The Regressor and The Rising Storm- 04
The wind screamed down the ridge, biting through layers of wool and leather. The miners huddled around a sputtering fire, their faces gaunt under layers of grime. Bran tossed another shard of rock into the flames, his voice flat.
"Seven days. Seven damn days. And what've we got? Blisters and bullshit."
Tobin, the gaunt miner, coughed into his glove.
"You promised ore, kid. All I see is dead rock."
Kairus stood at the edge of the firelight, his breath fogging the air. "It's here."
"Yeah? Then why ain't we found it?" Bran snapped. "Your father's a legend, but even legends can't eat pride."
Ser Garrick stepped forward, his armor clinking. "Enough. The count's orders stand. We dig until dawn."
Bran snorted. "Orders? We're not soldiers. We're tired, frozen, and half-starved."
"You'll be worse than starved if you quit now," Garrick shot back.
Kairus cut between them. "One more day."
Garrick wheeled on him. "You're out of time. And favors."
"Then leave."
The knight's glare sharpened. "Your father didn't raise a fool."
"No," Kairus said, turning away. "He raised a Varkaine."
He grabbed a pickaxe from the pile, its handle splintered and worn, and trudged toward the nearest shaft. The miners watched in silence as he swung the tool into the rock. Steel struck stone—once, twice, a third time—each clang echoing like a funeral bell.
[Stamina -5%]
Bran exchanged a look with Tobin. "Kid's got stones, I'll give him that."
"Stones won't fill my kids' bellies," Tobin muttered, but he stood, brushing snow from his knees.
Kairus didn't stop. His palms split, blood slicking the handle.
[Pain Resistance: Lv. 1 → 2]
One by one, the miners rose. Bran snatched his pick. "Move your ass, Tobin. If the lordling wants to play miner, let's show him how it's done."
The clang of steel resumed, louder now.
Ser Garrick watched from the shadows, his jaw tight. "Stubborn as your father."
Kairus wiped blood on his tunic. "Takes more than stubbornness to survive."
Midnight seeped into the shaft. The miners had retreated to camp hours ago, their curses fading with the light. Only Kairus remained, his hands raw, his breath ragged. Ser Garrick leaned against the tunnel wall, arms crossed.
"This is idiocy," the knight said.
Kairus didn't stop. "Noted."
"Your father won't thank you for dying here."
"He won't have to."
[Iron Body: Lv. 3 → 4]
The notification flickered, unwanted. Kairus swung again.
Clang.
Something shifted.
A faint crack echoed up the shaft. Kairus froze, his blistered palms throbbing.
"Did you hear that?"
Garrick straightened. "Hear what?"
Clang.
This time, the sound was different. Sharper. Cleaner.
Kairus lunged, scrabbling at the rubble. His fingers closed around a jagged shard. It glinted dully in the torchlight—a sliver of blue-black metal veined with silver.
His heart stalled.
"Bran!" The shout tore from his throat, raw and desperate. "BRAN!"
Footsteps pounded. Torchlight flared. Bran skidded into the tunnel, Tobin and a dozen others at his heels.
"What? What's—"
Kairus thrust the shard into his hands.
Bran's eye widened.
The mining chief knelt, his calloused fingers trembling as he brushed the ore. The torchlight caught its edge, revealing a faint, ethereal blue glow beneath the surface.
"Gods above," Bran whispered.
Tobin leaned in. "What? What is it?"
Bran didn't answer. He snatched a pickaxe and slammed it into the tunnel wall. Rock splintered. Another strike. Another.
The men watched, breath held.
A chunk of stone clattered to the floor. Bran knelt, lifting it like a sacred relic.
The Valatium vein pulsed within, thick as a man's wrist, its glow painting their faces in spectral blue.
[Sub-Quest Completed: "Mine the Unseen Vein"]
[Reward: County Stability +10%]
[ : All Stats +10 ]
[Bonus Reward: +5 Strength. Title: "Ore-Seeker."]
Golden text exploded across Kairus' vision. Heat flooded his muscles, sudden and violent. He staggered, bracing against the wall as power surged through him—not the brittle strength of youth, but the hardened sinew of a man who'd survived a dozen battlefields.
Bran rose, the ore clutched to his chest. "This vein… it's massive. Runs half the ridge, I'd wager."
The miners erupted.
Tobin whooped, slapping Kairus' back. "Damn me, kid! You did it!"
Bran rounded on him. "You knew. How?"
Kairus met his gaze. "Lucky guess."
The chief snorted. "Bullshit. But I'll take it."
Ser Garrick stepped forward, his usual stoicism cracked. "This changes everything."
[Title Equipped: "Ore-Seeker."]
[Passive Effect: Mineral detection radius +20%.]
Kairus felt it immediately—a subtle pull in his chest, like a lodestone, drawing him toward the richest deposits. He pressed a hand to the tunnel wall. "Deeper. There's more. A motherlode."
Bran grinned, sharp and feral. "Then let's dig."
Dawn found them knee-deep in Valatium.
The miners worked with frenzied energy, their exhaustion forgotten. Even Tobin's cough faded as he hauled chunks of ore to the surface. Bran barked orders, his voice hoarse from shouting.
"Easy, you louts! This ain't firewood! That shard's worth a hundred of your houses!"
Kairus stood apart, watching. The systemic warmth in his veins had dulled to an ache, but the title's pull remained—a compass in his blood.
Ser Garrick approached, his armor smudged with rare dust. "Your father will want word."
"Send the telegraph."
"And what should it say?"
Kairus turned. "Say Varkaine lives."
The knight studied him. "You're different."
"Am I?"
[Charisma: Lv. 1 → 2]
Kairus said nothing.
By noon, the first cartload of Valatium rumbled into camp. Bran stood atop it, roaring. "Feast tonight, you lazy bastards! Meat And a bonus silver mark per man!"
The cheer shook the ridge.
Kairus slipped away, climbing to a wind-scoured ledge. Below, the miners danced around the fire, their laughter carrying on the cold air.
[New Quest: "Forge the Future."]
[Objective: Establish Valatium trade routes. Time: 14 days.]
[Reward: County Stability +30%. , Intelligence - +5]
He closed his eyes. Six months. Enough.
The system's countdown pulsed in his skull, slower now.
[County Stability: 42%.]
Kairus smiled. "Keep watching."
Tomorrow, the real work begins.