Volume One, Chapter Fifty-Six: Iron Wall

Morde, who had been busy “opening doors” all the way, sneezed again and sniffed, beginning to wonder if he might be coming down with a cold.

“Who’s thinking of you this time?” Twisting a string in her hands, Mu Qing glanced playfully at Morde ahead.

“Thinking of me? As if. Who would bother?” Morde fanned away the swirling cement dust, shooting an annoyed look at Mu Qing behind him. She had somehow found a piece of string and started amusing herself with it.

“How many walls have we torn down on this trip? When will it ever end?” Bored, Mu Qing’s fingers spun the string, weaving it into a “parachute,” then into a “skyscraper,” the flickering shapes dazzling Morde’s eyes.

“Let’s break five more walls. If there’s still no end in sight, we’ll take another way,” he declared.

“What way?” Mu Qing stopped her string tricks and looked over at him.

“The sky path.” Morde tapped above his head, casting a mysterious glance at Mu Qing.

“The ventilation duct, huh? That could work. Since the air still circulates through these rooms, we might actually find an exit by following the vents.” Ignoring Morde’s attempt at suspense, Mu Qing’s gaze locked onto a corner of the ceiling. “Since we’ve secured a way out, let’s delve a bit deeper.” Even as she spoke, her hands fluttered through the string tricks again.

“Playing cat’s cradle alone isn’t much fun.” As a “cat’s cradle duelist,” Morde quirked his lips and pressed on with his task of breaking through the walls.

Greetings, Ruins. I am your breaker.

...

Inside a dark chamber, before an iron wall, a skeleton knelt in silent vigil, its skull pressed to the wall as if knocking for untold ages.

A sudden commotion shattered the silence, followed by dull, rhythmic banging and the faint sound of voices.

A crack split the darkness, spreading wider, filling the room with noise and chaos.

A shaft of light pierced through, banishing centuries—perhaps millennia—of darkness and stillness.

A young man and woman climbed through the breach, finally arriving, stirring time itself back into motion.

“Well, look at that, someone’s here.” With the wall breached, they found something other than an empty room at last. The glow of their light stick illuminated a massive, blue-black iron wall and the skeleton kneeling before it.

There was not a trace of flesh left, yet the skull, upheld by its cervical vertebrae, remained pressed steadfastly against the wall, as though refusing to collapse.

Morde and Mu Qing first carefully surveyed the room’s corners, then regrouped beside the skeleton by the iron wall.

This seemed to be the deepest chamber of the ruins—aside from the hole they’d just opened, there were no other doors.

The iron wall spanned the entire chamber, barring all passage. Its blue-black surface was rough, streaked with traces of molten metal that had once flowed down its face.

It had been cast with scalding steel, as if to bury whatever lay beyond forever.

Mu Qing tapped and rapped on the wall, while Morde crouched before the skeleton, placing his hands together in silent respect: “Forgive my intrusion.”

The dead are to be honored; may the departed rest in peace.

After examining the iron wall’s composition, Mu Qing glanced back, finding Morde kneeling by the remains, hands together and silent. Watching his solemn back, she chose not to disturb him.

When he opened his eyes and looked again at the darkened bones, a change flickered in Morde’s gaze. His hands gathered golden light, forming a thin, glowing glove. He gently laid the skeleton flat, then carefully lifted the skull for closer inspection.

Skull, clavicle, scapula, ribs, sternum, humerus, radius, ulna, spine… He disassembled each bone with practiced ease, scrutinizing each before returning it neatly to its place. Knowing the human skeleton as intimately as his own, Morde restored the jumbled remains to order.

Within minutes, the unknown soul who had knelt before the wall for countless ages could finally lay down in rest.

“There are multiple hairline fractures on the skull—death was likely caused by repeated blows to the wall, resulting in fatal brain injuries.” Noting Mu Qing’s approach, Morde pointed out the web of cracks on the skull.

“No other injuries?” Mu Qing knelt beside him, watching as he continued sorting through the dead one’s possessions.

“None visible on the bones, at least,” Morde replied.

Countless years had worn away all clothing, leaving only a metal card and a ring of Realmstone.

The card was likely an anonymous access pass, and whatever had been stored in the Realmstone ring had long since crumbled to ash.

“This is late Old Calendar craftsmanship.” Mu Qing examined the ring with some surprise.

Realmstone—a wondrous mineral with storage properties—had been discovered by humans in the late Old Calendar era. Back then, their processing was crude: small pieces of Realmstone were simply glued to metal rings.

Such primitive methods couldn’t unlock the stone’s full spatial potential, offering little storage and no way to bind the ring to an owner.

As supernatural abilities rose and humanity’s knowledge grew, Realmstone found many uses beyond storage rings. One of its greatest became the construction of city barriers.

This ring, however, was not simply set with a stone; the Realmstone itself had been carved into a solid ring. It was as though someone had carved a string of pearls from the Heshibi jade—an utter waste. Such ostentation had become nearly extinct, but in the late Old Calendar, it was a mark of the wealthy and powerful.

The raw stone used for this ring could have yielded dozens of rings like the one Mu Qing had previously obtained, yet its storage space was no greater.

After marveling at the extravagance of the ancients, Morde suggested Mu Qing use the ring to collect the remains, so they could be properly buried once outside. As for the ring itself, it was a treasure left by their forebears—meant to be put to good use by those who came after.

Seeing Mu Qing slip the ring into her pocket along with the other, rather than wearing it, Morde couldn’t help but ask, “Why not wear it?”

“It’s too brittle. One careless move and it’ll shatter on my hand. Safer in the pocket,” Mu Qing replied matter-of-factly, leaving Morde speechless.

He had to admit, she had a point. This was someone who could crush two mountain peaks with her bare hands; her raw strength far surpassed his own.

“Did you find anything?” Morde picked up the glowstick and moved toward the iron wall as he addressed Mu Qing.

“This wall’s alloyed with a good amount of ‘Dead Gold’—quite a feat,” Mu Qing replied, slipping the ring with the bones into her pocket and rising to follow him. Her expression was calm, as though she’d done this many times.

The iron wall was cold enough to bite, as if it would freeze to death anyone who dared touch it. Morde frowned, gathering golden light at his fingertips to shield himself from the chill. He’d grown complacent seeing how Mu Qing had tapped on the wall with ease—but now, he realized just how large the gap between their strengths remained.

With the golden membrane in place, the cold was bearable. His fingers, carrying a current of alien energy, swept slowly over the wall’s uneven surface. Within, he felt something persistently resisting his approach—refusing his touch and perception.

“So it really is full of ‘Dead Gold’—impressive,” he murmured, massaging his stiff fingers as he studied the massive wall anew.

The base material was likely the same costly alloy as the other doors. The sheer amount used for this one wall was astronomical, and to that was added a substantial quantity of Dead Gold.

In Old Calendar year 2356, the first “Living Gold” appeared before the world. People were fascinated by this metal that mimicked life and possessed its own will.

“Dead Gold” was then smelted from slain metal lifeforms—a strange material first refined, according to records, by the alchemist Howard Lovshus Lee, with the raw material being the world’s first Living Gold, “Hopkins.”

The method for refining Dead Gold was the most closely guarded secret of the alchemists of that era. But with the coming of the First Metal Frenzy, it was lost forever to history. Perhaps out of vengeance, the rampaging metal lifeforms razed every last alchemical workshop across Europa to the ground.

The Howard school perished without exception; the art of Dead Gold was lost. Even as technology clawed its way back to greatness in the New Calendar, no one could replicate this mysterious metal. All Dead Gold in the world today was a precious relic of that lost age.

Unlike “Exotic Metals,” these “Slain Metals” possessed supernatural properties inexplicable by science. Weapons forged from Dead Gold could grant their wielders extraordinary abilities, even if they had not awakened powers themselves.

But for all their strength, Dead Gold weapons had their flaws.

Long-term use seemed to subtly alter the user’s mind—making the timid bold, the honest greedy. Each weapon’s influence was unique, and so names like “Blade of Courage” and “Dagger of Greed” spread among the people.

In the old days, it was common gossip over tea: within these legendary weapons, the souls of slain metals lingered, sealed for eternity.