This is the City of Gnomes: Spider's Den, a vast underground city, has long been the largest

gathering place of gnomes in the North. They have lived here for nearly a thousand years.

Here, you can see a landscape very different from the rest of the continent of Blasares. Here,

houses are built on top of one another on platforms, with strings, levers and winches drawn

here and there, "automatic" sliding doors, drawbridges, trolleys gliding over tracks,

"machines" belching black smoke up and down, giant mirrors spinning on top of caves, and

a constant noise. And this is the spider's den: the pygmy city.

Even the most resilient humans, when they first arrive in the city, are so overwhelmed by the

myriad of machines that they are completely unable to adapt to this "automated" life. In the

kitchen, for example, cooking is almost automatic. You place the turnip at the entrance of the

machine, pull a lever, and the turnip moves slowly on a conveyor belt driven by the steam

created by the boiling water: rinsed, peeled, diced, minced, served, sauced, stirred. A turnip

salad is then presented to you, very conveniently indeed. But if you accidentally pull the wrong

lever -- which happens all the time, because all the levers look the same -- it starts the

roasting process. The lovely radishes are sprinkled with all kinds of spices and thrown onto

the grill, where a fire is lit by a kind of "vigorous qi", which is constantly baked. This

perspiration, in fact, is a flammable gas from the toilet pool (can't be called dung gas, who

will eat food made that way? - says the dwarfist). Sadly, the radish was not a roast pork chop,

and it quickly scorched and shriveled and fell through a gap in the shelf, in which case it was

possible to block the perspiration's burning point. Then there is what the dwarf often calls

"backfiring." The fire follows the passage of the gas and begins to burn back until it returns

to the source of the gas. As the gnome in the kitchen frantically tries to open the oven door

-- which, for the safety of children, cannot be opened until the program is over -- then,

across town, with a loud bang, one of the gas puddles explodes, sending black and yellow

things flying. The dwarf called this kind of thing "getting up".

The life of the dwarf is a process of learning fate while studying. They are a weak race on the

whole continent. They do not have strong bodies, they do not have extraordinary magic, all

they have is a mind that never stops thinking.

Vincent had once read in a travel book of his mentor, Master Castle, a description of the dwarf

race: "Diligent, but not clever enough." Although gnomes always have innovative ideas, their

brains are really small, and they always forget things. Therefore, they can always make

unexpected inventions, but in terms of stability, it is not good.

The gnomes' inventions are also, to a large extent, related to their characteristic magic. It is a

peculiar form of creative magic that makes it easy to create magical or non-magical products.

Magicians of other races on the continent, such as elves and human magicians, have also

come here to investigate and study. But each dwarf who was able to use this kind of magic

described it differently. What's more, the magic is limited in what it can create, and cannot be

used to construct any magical objects. This, coupled with such a chaotic system of magic, has

led mages of other races to give up on the idea of studying it, calling it "a racial ability of

dwarfs".

When Vincent read the travel book, he was very skeptical about the gnomes' ability to "create",

thinking that it may be just that gnomes make more objects in ordinary times, and get used

to it naturally. Those mages who went to study it were just confused by some kind of smoke

and mirrors, and there was no such thing as dwarf magic.

What he didn't expect was that he was now enjoying the healing power of dwarf magic.

Now cut to the gnomes' laboratory hall, where a complex machine is groaning in pain. Its

various mechanical structures, such as levers, gears, conveyor belts and precious stones, are

scattered on the ground, and the machine itself is emitting black smoke, electric sparks and

flames everywhere.

All of this is caused by the large and small mithril metal bars lying on the ground. It was a

machine designed to study the power of teleportation, and the gnomes had spent a great

deal of time and effort on it to achieve the effect of mass teleportation without the aid of

advanced magic. This was the tenth year they had been experimenting with the machine.

"Red nose! Look, look! This time we did it!" One dwarf with a big red nose was jumping with

excitement as he pulled another dwarf who was missing a leg.

"Red Nose, that's your name, not mine. Besides, if you keep pulling me, I'll lose my other leg."

"Oh, I'm sorry. When I got excited, I mistook you for me." Red Nose let go of the one-legged

arm. "But it worked this time. Look how much Mithril we made! You can't call my machine

useless now, can you?"

'This is a transporter! Not your all-things machine! The mithril ore must have been sent from

somewhere else. But we didn't turn the machine on. How did they get there?"

"So this isn't my machine for making things." Disappointment was written all over Red Nose's

face. He walked over to a pile of Mithril and angrily kicked at a bar of Mithril, but flying with

his foot was not only a piece of Mithril, but also a broken arm.

"Ah!" Red Nose covered his toes and sat on the ground. Mimyl is not too hard. The dwarf

actually kicked the iron. But when he saw a whole broken arm, he stopped wailing in pain and

sank into a faint of fright.

'Come quickly! Come on! There seems to be someone else under these mithril!" One leg

called loudly to his companion.

And underneath these mithril rocks is Vincent the Mage.

Seven days later, the young wizard woke up, painfully trying to prop himself up in bed, but

his aching muscles and rattling bones told him that if he moved, he would never be able to

move again. In desperation, Vincent remembered a ring given to him by his former mentor

Kaso, a ring with healing powers, which can quickly restore his body condition in times of

crisis. This ring should be on the ring finger of his left hand.

Vincent uses his psychic powers to send instructions to the ring, telling it to release energy to

heal his body. There was no response. The Mage felt no magic return. There was nothing

there.

"You can move! Woo woo blare, too good, you didn't die, if you were dead, I'll be up shit

creek. A small voice near Vincent whimpered. The Wizard opened his eyes with difficulty and

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found a dwarf with a red nose trying to wipe the tears from his eyes with a handkerchief.

This is a clean and tidy room, the arrangement is very simple, a small bed with a table barely

stuffed Vincent's tall body, next to the bed is a small cabinet, a "big basin" containing water,

it seems that it is ready to feed the master water container. Next to this basin, there was a cup

with a small half cup of water. In Vincent's opinion, this drinking cup is definitely not enough

to plug one's teeth if one uses it to drink water.

The red-nosed dwarf dried his tears, blew his nose hard into his handkerchief, and put it back

in his pocket. "What is your name, and what would you like now?"

The dwarf always spoke the common continental language with a slight accent, and Vincent

had to pay attention to his pronunciation before he could figure it out. "I have a ring on my

left hand. It... Where did it go?" What came out of his mouth was not his old, smooth, elf-like

voice, but a hoarse, rock-rubbing squawk.

"Meowed abut abut" red nose gnome began to cry again.

Vincent felt at this point that communicating with the dwarf race was definitely something

that would greatly shorten his life. Now he couldn't care less what his voice was like. If only

he could find the ring and he could recover it immediately, then the voice would be gone.

The mage attributed this change directly to one of his most grievous injuries.

"Uncle, the big mage asked you where his ring was. He's not blaming you, so stop crying

first!"

Vincent tilts his head and sees a "tall" dwarf coming out of the other room. He was tall only

in comparison with the dwarf race. Compared to humans, they are still small. The mage took

only one look and would have laughed out loud if his ribs hadn't pricked his lungs. The dwarf

who called people "Uncle" looked like the uncle with the red nose. This order really should be

reversed.

"Is this the ring you want, Master?" The tall dwarf picked up a silver ring from a nearby cabinet

and placed it in Vincent's right hand. "We found it on your left hand."

Instead of studying the strangeness of the dwarf's utterances, Vincent felt the familiar wave

of magic. "This is the ring, thank you." The mage activated the ring with his own will, and the

divine energy stored inside immediately began to repair his body. In less than the blink of an

eye. The mages right hand has come back to life.

The power of this repair is beginning to spread throughout the body. Vincent felt his body

slowly coming back to life. Although it was accompanied by a tingling pain all over his body,

the mage knew that it was just a memory of the wound left in his body. In fact, his wound had

healed, and after a while, the tingling would disappear

But what he didn't know was that his left arm was gone forever. It was beyond the power of

the healing ring. The arm was not healed, but feeling was restored to the broken arm. The

pain that had accumulated for days rushed into Vincent's head. Without a murmur, the master

fainted.

This quickly broke Red nose. Originally his task is to take care of the coma of the mage, after

a while the mage woke up, but did not insist on how long, get a ring of his own fainted again.

The Dwarf Council once sternly warned Red Nose that if the mage was injured and could not

wake up, then the mimyl must be returned to the mage Union, after all, the mage

Association's status on the mainland is still very detached, and the dwarf dare not leave a

mage's cargoes without authority; But then it would be impossible to get any mineral from

the stingy mages' Guild; But if the mage were to wake up, then as the owner of the mithril (or

so the dwarf thought) there would be room for bargaining to see if some could be purchased

for future study.

As for stealing or taking the mithril, the gnomes would not even think of it.

Red Nose cried aloud, a voice that was not small for his size, and the whole house was shaken

by his cry. Nearby his nephew, the tall dwarf, covered his ears. He had to wake the mage up

to stop Red Nose's cries. The tall man saw the basin in the corner, where there was still a lot

of clean water. He went over and lifted the basin, but when he lifted the hand that had been

covering his ears, he could hear the harsh cries, and he could not hold the basin with his

hands over his ears. He tilted his head for a moment and then walked over to his uncle. With

one hand he covered his uncle's mouth, while the other picked up the basin and threw it over

his head at the master.

Vincent got a shudder and sat up in bed. He was wet and his hair was still dripping. He wiped

his face with his right hand and looked at the two dwarfs. The one with the red nose was

struggling with a large hand over his mouth. The tall dwarf smiled, unaware that he was

suffocating his uncle.

"You'd better let go, or you'll kill the dwarf." Vincent said, he looked at his left arm, only the

empty sleeve was hanging there. He also noticed that his voice had not recovered. It was still

hoarse, with a creaking note. 'How many days have I been injured? I mean, how many days

have I been here with you guys?"

The tall dwarf let go of his uncle and said slowly, "Master, you have been here for seven days.

Seven days ago, you suddenly appeared in our research institute with your goods. You were

injured. My name is Mark, by the way, and this is my uncle, Charlotte with the red Nose."

"Mr Mage, you can wake up and woo meowed. I really didn't mean it, really isn't." Red-nosed

Charlotte jumped forward, pulled the mage's sleeve and cried, "I didn't mean to take your

hand off, and I didn't think I'd be strong enough to kick your arm off. Whoo whoo whoo,

please don't be angry, don't turn me into a rat or anything. I still want to finish my all-things

machine. Whoo whoo, if you really want to change me, can you change me into something

with arms and feet and a mind, like a goblin? Whoo whoo, you don't talk, don't talk means

no? Can't you be a dog? Oh, you still don't talk, whoo whoo, what now? Kobolds can't do it

either, so are we really going to turn into rats? Mark, in the future, you remember, if a mouse

comes to you and refuses to leave, you should never kill it, give it something good to eat,

such as my favorite baked potato, fried pumpkin or something. A: Remember that, remember

that. Your uncle me, whoo whoo whoo, is about to turn into a mouse."

Vincent looked helplessly at the dwarf who was wiping his tears on his sleeve. The little fellow's

nose became even redder from crying.

"I won't change you into anything else, don't worry about it." Vincent snatched his sleeve from

Charlotte's hand. "Can't you tell me where we are? What's the matter? '