Chapter 52: The Gnome's Secret Warehouse

Everyone had entered the underground space as the gnome ascended the stone steps holding an oil lamp.  

He had stopped using the Light Spell and now relied on the lamp for illumination.  

It was a black iron oil lamp with a glass cover, capable of burning steadily in darkness or snowstorms.  

“Did you block the entrance properly?” Old York asked quietly. “This is our last hiding place. If the Icelanders discover it, we’ll have nowhere left to hide.”  

Lucas glanced upward and patted the tunnel walls around them.  

“Are there any other exits in the warehouse?” Lucas asked.  

“No. This place was originally just a natural underground cavity. York discovered it and later converted it into York’s secret warehouse,” Old York replied.  

“I knew one person couldn’t have dug such a large hole alone,” Lucas said. “Since it’s a warehouse, there must be some unused junk lying around. I want to grab wood or something to block the entrance. If we seal it off, we’ll at least hear if anyone tries to break in.”  

“Ah…” Old York hesitated.  

“Is there nothing usable?”  

“There is, there is.” Old York nodded. “Wait here. York will call a few people to help carry things.”  

“I’ll go call them,” Bardel offered.  

Bardel and the gnome walked further down the tunnel, leaving the oil lamp on the steps.  

Lucas gazed at the flickering light and sighed.  

For now, they seemed to have found a temporary refuge.  

But he knew all too well that hiding didn’t mean safety.  

The Icelanders had somehow melted the frozen Icy Sea and Prague River, sailing their warships into Tania’s territory.  

The war had already begun. The unstoppable tide of history was rolling in. Lucas had initially thought they were unlucky, but now he realized they might be the fortunate ones.  

The truly unfortunate had already encountered the Icelander war bands.  

Just like Bronte Village—no wonder it had been completely ransacked, with charred and rotting corpses everywhere. Soldiers must have passed through.  

That wasn’t some random raid or village massacre. It was inevitable. No one could have predicted the Ice King would suddenly launch an invasion against Tania in the midst of winter.  

If the Icelander warships could reach Alvado, the northern border defenses had likely been breached.  

While Tania’s soldiers dozed off, assuming this winter would pass uneventfully like every other, the Icelanders’ ships had quietly docked under cover of night, swiftly capturing the northern border before pushing southward to devour all of Tania.  

But would the Ice King really break his treaty with the Twilight Church and ally with necromancers?  

Didn’t he fear the Church’s crusaders retaliating?  

Or was he confident enough to defy even the Church?  

Lucas’s thoughts raced. He didn’t know where to flee anymore—he didn’t even know where the front lines were.  

What should they do?  

Would Tania fall?  

Maybe they should just surrender—raise their hands, bow to the Icelanders, and pray for mercy as prisoners.  

Being a slave was better than hiding like rats, waiting to be slaughtered.  

But wouldn’t that necromancer turn them into zombies?  

Lucas’s morale hit rock bottom. Even with the wandering knight beside him, he couldn’t muster any hope.  

An iron-rank professional warrior, a mysterious knight from distant lands, a gnome with basic alchemy skills, and over a hundred Tania villagers—that was all they had. Most were dead weight. How could they possibly fight against thousands of enemy soldiers?  

This was war between nations. Individuals were as insignificant as grains of rice scattered across the wasteland.  

He didn’t know what to do. His will to push forward had vanished. But seeing the wandering knight’s calm silence, he forced a smile.  

“Sir Wade, that gnome is the Old York I told you about,” Lucas said, steering away from grim topics. “He runs an alchemy workshop alone in Alvado. Though small, adventurers frequent his shop for potions and gear.”  

“Old York’s temper is a bit odd, but rest assured, he’s a good man. He never says it, but back in the day, he’d slip extra coins to a young outsider like me.”  

“We rescued him from the Icelanders. He’ll definitely help with your appraisal.”  

“If there’s anything you wish to know, start thinking of questions now. Seventeen years ago when I first came to Alvado, he was already called Old York. He’s lived many years and knows obscure things. In my memory, he’s never made a mistake appraising adventurers’ items.”  

Wade nodded and patted Lucas’s shoulder.  

The wandering knight remained composed. Lucas smiled bitterly and suddenly asked, “Sir Wade… can we really keep going?”  

Wade stayed silent—no nod, no shake.  

He wanted to give the Tanian hope, but false hope would only plunge him deeper into despair.  

Lucas fell quiet, staring motionless at the rocks sealing the entrance above.  

Only when the gnome and others returned with wood and stones did he stir.  

“Just these scraps. Make do,” Old York said.  

A few wooden crates, dry grass, dismantled stool legs, and some natural rocks.  

“Oh, and Porter.” Old York pulled a bottle from his robes containing pale green liquid. “York heard you were badly hurt. This is the best healing potion York can make. Drink it. May it work.”  

He handed it over reluctantly, muttering, “This stuff sells for fifty silver a bottle. Sip it slowly—don’t waste it.”  

“Thanks.” Lucas grinned, snatching the potion. He seemed his usual self again, showing no sign of distress.  

But only Wade knew—when Lucas had looked up earlier, he’d resembled a withered stalk of dead wheat in a barren field.  

Lucas drank half, then helped barricade the entrance with scraps.  

“Hope we can sleep well tonight,” he said.  

The gnome retrieved the oil lamp as Wade descended the steps. Firelight flickered beyond the narrow passage.  

After stooping through the entrance, the space opened up dramatically.  

It was a natural limestone cave, stalactites hanging overhead.  

Villagers had settled on woolen cloaks and cloth spread like carpets. An alchemy cauldron sat on the ground, burning wood inside.  

Signs of modification were everywhere. Beyond the vast central area stood several locked doors.  

Complete alchemy sets occupied the periphery—  

Glass retorts, distillation apparatuses with condensers and collection flasks, crystal mortars and pestles on stone tables, all dusty from disuse.  

“Old York, allow me to formally introduce you.”  

Lucas cleared his throat, drawing the gnome’s attention.  

“This is Sir Wade from distant lands. Due to certain circumstances, Sir Wade has lost his voice, so I’ll speak for him.”  

“Regarding his identity and past, I know little. We met during our migration.”  

“Thanks to this brave and mighty knight, we reached Alvado. That Icelander patrol was defeated by his valor. Strictly speaking, Old York, he saved your life. Sir Wade is whom you should truly thank.”  

“Sir Wade?” The gnome peered up at Wade’s iron helm.  

Wade raised a hand, placing his right over his left shoulder in a slight bow—a Nidran greeting.  

If the gnome was worldly, he’d recognize the gesture.  

“Nidranese?” The gnome indeed identified it.  

Wade nodded.  

The gnome squinted, studying him before finally relaxing. “York is Sage Alchemy Workshop’s alchemist, appraiser, and owner. Need York’s help with something?”  

Wade nodded again. He had many questions—  

The bird-and-garland embroidery on the mage’s robe, the organ-carved twenty-sided die, how to use magic jewelry with fixed barriers, the function of the rune-inscribed sword.  

He also wondered how to raise a young frost-wielding specter—though that might exceed the gnome’s expertise.  

But this elderly gnome seemed capable of answering at least some queries.  

Truthfully, this had been his original purpose for traveling.  

He never expected to get entangled in the Tanians’ exodus and war—he’d simply wanted to visit nearby towns for information.