With his dealings with the Baron concluded, Stick reverted to his role as an ordinary slave miner. As midday hadn’t yet passed, Gallagher transported him to the mines on horseback. They sped along the forest path, his mind weighed down by the Baron’s proposal. Is there even a possibility to decline?

  As they rounded a bend, the caravan came into view, returning to the manor, the wagons now empty of logs. The servants, weary and disheartened, trudged alongside, heads bowed, while the Players lounged comfortably in the driver’s seat, commanding the horses. Stick watched them pass, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. If I accept the offer, what would they think of me?

  He stared at the [Letter of Initiation] in his [Inventory] for a long while, unaware they had arrived at the mine until the red gleam of the knights’ armour caught his eye, prompting him to dismount from Gallagher’s horse. The Sword and the Mace occupied their usual spot under the canopy. Reacher was by the fire, slumbering beneath a large pelt, his face softer and more relaxed, a stark contrast to the sleepless night he must have endured. Becket, awaiting their arrival, unceremoniously handed Stick a pickaxe, sending him to work the moment he arrived.

  “Your quota remains unchanged. No exceptions today,” stated the Sword.

  Stick snatched the torch Becket had just lit for him, immediately hurrying to his position at the cave’s end. His fine clothes drew suspicious glances from the other miners as he passed, aware that something about him had changed. Stick kept his head down, the weight of his impending decision heavy upon him. What would Montgomery say right now?

  In the cave’s deepest recess, a wooden tunnel, where he had previously worked with PP, led further into the darkness. Surprisingly fresh air lingered, an oddity in the usually stifling depths. As he ventured deeper, the air grew colder, yet the torch, which he would usually extinguish for safety, burned brightly still. He held it low, cautious not to ignite the wooden structure above. Stick marvelled at the craftsmanship; it was solid, designed to endure the perilous conditions of the gravel above. Reacher sure knows his work.

  The tunnel opened into a spacious cavern, its walls glittering with embedded gems. Stick’s breath caught in his throat at the sight—rubies, emeralds, and even diamonds lined the walls. This is big!

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  “Amazing, isn’t it?” a voice echoed.

  It was the Battleaxe, approaching from deeper within the cavern with heavy, clanking footsteps, navigating the darkness without a torch. Stick’s hair stood on end, the knight’s bulky armour tainted with blood on its left side. What the hell?

  He [inspected] the [Warrior] [Knight] and learned his name was George Stamos. And he’s [LVL] 50!

  Stick gulped.

  “I didn’t think we’d discover this place,” the Battleaxe remarked.

  “What are you doing down here?” Stick queried, noticing a trail of blood leading further into the gloom.

  The Battleaxe halted. “Me? Just ensuring that business is handled properly.”

  Business? What business?

  With one concern in mind, Stick asked, “Where’s PP?”

  Stamos tapped a finger against his helmet as if in thought, leaving a bloody mark on his left temple. “The Prized Possession? It’s further inside.”

  A nauseating sensation began to swell within him as the red liquid pooled beside the Paladin’s boot. The knight moved again, his heart pounding. The air before his face filled with his vaporous breath, his breathing growing increasingly shallow. The knight steadily closed the gap between them, resolved. Stick’s grip on his pickaxe tightened, his fingers turning white. Don’t come any closer. Or I’ll... I will—

  Yet the knight passed him by without a second glance. Stick remained frozen.

  “I’d hurry if I were you. It’s dangerous around here,” Stamos warned as he entered the tunnel.

  When the sound of metal on wood faded, a wave of relief washed over Stick. He coughed, realising he’d been holding his breath the entire time. If he wanted to kill me now, I’d be powerless to stop him. Damn! I’m such a weakling. What kind of hero are you, Stick?

  There was no time for self-pity, however. Someone was in danger ahead. Stick set his doubts aside and ventured deeper into the cave. There was only one path to follow, and the more he ran, the more prominent the blood trail became. Damn it!

  He picked up the pace, his sprint becoming a full-on dash when he saw the dying light of a torch on the ground. In its flickering light, he discerned the silhouette of a large man sitting against the wall, clutching his belly. Directly opposite, a... creature with numerous large, rigid appendages lay motionless. PP!

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