The Angarosa region is home to numerous carnivorous beasts.
White-winged eagles soared overhead, capable of snatching goats from the mountains. On the ground roamed solitary brown bears, packs of wild wolves, and the elusive Angarsian lions. This vast wilderness was scarcely visited by humans, making the disappearance of lone travelers a common occurrence. This made fabricating a plausible death scene considerably easier—there was no need to strain one's brain devising earthquakes or landslides.
Skeleton soldiers hauled away most of the corpses. The soldiers' remains, along with shattered bones from the battle, were placed in the graveyard. After a period, new soldiers would be forged from them. A small portion of bodies were left behind, and the army's supplies and equipment remained largely untouched—except for the "Red Hounds." Tasha was startled the first time she saw this contraption. It seemed out of place in this fantasy world, resembling an early, clunky machine. But she didn't have time to study it further before Marion kicked it off the cliff. The dwarves cheered from behind, clearly loathing the thing.
"Redhounds track alien species," Marion explained. "They're precious assets for human armies, deployed only in major campaigns. In skirmishes, everyone destroys them first—so this won't raise suspicion."
"Is it a dog?" Tasha asked, thinking to herself, Dogs sure look strange around here.
"No, it's a thing!" A craftsman dwarf who'd overheard their conversation stepped forward, gesturing. "Like we build a furnace, they build a dog!"
Was this the fruit of an alternate industrial revolution? Tasha wondered. If humans had already climbed the tech tree, the situation for the agrarian natives here looked grim—a direct confrontation would be a complete walkover. While others came to this realm to spark an industrial revolution, she had arrived to revive magical civilization. Had she landed in the wrong place, standing on the opposite side of history's tide? Tashu silently pondered this for a moment before asking Marion, "Do human cities have steam engines?"
Marion replied, "Huh?"
Tasha rephrased: "What do human factories use to operate?"
"People," Marion replied. "They trust no outsiders."
It seemed the Industrial Revolution hadn't truly begun—or at least hadn't spread widely. Tashar thought, There's still hope. Declining magic versus nascent industry... who knows which might prevail.
Bodies and weapons lay haphazardly discarded on a nearby hillside, a frequent haunt of wolf packs. Marion was an excellent hunter. She staged a convincing encounter scene, attracting extras to further process the mutilated corpses. Within a day, those bodies riddled with animal teeth and claw marks had acquired alternative causes of death.
The Artisan Dwarves' efforts refined the process. Though unskilled at hunting, they excelled at crafting traps. They brought out their prized possessions, deliberately damaged to look triggered, scattering them near the battlefield. Hypnotic powders could explain why the soldiers hadn't fired distress signals—in truth, the Artisan Dwarves only used this substance for sleep, its potency far too weak to serve as a weapon. But humans wouldn't know that.
Those who'd never truly encountered them knew neither the craft dwarves' abysmal combat prowess nor the true effectiveness of their weapons. The residual drugs at the scene left ample room for imagination. This battle that wiped out a squad could be explained by traps, hypnotic weapons, and wolf packs—or even conspiracy theories. By comparison, the rumor of "an underground labyrinth swallowing an army" seemed utterly ridiculous.
The Oak Elder had entered dormancy. Rooted firmly in the earth, it clearly couldn't be transplanted underground without sunlight. The Artisan Dwarves gathered and processed suitable leaves, decorating the bare oak with them. Their craftsmanship was truly impressive—the leaves were attached just firmly enough to stay put yet shed naturally in strong winds. The camouflage they applied to the oak proved remarkably effective, successfully concealing the tree within the forest.
All preparations were complete. The final verdict would depend on the humans' reaction.
For the first few days, Tarsha barred anyone from leaving the underground city to avoid encountering any armies. The Artisan Dwarves grumbled about being confined underground, but once Tarsha opened the forge to them, most complaints vanished.
A large group of artisan dwarves poured in, crowding every corner of the forge and craning their necks toward every tool. Hammers passed from hand to hand as they endlessly praised the iron lumps in various ways. "Look at its perfect weight! Its perfect shape! That beautiful curve! What a fantastic hammer!" they exclaimed excitedly, "Blah blah! Blah blah!"
——To Tashar, their words sounded no different from this cacophony; she couldn't share their inexplicable fervor.
They enthusiastically swung the hammers everywhere, testing which one suited them best by the sound it made when striking the ground or cutting through the air. Several dwarven craftsmen identified the same hammer as the best tool. They all grabbed the handle, clamoring and tugging at it. But before Tasha could consider intervening, they swiftly divided the labor, deciding to take turns using it. Some dwarves embraced the anvil, while others circled the magical forge.
"Fire! This steady fire!" Hogun, chief of the Grinders, declared ecstatically. He had previously claimed to be the finest smith here. "What burns within? Not even charcoal could yield such intense heat, such stable edges, such perfect smoke clearance! I've only heard of such a furnace in legends!" He leaned too close, nearly setting his own bushy beard ablaze. A large tuft of his beard turned singed and curled, prompting roars of laughter from those nearby.
"I've been meaning to ask—don't dwarves who forge iron find such long beards inconvenient?" Tashan murmured to herself. Her voice was drowned out by the laughter, and Marion beside her didn't hear.
"Dwarves possess a natural resistance to high temperatures."
Tasha froze, realizing the reply came from Victor. After his earlier sudden silence, Victor had been playing dead, head down. This was the first time he'd spoken up in ages—seemed her quiet days were over.
"Not playing dead anymore?" Tasha asked.
"I wasn't playing dead!" Victor snapped.
"What happened earlier? Were you banished by the Abyss?" Tasha pressed.
"I don't know!" Victor snapped.
His reply was curt and irritable. Perhaps due to their mental link, Tasha sensed a faint, lingering unease. He seemed reluctant to speak, yet bound by their contract to respond—which made it seem his earlier words had only come because Tasha had "asked a question."
Tasha felt a rare pang of sympathy for him and didn't press further.
Over there, the dwarf chieftain sulked over his beard for several minutes. After a while, he muttered to himself, "Good thing I didn't eat dinner. If my beard had gotten greasy, it would've burned right off!" With that, his mood lifted instantly, and he began humming a cheerful little tune. Marion looked at the forge room, which had descended into chaos within minutes, and apologized awkwardly to Tasha. "They're usually very serious about their work," she said. "It's just that we've never been able to get enough equipment. Iron tools are restricted..."
Mid-sentence, someone tossed a pair of tongs high into the air and caught them by the skin of their teeth. Marion's abruptly halted voice and pale face made it clear this wasn't a display of skill, but merely a momentary lapse of the blacksmiths' self-control.
"They really are dependable blacksmiths," Marion said dryly.
Tasha smiled. "I believe so."
Marion's reassurance was unnecessary; the new information appearing in Tasha's mind confirmed it.
"Forging Room: Suitable craftsmen have appeared in your Forging Room. Forging can proceed."
"Workshop: Suitable craftsmen numbering over ten have appeared among your contracted tribe. They have expressed their willingness to work in the Forging Room. The Forging Room advanced building, Workshop, has been unlocked."
Let's provisionally call each building's information card a "building card." The previously inactive Forge card had become usable, revealing the advanced building "Workshop." The Workshop came equipped with additional tools that would automatically be set up once Tasha completed its construction. It could accommodate another group of crafty dwarves—those lacking brute strength but possessing nimble hands.
Both buildings offer numerous craftable items, such as: "Wooden Table: Your craftsmen are skilled enough to make this item. Required materials: Wood (can be simulated)." "Common Sheathed Iron Sword: Your craftsmen are skilled enough to make this item. Required materials: Iron Ore (available); Wood (can be simulated); Leather (must be obtained)." From furniture to weapons, from ordinary doors to intriguing trapdoors, a vast array of product options appeared here, each thoughtfully labeled with required materials.
Though she couldn't conjure anything out of thin air, with the dwarven craftsmen and these clear instructions, Tashar only needed to prepare the materials and issue commands.
The human army didn't appear the next day. It wasn't until the third day that scouts discovered the prepared site and returned to report the news. Tasha remained vigilant, but the humans' investigation proved surprisingly sloppy—they merely retrieved the Red Hound fragments from the mountain's base and called it a day. Tasha followed them for a stretch in her invisible spectral form, circling far outside the city walls to avoid detection.
The army was indeed busy, but not with the defeated squad. "Useless fools!" a man dressed as an officer cursed. "Damn it, I can't face reporting the Red Hounds' loss now. Once this is over..."
They seemed to be planning something, though the specifics might take a while to uncover. Tasha had her ghost follow from a distance, keeping a close watch on the situation.
With the craftsman dwarves, life in the dungeon changed rapidly.
At first, they scurried about every corner of the dungeon themselves. Later, some grew lazy, attempting to use the goblins as pack animals—loading them with finished furniture or simply mounting them themselves. These little dwarves riding goblins looked surprisingly natural, almost adorable, like ordinary folk on horses. Thus, Tasha kindly assigned the goblins new tasks to assist the dwarves. Ah Huang volunteered to assist, and though he often got distracted playing, the craftsmen dwarves adored him—after all, unless it was an absolute emergency, the dwarves themselves would pause their work mid-task to play. Yet their efficiency was surprisingly high, likely because they genuinely enjoyed the work.
These little folk poured all their passion into the new settlement. Forge rooms and workshops hummed with constant activity, churning out fresh furniture nonstop. They crafted doors for every room, fitted them with locks and keys. Tables, chairs, nightstands, wardrobes, storage boxes—they made it all, fast and well.
They jot down required materials in a small notebook, handing it to Marion, who then passes it to Tash. A craft dwarf named Ella discovered slime mucus glows under certain light, so she invented a lamp using the mucus as a light source. She requested large quantities of slime, believing enough slime lamps could replace the torches on the corridor light stands. Tuck the craftsman dwarf made three daily requests: "Please catch some ducks, or sheep, or anything with soft fur." He was fixated on the hard bedboards in their quarters, declaring that given the materials, he could craft a bed ten thousand times softer. Such requests, and many more, unlocked new crafting options on workshop or forge cards whenever made.
Later that week, Tashan noticed the atmosphere had shifted. Mine shafts transformed into varied corridors, caverns of all sizes became functional rooms with door signs, and junctions featured directional markers. The dining hall now displayed their hand-drawn dungeon map. The rigid, cold dungeon had taken on a living feel, transforming the barracks-like quarters with built-in "residences" into a new home.
Surprisingly dependable? Tashan glanced at the orderly passages, then at the craftsman bouncing down the corridor only to take a flat fall. He couldn't help but look at these marvelous little dwarves with newfound respect.