John woke to someone nudging his leg. It wasn’t the nudge that got his attention though, it was the flare of pain, from his still-injured leg, that did that. He immediately realized he had passed out after the attack. Either through shock or blood loss, he couldn’t say. But somehow he was still breathing.

“You alive?” the Sheriff asked.

John’s response was a groan as he opened his eyes. “What happened to the last enemy?”

“Funny thing, that. Some of the workers were a bit furious after what happened and managed to aim one of the downed automaton weapons at the blindly flailing man. …I admit, I’ve seen some horrible things in my life, but I think that weapon takes the cake.”

“You won’t hear me argue,” John grunted. “Help me up?”

“You sure that’s a good idea? Your legs are in pretty bad shape.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Blackwood reached down and clasped John’s hand, yanking him to his feet.

Pain shot daggers through his body, but he simply gritted his teeth and leaned against the remains of a nearby tree until the bulk of the pain passed. The area he stood in was littered with broken branches and splintered wood. A few smaller trees had even fallen over due to the damage caused by the cannons.

John was surprised he managed to escape any serious injuries. A tree could have easily come down and crushed him.

His gaze traveled toward the two motionless suits next to the barricade. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do it for your thanks,” the gruff older man stated as he stood next to him, overlooking the same scene.

“Still,” John said. His plan had been a risky one. He knew that going in. But he needed to draw the attention of the two manning the cannons so Blackwood could get a clear shot at their back. He would have done it himself if he knew what to look for. The Sheriff tried explaining it to him but the man's explanation went in one ear and out the other for John. So he left it to the recovering alcoholic.

If Blackwood had missed or still held a grudge, John would have died. Maybe not from the first shot, but certainly from a follow-up one. The angle of the hill was shallow enough that the grapeshot would have torn through the soft ground and into his body. And considering he had passed out after his leg injury, there would have been no evading a second volley.

“What do we do about them?” Blackwood nodded toward the surviving workers.

“Question them to find out what these people were after, then lead them back to Ember Creek.”

“Yup. I figured you might say that. Gonna be a pain in the rear getting them all back.”

John couldn’t agree more. Most of these men were city folk who had come out here to earn money or for a change in scenery. He doubted more than a handful had any experience roughing it in the outdoors. And that didn’t even account for how tired and malnourished they looked. Now they had to toss injured onto that pile of issues.

While they were talking, the uncomfortable numbness in his legs had switched to a burning tingle, indicating they were healing fine.

He pushed himself off the tree and began to walk down the hill. Each step still shot bursts of fire into his nerves, but he had experienced it all before. And he had gone through worse in his Irtishian Army training.

“I heard you bastards were hard to kill. Never thought I would see it for myself,” Blackwood commented quietly as he joined him on his hike toward the camp below.

“So you know what I am?”

The Sheriff shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors and stories. But something about you felt off from the moment my eyes met yours.”

“And what was that?” John did his best to suppress a wince.

“It’s your eyes. They're old. Like you’ve seen far too much.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, tends to scare people away.”

As they made their way down the hill, the workers noticed and started to approach. They had been understandably wary until some of the workers recognized the Sheriff. A few even nodded and pointed at him.

“Sheriff,” a black-haired man with a limp spoke as he separated from the group.

The man seemed to be the de facto representative.

“Didn’t expect a rescue, but I must admit, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Most of us had given up hope. The people who took us are monsters without a conscience. If someone didn’t work, they simply pulled the worker aside and made the rest of us watch as they used those steam shooters on them. When the new group of workers arrived, we thought we had used up our usefulness in their eyes.”

“We came as soon as we could,” Blackwood responded. “Any idea why they took you?”

The man gestured behind him. “Mining.”

“For what?” John asked in confusion.

The man shrugged. “Not any metal I’ve ever seen. Looked more like a crystal and it glowed. It also made a lot of the workers sick.”

“Is this all the survivors?” Wyatt asked as he looked over the severely diminished group with a frown. There had to be maybe forty people left.

“All the ones they left behind. They took the healthiest group of workers on those armored machines before hightailing it out of the area. The rest died during the fight.”

“Sorry we couldn’t do more,” the Sheriff responded, sounding apologetic at the senseless deaths.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Not your fault,” the man stated. “We made peace with the fact we were gonna die. That any of us managed to survive this nightmare is a miracle.”

“We can speak more about this in Ember Creek. Get that wagon of explosives unloaded. We can put the most injured on that and make our way back to town.”

The men nodded, a few heading over to slowly unload the wagon.

It had been a difficult day for everyone, but with the leaders of this plot vanishing into the backcountry, John knew it wasn’t over.

It didn’t take long for the group of workers to unload the wagon, despite how careful they were being.

“You think you can get them back to town by yourself?” John asked.

Wyatt looked at him. “Why?”

“Something is nagging at the back of my mind. I want to do a more thorough investigation of this area to see if I can tease it loose.”

“You sure about that? You aren’t in the best of shape.”

John nodded slowly. “I’ll be fine. And I can catch up to you in a few hours with my horse.”

“Suit yourself.” Blackwood turned toward the group. "Everyone ready?”

There was a chorus of tired responses before Blackwood led the procession out of camp.

He sat and watched them leave. But even after they cleared the lip of the valley, he remained seated for a good few hours. Mostly to give his legs more time to heal, but also to ensure the group was well and truly gone.

Occasionally he would glance back at the dark and imposing mineshaft. He wondered what he would find in that dark hole that made people sick.

Being employed by Terminus Mining meant he picked up a thing or two. John knew of at least five rocks that could cause illness. And even some gases that could kill. Daniel probably knew even more. But that wouldn’t help him now. John needed to head into the mine to find out for himself what these bastards went so far to get their hands on.

As the sun passed its zenith and started to descend into the afternoon, John finally stood. His muscles were stiff and sore, protesting this movement, but he pushed the minor pain aside as he lit a torch and headed into the dark opening.

Minerals sparkled along the walls, showing a vein of pyrite along one side. That wasn’t too unusual. Although it did indicate this mine might have gold and silver in it. The vein of pyrite soon ended but the tunnel continued. If their purpose had been gold or silver, there would have been no need to go further.

As he went deeper, the cave got damper and soon he was stepping through small puddles. Tiny rivulets of water poured down the rock sides as he made his way further into the dark tunnel. The air quality also got worse as he got deeper, causing John to cough a few times and his torch to flicker. He waited to see if the torch went out before carrying on. Toxic air would kill him just as fast as a bullet. When the torch stabilized, he continued.

The softer rock of the mine exterior eventually transitioned into hard granite. If this is what Jacob’s group was trying to dig through, it was no wonder they wanted the explosives. But even so, it looked like they had made significant progress without any.

After about five more minutes of walking, John reached the end of the mine. What he found surprised him. In the center of the shaft was a small imperfection in the granite. A tiny thing, barely even three inches across. The slightly opalescent rock glowed a dull grey in the light. He moved the torch so his shadow was covering the formation, and even without light, the strange mineral gave off a soft glow. Something about the gemstone sparked a memory. Where had he seen this before?

Then it hit him. Soul Stone! Soul Stone was one of the Irtishian Empire’s claims to fame before the war. It was said to house the souls of the departed but it was mainly used by the rich and powerful as jewelry and a status symbol. At least until someone figured out the unassuming gems were toxic if you were exposed to them for too long. What reason could anyone have to mine the stuff? As far as John knew Soul Stone was only ever used as decoration. The Empire banned its use shortly before the war.

John had heard rumors that the substance was banned because it was used to create the Irtishian Irregulars. But he found that hard to believe considering he had been one of these irregulars. The serum they were injected with was a dark purple concoction. And it certainly didn’t glow.

So he had to ask himself again, why go through all this trouble and secrecy to mine Soul Stone?

Even if it was somehow used in the serum he was injected with, the recipe and method for making the substance had been destroyed when Vegara, the Irtishian capital, fell over two centuries ago. John was there during the fall of the city, he had seen the alchemist responsible for creating the serum buried alive with his recipe.

Of course, that never stopped idiots. A few attempts to resurrect the program were attempted over the centuries, but those rogue elements were met with swift and brutal retribution. Some of that retribution came from his own hands when he learned of their attempts. After what John had faced to become what he was, he refused to let that cancer fester and grow again. That left him with three questions.

What were they using this substance for? What were they after? And who were they?

If Jacob was part of a larger group, he shuddered to think what would happen to this continent if they completed their work. They already showed a startling lack of empathy for human life. If left uncontested, they could spread all the way to the spine and nobody would be able to stop them.

Fareen wasn’t like the old world, with its hundreds of millions of people and thriving kingdoms ready to wage war. Fareen was a fledgling nation at best. Made of people who wanted a fresh start away from the old nations and their constant bickering and small wars. It's why The Fareen army were so brutal in dealing with the natives. They didn’t want hostile neighbors, they didn’t want any neighbors.

John didn’t agree with their tactics. The brutal nature of their war probably bred more hate and anger than just simply incorporating the natives, but he wasn’t in charge.

The only reason an invasion from some unknown kingdom didn’t send a cold chill down John’s spine was how this group operated. A large group or even some rogue kingdom, wouldn’t need to skulk about and kidnap people. They also wouldn’t need to hire barbarians to act as mercenaries for them. No, his hunch was that this was a small group. One that was well funded though.

John ran his hand across the softly glowing mineral. It sent a slight fuzz through his fingers, like a static shock. It wasn’t painful though. In fact, it was quite pleasant. He now understood why the Empire’s rich loved the stone so much. He took out his knife and dug a small chunk of the crystal out of the wall before dropping it into a leather pouch. Perhaps someone back in Ember Creek could give him a clue as to what these people were using it for.

After retrieving the sample, John turned and made his way out of the mine. Questions, questions, and more questions. He hated this not knowing. Point him at a problem and he could make it go away, he wasn’t some damned investigator. Hell, he didn’t even know how to read or write before becoming a soldier.

As he got his frustration under control, John glanced over to the side of the mine entrance. With a knowing grunt, he walked over and began carrying the explosives into the cave one box at a time. John didn’t go all the way to the end, afraid the water might damage the explosives. So he stopped before the first puddle and started stacking box after box.

Without the aid of the torch, it was slow work, but he finished just as the sun set behind the mountain. During that time, he had also retrieved his horse. That left one final thing to do.

John held the torch as he stared into the dark entrance of the mine. A thick black fuse ran down the tunnel, the only thing visible in the waning light. He touched the burning torch to the fuse.

The thing sparked off immediately and began burning into the darkness. He tossed the torch and quickly mounted his horse before urging it into a run. John wasn’t an explosives expert, but he knew the amount he had shoved into that mine was overkill. And he didn’t want to be anywhere near this area when it went off.

He was just leaving the valley when a dull thump reverberated through the ground. It spooked the horse, making it try to bolt, but he managed to get control of the animal. Moments later, the audible boom of the explosion rolled overhead. It was muffled by being inside the cave, but it still sounded like thunder. After that came a low drone of falling rocks that didn’t seem to end. John looked back into the valley, but all he could see was a haze of grey dust.

If that wasn’t sufficient to bury the mine, nothing would. If those bastards came back, this would hamper any of their efforts.