Wizard: Unlimited Profession Slots

Chapter 1409: Chapter 553: A Millennium of Filth and Shame

Before attempting any technical endeavors, Ron made a crucial decision:

He must first understand the true source of this resentment.

Simply viewing it as "negative energy" is the perspective of an engineer.

However, as a historian and a future ancient alchemist, he must explore the "story" behind it.

He gently closed his eyes, letting his consciousness brush over the piece of "silent mineral salt" like a feather.

[Deep Resonance]—This is a precious trait obtained after advancing the Historical Research Skills to Master Level, allowing one to read the time marks sealed within matter and recreate historical fragments of its experiences.

When his Spiritual Power touched the surface of the mineral, Ron felt a tremendous attraction, as if his consciousness was being devoured by the giant maw of an abyss!

To be precise, his understanding of "now" was swept away by a vast torrent of history, crumbling like a fragile sandcastle before the raging waves.

Ron felt himself falling.

Traversing the long river of time, crossing the fault lines of ages, finally plummeting into an ancient era filled with stench and despair.

He had become a ghost, a forced witness powerless to change anything.

.........

It was a towering altar carved from pure silent mineral salt.

Every carving on the altar was precise to the millimeter, showcasing a building technique far superior to contemporary standards.

The massive floating pillars surrounding the altar, each suspended in mid-air, maintained their balance with principles completely incomprehensible to Ron.

Such architectural scale and technical level would be considered a marvel even in the wizard civilization of the Main World.

Yet what truly churned Ron’s stomach was the "road" under the feet of the ruler.

An indigenous ruler dressed in luxurious ceremonial robes was slowly walking towards the highest level of the altar on a "road of flesh and blood" paved by living people.

What lay beneath his feet was by no means a precious carpet.

It was hundreds, if not thousands, of low-status slave laborers called "Dustborn."

They lay prostrate, motionless, facing the ground.

Using their backs to pave a direct path to the altar for the ruler.

Every time the ruler’s boots stepped on the heads and spines of these slave laborers, there would be a series of bone-crunching sounds, like the low moans of a broken bellows.

The worse was yet to come.

When these slave laborers were heavily trampled, the expressions in their eyes were not of hatred, but rather a numb, even somewhat "glorious" fanatical faith.

They had been so thoroughly tamed that they regarded their own suffering as a pious offering to the gods.

Priests’ chants echoed through the air:

"With the body as stairs, bear the feet of gods;

With bones as road, pave the heavenly path;

Dust returns to dust, yet gains eternal life;

Suffering is joy, death is honor."

This poetry was chanted in the ancient Stoker Star language, every syllable carrying a hypnotic Rhythm.

Ron could sense the embedded suggestions within it.

This mental toxin, stronger than any shackle, had already eradicated the seeds of resistance from their souls.

The historical perspective switched dreamlike.

He found himself in the deepest layer of a mine, surrounded by furnace groups hot as lava, the air thick with the mixed scent of sulfur and blood.

In this hellish environment, he witnessed the ultimate performance of human depravity.

A "Stoneborn" overseer, by rank, was only a slightly higher status among the slaves

The overseer was brandishing a moldy black bread before several ravenous miners:

"Want it? It’s simple, just push that old waste over there."

He pointed to a hunched silhouette not far away.

It was an "Emberborn" elder.

Years of working near furnaces had burned his skin beyond recognition.

At that moment, he was arduously dragging a cart full of ore, panting with every step.

Hunger drove reason to collapse.

A few young miners exchanged a glance, then charged all at once.

The elder didn’t even have time to scream before being pushed into the adjacent pit of boiling lava.

In the flickering firelight, Ron saw the expressions of those young miners.

Amidst numbness, there was a hint of satisfaction, as if they had just pushed not a fellow human, but merely a bothersome tool.

Elsewhere in the mine, a group of "Emberborn" surrounded a "Dustborn" child.

The child seemed no older than seven or eight, so thin that he was all skin and bones.

"Come on, let’s see what this little waste can do."

The leading Emberborn laughed heartily, snapping the child’s right arm with a foot.

One of the Emberborn sneered and said:

"This little brat, I wonder if he can carry ore with his teeth."

The child’s piercing cries echoed in the depths of the mine, but the slave laborers around him showed morbidly excited expressions.

In this utterly twisted world, the only source of happiness was bullying those weaker than oneself.

[Triple Low Status]—Ron understood the malice in this system.

"Stoneborn" were in charge of mining, had the highest status, and could bully the other two classes;

"Emberborn" handle smelting, with a middle status;

"Dustborn" dealt with waste and corpses, the lowest class of pariahs.

This division was passed down through generations, inescapable like a blood curse.

More insidiously, intermarriage between different low statuses was strictly forbidden, even basic social interaction was restricted.

Thus completely solidifying social grades, extinguishing all hope of upward mobility.

The most malicious aspect of this system lies in its "divide and rule" strategy.

Each class has a target they can oppress.