Southern Hills – Mithril Mining District. Late Afternoon – Overcast.
After hours of breaching blockades and navigating the desolate stone barrens, the Titan convoy finally reached its destination. The Southern Hills loomed on the horizon, ringed by jagged, brick-red cliffs that looked like open gashes on the earth's skin. Deep within lay the Mithril mine they had won at the auction—the new wellspring of House Sudrath's wealth, or so they had hoped.
But something was wrong.
The road leading to the mine entrance was silent. Too silent. There was no rhythmic ring of pickaxes against stone, no plumes of smoke from the refining furnaces, not even the rough songs of laborers that usually shattered a mountain's stillness. Only the sharp afternoon wind whistled through the rocky crevices, carrying a fine red dust that stung the eyes and choked the breath.
A ten-foot wooden fence encircled the entire mining area, obscuring the activity within. At every corner, new sentry towers had been erected, manned by guards gripping long-barreled rifles with predatory vigilance.
"Halt," Rianor commanded through the internal radio.
Riven slammed on the brakes. The Titan MK-1 screeched to a halt—Krit!—about five hundred meters from the main gate.
Rianor raised his enchanted binoculars, peering through the narrow slit of the steel window. He adjusted the focus, magnifying the image of the inner courtyard. Slowly, Rianor's usually impassive face hardened. His jaw tightened, and he drew a sharp, shallow breath.
"What is it?" Riven asked, his hands still white-knuckled on the control levers. "More monsters?"
"No," Rianor replied coldly. He handed the binoculars to his brother. "See for yourself, Riven. See what Morvath has done to our people."
Riven snatched the binoculars and aimed them past the fence. What he saw made his blood boil instantly.
In the vast mining yard, dozens of people—men, women, even the elderly—were hauling baskets filled with massive, heavy Mithril ores. Their bodies were skeletal, skin stretched tight over bone. Their backs were crisscrossed with raw, suppurating whip marks. Their feet were linked by heavy iron chains, forcing them into a rhythmic, soul-crushing shuffle that filled the air with a mournful clinking.
These weren't hired miners. They were slaves.
And the men wielding the whips weren't Sudrath overseers; they were foreign mercenaries in the Black-and-Red uniforms of the Iron Empire, flanked by Morvath's local thugs who laughed while puffing on cheap tobacco.
Riven's heart thundered with rage. He recognized the faces beneath the grime and dust.
"That's..." Riven swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "That's Old Tobias... the vegetable seller from the village. And over there... that's Ulric, our blacksmith's boy."
Rianor nodded slowly, his mind analyzing the situation even as his heart burned. "Morvath seized this mine while we were busy putting out fires in the North. He fired our official staff and abducted border villagers for forced labor. Free labor. A disgusting display of 'efficiency' in his book."
"Efficiency? To hell with that!" Riven slammed his fist against the Titan's steel dashboard. BAM! "That's slavery on our own soil, Rianor!"
Riven reached for the hatch, ready to leap out with his axe.
"Wait!" Rianor snapped, catching his brother's arm. "Look at those towers. Four snipers. If you jump out now, you'll have a hole in your head before you can swing that axe. Worse, they'll use our people as human shields."
"So we just sit here and watch?!" Riven barked, his eyes blazing.
Rianor shook his head. He pointed to the main gate, made of iron-reinforced oak. "We aren't going to knock politely," Rianor said, adjusting his spectacles. "We're breaking the door down."
Rianor toggled his portable radio. "Rhea, position?"
"Left flank, concealed behind the ridge. Ready to move," Rhea's voice came through sharp amidst the static.
"Copy. Plan B," Rianor ordered firmly. "Titan is the battering ram. Rhea, neutralize the snipers before they know what hit them. The rest of us... we liberate everyone."
Riven let out a predatory grin. He floored the throttle, the engine roaring in a violent crescendo.
"DO IT!"
Inside the Mine Compound.
A bloated foreman in an Iron Empire uniform stood in the center of the yard, idly twirling a stingray-hide whip. He let out a mocking laugh when he saw Old Tobias collapse, exhausted from the weight of a twenty-kilogram ore.
SNAP!
The whip lashed across Tobias's frail back.
"Get up, you old bag of bones! Today's quota is nowhere near finished!" the foreman roared in a coarse, foreign accent.
"Mercy, master... I haven't eaten in two days..." Tobias groaned, crawling over the sharp stones. "Water... please, just a drop..."
"Water? Work first, then drink!" The foreman raised the whip high for a second strike.
Suddenly, the ground beneath them shuddered. Small pebbles danced wildly.
VRRROOOOM!
The terrifying roar of an engine drew closer. The foreman turned toward the main gate, confused. "What is that noise?"
CRASH!
The massive wooden gates exploded into splinters. Timber beams and iron hinges whistled through the air like shrapnel. A black iron beast—the Titan MK-1—barreled through at full speed, pulverizing the guard post beside the gate. Thick black smoke belched from its exhaust, casting the silhouette of a mechanical demon.
"WHAT IN THE HELL?!" The foreman recoiled, his face turning ashen. "ATTACK! FIRE AT THAT THING!"
The guards in the towers panicked, frantically chambering rounds. But before their fingers could find the triggers...
SHING! SHING!
Two violet blurs streaked up the towers. Lady Rhea had leaped from the back of her galloping horse, landing on the sentry balcony with the lethal grace of a leopard.
"Jump, or should I help you?" Rhea asked coldly, the tip of her rapier already pressed against a guard's jugular.
The guard glanced down—a lethal thirty-foot drop—then into Rhea's bloodthirsty eyes. He chose to jump. A broken leg was better than a severed throat.
Below, the Titan performed a sharp drift that sprayed red dust, stopping directly in front of the bloated foreman. The side hatch slid open with a long hydraulic hiss. Sir Riven stepped out.
He didn't bring his axe. He felt he didn't need a weapon for trash like this. A faint Orange Aura began to wreathe his massive fists.
"You..." Riven pointed at the foreman, his finger trembling with suppressed fury. "You're the one who whipped that old man?"
"W-who are you?!" The foreman backed away, his knees buckling. "I am under the protection of Governor Morvath! This is Iron Empire jurisdiction! You are violating international law!"
"My name is Riven Sudrath," Riven growled, stepping forward with heavy, deliberate strides. Each footfall seemed to crush the foreman's resolve. "And on this soil, there is only one law: Free Men."
The foreman panicked, reaching for the pistol at his hip. Too late. Riven's massive hand clamped around his throat. With a single jerk, Riven hoisted the heavy man into the air. The foreman's legs kicked uselessly.
"You like whipping starving old men, do you?" Riven whispered into the man's face.
Riven didn't kill him. That was too easy. He hurled the foreman into a pile of manure in the corner of the stables with his full strength. THUD!
"ATTACK!" the remaining thugs screamed, trying to mount a defense.
But they had miscalculated. Through the shattered gate, the Red Lions—the new recruits from Northreach—swarmed in with burning eyes. They saw their neighbors and kin chained like animals.
"THAT'S ULRIC!"
"SET THEM FREE!"
The people's rage exploded. The skirmish was brief but incredibly brutal. The guards, accustomed to bullying the weak, stood no chance against men fighting to liberate their own flesh and blood.
Minutes later, the mine was secured. Riven walked toward Old Tobias, who lay sprawled on the ground. He knelt in the dirt, heedless of his clothes. With his bare hands, he gripped the iron chains around Tobias's ankles.
CRACK!
Riven shattered the iron with a burst of his Aura.
"Forgive us, Tobias... we were late," Riven said softly, helping the old man sit up.
Tobias looked at Riven with tear-filled eyes, his cracked lips trying to form a smile. "Lord Riven... you came... I thought we would die and become nothing but bones in this mountain..."
The sound of relieved sobbing began to echo throughout the mine as chains were shattered one by one.
On the other side, Rianor stepped down from the Titan, inspecting the piles of excavated Mithril ore. There was a staggering amount, shimmering silver-blue under the peeking afternoon sun. It was enough to pay off the contract with Seraphina and then some.
But then, Rianor looked at the workers. Two hundred people. Sick, injured, many unable to walk long distances.
"Roland," Rianor called over the radio.
"Yeah, Nor?" Roland answered, breathless after securing the armory.
"Change our logistics plan," Rianor commanded firmly. "Those cargo wagons... don't fill them entirely with Mithril."
Roland was stunned. "What? But Nor, we need that money for the grain! Our contract with Seraphina—"
"Half the wagons for Mithril. Leave the other half empty," Rianor cut him off. He pointed toward the elderly and the sick. "We use them to transport our people. We aren't just bringing rocks home, Roland. We're bringing our people home. Total evacuation."
"But... Seraphina will be furious if her Mithril quota is short," Roland whispered anxiously.
Rianor met his brother's eyes with steady resolve. "Let her be angry. The lives of our people are worth more than a piece of paper."
Roland was silent for a moment, then nodded with a thin smile. "Alright. I'll handle the Dragon Princess later. Let's get the wagons ready!"
That afternoon, under a darkening sky, the Sudrath convoy prepared to head home. This time, they carried not just material wealth, but something far more precious: the dignity of their people.