Chapter Forty-Eight: Entry

Chapter Forty-Six

White had lived in the mining town for nearly a decade, making him one of the last remaining old-timers in the settlement.

Yet few knew that this amiable man, who had spent almost ten years navigating the ins and outs of the Ildan Mine, forging good relations with all strata of society, bore not the slightest trace of demonic corruption—at least, not before he came here.

In fact, before settling in the mining town, he had held a respectable job on the surface. The bitterness, hardship, and despondency he displayed upon arrival were nothing but a carefully constructed facade for the benefit of others; even the patches of crimson scales that appeared on his face were the result of skilled makeup artistry. He bore no ill will toward any of the townsfolk, yet his decision to reside here was anything but innocent.

He was here to keep watch over the Ildan Mine.

And… the Shadow Guild.

As an intelligence operative directly under the First Apostle, White held a mid-level position within the Dice House, privy to a number of secrets—including those of the Ildan mines. Indeed, it was fair to say he had come precisely for this purpose.

He was certain he was not the first operative sent here, nor was it likely he was the only one. When he first arrived, he already possessed a detailed map of the deeper reaches of the Ildan mines, marked in several places with conspicuous red dots indicating danger. Unfortunately, the map was incomplete, abruptly ending one-third of the way in. It took him nearly eight years to finish the remaining sections, piecing together the general layout. As for the final blank areas, there was nothing he could do.

After all… he was neither a Swordbearer nor a Bringer of Glory.

Faced with swarms of man-eating monsters, no matter how exceptional his physique or martial prowess, he could only retreat. Even though he withdrew at the first sign of danger, he still paid a heavy price for his earlier recklessness: he lost an arm, an eye, and half his nose.

But he survived.

And now, it was time for them to pay the price—though he had once believed he would not live to see this day.

It was only when Lord Dick appeared before him once more that he realized he had not been forgotten during these ten years.

The work he had done, the sacrifices he had made, all had meaning.

In these ten years, he had come to know every guard in the mining district, every colleague in the mining town, even the infiltrators scraping by for survival. After so many years, and through deliberate investigation, he could vouch that there was no corner of the mining town unfamiliar to him—even the depths of Ildan’s mines, apart from the monster-infested zones, were as familiar to him as his own backyard.

Without a doubt, as one of Ildan’s most senior miners, he was a competent guide.

He led the three-member group through a succession of largely symbolic checkpoints, kerosene lamp in hand, proceeding at an unhurried pace through the shadowy tunnels.

It was still safe for now.

White appeared quite at ease; the upper levels of the Ildan mine posed little danger. But this surface safety came at a cost: all worthwhile deposits had long since been exhausted by earlier prospectors, and only a handful of the lucky or the blessed managed to stumble upon anything of value without venturing into the perilous depths.

As they delved deeper, however, his expression grew steadily more solemn.

There were man-eating monsters below Ildan. Even novices with only a handful of mining trips behind them took this warning seriously, and the more experienced miners were intimately familiar with the regions frequented by these creatures. As for White, with his decade of experience, he was a living relic—a veteran who knew the terrain and ecology of the mines’ depths as well as anyone ever could. He could confidently say that no one knew this land better than he did.

Except, perhaps, for the lurking monsters in the caves… and the Shadow Guild.

The movements of the monsters in the darkness were, in fact, highly predictable; they usually congregated in just a few regions, rarely straying unless provoked. Most who fell victim to them were greenhorns who inadvertently disturbed them while prospecting—either becoming food or, in their flight, luring the creatures out of their usual lairs and unleashing them to haunt the mine’s labyrinthine corridors, preying on any living thing they found.

An outsider might assume these areas to be the monsters’ lairs, but to an intelligence agent of the Dice House, these zones were more like a series of arrows pointing toward the Shadow Guild’s headquarters. By pushing through each occupied region, one could gradually peel back the veil of mystery enshrouding this underground organization.

Alas… he was not strong enough.

The only time he came close to success, he paid for it with an arm, an eye, and half his nose.

This time, though, things were different.

This time, the Apostle himself was present.

White harbored a nearly blind faith in his superior. He did not believe that these creatures, formidable only in numbers, could threaten Lord Dick in the slightest.

Moreover… the two following behind the Apostle were far from ordinary.

Though he had never interacted with them directly, his training as an intelligence agent enabled him to discern much: the pale, delicate-looking youth’s combat abilities were still open to question, but the young woman beside him, bearing a great silver two-handed sword nearly as tall as herself, was a true force to be reckoned with. Even standing still, her commanding aura was almost palpable. Had it not been for the miners’ custom of carrying weapons, the sword wrapped inconspicuously in cloth, and the guards’ lax inspections at the entrance, they might never have made it into Ildan.

But all that was moot.

They had already entered the Ildan mines, already made their way deep inside.

Now, only one obstacle remained…

The monsters!

Abruptly, he halted.

In the dim glow of the kerosene lamp, from the fathomless darkness ahead, countless pairs of crimson eyes flickered open, one after another, followed by a chorus of roars—predators heralding a deadly storm.

Hungry for blood. Thirsty for slaughter.

After a moment of tense, frozen confrontation—like a long-awaited feast, a belated revel—black shapes surged out of the shadowy, narrow tunnels one after another, leaping like mountain apes.

Nearly three meters tall, these enormous creatures ran hunched over, bodies shrouded in shaggy, armor-like black fur. Their long, thick arms nearly dragged on the ground, with no discernible faces or necks—their heads seemed to meld into their torsos, or perhaps they had no heads at all. Around a gaping maw that spanned half their bodies, clusters of eyes sprouted from what could only be called their "faces," making them truly the monsters among monsters.

Yet White’s face betrayed not a flicker of emotion, his hand holding the lantern steady as ever. He simply watched the monsters approach, waiting for the fate about to unfold.

But unexpectedly, the Apostle did not wield his omnipotent power of Logos.

It was the girl with the greatsword who stepped forward.

Without a word, without warning, the golden-haired, blue-eyed maiden drew her sword. The silver blade gleamed, painting the world scarlet with blood. She moved as gracefully as a lady at a noble ball, dancing between life and death. In her emerald eyes shone neither hesitation nor doubt—they were as clear as a mountain spring, reflecting the rise and fall of all things.

Her form was beautiful beyond words, yet White felt a long-forgotten chill in his heart.

It was the instinctive dread that mortals feel toward the incomprehensible—a primal fear of something almost human, yet fundamentally monstrous.

His hand trembled, making the lantern’s flame flicker, casting the blood-soaked tunnel in a hellish light. Yet within that inferno, an angel danced—a vision of sanctity and beauty amid a tide of death.

Ten… twenty… or was it thirty?

Numbly, the old miner watched as one after another, the man-eating monsters fell. Terrifying predators that had once devoured hundreds were cut down as easily as wheat before a scythe. As the color of life faded from their crimson eyes, they lay still in pools of blood, their ferocity extinguished.

Only when this battle—no, this slaughter—ended, and silence returned to the darkness, did he shudder, casting a reverent glance at the angel of death whose body remained untouched by a single drop of blood.

“To the impure, grant rest.”

Sword in hand, the maiden intoned her prayer, her calm gaze sweeping across the field of corpses, and into the shadowed unknown ahead. With a slight furrow of her elegant brows and a brief pause, she stepped forward again—deeper into the mine.

“That was quite the decisive battle,” came a round of applause from behind. The Apostle’s inhumanly handsome face wore an amused smile. “I should say, she truly lives up to the title ‘Whisperer of the Winds.’”

“My lord?” White had never seen the Apostle, master of the Logos, with such an expression.

“It’s nothing.” The true master of the Dice House waved a hand. “I’m merely impressed by her strength. Come, we’re still a fair distance from our goal. Let’s not waste time here.”

After a brief pause, he glanced at the intelligence operative who had spent ten years in these tunnels, raising an eyebrow before declaring, with unassailable authority, “The fights ahead will only grow more dangerous. These monsters are merely an appetizer. White, your skills are above average for a normal man, but that is all. Do not go any further. Wait here for our victorious return.”

“As you command.”

After a brief silence, he bowed, watching the two depart.

Then, averting his gaze, he looked about the empty, shadowy tunnel. He gripped the lantern between his teeth, drew a clear crystal from his breast, and pressed it to his chest, entering a meditative state to commune with it and retrieve the message stored within. After nearly three minutes of uncanny stillness, the crystal in his hands disintegrated without warning into fine dust, which the cold wind scattered into the endless dark.

“If this is your will,” the intelligence operative murmured, raising his head, “as you command.”

He set off, neither turning back nor proceeding further inside, but instead…

He took a third path.

He was going to meet someone.

Someone who perhaps could no longer be called “human.”