her voice was high-pitched, like a taut violin string.

Lyman immediately manifested beside Tove in Xiaoqi's form. Fearing Tove had run into trouble, he was ready to activate *Spirit Domination*.

Yet there stood the dwarven girl in the middle of a vast ruined city. It had been forgotten for who knows how many years, and had now become a green paradise.

"This is... where?"

"It's the Golden City!" Tove said, hands on her hips, grinning ear to ear. "We found the Golden City!"

This was the Golden City?!

Lyman was utterly astonished, not only because Tove had actually found the Golden City (he had mentally prepared himself to console the dwarven girl with *it's just a legend*), but also because this city, said to have been abandoned for a thousand years, was far from lifeless—it was absolutely thriving.

Locals could be seen everywhere, either clearing the streets or setting up large cauldrons outdoors, with boiling water bubbling inside and wafting delicious aromas.

The dwarves were working even harder. They had improvised ladders, scaffolding, and hoisting devices from local materials, and were repairing the stone houses. Dwarin was leading a group in mapping out the city. Harald and Pachak, along with a group of native warriors, were hauling several deer and a bear, marching triumphantly down the streets like a band of fishermen who'd landed a big catch.

Tove took Lyman on a tour along the streets, enthusiastically introducing the improvements the locals and dwarves were making to the city.

"We've already fixed up some of the more intact, habitable houses and moved people in. Then we'll repair more of them. There are still many locals in the colony—Pachak plans to go to the great plains to gather other tribes. If they want to flee the Holy Nation, they can come here.

"The valley here has fertile soil, perfect for crops. If we plant seeds now, we should be able to get a harvest in before winter. Then we won't need Sylen's aid to make it through the winter. Though it'd be even better if the elves could give us some guidance—they're the real green thumbs.

"We plan to convert this building into a community center, where people can hang out and unwind. If necessary, it could also become a shrine for the Shadow Mentor. But our top priority right now is putting food in everyone's bellies and providing safe shelter."

Lyman nodded along, impressed. The dwarves were indeed masters of infrastructure—they were second to none.

Among the ruins of the Golden City, there were still plenty of livable houses, and the city seemed to have been laid out with intention. As immigration grew, perhaps it could truly restore the glory of the legendary city from a thousand years ago.

Another question occurred to Lyman.

"Why is this city called the Golden City? I don't see a speck of gold anywhere."

Tove's face lit up like a Christmas tree. She eagerly beckoned Xiaoqi to follow her into a building serving as the temporary command post.

Inside, a simple table was set up, animal pelts covered the floor, and maps drawn by the dwarves hung on the walls. Lyman noticed two objects on the table—one black and one white.

Tove picked up the black one and presented it to Xiaoqi as if it were a treasure.

"Xiaoqi, look at this!"

It was a black solid about the size of a fist. Lyman recognized the substance from Earth.

"This is... coal?"

"Yes! Coal!" The dwarven girl was over the moon. "We found a coal mine outside the city—massive reserves, and some of the veins are even exposed at the surface, making extraction easy! You know, we dwarves are born miners. We'll have the mine up and running again in no time!"

Lyman recalled Sylen telling him that the Golden City possessed *black gold* and *white gold*, and that its residents had grown wealthy on these two treasures.

Black gold was coal! Natural, abundant coal deposits!

Lyman fully understood Tove's excitement. In fact, he couldn't help but break out in goosebumps himself.

Now they had coal, plus a large group of skilled dwarven craftsmen. Lyman could almost hear the thunder of steam engines!

"So what's the white gold, then?" he asked.

Tove set down the coal and picked up the white lump. This time, Lyman stared at it for a long while but couldn't figure out what it was.

"It's bat guano," Tove said.

Lyman recoiled in horror. "Don't mess with poop, Tove!"

"I'm not!" Tove huffed. "This is the Golden City's *white gold*!"

Lyman got serious, thought for a moment, and immediately understood Tove's meaning.

Tove said, "There's a large cave outside the Golden City where tens of thousands of bats live. Over centuries, a massive pile of bat guano has accumulated at the bottom of the cave—about as deep as a building is tall. Xiaoqi, guess what we can make with bat guano?"

"—Nitric acid!" Lyman and Tove said at the same time.

Yes, bat guano is packed with nitrogen, which can be used to produce nitric acid. And when nitric acid combines with potassium ions in the soil, it can eventually form potassium nitrate.

With abundant bat guano, at the very least they could produce fertilizer, and at the most, gunpowder. Nitric acid was also a key industrial raw material.

Add coal to that, and the Golden City could blast into the industrial age!

No wonder they called it *black gold* and *white gold*! Even if the Golden City hadn't sparked an industrial revolution a thousand years ago, with abundant coal and nitrogen fertilizer, it could have enjoyed a life of abundance!

"How did such a thriving city meet its end?" This question had been nagging at Lyman. "Have you found any remains of the local residents?"

Tove thought for a moment. "We did find a large cemetery on the edge of the city. It has multiple levels, with deep tombs underground. It looks like, when the Golden City was in its final days, all the residents walked into the cemetery to await death. Some others fled to the western plains and became the ancestors of Pachak's people. As for what destroyed the city..."

The dwarven girl's expression turned grim.

"We found a scroll that might be related to the Golden City's destruction. But it's written in a language we can't read—maybe the ancient script of the Golden City from a thousand years ago?"

"Where's the scroll? I'll try to find someone who can read it." Lyman himself knew many languages, let alone had scholars like Nikola around who specialized in ancient scripts.

"Well, we took a quick look and put it back in place, because we were afraid to mess with it. Xiaoqi, come take a look for yourself."

Tove's mysterious, hesitant demeanor made Lyman's heart pound, as if they were about to uncover a secret that shouldn't be revealed.

The dwarven girl stepped out of the temporary command post and made her way to the city's edge, climbing a broad stone staircase up the hillside.

"We've never seen anything like it before. Some say it's a bird-shaped idol the Golden City residents made for worship. Others say it's a piece of art. Still others say it's a machine, but I've never seen anything like it. It's even more complicated and elaborate than Relf Stone Spear's inventions..."

Tove stopped as she spoke, standing at the summit with her arms crossed, studying the strange "metal construct" before her: "Xiaoqi, you've traveled across worlds with the Shadow Mentor—have you ever come across anything like this?"

At the top of the hill, nestled among lush ferns and creeping vines, lay an airplane, motionless and quiet.

It was a small twin-engine aircraft, covered in vines and moss, but the greenery couldn't hide the gleaming aluminum-silver of its fuselage. The nose, the middle and rear of the fuselage, and the tail were mottled blue.

Under the wings, large black letters were painted—though the paint was peeling, the combination of letters and numbers was still legible—NR16020.

"Oh my god." That was all Lyman could say.