And so we reached the lowest level of the mine.
Sonya and the palm-top rabbits, for the record, had discovered some mysterious boar — apparently famous as a rare delicacy — and vanished into the cave darkness with a “we’ll catch up later!”
The lowest level opened into a fairly enormous space.
About the size of a regional city’s municipal gymnasium, I’d say.
It had the look of a mountaineering base camp — tents of every size pitched around.
Along the walls, people in shabby clothes — slaves, by the look of them — swung pickaxes. Ore extraction, apparently.
We walked up to the largest tent and called out.
Out came an aging man dressed like an alchemist, and a gap-toothed blond… Miyamoto.
“Huh? The old guy? You’re ALIVE?”
Miyamoto said it to me breezily, smirking the whole time.
No, no — you’re doing this like it’s a “long time no see!” Your crew nearly KILLED me, remember?
“Weren’t you supposed to be off in the imperial capital getting combat training as a hero?”
“Oh, that. See, those guys were, like, SERIOUS about it?”
Also, why are you talking to me like we’re buddies…
“Serious how?”
“The training was just — SERIOUS, man. One guy got pushed till he was pissing blood, no joke. Anyway, I’d gotten decently strong by then, so I dipped partway through.”
“You… ‘dipped’?”
“‘Effort’ — that word? I HATE it, so keep that in mind, yeah? Anyway — I got about B-rank-adventurer strong, and once I was sure I had enough power to do whatever I wanted, that was plenty.”
Miyamoto, beaming.
This guy really is… the scum of scum.
“So I hit the town, but no adventurers’ guild wants to hire a deserter hero, right? I was stuck — and that’s when I found out about the shadow guild.”
“Shadow guild?”
“Yeah. Criminal guild, basically. And this alchemist geezer here, Aldheim — he’s running some illegal research, so… I got hired. This job’s escorting the special-ore extraction. That’s the whole gig.”
I see.
Well — ‘confirmed criminal organization’ is now stamped and filed.
“Oh right, old guy — you wouldn’t know this. Lemme teach you something good.”
Miyamoto beckoned one of the mining slaves over.
Then kicked the man as he approached.
“Gyah!”
Watching the slave tumble across the ground, Miyamoto cackled.
“Haha — funny, right? In THIS world, money and power are justice. These guys are branded with slave sigils, so no matter how much they hate it, they CAN’T disobey. Punch ‘em, kick ‘em, whatever… perfect for killing time. Break a finger or two and the reactions get REALLY funny, y’know?”
“You…”
“Man, I gotta earn more and buy a bunch more slaves. Men, women, all of ‘em doing whatever I say. Name ONE thing more fun than that?”
Let me retract “scum of scum.”
This thing is a monster. Not a human being.
And then Miyamoto’s gaze drifted to Ouroboros… and he choked.
“Hold up, old guy… who is this transcendent maid beauty?”
“Ah — long story, but she lives with me now.”
Miyamoto’s eyes ping-ponged between me and Ouroboros several times, then he clutched his head like a man witnessing tragedy.
“Hey, gorgeous? I don’t know your circumstances, but that old guy there is a no-go.”
“Meaning what, pray tell?”
“Look at him — old-guy build, old-guy face.”
Excuse you, I’m twenty-nine. Yes, that’s almost-thirty, but it is NOT that deep into old-guy territory.
“Plus the guy’s only got FARMING skills. Bluntly? Garbage among garbage. If you’re choosing, choose an absolute winner — a hero. Like me. C’mon, let’s get acquainted — coffee in my tent?”
At which point Ouroboros leaned in and whispered to me:
“Master… this person is repulsive… might I kill him?”