Shadows in the Mine
It puffed up to intimidate foes, but Sion's posture showed no such intent.
While Allen was deep in his research, Taylor sidled up next to Sion.
"You know who owns this mine right now?"
"No clue. Don't care."
"Hmph."
Taylor wore an expression that said he hadn't really expected anything else. He stroked his smooth chin a few times before pressing on.
"Fair enough—you only care about swords. But this could spark a fight between organizations. You cool with helping out?"
"If there's trouble, just make sure there are no witnesses."
Trained as a secret agent from childhood, she dropped the chilling line without batting an eye. In the tense atmosphere, Sion tossed a small pebble.
"Kidding~."
With a blank face like Allen's, she let out a cheerful voice, then fiddled with the area near her neck. Thanks to her disguise magitech, the holoskin, a quick adjustment turned her from human to elf.
Sion left the pondering Taylor behind and turned to Allen.
"How's this? Foolproof, right?"
"Only the hair color and ear length changed. Your face is the same."
"...I know. It's real."
She fiddled with her neck again, and this time it became an ordinary face dotted with freckles. A fine elf indeed.
These days, with mixed blood so common, people just called them elves regardless of pure or half-blood. Still, appearances made it easy to tell them apart. Sion was close to pure-blood, if anything.
"No one'll recognize me now. That eye of yours still see through it?"
"Ah, back in the workshop district..."
Sion's holoskin had been seen through by Allen once before. The magitech's defenses were solid now, but Allen's eyes—enhanced with Star Letters—pierced right through without issue.
"I can see it, but others would struggle or take too long. No time for casual scanning in a fight."
"Hmmm."
Sion let out a nasal hum. With dissatisfied gestures, she adjusted the holoskin again and whipped her head away. Just then, Shiba approached.
"What's going on?"
"My siblings in faith. You've been talking battle scenarios from the start, but we are cultured folk who know law and morality. We must verify if the unfair contract is real, and even if it is, we can't just attack recklessly."
"Back off."
"I know that. But everyone living on the surface is our siblings. Whether they believe in the Mother or not doesn't matter."
It was a far cry from how he'd smashed underground dwellers and automatons. Now he finally looked like a proper cleric.
"Brother Allen."
"I'm listening."
"I had prejudices about labyrinth explorers. Greedy, impatient, cruel. Uncovering the mine's truth is risky and could sour relations with the company, yet I never expected you'd join so readily."
"Do you know of Ranka?"
"Only that it's a poor nation struggling with shortages of resources and manpower. A few of our siblings are there spreading the Mother's will."
Even clerics were affected by distorted information. Allen gave a brief explanation: something like a colony of the Saldos Federation.
Allen summarized Ranka simply. As the story went on, Shiba's face darkened.
"Such things happened... I've been too focused on training, ignoring the world's affairs. And yet, after experiencing malice, you still act with goodwill—that moves me, brother."
Taylor, arms crossed, grunted.
"Monk. Enough self-flagellation. This is the labyrinth."
"True. We must handle the matter at hand first. How do we approach? They'll tell us to scram if we get close."
Shring!
The moment Shiba finished, the sound of blade scraping scabbard rang out. No need to guess the owner.
"Sister, you're more radical than I thought."
"I get that compliment a lot—straight shooter."
"Not a compliment."
"Whatever."
Shiba laid out the plan first.
"Temple monks do lots of charity work. If we tell the manager, we can enter the camp, right?"
Taylor wasn't about to agree to such a soft approach. He cut in quick to correct Shiba.
"Charity? You've barely been in Maze City—total greenhorn. Better say a teammate got hurt and we're heading up for rest. Offer to heal their injured in exchange."
"Wise words from one who's aged gracefully. I feel the weight of your years."
"Your word choice rubs me wrong..."
"Still insufficient."
When Allen chimed in, all three pairs of eyes turned to him.
"From layer 19 to the surface takes four days normally, or two to three if pushing hard—assuming no fights. Over that distance, the value of holy magic skyrockets."
"Brother, holy magic isn't a commodity bought and sold. It's given to those in need."
"Not what I meant—it's about trust. A random cleric offering free heals? Suspicious. But a monk demanding payment? Solid business."
"Allen's right. I overlooked that. Labyrinth explorers pursuing no-desire? Super shady—gotta watch 'em close. Plan's set, now we need someone to fake an injury..."
Who'd play the wounded one? Naturally, Taylor.
"Me? Why?"
"Removable."
In a blink, Allen detached Taylor's left forearm. Shiba's eyes went wide, and even Sion focused intently for a moment.
"Already?"
"I maintain it regularly, so of course. Nerves are disconnected—reattach and tighten the bolts when needed. In a pinch, use it as-is, but be careful it doesn't fall off."
The severed arm went into the cart, and Taylor wrapped his stump in bandages. For realism, he even smeared on some blood.
With roles assigned, the party moved to the clearing where the mine camp stood. Before entering, they spotted the company logo.
"Lockhart Energy Corporation."
As Taylor named them, the other side noticed too.
"Halt. This is Lockhart's camp. Turn back if you get it."
"Ah, I'm a monk of the Mother God Church."
As instructed, Shiba stepped forward. His acting was so spot-on, it felt infused with everyday experience.
The manager permitted entry upon hearing "monk," chatted briefly, then shook hands.
"Payment..."
"Cheaper than recovery potions. Ah, I prefer mana stones."
"You know your stuff."
Mana stones were better than anonymous bonds—untraceable unless they raided the deal on-site. With payments exchanged, Allen's group set up on the camp's outskirts.
"That sector's off-limits to non-staff. Trespass and we attack without warning—watch yourselves."
Once the staffer left, Taylor hopped down from the cart he'd been "confined" to.
"Quick peek shows the outer area's for show. All well-fed, well-rested workers milling about."
"Then let's start the operation."
Allen lay in the tent and closed his eyes. A nearby box drawer slid open, and a spider emerged. Imbued with the stealth rune combo of [Mute], [Assimilation], and [Stealth], it vanished from the tent in an instant.
Shiba marveled at the sight.
"Incredible. Like a wizard."
"Different flavor from your pals, but impressive, eh?"
"Why's Brother Taylor so proud? His real grandson or what?"
"Nah."
Sion's head tracked the spider's path perfectly. Incredible detection.
While Allen controlled the spider, Shiba asked Sion.
"Bit late, but why're you helping, Sister Sion?"
"Chairman ordered an investigation."
"Pardon? Then why invite me along...?"
"Investigate, train you too. Can't we handle it together?"
Taylor, who'd been listening, cut in.
"Hell no. Mine probe's a secret op—why drag in an outsider?"
"...Wasting time."
"Still suck at everything but swords."
"Rude."
Sion whipped her head away and went silent for a while.
End.
The spider robot—palm-sized now, but expandable into what some called a multi-legged tank—scuttled along with a tap-tap. Thanks to [Mute], its mechanical legs made no sound against the walls.
The mine was an ant nest of complexity; scouting at spider speed would take time. If anyone checked the tent, they could just say he was exhausted and sleeping.
Good thing there was no fog inside. Otherwise, lanterns would be needed, ruining the stealth entirely.
With a whir from the camera eye, the feed to Allen updated in real-time.
'Broken rocks regenerating slowly.'
Dust, fragments—form didn't matter. It slithered like slime across the floor, sticking to larger chunks to form bigger masses.
'Like torn flesh healing.'
It was that mesmerizing. What mana effect caused it? What mystery lay within? He desperately curbed his curiosity—no going himself now.
"Ah, such a pain to walk around."
A voice from around the corner made the ceiling-hanging spider hug tight. Soon, Lockhart explorers passed below in a group.
"Can't we just let 'em fend for themselves? Clean out the undergrounders once a day—that'd do it."
"Shut it. Bring too many from the surface, draw eyes, and inspectors come down."
"They doing it for justice? Nah, coming to price out the backdoor bribes."
"Heard a Mother God monk showed up at camp? Offering heals to stay."
"My wrist ligament's sore—might check it out."
"How'd you hurt it? Fight?"
"Nah. Smacked a miner's thick skull, angle was off a bit."
"Ugh, moron bastard. Anyway, headcount's good—no extras. Swap with the next shift when they arrive."
The explorers lounged against the corner or sat, slacking off.
The spider, having overheard the inhuman chat, rose and crept past overhead—more cautiously than before.
'Looks like it's deeper in.'
Confirming miners wasn't the end, but it was a step forward.
Deeper in, a small room held ten lying bodies.
'Worse than Nobak's clinic.'
Nobak at least gave beds; here, tattered blankets and rotten pillows were it. The cramped space meant no one could stretch out. Huddled close against the cold floor rising up.
Such rooms weren't rare. Allen observed slowly, meticulously.
'About a hundred.'
Maybe more elsewhere, but visible count was that. It felt like seeing his past self.
'Illegal immigrants or dream-chasers who got caught.'
No urge to call them fools. Wanting a better future—was that wrong? The deceivers were at fault.
The spider, slowly circling, froze at one spot. Hanging from the ceiling, only its camera eye swiveled.
'Familiar. Who...?'
Allen's mind raced. Bar, disappearance, photo, truck.
'Ah...'
Scenes sharpened. The man shivering on the floor resembled strikingly the uncle he'd traveled to Maze City with—not son-like, but eerily similar.
'Aged prematurely. Probably...'
The spider's gaze locked on the corner. Pickaxe for mining, needle stained with blood.
In Ranka, mana battery chargers all jabbed similar needles into their arms. Mana short? Swap life force. Constant exhaustion as the price.
Trading lifespan for money and comfort. The clueless praised them as elite workers.
The spider crawled down to the floor toward the man.