Chapter 145
Kane's POV
When we returned to that concealed rock crevice, it was empty.
Two goblin workers who had been standing guard crawled out from the shadows, their faces filled with terror.
One of them stammered, "The old man... he coughed. A Blood River patrol guard heard him."
The other added, "The guard said he was shirking labor and dragged him away."
My heart sank. Dorothy gripped my arm tightly, her fingers ice-cold.
I took a deep breath and walked toward the flat stone where Frank had been resting. Moonlight filtered through the crevice, illuminating the rock surface. I saw some chaotic lines—carved with stone fragments.
"What's this?" Dorothy leaned in to look. "Random scratches?"
I crouched down, examining them carefully. This wasn't random. This was a map—an underground fortification map.
My fingers gently traced the lines. Frank had used his last strength to leave this before being taken. The map marked hidden passages from the old Thunder Wolf Pack era, undiscovered ventilation shafts, and—self-destruct trap points buried deep in the mine pit.
This was the old man's final weapon for his grandson.
"Hey!" Grim's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Listen—the assembly horn."
A heavy horn blast echoed throughout the underground mine, reverberating through every tunnel. It was the signal to summon all slaves.
"We have to go," Grim said. "If we don't, it'll raise suspicion."
I nodded, committing the map deeply to memory. Grim led me into the crowd of goblins and slaves, heading toward the central square of the mine pit.
Hundreds had already gathered in the square. Torchlight danced on the damp rock walls, casting twisted shadows.
Draven stood on a raised platform, his figure appearing especially imposing in the firelight. At his feet knelt dozens of ragged elderly werewolves and goblins.
I saw Frank. He'd been beaten black and blue, but still held his head high with stubborn defiance.
Behind me, Dorothy pressed her hand tightly over her mouth. I felt her body trembling. She'd spotted her grandmother Faye, also roughly shoved among the kneeling crowd.
I pressed down on Dorothy's shaking shoulder, my gaze cold as iron.
"Listen up!" Draven's voice echoed through the mine pit. "You worthless wretches! Can't dig up a single decent Thunderstone!"
He paced back and forth, his boots making heavy sounds on the stone floor.
"Do you know what Alpha Louis told me? He said if production stays at zero for three more days, I'm to throw you all into the abandoned mines!"
Suppressed sobs rose from the crowd.
"However." Draven stopped, grinning viciously as he pointed at the kneeling elders. "I'm a merciful man. I'll give you a chance. These old, weak, sick, and disabled—" he gestured at Frank and the others with his whip, "they only consume food and can't do anything. So, three days. If you can't dig up enough Thunderstone in three days, they'll be the first batch of waste to be executed."
Despair and deathly silence permeated the mine pit. Only Draven's mad roaring echoed.
At that moment, a tall figure stood up from the crowd.
It was an exceptionally burly middle-aged werewolf. Though wearing shackles, he couldn't hide the dignity of a former warrior. Covered in scars, he stood perfectly straight.
"They were once builders of this land too, Draven." His voice was deep and powerful. "A true leader shouldn't establish authority by torturing incapacitated elders."
Draven's face twisted. "What are you? How dare you question me?"
He drew a specially-made lightning whip from his waist—a leather whip soaked in Thunderstone powder. Each lash could make a werewolf feel tearing agony.
The whip whistled sharply through the air.
One lash.
Two lashes.
Ten lashes.
Steven didn't dodge or evade, enduring each strike. Blood flowed down his spine, but he remained like a mountain, shielding that group of elders.
The brave warrior said through gritted teeth, "I have a name. I'm Steven Caldwell."
His gaze met mine in the shadows for an instant—that unyielding spirit only warriors understand.
Finally, Draven stopped. He was panting heavily, yet hadn't managed to bring Steven down.
"Get back to work!" he roared in humiliated fury. "All of you, get lost!"
The crowd slowly dispersed. I pulled Dorothy back into the shadows. Watching Frank and Faye being escorted to the death row cells, watching Steven's blood-soaked back, something inside me fundamentally changed.
Simply rescuing a few people wouldn't be enough.
I had to completely destroy this base that supplied Louis with war resources.
"Follow me," I said quietly to Grim.
We returned to that hidden corner. I carefully studied the map Frank had left, my fingers tracing over the marked "trap points."
These traps were the final line of defense the Thunder Wolf Pack had installed when constructing the mine. If the mine was occupied by enemies, the guards could activate these traps and collapse the entire underground structure.
But now, these traps had been abandoned for years. No one knew if they still functioned.
"What are you thinking?" Grim asked nervously.
I didn't answer.
I was considering how to use these traps, how to make this mine permanently unable to supply Louis with Thunderstone without drawing his attention.
Just then, Grim seemed to read my thoughts and pulled out a crumpled list from his pocket.
"If we're going to do this, let's do it big," he said, his voice low but resolute. "I know where the explosives depot is. It stores blasting crystals for mining. As long as you've got the guts to light the fuse, I can blow this hell sky-high."
I looked at Grim. This scrawny goblin had fury burning in his eyes that didn't match his small frame.
"Many people will die," I said calmly.
"We're already waiting to die," Grim replied. "If we die, at least we can drag those demons down with us. And who knows—there might even be hope of survival..."
Dorothy squeezed my hand. She said nothing, but I felt her support.
I thought of the map Frank had left, of Steven shielding the elders, of the cruel truth that my father Ivan's bones had been forged into weapons.
"Alright," I said. "We'll need some helpers..."
Moonlight streamed through the rock crevice, illuminating the three of us.
In this underground prison filled with despair, the spark of rebellion was quietly igniting.