The Snake Descends. The Trall Clan Has Already Fallen.
I'd founded the Sunglasses Clan, since the Trall Clan was already done for. Truth be told, I didn't think the sunglasses would fully protect the dwarves from the flames. But at least it was better than squinting.
"Still, don't look at the fire with the naked eye. If anyone freezes up staring, smack 'em across the face right away."
We reviewed the action guidelines one more time. The dwarves split into two groups. Dungkel, Manjin, Trall—that made three. And the rest of the dwarves with Helmuth. Each group had a different task, but the goal was the same: subdue Bluebeard, enthralled by the fire, and extinguish the root cause, the fire demon.
Helmuth bellowed, "Handle the explosives carefully! Drop 'em, and we're all blown to bits—think of it that way!"
The young dwarves who'd followed Trall turned pale. Each had their packs stuffed full of the stuff.
"They really explode if you drop 'em?"
"Think of 'em as exploding, you idiots!"
"Yes, sir!"
Helmuth was terrifying, even with one arm missing. With a seasoned veteran like him leading, that group would be fine. The worry was this side.
"C-can I really lead?" Dungkel stammered.
After serious deliberation with Helmuth and me, we'd decided Dungkel would lead. Being leader didn't mean much—just stand at the front, command in changing situations, and handle talks when things went down. Wait, saying it like that, it wasn't a light role at all.
Helmuth stomped over and stood before Dungkel. He pulled something from his bosom that looked like a filthy sock and plopped it on Dungkel's bald head.
"Bluebeard's hat from his youth."
Not a sock, then. But why did old man Helmuth have it?
"Suits you much better."
"...Y-yes."
Dungkel looked utterly baffled. I felt the same, listening in.
"Don't worry."
For a moment, I thought Helmuth was finally encouraging him.
"Worst case, we all die if you fail. What more is there?"
True enough. I patted Dungkel's shoulder.
"You got this!"
Let's go!
Clack-clack, trot-trot. Forward march.
No matter how unpleasant the mines—never comfortable—the dwarves were always full of vigor. Through grueling labor or post-shift revelry, they sang. But those songs hadn't echoed for days now. No clang of pickaxes, no thud of hammers.
They say a dwarf who stops working is a dead dwarf. In that sense, Red Anvil Mine might already be filled with death.
Orange flames flickered in spots below. Dwarves sat mesmerized around them.
Then three young dwarves in sunglasses appeared. Flames tempting dwarves ringed them, but they never glanced over. Thud, thud. They marched on, pinching thighs or chewing lemons to stay sharp.
They halted before the door to the depths.
"Halt."
Rozena once guarded it, but now one of Bluebeard's "five fingers"—the warrior Happy, whose nose tip was severed in an orc fight—stood there.
"Dungkel, you bastard, where've you been?!" he roared at Dungkel.
"...Uncle, long time no see."
"Long time my ass."
Dungkel asked carefully, "You... enthralled by the fire too?"
"Enthralled? What bullshit?" The warrior's eyes bulged like he'd heard nonsense. "I'm perfectly sane."
"You burned the patients."
"That wasn't 'cause I wanted to, idiot! Contagion spreading—what choice? Had to isolate and disinfect fast."
"You can't say that. And it wasn't a contagion. We found a cure."
"I don't know nothin'! Why you hasslin' me, you little—!"
The warrior exploded in rage. Dungkel and Manjin flinched. Trall instinctively reached for his axe, but Dungkel stopped him.
The warrior before them was clearly not sane.
"That's why I came to see you myself."
"Huh?"
"Bluebeard. The mine lord."
Some loyalty lingered; the warrior calmed.
"The lord? No way—he hates your guts."
"True. But I have to. Things to say."
Dungkel stared earnestly. The warrior scratched his head, pondering.
"Nope."
He drew his axe. "You need to see the flames too. Heard you ran—better see 'em first. They're amazing."
Why draw the axe, then? But this turn was within expectations. Thankfully, Dungkel spoke in time.
"I brought it!"
Lightning-fast, he yanked bucket and chain from his pack—the celestium bucket the snake stole.
"That..."
"The snake stole it, right? I brought it back. To give Lord Bluebeard myself."
"Damn, that snake was quick—how'd you catch it?"
"Ran hard."
"I could just deliver it..."
"Caught the snake too!"
The warrior's eyes widened. He prodded the lidded bucket cautiously.
Thrash-thrash-thud!
Something alive writhed inside.
"Whoa, that's some skill..."
"Want to deliver it myself."
"Fair enough."
Success. Persuasion worked.
"Follow me. You! Guard here instead."
The warrior handed off to another dwarf and opened the depths' door. Scorching heat billowed out.
None had entered the depths before. Bold Trall tensed; surprisingly timid Dungkel pressed on boldly.
"Hurry up!"
The trio rushed after the bellowing warrior.
"Whew, was it always this hot?"
Dungkel wiped sweat. The depths were shockingly hot—even heat-hardy dwarves struggled to breathe.
"Way hotter than before. Fire's growing."
"The fire."
"Yeah, the mountain's heart."
Not the mountain's heart. It's a foul, evil demon fire.
Dungkel held his tongue. Deep-dwellers wore cloths soaked in coolant over faces and bodies, looking grotesque. These rarely surfaced, so they'd suffered worst malnutrition—likely most with scurvy, sailors' plague.
Yet few dwarves remained here. Burned already? Unclear.
"Dungkel."
Manjin whispered, pointing below. The door to the core was open. Bluebeard stood before the stairs down.
No entrancing orange flames here—only the enthralled remained, naturally.
Bluebeard's eyes met Dungkel's. Far away, but his scowl was clear. Dungkel shrank inwardly.
Thrash-thud.
The bucket wriggled. Right—focus.
Dungkel steeled himself. They reached Bluebeard.
"Happy. What is it?"
Bluebeard scowled at the warrior, who approached and explained.
Bluebeard's eyes widened. He realized the bucket was his lost celestium one.
"You brought it?"
"Yes."
Bluebeard extended a hand. Dungkel hesitated, then handed it over.
Thrash-thud!
The snake inside thrashed again.
"No idea what changed your mind, but well done."
Bluebeard praised him. First time hearing it—Dungkel grinned oddly.
Then Bluebeard opened the lid.
Fwoosh!
A bat burst out.
"Huh?"
Warrior Happy gaped. The bat flapped frantically into shadows.
Bluebeard glared silently at Dungkel, then spotted paper stuck to the bucket's bottom.
Curious, he peered—then hurled it aside.
Whoosh!
Flames erupted from within.
"...Dungkel, playing pranks on me?"
Cruel prank if so. Lame ambush otherwise.
But Dungkel stayed calm. Never meant to singe even Bluebeard's beard.
"Feeling clear-headed now?"
"Not funny."
Dungkel smiled wryly. First prank on Bluebeard—despite endless fantasies.
"Less fun than imagined."
A beat.
"...Father."
Ice fell over the chamber. Shock, disbelief—joking? Manjin and Trall gawked at Dungkel.
Fwoosh. Whoa!
The talisman I'd carried in my tail ignited. Meaning the linked one activated too.
Pellelian's help drew these linked talismans. Mine matched one inside the celestium bucket. Lid opens, it burns—bucket reached Bluebeard.
Yes, bold investment. Prepared to lose the bucket for the plan.
Success? I'd be Red Anvil's guardian dragon. Regular tribute from dwarves. Already negotiated with Helmuth and Dungkel.
"Saaak!"
I roared. Resting dwarves scrambled up.
Timing key. We'd moved faster than Dungkel's group—he left a day later.
We'd dug a full day toward the passage right above the depths.
Dwarf miners' nightmares: losing lights amid mole swarms (I'd survived). Rarer, catastrophic: hitting underground aquifers.
Water common—wet soil? Detour. But rarely, unluckily, hit a subterranean lake. Disturb it, pressure blasts water—drown underground.
Vets spot and avoid traces. We did opposite: dug a day targeting a suspected lake. Risky.
Blast expert Helmuth precisely placed explosives.
"Fall back! High ground, high ground!"
He commanded.
"Move, you bastards! Don't step on fuses!"
Dwarves bolted, hyped. None water-lovers. All to high ground.
"Whew."
Even seasoned Helmuth tense—or excited?
"Never thought I'd pull this thrill before dying."
Excited, then. He adjusted my sunglasses secure.
"You sure? Very dangerous."
Fine. Piece of cake.
I stuck with Helmuth, not Dungkel—Key Snake's ability perfect for aquifers. Wouldn't separate, so together. Subspaced it now. Upcoming extreme.
"Good luck, then. Blast prep!"
Helmuth approached detonator.
"Three, two, one—blast!"
Pressed. Fuse burned fast.
Fizzle-crackle—
BOOM!
Explosives breached the lake wall. Massive pressure—water gushed.
"Wait for rocks to pass!"
Ears ringing, Helmuth faint. Torrent raged below. Rocks gone, pure water now.
Black Scale lv3
Black Scale now masterful. I dove into the water.
Swimming lv1
Hated swimming. Terrifying waterslide. I plunged with the flood, through the breached hole—into the depths.
"I sired no son like you."
"You abandoned me."
"...Helmuth told you?"
"Yes."
Dungkel pale but steady. Hairless birth. Bastard. Bluebeard never acknowledged him. Orphan forever.
"Here for an apology?"
"No."
Dungkel calm. "I'll defeat you. Save the mine."
"Ha..."
Bluebeard scoffed—
BOOM!
Ceiling exploded above. Rocks rained. Hole torn overhead.
"What?!"
Rumble—whoosh—
Bluebeard glanced—Dungkel's group fled to high ground.
"Pursu—"
Water cascaded from the ceiling. Waterfall torrent—with snake.
That small white snake from before. Aimed straight at Bluebeard.
Not scary alone. But suddenly—it gigantified.
Deepest mine bottom.
The snake descends.