"Langda! Someone's here to see you!" Moni shouted over the fence. The fence wasn't meant to block neighbors, but simply to prevent mischievous little animals or children from trampling the turnips planted in the soil. "Hey, come out of your studio, this person is definitely worth meeting!"

A few small heads peeked out of the windows, looking outside. They were too young to remember what Lynch looked like three years ago. However, tall visitors were very rare, and Zilvra, Soka, and Eryies were all so beautiful, reminding them of many beautiful stories in books. They slid down from the chairs they were using as footstools and knocked loudly on Langda's door.

"Who is it?" The old dwarf, wearing thick glasses, came out from inside. He squinted, trying hard to discern the tall figures until the mage solved his problem: "It's me, Lynch!"

"Oh? Lynch! I didn't expect it!" Whether Langda recognized Lynch's voice or truly saw the visitor's face is uncertain, but he hurried forward to greet him: "When did you arrive? How was your journey?!"

Here, there's no need to recount the greetings between the two. Dwarfs love chatting; it's a very important part of their life, even ranking above eating. Langda had countless stories to tell, and he talked with Lynch late into the night until they unknowingly dozed off at the table.

Langda talked about many things that Lynch had never heard before. However, most of this information were "magical stories" long passed among dwarfs, and no one could prove their existence. Regarding the "Burial Cave," unfortunately, Langda wasn't very clear either. The only gain was that Lynch and his companions obtained a pass to the dwarf storage warehouse and could move out the large object used for transmission.

So, the next morning, without waiting for Langda to invite them to breakfast, Lynch took his companions to the warehouse to move things. He took out the treasured transmission device blueprints; ever since obtaining them, the mage hadn't ceased researching and contemplating. Now the blueprints were filled with strange lines and various writings. Whenever Lynch's magic ability improved, he would have new insights. However, due to the lack of suitable opportunities, he had never found the time to experiment.

The object was so heavy that only someone with Morgan's strong physique could move it, while Lynch could only provide slight help through spiritual control. Some early-rising dwarfs saw Lynch busy here and came over to help. Initially, Morgan looked down on these small fellows, but they easily carried out the eight heavy pillars using "ropes and wooden poles."

"Alright, I admit dwarfs aren't too bad," Morgan said, although still unconvinced in his heart, "but to move huge rocks and carve out a nation in cliffs, ropes and wooden poles alone won't suffice!"

The commotion quickly spread throughout Dwarf City—"Mage Lynch has moved the transmission device out!" Curious dwarfs all came to take a look, hoping to see some "magical things" happen. But all they saw was Lynch lying on the ground, carefully drawing complex magical symbols, while others rested leisurely. The dwarfs quickly consoled themselves, saying, "A spectacular show follows meticulous preparation."

The outside magicians heard the same news, surprised at how the mage had passed through their blockade. However, upon finding the bodies of several magicians and missing robes, the truth was clear.

Yet, around the bodies, they didn't find any signs of magic battle. There was no fire burn, no ice erosion, nor any lightning-caused scars. The magicians didn't know what had occurred here, but they were unwilling to believe their companions had no chance to fight back. "It must have been a despicable stealth attack!" they indignantly thought.

However, wasn't it they themselves who had initiated the sneak attack?

Just as Lynch was focusing on drawing the protective magic array, that group of magicians appeared in the plaza in front of the Golden Hall. After the previous Black Dragon attack, the original sculptures here had been completely leveled, now leaving a bare space perfect for placing the huge instrument.

"Hello, my mage friend, welcome to Dwarf City." A middle-aged man with a flame symbol tattooed on his bald head stepped forward. Although he only had two or three eyebrows left—likely a residue from being burned by fire—and the group of mages in front of him was quite possibly responsible for killing his companions, his friendly smile seemed sincere. "May I ask, what are you doing?"