Let's See What They're Hiding

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?!” The recruiter struggled on the ground, “Just let me go!”

“Like hell we will, pal.” Murry leaned closer, folding his arms. “Now let’s try this again.”

“I don’t know anything!”

“You don’t?”

“No!”

Murry sighed, as Isla frowned next to him.

“That was disappointingly quick.”

Murry crouched until they were eye level.

“Where are the missing workers?”

“I don’t know!”

“Who do you work for?”

“Nodody!”

“Who’s Mr. Rowan?”

“I told you I don’t know!”

Flint studied the man’s face. He didn’t look angry anymore, but simply stressed. His denial didn’t seem like he was playing dumb either…

“…I think he’s telling the truth.”

Murry raised an eyebrow.

“You serious? Of course he’s gonna say he doesn’t know.”

“I don’t know why, I just feel like he isn’t lying to us.” Flint said in earnest.

Isla crouched down too, resting her chin on her palms.

“Then let’s ask something different.”

The recruiter looked at her.

“Who pays you?”

“…A miner.”

“Name?” Murry barked.

“I… never got one.”

“Where do you meet him?”

“In the docks after midnight.”

Murry’s expression hardened.

“Is that Mr. Rowan?”

The recruiter frowned.

“Mr. Rowan?”

“You tell every worker to ask for him.”

Realization slowly spread across the man’s face.

“Oh… Mr. Rowan is just the password.”

The three of them stared.

“…What the hell?”

“They just told me if you find someone looking for work… tell them to ask for Mr. Rowan.”

The silence of the alley stretched on, as Murry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“…We’ve been chasing a password?”

Flint looked toward Isla.

“So… there isn’t a Mr. Rowan.”

“Apparently not.”

Murry grabbed the recruiter by the collar once more.

“Anything else you wish to share?”

The man hesitated.

“Actually… They were always strangely picky.”

“Picky?” Flint asked.

“They kept telling me things like… no broad shoulders. Shorter workers only.”

Flint blinked.

“That’s a very specific request.”

The recruiter shrugged helplessly.

“I figured the tunnels down there were narrow or something.”

“That would make sense…” Isla thought it over before shuddering involuntarily, “Somehow it makes me feel uneasy, though.”

Murry slowly let go.

“Keep talking. Where are you sending those poor sods, eh?”

“I tell them to reach the old quarry west of the city.”

The former knight looked toward the western gate.

“Now that's the first real place we've got.”

Flint smiled.

“Then let's go.”

“And what are we gonna do with you, huh?” Murry glared.

“Hey, they only hired me to recruit people! I have no clue what they're doing down there!”

“Have you stopped to think whether any of those people ever came back, you idiot?”

The recruiter opened his mouth to defend himself… but then he slowly closed it, silence settling between them heavier than words ever could. For the first time since they'd caught him, he had nothing to say back to them.

“I never thought about it… I thought maybe it was just some illegal mining operation or…”

“Enough.” Murry sighed, “You're coming with us.”

The recruiter's eyes widened.

“W-What?!”

“If you're telling the truth…” Murry said, turning toward the western gate, “Then that quarry actually exists. And you’re helping us find it.”

𓌏

The old quarry lay close to Vega's western gate.

Its entrance was little more than a scar carved into the hillside. Rusted rails disappeared into the darkness while carts sat where they had been left by the workers in the morning.

The recruiter pointed toward it with a trembling finger.

“That’s it.”

Murry looked at him.

“They told me to bring the workers here. That's all I ever did.”

“And then?”

“I left.”

“You never went in?”

The recruiter shook his head so hard it almost looked painful.

“They always met me outside. They said my work ended at the entrance.”

Flint looked toward the yawning mouth of the mine.

“Let’s see what they're hiding.”

The recruiter immediately took two hurried steps backward.

“…You're not gonna find anybody. Nobody works this late in the evening.”

Murry frowned.

“Who says they’re working?”

“But… it isn't delivery day.”

The former knight narrowed his eyes.

“Delivery?”

The recruiter swallowed.

“I-I mean…”

Without another word, he turned and bolted down the path.

“Hey!” Flint called after him but Murry simply watched him disappear.

“Let him go.”

“Are you sure?”

“He's more scared than guilty.” Isla sighed.

Flint nodded.

“Let’s go.”

𓌏

The mine gradually swallowed the thinning daylight behind them.

The old tunnel stretched endlessly ahead, its low ceiling choked with heavy timber beams blackened by age, while rusted rails vanished beneath their boots into the yawning dark.

“Not a single recruit in sight.” Isla whispered.

“No miners either.” Murry added.

“It’s quiet,” Flint whispered, his voice barely carrying as their footsteps rhythmically echoed against the stone walls. After they had traveled in silence for several minutes, with the only sound being the persistent step, step, step of their boots, Flint caught something in the corner of the corridor.

Is that…?

The woodcutter stopped to point across the tunnel.

“There’s another path over there.”

His words made the others stop in their tracks.

At first glance, it appeared to be little more than a pile of collapsed rock, but as Murry stepped closer, he spotted the telltale signs of recent disturbance: fresh tool marks etched into the broken stone.

“Kid’s right. Someone dug through here.”

The three of them squeezed into the narrow opening, following the tunnel as it bent gently through the earth until the main mine had long since vanished behind them. Their path eventually came to an abrupt end, blocked by a heavy, iron-bound hatch set firmly into the stone.

Its surface was stained with rust, though someone had recently scraped enough away to force it open.

“They probably came through here.” Murry murmured.

Flint nodded.

“Then so will we.”

Together, the three of them heaved the hatch wider, the metal groaning in protest as a gust of stale, dust-choked air escaped from the darkness beyond.

Beneath the thick scent of decay, there was something else—a faint, lingering rot that hung heavy in the air. As they stepped into the stone corridor stretching into the gloom, old lantern brackets lined the walls, casting long, uneven shadows. Near one of them, a cracked wooden toy lay abandoned on the floor, and Flint reached down to pick it up with gentle hands.

“This was built for people to live here.”

“It must be a refuge of some kind…” Isla looked around.

No one spoke; they simply pressed deeper into the gloom. Ahead, an iron gate stood wide open, its heavy hinges thick with rust.

“...Strange,” Murry muttered, and they passed through only to find a second gate, also standing open. Then a third, and a fourth, all left agape.

Flint frowned, his unease growing. “Why are they all unlocked?”

The corridor began to widen, eventually terminating at a dead end of solid, imposing steel. A gigantic blast door stood embedded in the stone itself, its weathered surface bearing the scars of countless impacts.

It hadn't broken. It hadn't even buckled.

It simply stood there, unyielding and immovable.

Between them and the blast door, the final iron gate remained shut—a stark contrast to the ones they had passed before. Beyond the bars, they could already hear the rhythmic drag of feet against concrete and the haunting sound of groans that echoed like a final, dying breath. As if triggered by their presence, countless hands clawed their way out of the darkness, pressing against the gate.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

“It’s full of…” Isla swallowed hard.

“Undead.” Murry rasped slowly.

Then, two skeletal hands slowly curled around the bars.

Flint and Isla froze. They remembered those hands… they were the same ones from back in their village.

That robed figure from that day.

Flint instinctively reached for his axe, his jaw clenching. A skeletal face with remnants of decaying flesh obscured beneath a hood, emerged from the darkness beyond the blast doors.

Its crimson irises burned like embers within pools of solid black, locking onto Flint in a silent, unwavering stare until the figure finally spoke. Its voice was raspy and impossibly low, sounding as though the vocal cords had withered and ceased to function long ago.

“Come… Closer...”

Murry gripped the longsword at his hip, eyes widening.

“Kid… don’t go near that thing. That’s an Undead Lord.”

Then another voice tore through the suffocating silence.

“Hey!”

The voice didn't come from the blast door this time, but from behind them. They spun around, weapons half-raised, only to find a miner standing at the mouth of the corridor. He held a lantern that swayed with the trembling of his hand, his face bleached of all color. 

“What are you three doing down here?”