The Ironforge Mine was not merely a hole in the earth; it was a damp, subterranean labyrinth that served as the industrial heart of the Ironwood Kingdom.
Located in the jagged mountain ranges that defined 55% of the continent of Velgrith, the tunnels were a symphony of dripping water, the distant groans of shifting tectonic plates, and the heavy, humid scent of ancient minerals.
Blade Lunaria—the young man known in Valerion as the "boy who failed his exam four times"—walked casually through the gloom.
His vibrant crimson hair seemed to catch the meager light of the flickering torches along the walls, glowing with a warmth that contradicted the cold, clinical logic of the consciousness within him.
He wore a bright red adventurer's tunic, and his distinctive red sword rested lazily across his back, still wrapped in its protective tattered cloth.
To any passing adventurer, he looked like a cheerful rookie enjoying his first successful rank-up.
But behind his red eyes, which reflected an intense but faked determination, Shujin was profiling the mana density of the tunnel.
"Starting off with slimes, huh…" he muttered.
A cluster of translucent, gelatinous slimes blocked the path, their bodies quivering with a mindless hunger.
Blade didn't even draw his blade. He simply snapped his fingers, releasing a basic fire spell. A localized explosion of crimson flames splattered the slimes' sticky remains across the stone walls.
He had barely stepped past the steam when the rhythm of the mine changed. The wet thud-thud of bare feet on stone echoed from the shadows.
A raiding party of orcs and goblins charged, their crude iron weapons scraping against the narrow walls. Blade let out a long, theatrical sigh.
"Don't you guys ever learn? This is supposed to be a routine harvesting mission."
In one smooth, practiced motion, he drew the red sword. It didn't possess the violet-black aura of Shujin's true power, but in the hands of the "Blade Lunaria" vessel, it was a blur of lethal precision.
He moved through the monsters like a dancer, his fire magic flashing repeatedly in the dark. Within seconds, the tunnel returned to silence, the floor littered with the remains of his "prey." He whistled a cheerful tune while storing the carcasses in his magic bag.
"Easy money," he mused, his internal monologue calculating the gold-to-effort ratio.
"The Guild will pay well for these, and Rank-C travel rights are far more valuable than the silver themselves".
---
The deeper Blade descended, the more the mine began to resemble a war zone.
The environment shifted from damp earth to solid granite. Massive Stone Golems—the natural guardians of the deep veins—emerged from the masonry, hurling boulders that could crush a carriage.
Blade dodged the projectiles with a speed that defied his "unremarkable" reputation, his movements sharper than any trainee's should be.
With a focused strike, he shattered their mana cores, turning the giants into piles of mundane gravel.
Giant spiders descended from the ceiling, their venomous fangs dripping with a sickly green ichor.
Blade incinerated them with small, controlled bursts of flame, his expression never losing its "lovable" smile even as the stench of burning chitin filled the air.
Poisonous snakes hissed from the crevices, only to be crushed casually beneath his boots.
"Just a warm-up… not bad," he murmured.
"But where is the real prey? The resonance in this vein suggests something far more significant than common pests."
The answer arrived with the stench of rot. The temperature plummeted, and the natural humidity of the mine was replaced by a psychic chill.
From the darkness emerged a unit of undead soldiers—armored corpses whose eyes burned with a pale, necrotic blue.
At their center stood a massive Undead Commander, its rusted helmet barely containing the spectral energy within. It raised a skeletal arm, pointing a jagged blade at Blade's chest.
"Turn back, mortal…" the Commander's voice echoed through the tunnel like the grinding of bones.
"This mine belongs to the dead. The light has no place here."
Blade tilted his head, his crimson hair falling over his brow as he smiled.
"Sorry, but I've got a shopping list. And finishing it involves you. You're the ones who ignored the warnings of the Guild".
The Commander roared, a wave of necrotic energy surging forward.
But Blade's precision was absolute. He didn't use the Abyss; he used the "Blade" style he had perfected for this mask—striking the joints of the armor, cleaving the corpses apart with high-heat fire magic that consumed the rot before it could infect the air.
Minutes later, the Commander's skull was split cleanly in two, and Blade was storing the spectral essence in his bag with a cheerful wink.
At last, the tunnel opened into a vast, breathtaking cavern. It was a cathedral of light—the Crystal Chamber. Magic crystals and pure mana stones were frozen within the rock walls, pulsing with a rhythmic violet and blue radiance that looked like a physical heartbeat.
Blade's grin widened.
"Heh… jackpot. This will change the entire city's economy".
He began the delicate process of harvesting the crystals, their light reflecting in his red eyes.
He was halfway through his quota when the ground beneath him trembled. The cavern shook, dust and pebbles raining from the vaulted ceiling.
From beneath the earth burst a massive brown venomous serpent. Its scales glistened with a lethal oil, and its eyes burned with an ancient, territorial hunger.
"…Ah. A guardian, huh."
Blade didn't even reach for his sword this time. He extended his right hand, dancing dark-amber flames flickering along his fingertips.
"Sorry, big guy. I'm craving grilled meat."
The serpent lunged, its jaws wide enough to swallow an ox. With a roaring blast, Blade unleashed pillars of crimson fire that engulfed the creature.
The screams of the serpent echoed through the cavern as its flesh burned and collapsed into a steaming mass.
Blade waved away the thick smoke and inhaled the scent.
"…Smells like overcooked beef. Kinda awful. Now I'm hungry."
He stuffed the massive corpse into his bag, chuckling. He noted with a nod of satisfaction that the magic crystals were unharmed by the heat.
---
When Blade returned to the Adventurers Guild in Ironforge, his arrival was anything but subtle. He was covered in soot, and his bag was physically bulging with the weight of the harvest.
The receptionist, a young woman with neatly tied brown hair, stared in shock at the smell emanating from him.
"B-Blade-san… what on earth is that smell?"
He grinned and dropped the serpent's carcass onto the Guild floor with a heavy thud.
"Dinner, anyone?"
The Hall erupted in laughter and disbelief.
"He actually grilled a giant snake?!" one veteran shouted.
"That's Blade for you—always making a scene!"
The receptionist laughed helplessly, shaking her head as she processed the crystals.
"Blade-san, you're insane… but effective. Thanks to you, the mine can finally reopen. And these crystals… they're high-grade mana stones! This will bolster the kingdom's treasury for months!"
Blade stretched lazily, accepted a heavy bag containing over 5,000 gold coins, and handed over the crystals.
"Not bad for one day's work."
---
However, while Blade celebrated in the west, a nightmare was unfolding in the Federation capital of Drakensport.
Fires burned across the horizon, the smoke mingling with a perpetual mist of dark mana.
An army of over one hundred thousand extremist demons—the remnants of the Eastern Demon Lord's shattered regime—surrounded the city walls. Banners bearing the Demon Lord's crest stained the sky, a visual promise of the "False Peace" coming to a violent end.
Inside a massive, black-silk war tent, the 10th General of the Demon Lord, known as the Lord of Cruelty, sharpened a jagged blade as his commanders bowed in fear.
"That city won't last another week," one commander sneered.
"Their so-called king is a fool who believes in coexistence."
The General smiled coldly, his eyes glowing with a predatory red.
"We'll starve them first. Break their walls. And when they crawl to us in chains, I'll personally carve that traitor Aethelred into pieces. There is no justice for those who abandon the Empire."
Inside the Federation fortress, Aethelred Vi Regis remained calm as the reports of the blockade poured in. His crimson eyes burned with a steady, dangerous light as he looked at his council of nobles.
"My lord," an anxious follower pleaded,
"the enemy has us outnumbered a thousand to one. Despair is spreading through the lower districts."
"For the people's sake, surrender," another noble whispered, his voice trembling. "Save their lives while we still have a chance to negotiate."
Aethelred's expression hardened, turning into a mask of cold, firm resolve.
"Anyone may raise their hands—but I will not. If you value your comfort over your freedom, then leave this fortress now. But remember this—betrayal has a price that is paid in blood, not gold."
Several nobles fled that night, seeking mercy in the demon camp. The 10th General greeted them with a laugh.
"Traitors deserve only one reward." With a casual gesture, he ordered their execution, their screams echoing through the night as a warning to the city.
---
Back in Drakensport, Aethelred's loyal commanders watched him as he donned his black plate armor.
"My lord… why did you let them go? We could have used their mana."
Aethelred's gaze was like tempered steel.
"To test loyalty. Those who stayed are my true brothers and sisters. Numbers are a deception told by the weak."
He marched beyond the city gates, his sword raised high toward the blood-red moon.
Only one hundred soldiers stood behind him—a tiny sliver of light against an ocean of darkness.
But their eyes burned with an unshakable faith in the man they called King.
Facing the overwhelming army, Aethelred's voice carried across the plains.
"We may stand one hundred against one hundred thousand—but our courage surpasses their numbers! Today, we carve our will into history! FOR TRUE JUSTICE!"
The rebel army roared, their voices shaking the very foundations of Drakensport.
The first battle of the Federation had begun.
---
✦ To be continued...