The old Howling Mine reeked of rust and fresh fear, mingling into a suffocating stench.
Freezing winds howled through the canyon, carrying with them the faint, broken sobs of a dozen desperate men pressed against the rock walls.
They were survivors.Or rather, as Mephistor would say — the "strongest" that remained.
Grizz, the one-eyed leader, trembled.
Not from the cold.But from the sheer oppressive presence towering before them like a mountain.
Azagor.
The Warlord of War didn't even glance at them.His burning gaze locked onto the entrance of the mine, his molten steel armor pulsing with a predatory glow that distorted the air itself.
Simply standing in his presence felt like an invisible hand was squeezing their throats, draining every last breath from their lungs.
Then, two figures emerged from the darkness of the mine.
The first was the young lord—frail, pale, but walking with a grace and steadiness that didn't match his weak body. His breath froze into mist with every calm exhale.
Following close behind was Mephistor, clad in his signature noble attire, a cold smirk dancing at the corner of his lips.
Grizz's single eye darted between the three.
A beast forged of pure rage.
A venomous serpent masked in silk.
And... the sickly youth who commanded both.
Survival instinct screamed — it was the sickly one who was the most dangerous of all.
Mephistor stopped several steps away, his cold gaze sweeping over the miserable group like a collector sizing up insects about to be pinned to a display.
"Grizz, isn't it?" Mephistor spoke in a voice laced with mocking amusement.
"The leader of this... pathetic pack of stray dogs."
Grizz swallowed hard, his throat dry as dust.
Forcing himself upright, he tried to muster some shred of bravado that had long since been beaten out of him.
"Who the hell are you?"
The words barely left his mouth—
Azagor shifted his stance ever so slightly.
Boom.
The ground rumbled like continents grinding.
Grizz's knees buckled instantly, his body shivering uncontrollably.
"Excellent question," Mephistor smiled, his grin widening.
"You may call me... the Minister of Fortune and Opportunity."
He gestured with a flourish, bowing slightly toward Lucian.
The young lord remained silent, his eyes like still, bottomless ice.
"My master of Blackwood Keep observed your... rather entertaining little 'trial.'"
"It seems your former employer, the esteemed Crown Prince, greatly underestimated your will to survive."
Every word dripped with velvet-wrapped venom.
Grizz's last shred of pretense collapsed entirely. His voice turned into a desperate, stammering plea:
"W-we were only following orders!"
"Just doing business, that's all!"
"Indeed," Mephistor nodded, feigning approval.
"But life... life is a currency far more precious than gold, isn't it?"
He took a step forward.That step landed directly upon Grizz's racing heart.
"My master is a practical man. He wastes nothing of value."
"This mine needs workers. This land needs... a local power to maintain appearances."
Mephistor's smile sharpened into something utterly sinister.
"A pack of dogs, leashed and fed, is far more useful than a pile of rotting corpses."