"Can you hold a wrench?"

The question hung in the hot, smoky air of the border gate.

Damien looked at the greasy, disheveled Dwarf Prince standing on the platform. Hephaestus didn't look like royalty.

He looked like a mechanic who hadn't slept in a week. His eyes were bloodshot behind his goggles, and his hands were stained black with oil.

But Damien saw something else. He saw desperation.

"I can hold a wrench," Damien said, stepping forward, the shackles on his wrists still flickering erratically. "But I think you need someone who can hold a circuit."

Hephaestus's eyes narrowed. "A circuit? You know Artificer theory?"

"I know that your suppression cuffs are failing because they are tuned to a standard mana frequency," Damien said, lifting his hands.

"My mana is… denser. It's creating a feedback loop in the runic script. If you don't unlock them in about ten seconds, they are going to explode."

Recalling information from the original novel, plus the bits he had understood from the Voss library, at least based on theory alone, he was an armature craftsman

It was also because of this that he believed his idea to culturally invade this world with blue star technology was going to be a huge success.

And as if on cue, following his words, the iron cuffs began to whine. The red light of the runes turned a dangerous, unstable white.

"Shit!" Hephaestus cursed, jumping down from the platform with surprising agility. He pulled a complex multi-tool from his belt.

"Don't move! If that detonates, it'll take your hands off!"

"Unlock it," Damien ordered calmly.

Hephaestus jammed the tool into the lock mechanism. He twisted it, muttering curses in Dwarvish.

Click. Hiss.

The shackles popped open, releasing a cloud of steam. They fell to the ground, dead.

Hephaestus let out a breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked at Damien with a new intensity.

"You knew exactly when the overload point was," Hephaestus muttered. "You aren't just a regular noble, are you?"

"Voss was it? I think I heard my father say that name once or twice," the prince muttered.

However, Damien just smiled slightly.

"Something like that," Damien rubbed his wrists. "Damien Voss. And these are my… assistants."

He pointed to Isabelle, Lyra, and Leona.

"Voss..." Hephaestus chewed on the name.

The more he thought of the name, the more information came to mind.

After a minute or two of thinking, he finally remembered why the name sounded so familiar.

"The human dark mages. My father mentioned them. He said Theron Voss was the only human who could drink him under the table."

The Prince stood up, looking at the Captain of the Guard.

"Captain. Clear them. They are with me."

"But Prince!" The Captain protested, his hand still on his hammer. "The Regent's orders were absolute! No humans! Especially not—"

"I am the Prince!" Hephaestus roared, his voice cracking. "And I am the Chief Artificer of this project! If I say I need them to fix the prototype, then they are essential personnel! Do you want to explain to my uncle why the Guardian Project failed because you arrested the only person who understands mana density?"

The Captain paled. The "Guardian Project" was obviously a sore spot.

"Fine," the Captain spat. "But if they are spies, it's your head, Prince."

"It's always my head," Hephaestus grumbled. He turned to Damien. "Get in the lift. We're going down."

…..........…

[The Lift - Descending into the City]

The platform they stood on wasn't pulled by ropes. It was driven by massive, grinding gears and pistons powered by steam.

As they descended past the Iron Wall, the view opened up.

Isabelle gasped. Leona's eyes went wide. Even Lyra, who was used to the grandeur of the World Tree, stared in silence.

The Dwarven Capital wasn't like a regular city; it was a machine.

Built inside the hollowed-out crater of a massive, dormant volcano, the city was a sprawling metropolis of brass, iron, and steam.

Pipes the size of rivers ran along the walls, carrying magma and water. Massive cogs turned slowly in the background, powering thousands of factories.

Airships, crude, blimp-like vessels held aloft by mana balloons, drifted through the smog. The streets were lit not by torches, but by glowing Mana Lamps.

"Welcome to Ironforge," Hephaestus said, pride leaking into his tired voice. "The City of Gears."

"It's… loud," Leona commented, her ears twitching at the constant clank-hiss-thud of the industry.

"It's the sound of progress," Hephaestus said. He looked at Damien. "You said you know why the cuffs failed. Does that mean you understand Mana-Conductivity?"

"I know that you are trying to bridge the gap between Magic and Mechanics," Damien said, looking at the city.

"You are trying to build machines that run on mana batteries instead of coal. But you're having trouble with the conversion rate. The mana burns out the engines."

Hephaestus dropped his wrench. It clattered loudly on the metal floor.

"How…" The Prince whispered. "That's a state secret. How do you know about the Burnout Issue?"

Damien smiled. He knew it because he had read the novel. The Dwarves spent ten years trying to fix the "Burnout" before they finally invented the Mana-Combustion Engine.

"I told you," Damien tapped his temple. "I'm an engineer. And I have a blueprint that can fix your problem."

Hephaestus looked at him. The suspicion in his eyes vanished, replaced by the fanatical hunger of a scientist.

"If you can fix the Burnout," Hephaestus stepped closer, grabbing Damien's hand with his greasy gloves. "I will give you anything. Gold. Mithril. Weapons. Anything."

"I don't want gold," Damien said, letting his Golden Dragon Aura leak out just enough to show he was serious.

"I want to see the King."

Hephaestus flinched. The excitement drained from his face, replaced by a deep, dark worry. He let go of Damien's hand and looked away.

"My father..." Hephaestus whispered. "He isn't seeing anyone right now."

"Is he sick?" Damien pressed.

"He's..." Hephaestus hesitated, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "He's sleeping. He hasn't woken up in three months. And his skin... It's turning grey."

Damien's eyes narrowed.

Grey skin. Coma. Unwakeable.

It sounded like a familiar poison in the novel.

'Abyss Poison,' Damien realised. 'The same poison the Twilight Association uses, something isn't right here!'

However, despite his suspicion, Damien did not say anything; rather, he planned to use this information to his advantage

"Take me to him," Damien said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can wake him up."

Hephaestus looked at Damien. He saw the confidence in the human's blue eyes. He saw the terrifying strength of his companions.

"If you are lying," Hephaestus said quietly, "my Uncle will kill us both."

"He can try," Damien smirked.

The lift hit the bottom floor with a heavy thud.

"Follow me," Hephaestus said. "And keep your hoods up. The city has eyes."

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