---
— Lord Fourth: Heh, heh, heh, about time. The physique of this boy is interesting. I'll take care of this now. Bring me the iron seal! he said, approaching where they knelt, injured and powerless.
Shadow, who immediately headed to the furnace, was someone highly respected among the men of the Mouda family. No one dared to even breathe in his presence.
He opened the furnace and, using iron tongs, retrieved a metal rod about a meter long. The tip had been heated to the point where the metal glowed a brilliant red. Its end bore a heated seal in the shape of two drops and a crescent moon.
Slowly, he walked toward Lord Fourth, who was holding a steel glove seemingly filled with wet cloth.
The elder took the seal, smiling with satisfaction as he looked at Arthur, who tried to resist, but it was in vain. He pressed the seal against Arthur's cheek, branding his skin, laughing sadistically.
— Lord Fourth: I'll send you to a place from which no one returns. There, you'll live in hell and die miserably.
"Aaaagh!!" Arthur screamed desperately in pain.
He collapsed, writhing on the ground for what felt like hours.
His sorrowful gaze turned to the last banner of his family, consumed by flames. Before he could think of anything else, he felt a blow that knocked him unconscious.
After the bloody battle, the Ashki mansion stood in silence, lifeless bodies scattered through its halls and gardens.
---
Tap... Tap... Tap—a persistent dripping on his face woke him. Pain coursed through his entire body. He was chained, his head covered by a black cloth that blocked his vision.
From the sound of hoofbeats and the rough jolts of the carriage hitting rocks, he deduced they were traveling along a steep, winding path.
---
Six days later…
The carriage now felt steadier, traveling on a smooth, unobstructed road. It no longer moved as quickly as before, so Arthur assumed they were no longer in the Nordic Kingdom. Judging by the days of travel, they were likely near the border of their neighbor, Kayros.
He had been fed bread and water once or twice a day throughout this time, but without being untied or able to see, as someone else had to feed him.
A few days earlier, Arthur had tried to move the bag covering his head and realized that beneath the leather covering was a bandage wrapped around both his eyes and half his face.
Unable to see or focus his thoughts on anything, he lost himself in memories of that night. He remained worried about his sister, Sophia, unable to stop imagining what might have happened to her—if she had made it to the Snow family home.
His thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt motion of the carriage stopping to rest, as it had done each day.
They had passed several checkpoints in the Kayros Kingdom, and Arthur could discern the soldiers' way of speaking to estimate how long it had been since leaving Nordic.
The journey from White City to Greenwall Pass typically took over seven days, and they had now spent nine or ten days traveling within Kayros. The roads, paved with rock and clay, allowed for faster travel, meaning Arthur was now far from his former home.
---
They arrived at another checkpoint, this one much stricter. Everything in the carriage was inspected before they were allowed to proceed. After some minutes, they continued their journey.
This time, the road felt different. The wheels no longer hit rocks or potholes. Arthur immediately imagined they had entered a city, most likely the place where he would be taken.
After navigating the city, the carriage came to a halt. The doors opened, and Arthur was roughly grabbed by the shoulders and dragged out. Once on his feet, he was given water to drink. Moments later, dizziness overtook him, and he lost consciousness.
The sound of dripping water on his face reached his senses. He woke slowly, and as he opened his eyes, he saw a dim light reflecting off the stone wall. He lay on a stone bed covered with a leather cloth.
Water dripped steadily from the ceiling and walls, forming muddy puddles on the ground. As he glanced around, Arthur realized he was in an underground cave lit by an Aurora stone. Its faint glow allowed him to make out only some details of his surroundings.
The air was cold and dense with dust and moisture. The strong smell of mold was suffocating. He tried to sit up quickly but was wracked with sharp pain.
A wound on his chest was bandaged, his left hand immobilized. His clothes were in tatters, and bruises covered every inch of his body. Touching his face, he felt a rough bandage covering the left half, and beneath it, the branded mark burned like molten iron.
Groaning in pain, Arthur stood slowly, examining his surroundings. The cave was small, containing only a few worn objects. Leaning against the rough wall, he struggled to stay upright. The slippery moss underfoot offered little support, but he managed to make his way to a leather curtain covering the entrance.
Pushing it aside, he saw a larger cave with entrances similar to the one he had exited. This area was better lit, and the smell of mold was less intense. The vastness of the space caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a metallic ceiling with intricate patterns. At its center was a large metal door flanked by two dragons, their bodies coiled around it.
"It's impossible to reach that far," he thought, as he focused on his surroundings. He continued walking, noticing eight other openings. From one of them came noises and murmurs. It was the only one with light on the other side. Taking a few steps toward it, he lifted the leather curtain with his right hand.
The intense light blinded him for a moment, and the oppressive air of the mine hit him, causing a brief coughing fit.
The noise was overwhelming—voices and chaos all around. Men of various statures moved about, many emaciated and close to starvation. Children pushed carts loaded with shining stones and baskets of glowing minerals, similar to the rocks that had illuminated Arthur's small cave.
In the distance, the clanging of pickaxes echoed incessantly, mingling with murmurs and groans of exhaustion. Most of the men had gray, lifeless faces covered in dirt and sweat.
Arthur barely paid attention. Seeing children in the cave brought back memories of the children in his family, all of whom had been unjustly killed.
One vivid memory resurfaced: his mother's terrified face. Yet, when she saw him, her expression softened into a sweet, regretless smile.
In a trembling but courageous voice, she spoke her final words loudly and hauntingly: "Run, my son! Survive, find your father, tell him I fought to the end. I love you, my child!" The last breath of his mother that Arthur could hear was a sigh—a sigh that would fuel his desire for vengeance even more.
Clenching his hand tightly and helplessly, Arthur closed his eyes as thoughts of escape crossed his mind. Yet he mustered the courage to look at his mother one last time.
What he saw was the murderer raising his enormous, gleaming sword, which reflected the moonlight into his eyes. Time seemed to slow as the blade descended, until, with a sound akin to a watermelon smashing against the ground, he saw her head fall and roll, stopping only when her lifeless eyes stared directly at him, a single tear slipping from her motionless gaze.
A chill ran down his spine as he struggled with all his strength to escape the grasp of the soldiers dragging him farther and farther from his mother, who had sacrificed her life to protect his.
Arthur closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain, but he could still feel the indescribable surge of hatred filling his heart. This feeling was abruptly interrupted by the sharp crack of a whip striking near his feet.
The dry, violent sound made him turn his head. A burly man with chiseled muscles and a deep scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his left cheek was watching him with a crooked smile. He wore leather armor covering his lower body, while his metal shoulder pads were crudely strapped on with leather cords.
"—Well, well!" the man sneered, letting the whip fall to the dusty ground. "The sleeping beauty has finally woken up! I was starting to wonder if you were going to sleep forever or just die. Your injuries are horrible; it's a miracle you're still alive."
Arthur looked at him in confusion, but his pain and state of mind kept him silent. He raised a hand to his face, feeling intense pain and a burning sensation, as if his skin was still being seared.
He couldn't see what lay beneath the bandages, but he knew what it meant—the mark of a slave. A mark traditionally used by slavers to identify who owned a slave, engraved into the skin with a heated metal stamp.
"—Arthur: Who are you?" he asked hoarsely. "Where am I?"
The man laughed—a sound that ended as abruptly as it began.
"—You'll have time to learn my name, boy," he said, pausing and narrowing his eyes. "All you need to know for now is that I'm in charge here. You'll do what I say if you want to stay alive."
Arthur barely listened to what the man was saying. The pain in his ribs was so unbearable that it made him stagger.
"—Move your ass and follow me," the man barked, giving him a rough shove.
"You've been asleep for three days. It's time you earn your food." He gestured toward a ramshackle table at the far end of the cave. "Take your ration and get to work. You'd better hurry; I don't have all day."
Without any other choice, Arthur stumbled toward the table. He tripped a couple of times but managed to grab a small bowl containing something barely recognizable as food. Keeping his gaze low, he followed the man into what appeared to be a sprawling underground mine.
The cave corridors stretched out in every direction, forming a labyrinth of tunnels descending like a web into the earth's depths. The ceilings were high, supported by worn wooden beams that groaned under the weight of the rocks above.
Everywhere, men were working, their bodies bent with fatigue as they pushed carts filled with gleaming stones and crystals of various colors. In the distance, a platform rose via a pulley system to an upper level, carrying carts full of rocks and minerals.
"—Impressive, isn't it?" the man said, noticing Arthur's bewildered expression. "Welcome to hell—your home, sweet home. This is all you'll ever see for the rest of your life."
Arthur remained silent, but the man kept talking as if reveling in others' misery.
For about two hours, they traversed tunnels and caves. The man talked non-stop, but the most important things Arthur gleaned were about the crystals and life in the mine.
"—Those crystals you see in that cart are called Aurora crystals. They're used as an energy source for devices, weapons, and even to power cities. They're incredibly hard to find. On a good day, we can only extract between 50 and 70 of them across the entire mine.
The stones over there are Aurora stones. They're less valuable but are what we mostly look for since they're useful for crafting items for the nobility. This mine is of medium quality. The bigger the mine, the higher the quality of the stones extracted.
Two stones can be the same size, but their color determines their purity and the amount of Aurora energy they hold. Violet stones are the least pure, followed by cyan stones, then light blue, and finally white stones. You'll learn about their grading and quality later. The stones lighting the mine are defective; they're used as currency and only provide light for a few days.
"—Now you'll have to use your strength to mine and extract these materials every single day. Your life depends on it."
They walked through numerous tunnels that branched off at regular intervals. Men with sacks and carts full of rocks emerged from all directions. The air grew heavier in this part of the mine, thick with dust and a foul stench.
"—Boy," the man said without turning his head. "You asked where you are, right? I'll tell you."
"This is Cerberus Prison Mine, also known as the Abyss Mine. You should know that everyone working here is either a prisoner or a slave like you. If you have any hope of escaping, forget it.
"Outside this mine is an imperial outpost. Anyone sent here might as well have been given a death sentence. No one leaves this place alive."
Hearing this, Arthur clenched his fists, vowing to himself that he would escape this place no matter what extremes he had to go to.
"—Forget who you were and what you did before you were brought here. From now on, you're a slave, and that mark on your face makes it clear." The man stopped and looked at him intently. "I'm in charge of this area. My name is Terry, but they call me 'the Butcher.' Don't forget it."
Arthur, surprised, wondered why he was called that but said nothing.
— Terry: I have orders not to let you die so easily, not until you've suffered through hell and collapsed from exhaustion. But I don't pay much attention to what they say up there. If you're useful to me, I'll let you live as long as you can.
They kept walking for what felt like hours. The winding tunnels descended further into the earth, and Arthur began to lose track of time. Each step hurt more than the last, and his injured body started to falter.
— Arthur: I can't take it anymore. When are we going to get there? he gasped in pain. I can't walk any further...
— Terry: Keep walking! he ordered. We'll get there before the pain kills you. Meanwhile, in Terry's thoughts, he couldn't help but be surprised, How is this guy still standing with those kinds of injuries? We've been wandering through this mine for over two hours, and he hasn't collapsed yet.
To hell with it, I'm tired of wandering aimlessly.
After five more minutes of walking, they arrived at a space separate from the main path, much larger than any cave. It resembled a dome, with six tunnels branching off from it. Several men moved back and forth, hauling stones and minerals. Terry stopped and gestured with his hand.
— Terry: Pick a corner of this paradise and dig your own hole. See that tent over there? That will be your home from now on. If you want food, a place to sleep, and the faintest hope of survival, you'd better start working once your wounds heal.
— Terry: Here, the days are dictated by the sound of bells. The first bell rings five times, signaling the start of the day. The second bell rings twice, signaling time to get your daily rations. Finally, the bell rings four times, marking the end of the day, so you can rest. I recommend you set up night watches and take shifts. You should know it's best to deliver your quota before the last bell rings—you never know who might surprise you and take everything.
— Terry: You have no idea how many people die every night from grudges or looters, leaving no trace behind. Terry said with an intimidating tone as he walked away, waving his right arm over his head.