Ten years had passed since the riot at the Northern Frontier Maximum Security Prison.

Those imprisoned in that land of eternal night, bitter cold, and harsh winters were either unlucky souls sentenced to hard labor or infamous criminals notorious enough to silence crying children at night. Among them were also legendary old-timers who had shaken the underground world across the Western Continent.

The Temple of Khorne, also known as the Little Northern Prison.

This place caused many students from the academy's potion department to branch out, leading to the emergence of two new disciplines: Neo-Pharmacology and Neo-Traumatology.

The greatest contributions to the advancement of Western Continent medicine all originated from the prisoners of this prison.

It was hard to imagine that even without steam engines or precision instruments, relying solely on the brute force of exhaustive trial-and-error methods, they had already developed concepts of nerves, the endocrine system, immune functions, and even genetic inheritance.

Of course, their so-called "genes" differed greatly from modern understanding, often serving more as propaganda for the bloodlines of the Western Continent's ruling class.

All medications, developed without any foundational logic or pathological principles, were simply products of exhaustive testing—identifying patients with similar symptoms and then... eventually compiling everything into a medical compendium.

Naturally, dirt-poor peasants still relied on the dark culinary arts of bloodletting according to the almanac and drinking holy water, while the cutting-edge medical treatments for nobles and wealthy merchants—extracting plant compounds into tablets or even antibiotics—had already achieved success rates comparable to the early 20th century.

One had to admit that Micah's family had remarkable foresight, recognizing the trends of the times. They spent a fortune hiring female tutors in Neo-Pharmacology and Neo-Traumatology, ensuring that despite lacking formal academic credentials, Micah became a respected scholar in the region. He even secured a decent official position in the Arlan Empire, where officials strutted about with impunity. But as fate would have it, Micah ultimately ended up where he was now.

When Li Site first met Micah—after nearly having his head split open by an axe—he was shocked by this world's medical standards. It was astounding that in a world still illuminated by oil lamps and candles, Micah knew about iodine tincture and even its preparation method. Though the terminology differed, Micah described it as a substance extracted from seaweed, combined with solvents from Neo-Pharmacology, highly effective for disinfecting wounds and preventing infections.

Li Site was utterly stunned—this was a high-caliber talent, a must-have for the crew.

And now.

The shock Li Site felt reading this newspaper was akin to when Micah first produced iodine tincture.

Ten years had passed since the riot at the Northern Frontier Maximum Security Prison.

Or thirteen-plus years, if calculated by the twelve-month calendar instead of the Holy Arlan calendar.

Li Site never imagined.

That he would see his former classmates again under such circumstances—heralding the dawn of a new era.

Most of the students who visited the research institute with Li Site during his study abroad days were engineering majors, meaning they had strong practical application skills.

"What big news has turned you into an idiot?"

Archer rarely saw beads of sweat form on Li Site's forehead—the last time was when they were being chased by several navy ships.

Reeking of alcohol, he leaned in to look at the newspaper.

"A carriage running on iron rails... without horses?"

Archer stared at the front page, equally baffled. The text indeed described it as a "horseless carriage." But... was there a horse? A carriage—how could it be a carriage without a horse? A "steam-horse" carriage?

This sent Archer into a drunken, hysterical laughter. What perfect drinking fodder. The newspaper's editor should quit their job—even he could do better while high. What kind of nonsense was this?

Only Li Site understood the gravity of the situation. Without photography and with limited printing technology, the Adventurers' Guild's newspaper featured no photos—only simplified yet lifelike sketches by master-level illustrators capable of 99% accuracy in portraits or any subject.

The front-page illustration, without context, might not have connected to his classmate. Doppelgangers weren't rare. But paired with "steam train," it was undeniable.

Building a steam train wasn't as simple as understanding "burn coal, make steam, go choo-choo." It required metallurgical technology capable of producing cylinders, bearings, and other components.

It also involved mathematical models—calculating boiler heating surface area, wheel-rail adhesion coefficients, traction relationships, and more.

Even with all theoretical elements in place, it only meant a train could theoretically transport goods and people.

Navigating religious and conservative factions, vested interests, and political infighting in the Western Continent—securing funding and approval—was infinitely harder than all the academic challenges combined.

Turning theory into actual production and operation was an entirely different dimension from just brainstorming.

Li Site finally understood.

[Century's News! The World's First Railway Now Operational! Freight Train from Arlan Capital to Dawn Harbor Successfully Completes Round Trip! How Does a Horseless Carriage Move...?]

The front page touted the train's advantages but revealed nothing about its propulsion. It was pure propaganda for the Arlan Empire—the most absurd claim being that the train required blessings from the Eternal and Timeless Dragon to operate. Truly, the Empire's majesty was unmatched. The article also featured portraits of two train operators.

One was his former classmate. The other—a face he'd seen at the Northern Frontier Prison and could never forget—the apprentice of that terrifyingly powerful sorcerer.

Li Site fully grasped the situation. He no longer believed the manhunt was over. The sorcerer's actions back at the prison were nothing like this, even knowing these inter-dimensional travelers brought novel knowledge.

The sorcerer's capabilities were unimaginable. During the "Great Summoning," it wasn't just people from Earth—many came from other dimensions.

Only one possibility remained: he had defected. He would help the sorcerer hunt down their group of hundreds to fulfill the sorcerer's unknown goals.

If gods truly existed in human form... that sorcerer's power... could only be described as... divine.

Li Site cursed himself for spending his college years in North America either gaming or "bringing glory to his homeland" through deep cultural exchanges with local co-eds and bikini-clad beach babes.

His applied optics specialization was too niche and advanced to be useful here—though not entirely worthless. With access to a parts workshop, he could actually build a camera. But who in the Western Continent cared about photography? If he invented cameras and enabled high-definition criminal records, Heaven's Port's pirate fugitives would string him up publicly asap.

Having been in the underworld so long, Li Site despised snitches and traitors most.

If he crossed paths with this bastard again, he wouldn't spare any old school ties—Frost Cuckoo's Bloodsong would greet his skull directly.

On second thought, this guy might just be a sheltered student with low stress tolerance—a round of torture would make him do anything.

Then again, the guy was in his thirties now. Frost Cuckoo's Bloodsong would deliver a "Noxian Guillotine"—five strikes to stack Bloodthirst, then a crit with Impale for the finisher.

"You made it big, huh? Court astrologer, train operator, big shot now, eh? Damn it."

Li Site tore the newspaper in half, then crumpled it.

Archer, accustomed to Li Site's occasional mood swings, paid no mind.

"Still drinking? In a few days, atomic bombs might be dropping."

Li Site snatched Archer's bottle and smashed it on the ground.

But Archer had already progressed to that stage between drinking and sleeping—thoroughly sloshed.

"Pfft, atomic bombs? Kill-brother's here. One slash, done. What's there to worry about?"

Archer, now utterly plastered, began hiccuping.

Li Site sighed. Kill-brother probably couldn't handle this. Maybe the Underworld Stele could withstand it.

Still, producing atomic bombs in a few days was exaggerated. Those college kids weren't that capable—they couldn't craft anything crazier. Even if there were prodigies at the institute who could mobilize vast resources—mineral surveys, mining carts, supporting infrastructure—stacking all those buffs would still take decades.

"Damn it, the times are changing. We need to find a powerful backer, fast."

Previously indifferent to the Linden City lord's big job, Li Site now hoped it would proceed smoothly. No matter what, they needed to align with a major faction and climb the ranks.