UNDERGROUND SOVEREIGN

Chapter 5: The First Gate

Chapter 5: The First Gate

​The iron-heavy scent of cheap ale and unwashed leather filled the back room of the Crimson Axe Tavern. Sitting across from Master Overseer Vane was a burly man with a jagged scar across his throat, casually sharpening a heavy broadsword with a whetstone.

​This was Captain Balthazar, leader of the Iron Vanguard a ruthless, B-Rank mercenary outfit known for doing the dirty work the official guilds couldn't put on their balance sheets.

​"Let me get this straight, Vane," Balthazar rumbled, testing the blade’s edge with his thumb. "A trash laborer ripped up his contract, bought a dead mine with a bag of stolen gold, and now he’s got three hundred blacklisted workers hauling supplies into the mountain?"

​"He found something down there!" Vane hissed, his sweaty face gleaming under the dim lantern light. He slammed his fist onto the table. "I saw him with my own eyes at the Royal Auction House. He pulled an eleven-hundred-gold Divine Core out of a piece of slag from Sector 99! He’s sitting on an unreported high-grade vein, Balthazar!"

​Balthazar raised an eyebrow. "And you want my boys to clear him out?"

​"The deed was signed under city emergency statutes," Vane sneered, sliding a heavy pouch of fifty gold pieces across the table. "If you march in, declare him an illegal squatter, and take the mine by force, I can use the Paragon Guild’s legal council to seal the land under our name. You get twenty percent of whatever vein he discovered, and I get his head on a stake."

​Balthazar’s scarred lips curled into a brutal grin. He swept the gold into his belt. "Three hundred untrained builders and a cocky kid? We’ll take the mountain before midnight."

​The sun dipped below the jagged eastern peaks, painting the sky in violent shades of bruised purple and orange.

​At the entrance of Sector 99, three dozen armored mercenaries moved silently through the pine trees. They wore black iron breastplates, carried heavy war-axes, and were led by two low-tier fire mages holding glowing staff tips.

​Balthazar slowed his pace as they reached the perimeter. He expected to find rusted iron gates, muddy dirt paths, and terrified workers cowering in dark, drafty holes.

​Instead, he found a pristine, fifty-foot-wide archway of smooth, seamless basalt stone. Bright white magitech light strips illuminated the approach, making the night air around the entrance as clear as noon.

​"What the hell is this?" Balthazar muttered, squinting at the immaculate structure. "Since when does a dead mine look like a royal garrison?"

​"Captain," one of his scouts whispered, pointing toward the archway. "There’s no guards. The front gate is wide open."

​Standing in the center of the brightly lit passage, holding a steaming metal mug of coffee, was Han.

​He didn't wear armor. He didn't have a sword drawn. He stood casually in his brown vest and scuffed boots, leaning against the smooth stone wall as if he were waiting for a late delivery.

​Balthazar stepped out of the shadows, his heavy broadsword resting on his shoulder. His thirty mercenaries fanned out behind him, weapons drawn.

​"You're Han, right?" Balthazar barked, letting out a cruel laugh. "You've got five minutes to tell your little construction crew to drop their hammers and march out with their hands up. Sector 99 is being seized under Paragon Guild authority."

​Han took a slow sip from his mug, blowing gently on the steam.

​"You're trespassing on private property," Han said, his voice calm and unhurried. "Under Astral Property Law, entering a registered subterranean sanctuary without the owner's written consent permits the use of lethal automated defense."

​Balthazar stared at him, then erupted into a booming laugh that echoed through the trees. His men joined in, jeering and banging their swords against their shields.

​"Automated defense?!" Balthazar cackled. "Kid, you're a digger! You don't have a single mage down here! Men, break his legs and drag him out!"

​Ten heavy mercenaries lunged forward, their iron boots clattering against the polished basalt floor.

​Han didn't move an inch. He simply set his mug down on a small stone ledge and raised his left hand, snapping his fingers.

​DING.

​[Intruder Alert Activated!]

[Target Count: 32 Unregistered Combatants.]

[Deploying Defense Grid: Level 1 - Automated Runic Turrets (Grade-B).]

​The smooth basalt walls along the entrance corridor suddenly groaned. Interlocking stone panels slid open with mechanical precision, revealing four heavy, double-barreled ballistas made of gleaming mana-steel. The tips of the ballistas glowed with a violent, crackling crimson light.

​The mercenaries skidded to a halt, their arrogant grins instantly vanishing.

​"Wait" Balthazar gasped, his instincts screaming. "Mages! Barriers!"

​Before the fire mages could finish casting their incantations, the turrets fired.

​THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!

​Beams of concentrated kinetic mana tore through the air, moving faster than the eye could track.

​The front line of mercenaries didn't even have time to scream. The crimson beams struck their heavy iron shields, shattering the metal like brittle glass and knocking the men backward off their feet. The sheer concussive force blasted the weapon grips straight out of their hands, sending heavy broadswords clattering uselessly across the basalt floor.

​In less than three seconds, all ten charging men were pinned to the ground, bruised, disarmed, and groaning in agony as the crimson energy formed crackling mana-shackles around their wrists and ankles.

​Silence slammed over the forest.

​The remaining twenty mercenaries backed up violently, their faces pale as death. Balthazar’s broadsword trembled in his grip, his eyes darting wildly between the glowing red barrels mounted on the walls.

​Han walked forward slowly, stopping ten feet from the terrified mercenary captain.

​"I’m running a strict construction schedule," Han said smoothly, looking down at his system interface. "I don't have time to process thirty prisoners."

​He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Balthazar with a cold, terrifying intensity that made the scarred captain’s throat go bone-dry.

​"Leave your armor, your weapons, and your gold on the ground," Han ordered. "Carry your injured out. And tell Overseer Vane that if he wants to visit Sector 99 again, he needs to submit a tenant application first."

​Balthazar didn't argue. He didn't curse.

​He dropped his heavy broadsword into the dirt, unbuckled his gold-filled coin belt, and threw it at Han’s feet. "Unbuckle the gear!" Balthazar yelled at his terrified men, his voice shaking. "Strip it off! Move!"

​Thirty minutes later, the Iron Vanguard scrambled back down the dark mountain trail in their undershirts, carrying their bruised comrades on makeshift stretchers, leaving behind thirty-two full sets of high-grade iron armor, two dozen magic weapons, and over eighty gold pieces in loose coin.

​Vance walked out from behind the reinforced interior blast doors, holding a heavy iron wrench. He stared at the pile of abandoned weapons and gear sitting in the brightly lit corridor.

​"They ran," Vance whispered, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "An entire B-Rank mercenary squad... defeated by turrets in under ten seconds."

​"They were just a nuisance," Han said, sweeping his hand to collect the weapons into his Subspace Warehouse for raw material recycling.

​He turned his gaze back into the vast, gleaming depths of the mountain, where the sounds of hammers, drills, and laughter echoed from Level 1.

​"97 days left, Vance," Han said softly. "Let's start digging Level 2."