I tried to keep the disappointment off my face, but I knew I had failed. Instead of a nice piping sewer full of thugs, I found a huddling group of emaciated men, naked in a cold cavern except for the covering of their own filth. A small smokeless fire pit kept them a little warm and revealed the full extent of their beaten state. Bruises and weeping sores covered the skeletal men, and their distended bellies made them look more like ghouls than people.

Their poor treatment had written a novel about despair across all of their faces, save the ones that looked more dead inside than I was. Tattooed humans were most of the group, but I spotted at least three of the four-armed gorlain and two elves clustered amongst them. None of them made a move as I stepped into the light, but I could see abject fear replacing their alarmed countenances. Well, the ones that still had it in them to be afraid, that is.

With each step, the intensity of their smell grew exponentially, and I found myself once again glad that I was immune to nausea. Their collective misery might have imitated the stink of the sewers below Valbryde, but that was the only commonality. I’d found myself in a cave that looked like what I’d expect a mine to. And not that proudly dreamed of waterway of excrement I’d hoped I’d found.

My approach sent their hearts beating with mortal terror, and I wondered why I was only now hearing the sound. Covered in dried blood and bristling with weapons, I knew I made for a poor impression. Not even Oran’s friendly and handsome face, barring my failed attempt at an amiable smile, would pass a vibe check under the circumstances.

I tried anyway, pointing the wicked black bastard sword down at the ground and resting my hand on the pommel.

“So, what’s this then?” I said, putting on a wider grin and searching their faces for a person with a hint of courage.

The men leaned back against the wall, away from my looming presence. No one spoke, but their hearts still raged.

After a lingering glance, I looked to the room for answers they weren’t ready to provide. The ceiling brushed against the top of my leather helmet, giving me barely enough room to stand at full height. But, like the walls and floor, I could see it was uneven and poorly carved in places. Poor craftsmanship had turned what was probably supposed to be a square room into a sad rhombus. Aside from the bricked rooms I’d found earlier, it looked much like the tunnel I’d just vacated. To my left was the only exit, barred by a metal jailhouse style door.

“A prison?” I asked, half-rhetorically, because I still wasn’t expecting an answer.

The motion of a nodding head in the corner of my eye drew my attention. One elf, with a frame a bit more healthy than the rest, looked me in the eye.

He probably just got here. Wherever “here” is.

Oran knew of only one major prison, and it was on an island in the Gosson river. Their version of an Alcatraz for the worst of the worst. The place was infamous for holding the most insane and evil classers in the kingdom.

The only other place was the warden’s keep. It was a stone dungeon that was more of a temporary jail, as Allwyn sent most convicts to work outside the safety of the walls of Valbryde. Anyone under such a sentence had a magic brand on their face, identifying to the world what crime the kingdom had convicted them of. Unlike any of the men present.

“Did I somehow end up in Bastin prison?” I asked the elf, trying to wrap my head around how that could come up in the middle of a river. It didn't come as a surprise to me that my sense of direction differed completely from what I had expected. After all, my winding journey through the bowels of the earth had been anything but straightforward.

“No,” the elf whispered in a raspy voice so soft I would have thought it was my boot scraping if I hadn’t seen his mouth move.

Heaving a sigh of relief and not being stuck in an inescapable prison, I pulled the waterskin I’d stolen from Pollina so long ago off my backpack and tossed it to the elf. After taking a sip of water, he nodded his head in thanks.

“Keep it,” I said, stopping his return throw. Not like I had much of a use for it. I’d only kept the water around to give myself a little cleaning now and then, but I’d stopped once I realized the futility.

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My minor act of kindness had the desired effect of alleviating some of their terror. A bald man with a greasy black beard spoke next.

“Sorry ta’ say, yer in the pit, lad.” The man said, revealing cracked and rotten teeth.

“The pit?”

He nodded, then elaborated, “Aye, where House Learmonth sends its enemies.”

“And debtors,” said someone else, holding the quickly distributed waterskin.

Now that they knew I was just a stray who wandered in, they brightened up considerably.

I got a queasy feeling in my stomach at the mention of the word “debtors”. There were debtors' workshops, which took place in the city, but the kingdom regulated them. A person who owed money would have to work in such a shop using their skill of choice until they paid back the balance. Such places were highly shameful, but still a far cry from a “pit”. This was just slavery.

Slavery was illegal in Allwyn, but many of the noble houses had no problem skirting the laws of the kingdom. House Learmonth more than most.

“You’re slaves?” I asked.

A few nods from the small group confirmed it, and I felt a black cloud of miasma roll through my body. I’d stumbled into a conspiracy that House Learmonth would try hard to suppress. Worse, I knew I couldn’t just walk on by and ignore the problem. My already difficult unlife had just added a bunch of responsibility stress I didn’t really need.

“What’s down that hole?” asked the elf that spoke first, pointing to the way I’d just come.

“Nothing good,” I said, and watched him wilt.

The bearded one was unconvinced, though, and said, “Got ta’ be better than what's here.”

“Sure, if you prefer death at the hands of savage bat people.” I countered.

“Bats ya say? Ya mean Optra?”

“Maybe? Human sized bat men. Really like spears and mushrooms.”

“Aye, sounds like Optra, then. How many?”

“About three villages and a large temple’s worth.”

He grimaced, and said, “No good. They comin’ after ya?”

“Probably,” I said, shrugging. Several faces winced and many more heads turned toward the knocked down wall.

I changed the subject. “So, what am I up against here?”

It took a moment for them to understand that I meant their prison.

“Classed guards, and magical suppression. The whole area’s warded against detection and class skills won’t work unless you have a special ring.” The elf who’d talked earlier said.

That rocked me on my heels. Oran had never heard of such a thing, and it would be expensive to maintain. All for what, some mining?

“What exactly do they have you doing down here?” I asked.

“Digging for mana stones until we drop dead,” said an old-timer. He looked like he would be among that number soon.

“There are mana stones down here?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Being so close to the deathwell and the Ossuary, it made sense that mana stones might form. They were a naturally forming crystal near areas of high mana concentration. House Learmonth had probably been digging around here long enough searching for the source. That’s also likely where they encountered the “Optra”.

A few men nodded, confirming my suspicion.

The good news was that the guards wouldn’t expect my abilities to work. I wasn’t a classer, and I didn’t think it was possible to suppress a monster core, anyway. If such a thing were possible, hunting them down wouldn’t be as much of a hassle as it was.

“Well, I’m going to get us out—”

My recently animated skeletal minion’s connection suddenly dissipated. I spun on my feet, just in time to catch an enormous clawed foot in the stomach. The power of the blow sent me flying over the fire to crash into the men like a bowling ball.

Fortunately, my sword, which I’d been holding in my right hand, hadn’t cut into anyone. I’d pointed the blade at my unseen adversary, in transit, because of the skill I’d been channeling and my outstanding reflexes.

A seven-foot tall albino bat in a kilt made of flesh stood over the fire. Sense Undead pinged, but it needn’t have bothered. Glowing red eyes and foot long fangs extending from the upper reaches of his mouth already told me I was dealing with a vampire. The blood sucker stopped to drink in the fear of the men scrambling to get away from him, and out from under me.

Galahand, who’d been hiding in my backpack, slipped out unnoticed among those that had retreated.

In a voice far too high-pitched for a humanoid of that size spoke in Zu-Rakan, “I have found you at last. Now it is time for you to answer for your crimes.”

When I spoke back in perfect Zu-Rakan, the beastman’s eyes widened in surprise. “Hey, I just wanted to get back to the surface. Your people attacked me first”

Without waiting for a reply, I sprung to my feet and thrust my blade at the vampire’s stomach. Though my speed was great, it wasn’t enough, and a black battle axe flashed, knocking my sword aside with incomprehensible power.

A second later, my arm fell to the ground, severed at the elbow.