Chapter 144
Kane's POV
Grim led us through a maze of abandoned mine tunnels, finally stopping before a concealed alcove. An inconspicuous crack split the rock wall here.
Behind the fissure lay a cramped space littered with broken tools and moldy sacks—a place that clearly hadn't seen visitors in years.
"Frank, rest here for now." I helped my grandfather settle onto a relatively flat stone. The years since his fall had taken their toll, and the frantic escape through the mine pit had drained what little strength he had left.
"Grim, bring a few trustworthy workers to watch over him."
Grim nodded and turned to fetch help.
Just then, Dorothy spoke up abruptly: "I'm coming with you."
I froze, turning to look at her.
"Dorothy, I'm heading to Draven's command post. It's dangerous." I lowered my voice. "If we're discovered—"
"Then you'll need someone to help." She cut me off, stepping forward. "I can keep watch, relay messages, and... pull you back when you need it."
I remembered her terror facing those two overseers, and how she'd managed not to scream after I killed them. This seemingly fragile girl was far stronger than I'd imagined.
"Kane." Frank's voice came from behind, tinged with approval. "Let her go. Sometimes the most dangerous paths require companions."
I drew a deep breath and finally nodded. "Fine. But you follow my lead. No acting on your own."
Dorothy nodded vigorously, a flicker of joy in her eyes.
Grim quickly returned with two older goblin workers who would take turns standing guard outside the alcove, ensuring Frank's safety.
With everything arranged, Dorothy, Grim, and I set off toward Draven's command post.
Grim led Dorothy and me into a narrow ventilation shaft. The metal walls were frigid and rough, scraping against my shoulders and back.
Dorothy followed close behind, her breathing rapid and still edged with lingering fear. I could sense her fighting to suppress her terror, and it reminded me of someone from long ago.
The ventilation shaft suddenly opened up ahead. Through the gaps in an iron grate, I looked down upon the entire underground mining operation.
It was a massive cavity, as if some monstrous beast had hollowed out the mountain's interior.
Flickering torchlight cast unsteady shadows. Below, dozens of emaciated figures swung pickaxes under the crack of whips, producing monotonous, despairing thuds.
These slaves weren't all goblins! Many had the larger frames of werewolves.
Judging by their ragged clothes and neck chains, these must be survivors from the Thunder Wolf Pack—wretches who'd escaped the massacre only to become slaves.
"Look at those Blood River soldiers..." Grim's voice murmured in my ear.
I followed his gaze.
Several Blood River Pack soldiers patrolled the mine pit's edge. Their steps were hurried, their movements brutal, occasionally lashing out at slaves with their whips.
"They look... afraid," Dorothy's voice trembled behind me.
She was right.
The soldiers appeared fierce and cruel on the surface, but underneath seethed barely suppressed panic.
They seemed to be venting inner anxiety through violence, like... cornered beasts making their last stand.
"What are they afraid of?" I asked Grim.
Grim gave a bitter laugh. "The Wall of Sighs has blocked all excavation. For the past week, Thunderstone production has been zero." He paused, lowering his voice. "Draven's up at the surface communications tower right now, receiving a tongue-lashing from above."
My heart clenched.
Above—that meant Blood River Pack's upper echelon, quite possibly Louis himself or one of his trusted lieutenants.
If production was zero, then overseer Draven must be under tremendous pressure, and that pressure would cascade down to the soldiers below, ultimately falling upon the slaves' flesh and blood.
"Now's our best chance," Grim said. "Draven's not here. We can get into his office."
We moved soundlessly along the ventilation shaft, finally stopping before an iron door. Grim expertly removed several screws, and the grate swung inward without a sound.
I dropped in first, Dorothy following immediately after.
Draven's office formed a stark contrast to the hellish mine pit outside.
The room was lavishly decorated. A massive oak desk dominated the center, its surface scattered with parchments, ledgers, and several letters sealed with wax.
I strode quickly to the desk, my eyes landing on a heavy ledger secured with an iron chain. I drew my dagger and pried the lock open, flipping to the first page.
Dense rows of numbers and records made me frown.
This wasn't an ordinary mining record, but detailed accounts of Thunderstone transport and usage.
I flipped through rapidly, growing more alarmed with each page—the massive quantities of Thunderstone mined over the past years hadn't been used for construction or stockpiling, but consumed entirely as "fuel."
Consumed for what?
I continued turning pages, finally finding the answer in one corner: for forging a bone spear.
My fingers froze.
Bone spear—the name made my blood run cold.
I forced myself to keep reading. Each word seared into my heart like red-hot iron.
"...To maximize the elemental-devouring properties of the bone spear forged from Ivan Price's leg bone, repeated tempering with Thunderstone power is required. The tempering process must maintain the connection between soul and flesh to ensure the element does not dissipate..."
My vision began to blur.
Ivan—my father, the man Louis had captured before my birth.
Not only had his elemental power been stolen, but even his bones had been used to forge weapons.
And this process... repeated tempering, maintaining the soul-body connection...
This meant he'd endured inhuman torture even after being taken!
Day after day, burned and torn by Thunderstone's power.
My hands began to shake, barely able to hold the parchment. A burning sourness rose in my throat, my eyes stinging as if they might split open.
I'd never met my father, never heard his voice, didn't even know what he looked like.
But now, reading these cold, cruel words, I could feel his suffering—the despair of being stripped of all dignity, repeatedly tormented as a mere tool.
"Kane..."
Dorothy's voice came from behind, thick with concern.
I couldn't respond. If I opened my mouth, what emerged might not be words but a long-suppressed howl.
I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself to continue reviewing documents, trying to suppress my spiraling emotions with reason.
Then I saw another letter.
The wax seal was still fresh, clearly delivered recently.
I unfolded the paper. Louis's handwriting scrawled across it, frantic and urgent:
"Draven, I don't care what methods you use—squeeze every last bit of value from this mine pit! Thunderstone is critical to our next operation. Those cowards in Free Haven think hiding in neutral territory will save them? Laughable! Once I take Free Haven, the entire continent will bow before the Blood River Pack!"
Free Haven.
My fingers clenched the letter tight. Louis's target wasn't the Silver Moon territory, but Free Haven.
That neutral sanctuary, where countless rogues and war-weary souls sought peace.
He meant to destroy it, just as he'd so easily destroyed the Thunder Wolf Pack.
"Kane."
Dorothy's hand rested gently on my shoulder, her touch snapping me back to awareness.
I turned to see her eyes filled with worry and compassion.
She said nothing, simply opened her arms and pulled me into an embrace.
In that moment, I finally broke. I buried my head in her shoulder, my body shaking violently, yet no sound escaped.
Silent tears fell, soaking her collar.
I'd never known grief could weigh this heavily, so crushing I could barely breathe.
I hated Louis for his cruelty and madness. I hated myself for my helplessness, for losing my father without ever knowing his face. I hated this world for its injustice and indifference.
Dorothy said nothing, only held me tight, her slight frame creating a brief shelter from the storm.
Her hand stroked my back gently, as if soothing a wounded beast.
I don't know how long passed—perhaps minutes, perhaps only seconds. When I finally raised my head, my eyes were still red, but the tears had stopped. I drew a deep breath, forcing myself to regain composure.
Grief and rage wouldn't solve anything. I needed to act.
Louis had made comprehensive preparations. He intended to use Thunderstone as fuel to launch a devastating war against Free Haven.
I had to stop Alpha Louis's scheme!
Just then, heavy footsteps and harsh cursing sounded outside the door.
"Damn it! Those worthless wretches can't dig up a single decent Thunderstone! Lord Louis wants my head, so I'll take theirs first!"
Draven had returned.
I grabbed Dorothy and signaled her to stay silent. Grim had already climbed back into the ventilation shaft, frantically waving us over. Dorothy and I scrambled after him, slipping into the shaft at the last moment as Grim quickly refastened the grate.
We huddled in shadow, watching through the gaps as Draven burst through the door.
He was a burly werewolf with a scar-covered face, currently twisted in fury. The moment he entered, he grabbed a bottle from the desk and smashed it on the floor, glass shards scattering everywhere.
"Round up a group! Make an example!" he roared toward the doorway. "Let those slaves know—if production falls short, they'll pay with their lives!"