Extra's Sign In System: The Hero's an Idiot!

Chapter 177: Chapter 177: Sabotaging the Iron

Chapter 177: Sabotaging the Iron

The heat inside the Great Forge was a physical weight.

Cole Rust stood on his wooden crate, wiping sweat and soot from his eyes. He occupied the historical body of Master Torvin. He hated being two feet tall, but the sheer level of access it provided was invaluable.

He looked across the massive, glowing cavern. Bram stood near the heavy obsidian doors. The Vanguard was occupying the body of Instructor Kaelgar, looking completely miserable inside his thick iron armor.

"They are ready," Cole whispered into the secure comms channel built into his Nexus-Band. "The siege weapons are in the lower bays."

Bram grunted softly in acknowledgement.

Cole turned to the elite Dwarven guards stationed at the heavy iron lifts leading to the restricted production sector.

"Open the gates," Cole barked, projecting the gruff, authoritative voice of the Forge-Master.

"I am going down to inspect the final assembly of the Root-Splitters. And I am taking the Instructor with me. We need heavy lifters to align the primary torsion gears."

The guards hesitated for a fraction of a second. Master Torvin was the only Dwarf allowed unchecked access to the Forge-King’s private projects. They bowed respectfully and pulled the heavy iron levers.

SCREEEEECH.

The massive iron grate lifted. Cole and Bram stepped onto the platform. The lift plunged down into the deepest, most restricted vaults of the Stoneheart City.

The heat here was absolutely suffocating. Magma flowed freely through open channels, illuminating the cavern in a harsh, pulsing orange light.

Cole stepped off the lift. He looked at the massive cavern floor and gasped softly.

"Light preserve us," Bram whispered, his eyes wide.

The scale of the Dwarven engineering was terrifying.

Lined up in perfect, militaristic rows were dozens of colossal anti-air ballistae. The Dwarves called them the Root-Splitters. They were massive war machines built from reinforced dark-iron and enchanted bronze.

Resting beside each ballista were long, jagged harpoons designed to pierce thick wood and violently expand, completely shredding the internal structure of the World Tree.

"If Thorgar fires these into the canopy," Cole analyzed grimly, looking at the heavy torsion springs, "the Elves will not even have time to mobilize. The tree will fall in hours."

Dozens of loyalist Dwarven engineers swarmed over the machines. They were tightening bolts, checking the runic alignments, and preparing the weapons for the dawn assault.

"I cannot sabotage these quietly while they are hovering over them," Cole noted, his eyes scanning the cavern. "I need at least three minutes inside the primary gear housing of each machine."

"I will give you five," Bram replied, a faint, reckless smirk forming beneath his heavy red beard.

Bram cracked his knuckles. He marched aggressively into the center of the production bay. He did not try to blend in. He actively sought conflict.

"What in the name of the ancestors is this garbage?!" Bram roared at the top of his lungs.

His booming voice echoed off the cavern walls, instantly silencing the clinking of hammers and wrenches. Every single Dwarven engineer stopped working and stared at the heavy infantry instructor.

"Who is managing the thermal regulation on furnace number four?!" Bram screamed, pointing a thick, accusing finger at a massive blast furnace near the back wall.

The lead engineer, a burly Dwarf covered in grease, marched forward angrily.

"Watch your tone, Instructor!" the lead engineer barked. "That furnace is operating at optimal capacity!"

"Optimal?!" Bram laughed mockingly, stepping directly into the engineer’s face.

"The pressure valve is completely jammed! The core temperature is spiking wildly! If you do not vent that magma right now, the entire containment chamber is going to explode!"

"You are insane!" the engineer yelled, his face turning red. "The runic dials are perfectly stable!"

"They are lying to you!" Bram bellowed, pushing the engineer aside and marching aggressively toward the furnace. "I am not dying down here because a bunch of grease-monkeys cannot read a simple pressure gauge!"

Bram reached the heavy iron controls of the furnace. He did not just pretend.

He slammed his massive, armored fist directly into the primary runic control panel.

SMASH!

The control panel sparked violently. The delicate magical containment array shattered instantly.

"What have you done?!" the lead engineer shrieked in absolute horror.

HISSSSSS!

The massive blast furnace groaned. The iron seams bulged. A terrifying, blinding wave of superheated steam and magma violently erupted from the top vents.

BOOOOOOM!

The furnace blew its primary exhaust cap. A deafening explosion rocked the cavern. Searing hot ash and blinding white steam flooded the entire production bay.

"CONTAIN THE BREACH!" the lead engineer screamed in sheer panic.

"GRAB THE COOLING RODS! DO NOT LET THE MAGMA HIT THE AMMUNITION RACKS!"

Total chaos erupted. Every single Dwarven engineer abandoned their posts at the Root-Splitters.

They frantically rushed toward the exploding furnace, desperately trying to manually vent the pressure before the entire cavern collapsed.

Bram stood in the center of the chaos, pretending to shout orders while secretly blocking the engineers’ access to the manual valves.

Through the thick, blinding steam, Cole went to work.

He was incredibly small, but his movements were a blur of absolute, mechanical perfection.

He utilized the dormant [Crucible Heart] talent locked inside his own soul, seamlessly merging it with the centuries of legendary forging knowledge he had inherited from Master Torvin’s body.

He slipped beneath the chassis of the first Root-Splitter.

He did not use a hammer. He used pinpoint, surgical precision.

He quickly adjusted the heavy tension gears located near the firing mechanism. He purposefully filed down the microscopic locking teeth. To a casual glance, the gears looked perfectly aligned.

But the moment the immense kinetic pressure of the firing sequence hit them, the teeth would violently strip, causing the heavy iron gears to shatter completely.

He moved to the next machine.

He reached into the primary cooling chamber. He carefully removed the enchanted bronze cooling pins that regulated the intense friction of the firing track.

Without those pins, the sheer heat of the launch would melt the heavy tracks instantly, fusing the harpoon directly to the chassis.

He scrambled to the third machine.

He subtly loosened the heavy iron bolts anchoring the firing tracks. He misaligned the guiding rails by exactly two millimeters. It was a microscopic deviation.

But when firing a massive, heavy harpoon, two millimeters of deviation would cause the projectile to violently veer off course, tearing the entire wooden structure of the ballista apart from the inside out.

He moved through the steam like a phantom mechanic. He compromised the tension gears, removed the cooling pins, and misaligned the firing tracks on every single war machine in the cavern.

He finished the final Root-Splitter just as the engineers finally managed to vent the excess magma pressure.

The thick steam slowly began to clear.

Cole stood near the lift, casually wiping a smudge of grease off his leather apron.

Bram was still arguing loudly with the lead engineer, surrounded by a puddle of cooling magma.

"I told you the valve was faulty!" Bram yelled defensively, crossing his heavy arms.

"You smashed the control panel with your bare fist!" the furious engineer screamed, his face completely black with soot.

"Get out of my forge before I have the royal guard throw you into the magma!"

"Fine!" Bram huffed, turning his back on the furious Dwarves. "Do not come crying to me when your toys break."

Bram stomped back to the lift. Cole stepped onto the platform beside him.

The heavy iron grate closed. The lift began its loud ascent back toward the Great Forge.

Cole leaned against the iron railing. He let out a long, heavy exhale. A dark, satisfied smile spread across his face.

"It is done," Cole whispered over the comms.

"The Root-Splitters are completely rigged. The moment Thorgar tries to fire them at dawn, they will violently tear themselves apart."

Bram cracked a faint smile behind his massive red beard.

"Good work," Bram replied softly. "Let us hope Nyx and Lucien are having the same luck with the messengers."

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