Here's the Addendum to chapter 8 that I promised. It actually turned out longer than I was expecting, and ended up more than doubling the chapter length. Its already been added to the actual chapter as well, if you were holding out and wanted to read it all in one go.
I AM slightly worried that all of this is dragging out the event a bit,
But Its supposed to impress how big this really is, and I like that we get to see things from multiple viewpoints. Things will be moving on from here though, and we'll get to see the actually results, so don't worry.
Tell me what you think so far!
♛———♛—————————♛———♛The Deep forest was quiet except for the steady hum of the convoy.
Six massive floating containers drifted along the narrow stone path in slow formation, each filled nearly to the rim with dull blue-gray ore. The hovering carts glided a few hand spans above the ground, their weight balanced by strange devices mounted beneath them by the Dungeon Core.
Ahead of each cart marched a pair of Antonio-model antborg soldiers — thick, tank-sized armored bodies moving with relentless precision. Their jointed legs carried them forward without pause, mandibles flexing as they navigated the uneven ground and pulled the floating containers behind them without strain.
Smaller Alphantonso-model workers darted between the larger insects. They cleared loose rubble from the path, gathered stray chunks of ore that had spilled from the carts, and occasionally climbed the container sides to steady shifting loads.
Goblin workers and a handful of bandit prisoners moved among them as well, laboring under Alpha’s watch as they worked off their sentences.
Normally, Oreseeker wouldn’t have brought so many bodies along for a haul.
But this wasn’t a normal haul.
Oreseeker grinned as he walked beside the convoy.
Before the Dungeon Core came to their village, everyone had known him as Rockbreaker. Back then, he spent his days shaping tools and crude weapons for the tribe. Deep stone could hold an edge longer than mortal steel if you shaped it properly, but without a proper forge his work had always been limited.
Now things were different.
Only a few months under the Core’s rule and he was managing shipments large enough to trade with other Deep tribes. Although Alpha’s strange machines handled most of the digging and processing, which suited Oreseeker just fine. His real skill had never been swinging a hammer.
His cultivation let him feel the bones of the cavern itself — where veins twisted through the stone, where pressure had forced rare metals together, where something valuable waited beneath layers of worthless rock.
Even the Core’s scanners struggled to match him on a good day.
And this find… it was bigger than any before.
Surface folk called it Miasmic Silver, since working it could poison anyone foolish enough to handle it wrong. It was brittle too, making it useless for most weapons and armor.
Alpha had taken one look at Oreseeker’s sample and nearly vibrated with excitement.
“Cobalt,” the Core had called it — a name Oreseeker had never heard before.
According to Alpha, the metal gave unusual properties when alloyed with other materials.
Especially this Deep variety.
And Oreseeker had found a massive vein of it.
Several hundred tons.
Oreseeker’s commission from this single discovery would feed him comfortably for months.
His grin widened as he quietly began planning how to spend it.
“Maybe even—”
The caravan lurched to a sudden stop.
The hovering carts froze mid-path as the antborg soldiers halted without warning.
Oreseeker blinked.
“What’s going on up there!” he barked.
His voice carried easily through the convoy.
“I don’t know, Foreman!” someone near the lead container shouted back. “The ants just… stopped.”
Oreseeker stepped forward, weaving past one of the floating carts to see for himself.
The Antonio antborgs stood perfectly still.
Every one of them.
Around them, the smaller Alphantonso workers had frozen mid-motion, some still gripping ore chunks in their mandibles.
Then, in eerie unison, every ant turned toward the west.
A tight knot formed in Oreseeker’s stomach.
“Boss…” one of the workers whispered nearby.
“What’s going on?”
Oreseeker shook his head slowly.
“I don’t know…”
Without taking his eyes off the ants, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small communicator Alpha had issued for the convoy. Not many people in the village could call the Core directly.
Oreseeker lifted the device—
—and nearly dropped it as every ant snapped its mandibles shut at the same time.
The sharp clack echoed through the clearing.
Then it came again.
And again.
A steady rhythm formed as every ant in the caravan repeated the strange clicking in perfect unison.
An icy chill crawled down Oreseeker’s spine.
“BOSS!”
One of the goblins shouted suddenly, panic cracking his voice.
Oreseeker turned sharply.
The man stood several carts back, pointing upward with a trembling finger.
Oreseeker followed the gesture.
The cavern roof stretched impossibly high above them, so distant that thin clouds sometimes drifted along the stone ceiling. The glowing moss that lit the Deep forest had begun to dim as evening settled across the cavern.
That part was normal.
What wasn’t—
Oreseeker’s breath caught.
Long golden curtains of light seeped through the cavern roof, drifting through the clouds like glowing mist.
Each one flowing west.
——————————————————
Yon Stonewall sat behind his desk and took a slow sip from his cup.
Steam curled from the porcelain, carrying the mellow scent of Stone Peach leaves blended with several Deep herbs he couldn’t quite place. The flavor was smooth and full-bodied, with a faint sweetness that lingered long after he swallowed. It was easily one of the finest spirit teas he had tasted.
Which was saying something.
Most cultivation teas tasted like bitter swamp water. The benefits were worth it, but the experience rarely was. This blend somehow managed both. With each sip, a gentle warmth spread through his chest and limbs before settling comfortably in his dantian.
Yon exhaled under his breath.
Not bad at all.
He had ordered the blend directly from the Nexus hub after hearing several guild members praise it. Considering the price, he had half expected disappointment.
Instead, it had become the highlight of his evenings.
His eyes drifted toward the pot resting on the small side table beside his desk. The lid rattled softly as steam escaped. There was probably enough left for another cup before he returned to the stack of reports waiting for him.
He was halfway to reaching for it when heavy knocks struck his office door.
Yon frowned.
“Enter.”
The door swung open almost immediately.
A guild clerk stumbled into the room, breathing hard, his eyes wide with urgency.
“Sir!” the man blurted. “You should see this.”
Yon sighed and pushed himself out of his chair.
He followed the clerk out of the office and down the guild corridor. By the time they reached the front entrance, he could already tell something was wrong.
The street outside had gone strangely quiet.
Every person in sight stood frozen where they had been walking. Merchants, adventurers, travelers — dozens of faces tilted upward toward the western horizon.
Some whispered.
Others simply stared.
Yon stepped into the street and followed their gaze.
A bright golden glow burned through the darkness far beyond the city walls.
He narrowed his eyes.
Without another word, he bent his knees and launched himself upward.
Stone cracked beneath his boots as he leapt onto the roof of the guildhall in a single motion. The wind tugged at his coat as he straightened and looked west.
The sight confirmed his suspicions.
Yon let out a slow breath.
“What fool went and triggered a tribulation this close to town?” he muttered.
Tribulations were nothing new to a city like Halirosa.
Core Condensing cultivators were powerful individuals — often elite members of clans or sects, sometimes minor elders if their lineage carried enough weight. Most cultivators would never reach that stage, but they appeared often enough that anyone who survived in Halirosa long enough would eventually witness a Heavenly Tribulation.
But breakthroughs were dangerous affairs. Not only could interference cause a cultivator to fail their tribulation, but on rare occasions, someone standing too close might find themselves the target of a stray bolt.
That was why most cultivators had enough sense to attempt their breakthroughs far from other people.
For someone to trigger a tribulation this close to Halirosa suggested either arrogance… or stupidity.
Yon folded his arms across his chest and sneered.
“Is this generation so desperate to show off now?”
He watched the storm gather.
Dark clouds churned in a dense mass along the western sky. Even from this distance, he could see the faint glow of lightning twisting through their depths. The golden light rising from beneath the storm painted the undersides of the clouds in shifting flashes.
As the moments passed, something about the sight began to bother him.
Yon’s frown deepened.
He leaned forward slightly and studied the horizon again.
At first, he couldn’t place it. The storm behaved like a tribulation cloud. The glow matched the energy surge of a Core Condensing breakthrough.
Yet…
Peak after peak cut into the horizon like jagged teeth. Yon knew those mountains well enough to recognize their silhouettes.
His gaze shifted from the nearest ridgeline… to the distant ones beyond it.
Then back to the clouds.
Yon’s breath caught.
His eyes swept across the horizon again, faster now, measuring the distance between the peaks and the storm looming behind them.
A cold weight settled in his stomach.
“That doesn’t…”
His voice faded as the realization struck him.
The storm wasn’t hanging over the mountains closest to the city.
It was farther beyond.
Much farther.
Yon traced the ridges again, following the chain of peaks stretching west until the range faded into distant silhouettes. If his judgment was correct, the storm should be centered somewhere near the Dueling Peaks.
That couldn’t be right.
The Dueling Peaks were nearly five days’ travel from Halirosa on foot.
If that were true…
His gaze lifted back to the storm burning on the horizon.
That tribulation wasn’t close at all.
The clouds looming over the western mountains were simply that massive.
——————————————————
Far to the east, beyond the jagged spine of the Crimson Mountains, the land opened into a vast prairie that rolled toward the horizon in long, gentle waves.
The grass there grew tall and strange. Each blade shimmered with a faint wash of color. Patches of deep violet swayed beside bands of pale blue and gold. When the wind moved across the plain, the colors rippled together like threads shifting through a living tapestry.
In one corner of that quiet sea of color rolled a small, wandering village.
Dozens of sturdy wagons formed a loose caravan as they crept slowly across the prairie. Each cart was large enough to hold a full home — broad wooden decks, curved roofs, and small hanging lanterns swaying beneath the eaves. Massive elk pulled the houses in patient silence, their antlers branching high into the air like living trees.
On the deck of one cart near the center of the caravan, an elderly man and woman sat across from one another at a small table.
Between them rested a worn wooden chessboard.
The old man leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, as he studied the pieces. His beard had gone fully white years ago, though it still hung thick across his chest. Deep lines creased the corners of his eyes, carved there by decades of sun, wind, and stubborn laughter.
Across from him sat an equally weathered woman, her silver hair braided neatly over one shoulder. Despite the slow sway of the cart beneath them, her posture remained straight. Her sharp eyes stayed fixed on the board with the quiet patience of someone entirely unwilling to lose.
For several long moments, neither of them spoke.
Then the old man’s lips slowly curled into a grin.
“Aha,” he said softly.
He reached forward and slid one of his pieces across the board.
The woman’s tongue clicked.
The man’s grin widened. He leaned back in his chair with exaggerated satisfaction.
“Beat that,” he said smugly.
He lifted his teacup to his mouth.
Just before the cup reached his lips, the air beside him shimmered.
A silver wasp the size of a man’s thumb flickered into existence with a faint mechanical buzz.
The tiny machine hovered for the briefest moment above his teacup.
Then it released a small stone.
Plop.
The pebble struck the surface of the tea and sent a splash of hot liquid straight into the old man’s face.
He jerked back with a startled choke, sputtering as tea ran down his beard and soaked the front of his robes.
A burst of shrill laughter erupted nearby.
A cluster of children had gathered beside one of the neighboring carts. Several doubled over as they pointed. One girl clutched her stomach while another nearly toppled off the wagon wheel she had been sitting on.
The old man whipped around in his chair, glaring at the group of giggling faces.
“You nasty brats!” he barked. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to respect your elders?! I should spank the lot of you!”
The children shrieked with delight.
They scattered in every direction, sprinting between the carts and ducking beneath harness lines while their laughter echoed across the prairie.
The old man lowered himself back into his seat with a grumble.
He snatched a rag from the table and wiped tea from his face.
“I swear to the divine,” he muttered, “that lot has gotten worse since they figured out how to reproduce those puppets.”
Across from him, the old woman rested her chin lightly on one hand.
A smirk tugged at her lips.
“If I remember correctly,” she said sweetly, “weren’t you the one who helped them figure that out?”
The old man lifted his head and looked down his nose at her.
“Of course I did!” he snapped. “You saw how bad the stealth on those things was. They couldn’t even hide from spiritual senses. I doubt they could hide from anyone past the First Realm. What kind of fool forgets something that simple?!”
He bit his thumb irritably.
“Doesn’t mean those brats were supposed to use it on me, though.”
The woman burst into laughter.
The old man shot her an offended glare.
He opened his mouth to retort—
Then both of them froze.
Slowly, their gazes turned west.
Far beyond the prairie, past distant mountains and unseen valleys, a faint golden glow had appeared along the edge of the horizon. It was so subtle it might have been mistaken for the earliest breath of dawn.
The old couple stared at the glow in silence.
After a moment, the man tapped one finger thoughtfully against his lip.
“Well now…” he said quietly.
“That’s interesting.”
The woman glanced at him, her smirk returning.
“And you said this place was going to be boring.”
The old man rolled his eyes.
“New evidence was presented, and I changed my mind,” he said dryly.
The woman broke into laughter once more before turning back to the board and moving a piece.
“Checkmate,” she said with a grin.
Before he could respond, she rose from her chair and stepped through the doorway into the wagon’s interior.
The old man blinked.
Then he jerked forward over the table, eyes darting across the board.
His fingers hovered above the pieces as his gaze raced from corner to corner.
Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he flipped the board.