WorldCrafter - Building My Underground Kingdom

Back in the archive room, Ben sifted through ancient records and military logs. His talk with Elvira hadn't yielded much, but one thing was certain, back then, the Nephirid military had been far stronger than what he saw now.

According to Elvira, the Ashborn warriors like Draeven had led the charge. They were powerful, yes, but not invincible. The real threat came from their allies, multiple specialized races that fought alongside them.

There were the Durnokh, masters of assassination and infiltration.

The Centaurians, with their robust bodies and unmatched agility, excelled in long-range combat and mounted warfare.

The Trents, ancient beings who could command plant life, turning battlefields into living death traps.

And finally, the Ulthari, wielders of totemic magic capable of casting massive area spells or blessing entire armies with overwhelming buffs.

Ben had heard of the Ulthari and a few other races from Draeven before coming here. While none lived in his city, many of them could still be seen in the capital, and Draeven was now negotiating with their chief.

But the Centaurians, Trents, he knew nothing about them. That was why he came here.

If they once stood at the peak of military coordination, then he needed to learn every detail of their strengths... and how to break them.

"Seems these two are another pair of ancient kingdoms besides Velmora…" Ben muttered, eyes narrowing as he flipped the aged page.

The records, though fragmented, painted vivid images of the two civilizations.

Centaurians. Half-human, half-beast, their lower limbs resembled powerful lizard legs, granting them explosive speed and balance even across rough terrain.

Their bodies were covered in tough scales, acting like natural armor against blades and arrows. Some had long tails for stabilization during archery maneuvers, while others have spike growing on their spines, a sign of warrior lineage.

Culturally, the Centaurians valued discipline. Their tribes were led by Warseers, archers whose arrows could strike a coin from a kilometer away.

It was said that the Centaurians held vast floating ranges in the canyon forests, where their children began archery training before they could even speak. In battle, they moved like a wave, mounted archers without mounts, deadly, fast, coordinated.

They once held dominion over a territory known as the Stoneback Marches, a scorched land crisscrossed by natural ridges and plateaus, area that now is just magma lake..

Trents. Walking fungus-stalks, the Trents were not born in the usual sense, but grown, cultivated from the spores of great elders.

Their bodies resembled towering stalks of mushroom and root, covered in bioluminescent fungi and sinewy vines. Where others bled blood, they bled spores.

Their strength lay in communion. One Trent alone was strong, but ten together formed a living, breathing battlefield. Plants grew at their command.

Vines lashed out like whips. Fungal spores clouded the air, obscuring vision and choking lungs, and it can turn to poison, while the worse have parasitic traits.

Culturally, the Trents were deeply spiritual. War to them was not conquest, but pruning, a necessary rot to allow the world to regrow. They once ruled the Verdant Labyrinth, the only jungle that exist on this layer with such density and shifting flora that entire battalions would vanish within its borders.

Ben's eyes gleamed with fascination. "So, these are the allies that once made the Nephirid empire unstoppable…"

He closed the book slowly, then unfurled the map across the table. Compared to the Centaurian territory, long since absorbed or abandoned, the Verdant Labyrinth still existed, deep in the north.

"Is this the border Sephiria mentioned?" Ben murmured, tracing the outline with his finger.

He didn't believe for a second that such a place was left unguarded. The stories claimed it was overrun with monstrous beasts, a natural deterrent. But Ben knew better. Someone was maintaining that border, ensuring no one without permit can enter or left.

'But who have the key? The fire temple?'

Despite being involved in many important matters, Ben had never given the Fire Temple much thought. To him, it was merely a tool to control the masses and maintain the Primordial Flame, a place whose only purpose was to focus on unsealing it.

But now, he realized he might have underestimated it.

'I need to contact Draeven… we'll have to reconsider our entire plan.'

Time passed. And with each passing week, Vlontera began to shed its shell of ruin and ash.

The roads, once littered with debris and fractured stone, now bore clean-cut slabs, smooth and level. Where fire-blackened husks of buildings once stood, new structures emerged, stone-framed, mana-reinforced, some simple and functional, others adorned with faint carvings of the new flag Ben's rule had introduced. They were still sparse in the outer sectors, but closer to the heart, Vlontera was starting to feel… alive.

The golems worked day and night, tireless, coordinated. Powered by crystallized cores tuned by Elvira, they hauled beams, cleared rubble, carved stone, and poured molten slag for new foundation blocks.

The forges, once nearly dead, now roared with heat. Sparks leapt from every corner of the workshop district, where Dwarrow craftsmen labored under flickering mana lights.

Smoke rose, but this time not from war, but from industry. Order was booming, as ben give them the schematic to made the golem outer shell. Giving them ton of order.

Civilians began to come. Slowly at first. Shavralk stonemasons, Draknir metalworkers, Dwarrow architects.

With food distribution stabilized and security patrols doubling each week, people felt safer. The fear that once lingered in the streets began to thin. You could hear children again, laughing in alleys, chasing one another beneath half-built arches.

This also thanks to Taleth gang, now that the whole gang is under Ben control, he pull them all from the public, putting them under intense training to make sure they could be put on work soon on other city.

The plaza by the mixed-species zone became a hub of activity. Makeshift markets popped up, and traders started to whisper of Vlontera not as a dying place, but a rising one.

Rumors of stability, of a ruler who could crush rebellion and still open a bathhouse, spread through the neighboring zones like wildfire.

Within the central ring, the administrative hall took shape, high-walled, warded, and flanked by the first two of four watchtowers. Inside, Velmora delivered reports, and Ben's inner council worked to streamline logistics, tax, ration quotas, and resource storage.

Altough it barely have few people they work efficiently. The Patrol route became fully functional, each stocked with reinforced golems capable to fight with nephirid. Not winning, but able to hold them down long enough for reinforcement to come.

This was done to make them useful enough, but not make other feel wary with their strength.

The Pit of Flame was already halfway built. Its first underground holding cells had been installed. Several nobles and mercenaries from other cities had sent letters of interest, offering coin, beasts, and fighters to participate in its future tournaments.

But most of them were rejected by Ben. He only accept criminal, and those choosing out of their own free will as gladiator. The enemy will be focused on Beast.

There's reason Ben doing this, as he want to make people of all species to feel more secure. Of course he put some twist in the match, to make it more interesting. A new bloodsport economy was already brewing.

Taverns followed next. Six of them were already operating in temporary structures, packed night after night. With guards visibly posted and strict surveillance magic in place, even the drunkest brawls know their place.

Ben stood one evening, arms folded behind his back. Below him, construction crews worked, laying the final foundations for the main barracks.

In the distance, steam rose from the agricultural basin, where the first three sunlamps had been activated. Test crops were already sprouting, hybrid fungi, trench-root. Sustainable food. Real self-reliance.

After the farms had started yielding early results, Ben turned his attention to the next project: building a ranch.

"Vlontera is progressing steadily," he muttered, watching the distant glow of the grow-lamps on the farms. "I'm surprised they still haven't made any move."

Elvira stood beside him, arms folded. "Maybe because they're distracted by that match. Isn't it scheduled for tomorrow?"

Ben nodded. "That's possible… but this calm makes me uneasy. We need to accelerate golem production, especially for combat units."

"You should also start spawning more Krell underground," Elvira added. "They'll serve as our hidden force if things go bad."

"I've already planned for that. I'll increase their number to at least a thousand." He paused, then glanced at her. "By the way, I'm surprised you still haven't finished the theater."

"I'm still working on the design."

Ben raised a brow and smirked. "Just what are you cooking up?"

"Wait and see," she replied, her lips curling into a mysterious smile.

"Once it's done, it won't just be another entertainment hall. I want this theater to become so iconic, every city on this layer will beg to build their own version."

Ben chuckled softly, shaking his head. He knew that smile. If Elvira didn't want to reveal something, there was no point trying to pry it out of her. Even now, he still had no idea what reward she'd claimed from the dungeon.