UNDERGROUND SOVEREIGN

Chapter 1: The Weight of Scaffolding

Chapter 1: The Weight of Scaffolding

​The air inside the lower shafts of Sector 99 tasted like sulfur, damp iron, and cheap mana-dust. It was the kind of air that settled deep in your lungs, leaving a grit on your teeth that no amount of stale water could ever wash away.

​Han swung his iron pick, the muscles in his forearms burning as the head struck dark obsidian rock. A dull spark hissed in the dim light of the overhead crystal lanterns, flaring briefly before dying out.

​"Keep those arms moving, trash!" a sharp voice barked from the wooden walkway above.

​Han didn't look up. He didn't need to. He knew the voice. It belonged to Master Overseer Vane, a fat middle-manager from the Paragon Guild who wore a gilded mana-shield badge on his chest, a badge bought with the sweat and blood of the low-tier builders slaving fifty feet below him.

​"We’re three hours behind schedule!" Vane shouted, his voice echoing off the damp stone walls. "Lord Leon’s procession arrives at sunset to inspect the perimeter. If the outer barrier isn't ready for his blessing, I'll see every one of you docked half a week's rations!"

​A low murmur of resentment rippled through the line of tired, bruised men working alongside Han. Men with cracked knuckles, torn leather aprons, and hollow eyes. They were F-rank builders and non-combatants without flashy spells or divine crests. To the high-ranking guilds, they were livestock with hammers.

​Han wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. His body aching in places he didn't know could hurt. For three years, he had worked sixteen-hour shifts inside these deep, suffocating mines, building fortified garrisons for the nobility while living in a cold, overcrowded barrack that leaked when it rained.

​He glanced over at Vance, an older builder with silver-streaked hair and a crooked spine from decades of hauling raw granite. Vance’s hands were trembling as he tried to lift a heavy runic anchor block into place.

​"Let me take the left side, Vance," Han whispered, stepping over to take the weight before the older man's knees buckled.

​"Thanks, kid," Vance wheezed. "My back’s about done today. I don't know why they're pushing us so hard on this shaft. There ain't no mana left in this old hole. It’s been bone-dry for fifty years."

​"They don't care about the mana," Han said bitterly, shoving the anchor into the wall slot. "They just want a grand entry arch for the Hero to stand under while the reporters take pictures."

​"Shh! Quiet down, Han," Vance whispered nervously. "If Vane hears you"

​A violent rumble shook the cavern floor.

​Dust rained down from the ceiling in thick waves. The crystal lanterns swung wildly on their iron chains, throwing chaotic shadows across the walls. A low, guttural roar echoed from deep within the unmapped lower tunnels—a sound that vibrated straight through the soles of Han’s boots.

​"What was that?!" someone screamed down the line.

​"The lower seal broke!"

​"Hold your posts!" Overseer Vane shouted from above, his voice cracking with sudden panic as he backed away toward the exit doors at the top of the ramp. "Hold the wall!"

​It wasn't a minor shift.

​The dark stone face at the end of the tunnel shattered outward like brittle glass. A wave of scorching, purple-tinged miasma burst into the shaft, followed by the terrifying sound of thousands of skittering, chitinous legs. Gloom-Crawlers subterranean mana-beasts the size of wolves flooded the chamber.

​Panic erupted instantly. Tools were dropped as men scrambled toward the single wooden ladder leading to the upper exit platform.

​"Move! Get out!" Vance stumbled, tripping over a pile of loose stone.

​Han lunged forward, grabbing Vance by the collar and hauling him up. "Up the ladder, Vance! Go!"

​Above them, on the high platform, a group of figures in gleaming white and gold armor stepped out from the observation booth. At the front stood a man with flawless blonde hair, holding a gilded longsword radiating pure, dazzling light. Radiant Leon the S-Rank Hero of Aethelgard. Beside him stood Duchess Seraphina, draped in expensive blue furs, looking down at the pit with mild disgust.

​"Lord Leon!" Overseer Vane squealed, rushing toward the hero's guards. "The lower breach! The beasts are flooding the shaft!"

​Leon didn't flinch. He simply adjusted his silk cape, his handsome face cool and detached as he looked down at the panicked workers struggling at the base of the platform.

​"Deploy the emergency blast gate," Leon ordered calmly.

​Han froze, his foot on the bottom rung of the wooden ladder. He looked up in disbelief. "Wait!" Han screamed, pointing down at the floor where Vance and twenty other men were still trapped. "There are still people down here! Give us two minutes!"

​Duchess Seraphina scoffed, fanning herself. "Two minutes? The miasma will reach the upper promenade if that shaft isn't sealed immediately. My velvet carpets are imported."

​"Lord Leon, please!" Vance cried out, clutching the base of the platform. "We built this wall for you!"

​Radiant Leon looked down at Han, his blue eyes entirely devoid of empathy. "Your sacrifice ensures the safety of the upper district," Leon said smoothly. "Be proud. You die for the realm."

​Leon reached out and pulled the heavy steel lever on the control pillar.

​A massive iron gate dropped from the ceiling, crashing into the stone floor with a deafening thud. It sealed the shaft completely, cutting off all light, air, and hope.

​"NO!" Han slammed his fists against the cold, impassable iron door. "LEON!"

​Behind him, the darkness came alive with the screeching of monsters and the agonized screams of his fellow workers. Han turned around, his back pressed against the iron gate. He picked up his rusted hammer, his knuckles white, his chest heaving with burning rage as razor-sharp claws drove straight through his chest.

​Pain flared through his torso. He fell to his knees, his sight fading to black as his blood pooled onto the cold stone.

​WAKE UP.

​Han gasped, bolting upright as air rushed back into his lungs like liquid fire.

​He clutched violently at his chest, expecting to feel his ribcage crushed. But there was no hole. No blood. His fingers gripped coarse, dry cotton.

​He blinked, adjusting to the dim, flickering light. He wasn't in the depths of Sector 99. He was sitting on a squeaky iron cot inside a small, cramped room with exposed brick walls. Hanging on a rusty nail was a small brass calendar.

​Date: May 12th, Year 742 of the Astral Calendar.

​May 12th. That was today. Exactly one hundred days before the Great Mana Collapse the apocalyptic event that would shatter the sky, unleash subterranean beasts, and plunge the surface world into a permanent, sub-zero hellscape of acid snow.

​A crisp, blue holographic screen expanded in the center of his vision.

​[God-Tier Construction System Initialized.]

[Status: Regression Confirmed. Time remaining until 'The Great Mana Collapse': 99 Days, 23 Hours, 58 Minutes.]

[Starter Abilities Unlocked: Future-Value Appraisal (Rank S) | Subspace Warehouse (Infinite Grade)]

​Before he could process the notification, the flimsy wooden door was kicked open.

​"Hey! Slugs don't get to sleep in!" Recruiter Mark strutted into the room, tossing a piece of parchment onto the crate next to Han's bed. "Sign the paper. The Paragon Guild’s scout is hiring diggers for Sector 99. Five-year contract."

​Han looked at the contract sitting on the crate. The very document that had led him to his death under Radiant Leon's boots.

​As he focused on the paper, his new vision flickered. Glowing red text materialized over the contract:

​[Target: Paragon Guild Sector 99 Labor Contract]

[Post-Collapse Value: 0 Gold (Worthless. Survival Probability: 0.00%)]

​Han let out a low, breathy laugh. He grabbed the contract, folded it neatly, and tore it straight down the middle, tossing the scraps directly at Mark’s chest.

​"Have you lost your mind?!" Mark sneered. "You owe me forty silver for your room! You don't leave until that's paid!"

​Han’s eyes narrowed. His Future-Value Appraisal swept over the floorboards beneath Mark’s feet.

​[Hidden Object Detected: Stashed Pouch under Loose Board #4]

[Contents: 120 Gold Pieces (Stolen funds hidden by Recruiter Mark)]

​Han stepped right up to Mark’s face. "How about I tell the Paragon Guild auditors about loose floorboard number four? The one where you've been stashing their missing payroll?"

​Mark’s face was drained of color. He backed away, stammering, as Han slung his canvas bag over his shoulder and walked out into the cold morning air.

​Around him, the city was alive nobles riding in magitech carriages, merchants shouting, commoners going about their day. None of them knew that in ninety-nine days, this entire surface world would freeze.

​Han raised his hand, opening his system map. Far off in the eastern mountain range, buried under a site everyone considered useless, a single massive zone glowed with a blinding, radiant gold.

​[Target Location: Abandoned Obsidian Mine - Sector 99]

[Current Market Status: Declared 'Cursed' & Depleted. On Public Auction for 500 Gold Pieces.]

[Post-Collapse Value: Infinite / EX-Rank (Ancient Geothermal Ley-Node Hub. 100% Immune to Acid Snow.)]

​Han stared at the golden node on the map, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face.

​The elites thought it was a worthless trash pit. They had no idea that beneath the dried-up mana veins lay the only natural geothermal sanctuary on the entire continent.

​"Sector 99," Han whispered into the wind. "I'm buying the whole thing."

​Let the elites waste their fortunes on sky towers that would crumble in minutes. In ninety-nine days, when Radiant Leon came crawling through the blizzard, begging at the vault doors for a scrap of bread... Han would be the one holding the keys.