Chapter 10: The Currency of Fear
The sound of the bodies hitting the bottom of the ancient pits in Sector 4-B wasn't a sharp thud, but a long, wet, muffled sigh, swallowed by the unfathomable darkness and sulfur fumes. It was the sound of the mine devouring its unwanted children.
Nathan stood at the edge of the abyss, holding the pickaxe that was still warm from the friction of the blow. He wiped the bloodied blade on Iron Tooth's coarse clothes before pushing him with his boot. The body of the shack's former leader spun slowly as it fell, disappearing into the toxic yellow mist that covered the bottom.
It wasn't out of hygiene or respect that Nathan cleaned the weapon; it was pure tactical paranoia. If someone, by some miracle or bad luck, found the body months from now, the wound on the skull needed to look like the result of a fall onto sharp rocks, not a precise blow from a mining tool.
"It's over," Nathan said. His voice didn't echo. Sector 4-B, with its porous walls and heavy air, absorbed sound like a sponge.
Ox stood a few meters away, looking at his own huge hands. Dried blood formed dark crusts on his fingers and under his broken nails. The giant didn't seem traumatized. Violence was the mother tongue of Deep Mine 9, after all. But there was genuine confusion in his small eyes. He was used to fighting, shoving, and being shoved. But the cold, calculated efficiency of that massacre was something new.
"Ox... strong?" the giant asked, clenching his fist and listening to his knuckles crack. He was seeking validation.
"Yes, Ox. You are strong," Nathan confirmed, walking over to him and placing a hand on the disciple's thick arm, feeling the muscle density that defied the logic of malnutrition. "You are a force of nature. But remember, strength without a secret is just an invitation to death. Do you remember the Law I put in your head?"
Ox nodded slowly, his eyes momentarily glazing over. The [Law of Silence], implanted minutes earlier by the System, wasn't just a verbal rule; it was a mental lock, an induced neurological block. Nathan knew that if Ox tried to explain the details of what happened in that chamber to anyone outside the Sect, his throat would close in an involuntary spasm and his mind would go blank. It was a brutal safety mechanism, perhaps even cruel, but necessary for the survival of everyone.
Kael was shivering, but not from the cold. The boy was staring at the pit where Rat, his former "friend" and tormentor, had disappeared. Nathan rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Don't look at the abyss, Kael. Look at me. What was done was necessary. Now comes the hard part. Killing is easy; lying to the man holding the whip is what takes talent."
Nathan turned to the tunnel exit, extinguishing the torch in the damp earth.
"Let's go. We have to look terrified."
The way back to the camp's central courtyard was a calculated theatrical performance. Nathan dictated the pace. They ran enough for sweat to break out and their breathing to become irregular, but they controlled their speed so as not to look like guilty men fleeing a crime scene.
Before reaching the lit area, Nathan stopped. He grabbed a handful of fine silica dust from the ground and rubbed it violently into his own eyes. The pain was immediate, tears welled up by reflex, leaving his eyes red and swollen.
"Do the same," he ordered. Kael obeyed immediately. Ox hesitated, but copied the gesture, grunting in discomfort.
When they reached the Sector 4 control barrier, where two bored guards played dice under the yellow light of oil lamps, the transformation was complete. They weren't cold-blooded killers; they were broken slaves.
Nathan collapsed to his knees ten meters from the guards, crawling in the dirt.
"Help! By the Gods, help!" he screamed, his voice breaking into a falsetto of panic that would make any actor envious.
The guards, surprised by the break in monotony, dropped their dice and grabbed their spears, pointing them at the shadows. The noise attracted attention from the main cabin. The door opened with a bang, and the Night Shift Foreman stepped out.
It was Grak. A man obese by the mine's standards, with oily skin that shone under the torchlight and a constant smell of cheap tobacco and sour sweat. He was known not for physical cruelty, but for his avarice and laziness.
"What the hell is that noise? Who is screaming on my shift?" Grak roared, adjusting the belt that barely contained his belly.
"Foreman!" Nathan crawled to the man's leather boot, grabbing it like a desperate worm. "Iron Tooth! He... he went crazy! The mine spirits got him!"
Grak kicked Nathan away with disgust, wiping his boot on the dirt, but the mention of the name caught his attention. Iron Tooth wasn't just a slave; he was a source of income. The gang leader paid regular bribes with embezzled ore and had recently asked to be transferred to Mine 9 to "operate" with less oversight. Grak had authorized it, expecting his cut of the profits.
"What did that sewer rat do now?" Grak asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Nathan pointed with a trembling hand toward the darkness of the tunnel leading to Sector 4-B.
"Sector 4-B, sir! He said he saw a glow... a glow of gold deep down, in the ancient walls! Greed took him. He dragged Rat and the other three... he forced us to carry the torches and serve as bait..."
Nathan paused dramatically, swallowing hard, letting the dust-induced tears stream down his face.
"But the ground... the ground was fake, sir! We heard a crack, like thunder underground, and then... the ground swallowed them! All of them!"
Kael, huddled behind Nathan, let out a perfectly timed sob, hugging his own knees. "Screams... so many screams, sir... and then just the sound of the gas..."
Grak frowned, looking at the dark tunnel emitting the unmistakable smell of concentrated sulfur. He knew the geological report for Sector 4-B. Unstable. Full of methane pockets and ancient ventilation shafts that went down for miles.
"He went into 4-B looking for gold?" Grak scoffed, spitting on the ground with contempt. "That greedy idiot. I told him to stay only up to Sector 3. Greed kills more than the whip down here."
The story made sense to Grak. Slaves were stupid and greedy. And Iron Tooth always thought he was smarter than the system.
The Foreman looked at the two guards.
"Go check it out."
The guards looked at each other, visibly uncomfortable. No one wanted to go down into 4-B. There were ghost stories, yes, but the real fear was the odorless gas that killed you before you realized you were dying.
"Boss... the sulfur smell is strong today, you can smell it from here. And if the ground really gave way, the structure might be compromised..." one of them started, trying to find an excuse.
Grak snorted. He did the mental math quickly. Risking two trained guards, who cost money to replace, and having to fill out workplace accident paperwork because of five disposable slaves who disobeyed safety rules? It wasn't worth it.
"Forget it," Grak decreed, turning his back and returning to his cabin. "If they fell into the ancient pits, they're already dead. The gas would kill them in minutes, if the fall didn't kill them first. Let the mine digest them."
He stopped at the cabin door and turned back to Nathan, his small eyes shining with bureaucratic malice.
"But their quota wasn't delivered. Five fewer slaves means less ore tomorrow. And I don't like reports with negative numbers."
Nathan knew this moment would come. It was the price of the alibi.
"We... we can work double, sir! Me, Ox, and the boy! We'll make up for their absence! We promise!"
"You'll work double anyway," Grak growled, losing interest. "Get out of my face. And if I hear one more scream, I'll throw you in the hole too to keep Iron Tooth company."
Nathan nodded frantically, pulling Ox and Kael away, keeping the mask of terror and submission until they turned the corridor and were safe in the stifling darkness of the collective shack.
The interior of the shack was immersed in a heavy silence. The news of the "accidental death" of Iron Tooth and his gang spread among the slaves like fire in dry straw. Gossip traveled faster than water in those tunnels.
No one cried for them. Iron Tooth was a minor tyrant, a parasite who made everyone's life miserable. But what changed was the air inside the shack.
Dozens of eyes, gleaming in the dim light, followed Nathan's trio as they walked to their usual corner. There was a new kind of respect in those looks. Or was it superstitious fear? They were the only ones who had entered the cursed tunnel with the gang and returned alive.
The space around them increased. Slaves who previously slept nearby, trying to steal warmth or space, moved away, creating an invisible perimeter of isolation. The power vacuum had been created, and intuitively, the herd knew who the new predators were.
Nathan ignored the stares. He kept his head down, sat on the packed earth, and leaned his back against the cold wall.
His heart was still beating fast, hammering against his ribs. Not from fear, the fear had passed the moment the pickaxe pierced Iron Tooth's skull, but from the pure adrenaline of tactical conquest.
'They bought the lie. The Foreman, the guards, the slaves. Everyone accepted the narrative because it was convenient. The path is clear.'
Now, it was time to collect the real spoils. Nathan closed his eyes and focused on the interface glowing on his mental retina.
[Patriarch Panel]
MasterPointsAvailable: 2 (Mission Reward).
Nathan took a deep breath, ignoring the dull ache in his bones. The side effect of consuming bone dust was starting to take its toll now that his body was cooling down. He needed to spend these points with surgical wisdom.
He had been flying blind for too long. He knew Ox was strong and Kael had instincts, but that was empirical observation. To manage a Sect, he needed concrete data. He remembered when he recruited Kael, and the System mentioned the need for [Spirit Eyes] to see the hidden details of the boy's physique.
"System," Nathan subvocalized. "Unlock [Spirit Eyes]."
(Ding!)
[Purchase Successful: Spirit Eyes (Level 1)]
Cost: 1 Master Point.
Description: Allows the Patriarch to see the flow of vital energy and cultivation potential of subservient or low-caste targets.
Restriction: Ineffective against hostile targets of higher level or free individuals with established cultivation. (You only see the truth of those the world ignores).
A sensation of icy freshness washed over Nathan's eyes, as if he had used concentrated mint eye drops. He blinked, stinging, and when he opened his eyes again in the gloom of the shack, the world had changed.
It wasn't X-ray vision, nor something colorful and vibrant like a high fantasy video game. It was subtler, rawer. The air seemed to have a grainy texture. People's vital energy appeared as a faint mist.
He looked at Ox, who was sitting beside him, trying to clean the dried blood from his nails.
Above the giant's head, floating like dense white smoke, was text that pulsed gently.
[Ox]
Loyalty: Fanatical (100%).
SpiritRoot: None (Mortal).
Physique: Iron Body (Awakened 20%).
CurrentCultivation: [Mortal Realm: Vigorous Flesh - Initial Stage].
Diagnosis: Muscle fibers are saturated with raw energy. Growth has stagnated due to a lack of proper combat technique and high-quality nutrition.
Potential: War Tank.
Nathan smiled internally. 'Vigorous Flesh - Initial Stage. So this is the official classification. Ox skipped the Copper Skin stage purely through monstrous genetics and heavy labor. He is a rough diamond.'
He turned his gaze to Kael. The boy was sleeping curled up in a fetal position, exhausted by emotional stress.
[Kael (Twig)]
Loyalty: Devout (95%).
Spirit Root: None (Mortal).
Physique: Iron Viscera Body (Forming).
CurrentCultivation: [Mortal Realm: Copper Skin - Early (Irregular)].
Diagnosis: The [Turtle Breathing Technique] is refining his internal organs before his skin, an anomaly caused by the constant need to filter toxic gases and survive starvation.
Hidden Potential Detected: Sensory Affinity with Earth/Heat Element (Scout Eyes).
'Interesting... The System just confirmed the hierarchy of the realms for me: Skin, Flesh, Viscera. But Kael is evolving from the inside out. "Iron Viscera" must be an advanced stage, focused on internal resistance. He is skipping steps out of pure necessity for survival. He is a specialist in not dying.'
Finally, with a pang of apprehension, Nathan looked at his own thin, calloused hands.
[Nathan (Patriarch)]
Physique: Mortal Body (Poisoned/Strengthened).
CurrentCultivation: [Mortal Realm: Copper Skin - 15%].
CriticalStatus: Consumption of unrefined bone dust has initiated premature and disordered calcification.
ProgresstoBoneForging: 5% (Painful).
Warning: The body is rejecting the raw energy. Risk of organ failure if the dosage increases without neutralizing herbs.
The information was a cold shower. He was progressing, yes, but he was killing himself in the process. 15% Copper Skin was pathetic compared to Ox's strength, but the real danger was the "Poisoned" warning. He needed medical knowledge, and fast.
1 Master Point remained.
Nathan looked at the crowded shack. There were thirty, maybe forty men there. The temptation to recruit more brute force was great. If he recruited ten strong men now, with Iron Tooth dead, he would be the king of the shack. He could force them to mine for him.
But the System had a cruel lock.
[Current Sect Capacity: 2/2 Disciples]
The limit was absolute. If he wanted to grow, he needed spiritual infrastructure, not just physical. And he didn't want quantity. Filling the sect with idiot slaves would only bring feeding and control problems. He wanted quality.
He needed someone who could read. Someone who knew the outside world. Someone who knew, perhaps, what kind of herb neutralized the poison of ancient bones.
His mind wandered to the rumor he had heard in the ration line days ago. About a "newbie" who had been thrown into Sector 3. The bastard son of a foreman with a domestic slave, who was punished for knowing how to read things he shouldn't have.
"System," Nathan decided. "Expand capacity."
(Ding!)
[Sect Upgrade: Expanded Quarters]
Cost: 1 Master Point.
Effect: Disciple capacity increased from 2 to 5.
Note: The quality of disciples reflects the glory of the Patriarch. Choose wisely. Spots are limited, and souls are expensive.
Nathan sighed, feeling mental exhaustion hit like a sledgehammer. The cost was high, but necessary. He had 3 spots open now. He had the "Eyes" to filter the trash and find the gold. And he had the silence of the shack guaranteed by the fear that Iron Tooth's death had inspired.
'Tomorrow...' Nathan thought, lying down on the hard dirt, using his numb arm as a pillow. '...tomorrow I start hunting. Not ore, but talent.'
Before passing out, he looked one last time at his first two disciples. The giant snored softly, a rhythmic and comforting sound. The boy slept fitfully, holding the pickaxe still dirty with blood against his chest as if it were a grotesque teddy bear.
They were monsters in the making. And they were his.
Deep Mine 9 thought it had swallowed Nathan and digested him. But it was about to discover it had swallowed a weed seed, the kind that cracks concrete to reach the sun.
Nathan closed his eyes, and for the first time in days, the darkness didn't bring nightmares about rats, but visions of an empire built on bones.