Barthon stepped confidently into the second vehicle park of the Anlova Underground Exploration and Support Regiment, also known as the Death Miners. The regiment earned its name because it was originally founded by former miners. Even now, like most underground exploration and support regiments, it included units of miners, engineers, stonemasons, infantry, light and heavy cavalry, and mechanized golems.

These types of regiments were among the first to be created after the birth of what is now known as the United States of Ibelir, back at the end of the 1st century of the New World. Created by drauos, their initial purpose was to defend the Ibelirian drauo settlements that were being established as the United States of Ibelir expanded across the world, as well as to recover territories and relics from the ancient Drauo Kingdoms, which had been destroyed and forgotten after the collapse of the old world. Over time, they evolved to perform tasks similar to those carried out by state exploration and support regiments today. In fact, the state support regiments were based on the model of the underground support regiments for their creation. The main difference between the two is that the underground support regiments are only found in states or city-states with an underground component, which is why even today, most of their members are drauos. As expected, both the barracks and the vehicle park itself were located underground in Catlon, alongside other similar regiments like the Mechanized Golems Regiment.

Although his reason for returning to the vehicle park wasn't a joyful one, the nostalgia of the place lessened his concern. There, dressed in the uniform of death, he had felt pride, joy, and excitement. If he hadn't met Guliana, he would have died without hesitation in their ranks, defending the glory of his ancestors.

He continued walking through the park, observing without too much attention, when a sedentary draua caught his eye. Her brown skin was similar to sandstone, and the minerals running through her body were yellow, red, and white. Her short hair was dark, and she had a cybernetic arm.

“Barthon?” the draua said upon realizing who he was. "Is that you, sir?"

The drauo frowned and stepped closer.

“Corporal Dasa?”

The draua saluted. Her scarred, hardened face broke into a smile.

“Now I'm Sergeant, sir,” she replied. Behind her was an S-12 truck.

The S-12 was a truck about three meters high, used for exploration and transporting troops or goods through underground paths. Of course, like all military vehicles, and especially those used for the dangers of the underground, it was also equipped for combat. The vehicle, about eight meters long, was divided into two heavily armored cabins connected by a thick door. The first cabin, with a capacity for up to four people, housed the pilot, the operator of the auxiliary automated machine guns on the sides, and usually the commander, along with a secondary space for accessing the roof’s armored turret, which could be equipped with a machine gun or another auxiliary weapon, such as a flamethrower or missile launcher. The second cabin, resembling a caravan, could hold up to twenty-six people or more depending on their species. On the roof was another turret protected by an auxiliary weapon, and on each of its walls were two more small armored turrets similar to the pilot cabins with machine guns.

“I’m not surprised, Dasa. You’re a good soldier, and you’re great at leadership,” Barthon said. “I’m sure you’ll rise even further. Anyway, congratulations, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir!” she replied. “What brings you here?”

His expression tensed.

“I’m here to talk to Graumgi,” Barthon said. “I heard he’s now the captain of the Second Company.”

“That’s right. Since you left us to...” the sergeant began to say, but then stopped, shaking her head slightly as if trying to forget or deny something. “He’s done a good job of maintaining your legacy, sir.”

Some soldiers and miners from the regiment began to gather behind her. After so many years without seeing them, he hadn't noticed that their equipment was quite similar to that of his current regiment, the Fierce Stewards.

Both regiments used the same ABA-L armor, though the Death Miners' uniform was black with yellow tones. On their left shoulder, they wore the flags of Anlova and Ibelir, while the right bore the regiment’s emblem: a white skull overlaid with a musket and a pickaxe. Their tactical helmets had the Death Miners' motto engraved on them: No revenge, no glory.

As for their weapons, the hand grenades were the same, but instead of the HK-52 assault rifle with bayonet, the Death Miners used the MD-4 submachine gun, a model similar to the HK-52 but smaller, with a folding stock and a magazine that was inserted into the pistol grip. It had less range but worked better in tight, enclosed spaces. Instead of the typical combat knife most soldiers from the state support regiments carried, they used hand axes or similar weapons. That, combined with the ferocity and toughness of the drauos, made them a much more formidable regiment in close combat.

The miners, for their part, wore the ABA-1M2 armor, a lighter and less resistant version than that of the soldiers. It lacked leg protection but featured a small electric exoskeleton that enhanced the movement of their arms and reduced the strain on them and their backs. They also carried the MD-4 submachine gun and a massive pickaxe, which was said to be capable of piercing nearly any type of natural material.

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"I’m glad to hear that, Sergeant," Barthon said, a small proud smile appearing on his rough and weathered face. "And you, Sergeant? Are you going out on a mission?"

“That’s right, sir. We're being sent to try to repair a few things, and if we're lucky, we might even map out some newly discovered tunnels."

"Sir," one of the miners, who was clearly a sedentary drauo, interrupted. "Who’s this sky-sucker?"

"Sky-sucker" was a derogatory term some drauos used for their peers who chose to live on the surface.

Barthon clenched his teeth. The contempt most drauos felt for those like his wife and son was one of the reasons why the former captain of the Second Company of the Death Miners had left the regiment and decided to live on the surface.

“Watch your words, Brego," the sergeant said angrily, grabbing the drauo by his chest armor. "You're standing before a legend of the regiment, you idiot."

“It's alright, Sergeant. Don’t worry," Barthon said, though his gaze told a different story. “But, soldier," his hard gaze pierced the sedentary drauo, “be grateful I no longer belong to the Death Miners." Then he turned back to the sergeant. “Well, Sergeant, I have to go. I hope your mission goes well. No glory, no revenge."

“No glory, no revenge," she repeated.

Barthon left the small platoon just as a mechanized golem approached Dasa’s S-12.

The mechanized golems were bipedal, mechanized combat suits inspired by the ancient golems of the drauo kingdoms of the old world. These masterpieces of engineering were created thanks to the ingenuity of the chromatic drauos, and some suggested that the diminutive menudos had also helped. Despite the initial rejection they had faced in their early years from the sedentary drauos of the Drauo States of Ibelir, they were now some of the most beloved machines. And to think, they had been created by the chromatics—the same drauos that most sedentaries despised.

Barthon watched the imposing mechanized combat suit with admiration. Like most models, it stood at three and a half meters tall and two meters wide. One of its hands gripped a massive axe, its blade swinging in the air like a pendulum of death. On the same forearm, there was an attached machine gun, and on the other arm, a flamethrower. Both were fed by the ammunition and fuel stored on its back. At chest level, it had floodlights to illuminate the way. Inside, a drauo was connected to the living machine through implants that had replaced all four of their limbs—a fact that, although cruel, was necessary for the pilot and the machine to become one.

Barthon continued walking and entered one of the adjacent buildings.

***

"I'm busy!"

"Even for your former captain?" Barthon asked. The sliding door opened.

His old office was almost exactly as it had been when he held the position. The same stone furniture and the same decor. The regiment's emblem, along with its motto, was painted on the wall behind the captain's chair, so that anyone entering would admire their pride. The only difference was the person sitting in that harsh, rigid chair.

Graumgi Broadneck was a purebred sedentary drauo. He was tough, tenacious, and more traditional than anyone could imagine. Naturally, he had opposed Barthon's relationship with a chromatic singer like Guliana, and he had almost hit him when Barthon said he was moving to the surface with her and their metamorphic son. In the end, he didn't, but he didn't speak to him for several years because of it. However, Graumgi’s traditional nature eventually led him to respect (though not approve of) the decision of someone he had admired and fought alongside for many years. They had saved each other’s lives more than once. Barthon still remembered the day Graumgi lost an eye defending a zerbidarka; a droka had pierced his eye with one of its joint spikes after he had slain dozens of arruks. Graumgi had grabbed the joint and pulled it toward him, bringing the subterranean creature closer. His face had been covered in arruk blood when he embedded his axe in the creature's head. His left hand, now a steel hook, had been lost defending one of his subordinates.

When Graumgi saw him, his worn and hardened face watched him closely.

"Barthon... I never expected to see you here again," Graumgi said. "To what do I owe the... honor?"

The former captain of the Second Company sat in the chair.

"To be honest, I didn’t expect it either," Barthon said. "But the situation requires it."

Graumgi frowned.

"What happened?"

"Did you hear about the incident at the auxiliary runelectric plant?"

"Yes, your commander contacted the captains operating in Catlon yesterday," Graumgi replied. "He told us a traitor had allied with the savages to attack the plant and that they might be using the old tunnels to carry out an attack on the city. So, he asked us to be alert and proceed with an immediate arrest if we find them. He also warned us they might be protected by savages."

Barthon nodded.

"I don’t know why there's so much fuss over a simple human and a few savages," Graumgi said in his gruff voice, showing his disdain. "Those weaklings up there are always complaining about trivialities. They should spend a few days in the tunnels to see what real terror is."

"I used to think the same way, old friend," Barthon said. "But up there, they also know what 'terror' means. Those savages are no small threat."

"Is that all you had to say?" Graumgi asked. "If you came to warn me of the supposed danger, you can go. I'm busy."

"No," Barthon replied. "What our commander didn’t tell you is that a group of soldiers from our regiment, along with a combat mage, went after them." His expression softened, almost pleading. "What I've come to ask, as a friend and former captain, is for you to search for them."

"What?" Graumgi asked, his furious gaze piercing Barthon’s. "Have you spent so much time on the surface that you've forgotten the deaths and sacrifices we face every day?"

"No," Barthon answered firmly. "And I never will. But among them is..."

Graumgi exhaled sharply, closing his eye in a show of pain. A heavy silence filled the room. For a moment, his gaze seemed lost somewhere beyond the stone walls of the office, as if he could see beyond them and recall simpler times, when decisions didn’t weigh so heavily.

"I'm sorry... But you know we can't afford that. As much as your..." his voice broke slightly, revealing the weight of his decision. Graumgi took a moment, sighing deeply before continuing. "It's not just about the rules, Barthon. It's for the good of everyone under my command. I can't expose them to such danger. Not even for him."

"I know," Barthon replied, his voice equally heavy with emotion. He had known it from the start, but the confirmation still hurt. "Could you at least alert your troops to be on the lookout in case they see them?"

The captain nodded, his serious expression softening slightly.

"That, I can do. For old times' sake, and for the blood we've spilled together."