Chapter 101 101
Chapter 101 101
After the single gunshot that pierced the oppressive silence of the mine, a haunting stillness followed—a silence heavier than the very rocks that loomed over their heads. That final cry was enough to freeze the blood in anyone’s veins, as if the darkness itself had swallowed its memory. Everyone’s nerves were pulled taut, and they slowed their breathing to a crawl, desperately trying not to emit a single sound that might betray their presence. Clayton led the squad, his boots sinking into the damp earth, guiding them along the jagged, rough walls. Their movements were deliberate and calculated; at every dark corner, they paused, scanning the shifting shadows before daring to advance. They were strangers to the intricacies of this underground complex, and if the hostile party that fired the shot held the initiative, their situation would be perilous indeed.
The tunnels stretched out like the arteries of a dead city, reinforced by massive, decaying timber structures that struggled to hold back the weight of the earth and stone above. The walls were smeared with a strange, mysterious substance—perhaps a protective coating against toxic gases or a failed attempt at moisture control. It didn’t matter now. Clayton could feel the low ceiling hovering just inches above his shoulders, confirming that this was no dwarven construction; those legends built majestic subterranean palaces, not these narrow, claustrophobic graves. Rusty iron tracks protruded from the soil like the bleached bones of some forgotten mechanical beast, a haunting reminder of the catastrophic consequences if they failed to stop the impending train explosion. Overturned mine carts lay scattered in every nook, stripped of their metal wheels and caked in decades of grime, looking like hardened mud models abandoned in a derelict museum. The mine’s history predated the very founding of Sasha City, abandoned centuries ago because outdated technology could no longer cope with the deepening safety hazards.
At the fourth fork, Clayton finally witnessed the carnage. Large patches of crimson had seeped into the soil, darkened and transformed by time into an almost unrecognizable, deep hue. Someone wounded had fled through here, which explained the raw, agonizing sharpness of the scream they had heard earlier. Though lethal, flammable gases lurked in the deeper reaches, the scavengers had managed to seal them off over the years, which ironically provided a safe harbor for the armed men to move about without the fear of triggering a subterranean disaster.
The team halted once more. Before them stood four dark, gaping entrances. Mary Etta stood motionless, trying to dredge up faded memories of a place she had visited only a handful of times years ago. Barbara spoke again, her voice wavering in a thin, ethereal balance between predatory excitement and genuine terror: "It’s just ahead, Clayton. I can smell it with sickening clarity. In the depths of this tunnel, there isn't just one wounded person—there are dozens, perhaps more." This was the first time Barbara had encountered an environment so saturated with the scent of bleeding; her vampiric instincts were as agitated as a starving predator trapped in a pantry.
"Enough, Barbara. Keep your warnings brief and to the point," Clayton snapped, his brow furrowed with growing frustration. Dozens of injured? How many people could possibly have been hiding here in this neglected pit? Suddenly, a calm, muffled voice drifted through the air, sounding unnervingly close, as if the speaker were just on the other side of the tunnel wall.
"Reporting, sir. The subsidence area has been cleared."
Another voice, colder and laced with authority, replied: "Good. The work is done for today. Baron, take a break. Once we’ve collected the valuables these scums left behind, we’ll head back to the city."
"Sir, when will the liquor ban be lifted? Our throats are parched."
The officer responded with a guttural, impatient snort: "You idiot! Do you think I’m celebrating? The ban remains for at least another month. Get out of my sight before I decide to kick your ass out of this mine!"
They recognized the voice immediately—it was the same officer who had interrogated them just days prior. "It’s Major Dolon." Clayton let out a sigh of relief, though his heart continued to hammer against his ribs. They weren't facing rebels; they were standing in the path of the kingdom’s military apparatus. He tapped lightly on the rough stone wall. "Major Dolon, is that you?"
Before he could finish, a flurry of movement erupted behind the wall, followed by the Major’s furious roar: "You fool, turn off that lamp! Do you think we’re running on an endless military budget? Do you know how much that costs?"
Major Dolon emerged from the tunnel entrance, flanked by four grim-faced soldiers and a man in priestly robes, all clutching oil lamps. Clayton’s eyes locked onto one soldier who carried a specialized lamp—a mass-produced, highly effective tool designed to reveal the Darkborn.
"Baron? Or whatever your real name is... what in the hell are you doing down here?" the Major demanded, his face twisted in annoyance.
"I am investigating a criminal case that threatens public safety, and I require access to this sector," Clayton recited, his voice steady.
The Major barked a cynical laugh, and his soldiers joined in, while the priest remained stoic, muttering prayers under his breath. "There are no criminals here anymore. We’ve just purged the entire mine. Had you arrived earlier, you might have found something to do, but now? Only corpses remain."
The stench of a massacre hung in the air, clinging to their uniforms. A slaughter had reached its conclusion before the city had even caught wind of the brewing violence. Barbara had been right all along. Clayton remained silent, while Barbara retreated behind Folentin, hoping to hide from the soldiers' gaze.
Mary Etta stepped forward, her eyes wide with indignation: "By whose authority did you execute these people? They were citizens of the kingdom. Even if they committed crimes, they were entitled to a trial!"
The Major wasn't swayed by her beauty, looking at her with cold, dismissive eyes: "We defend our country in our own way. These criminals refused to evacuate. Were we to leave them here to turn this place into a breeding ground for monsters? We did what was necessary."
Clayton cut through the useless debate: "Are the Gray Cap Gang members here?"
"Of course. They are all piled together now, silenced for good."
"Did you find stockpiles of refined whale oil?"
"No. Who smuggles that industrial junk?"
The Major’s genuine surprise silenced Clayton. Refined whale oil was a legal, regulated commodity; smuggling it offered no profit. Clayton realized the military hadn't found the explosives either.
"Enough talk. Do not proceed further. My men are cleaning up, and this area will be sealed off for years. If those explosives are missing, it’s a catastrophe, but I have zero information regarding them."
Clayton felt the cold weight of reality settle in his gut. The conspirators were dead, the fuel had vanished, and the city might wake up tomorrow to an explosion he could no longer prevent. The Major, sensing the gravity of the situation, finally relented. "Fine. Proceed, but do not touch anything else. Baron, go with them and remind them to turn off their lamps."
The Major looked back at Clayton one last time: "Finish your business and get out. It’s for the best for all of us."
Clayton looked at the soldier’s specialized lamp and finally understood the sinister truth hidden in the darkness.