King Marc listens carefully to Hilda's words, receiving the bone scepter into his hand. He observes the empty sockets, shakes it gently, and hears the rattling of small stones. Among the heavy tables and the instruments of alchemy and measurement, the mages pay close attention to the ruler, keeping their heads bowed in respect and fealty, even though the matter does not directly concern them.
Marc directs his gaze to the captain and questions if she is absolutely certain of this idea.
"The Dungeon Core has proven to be a faithful servant thus far. I believe we should grant him this opportunity," the captain replies, gathering all the certainty she can express in her voice, her back straight and unyielding.
Hilda was already prepared for rejection; she had previously warned Jimbo not to get too excited.
Marc sighs and, to the woman's surprise, nods.
"Sometimes I am compared to a stone. But I am not as rigid as some of my subjects suppose," the king assures her.
Jimbo, watching from the air, gets excited and orders the cavemen miners to come forth. They cross through the double doors of the dungeon, equipped with pickaxes and heavy pelts that Jimbo had crafted, seeking to make them look more or less civilized. However, the rough edges of the garments betrayed their primitive nature, and any footwear he tried to impose on them was promptly bitten off. Furthermore, it proved impossible to coat those gazes of incomprehension located under broad foreheads with any greater intelligence—wide gazes that followed the movements of the bone scepter with the utmost attention.
"They are not human, they have no soul, they do not recognize what it means to suffer. Is my impression correct?" the monarch asks.
Hilda directs her single eye to where Jim floats and waits for an answer.
«Uuuh, I...» Jimbo hesitates. Sometimes he pondered the exact same question, but that did not mean he had found a satisfactory answer. «To be honest, I don't know. I prefer to believe they don't.»
But Hilda does not communicate those words.
"It is exactly as you say, Your Majesty. They lack a soul and humanity; they are closer to beasts of burden," the captain clarifies without a tremor in her voice.
The king grants Hilda his permission and retires. Now the captain carries the bone scepter, guiding the cavemen back to the initial room of the dungeon. As soon as the double doors close behind them, she glares at Jimbo.
"You are no god, nor are you a mother. You merely create monsters that vaguely resemble real human beings."
«I know, I got nervous and acted like an incompetent fool.» Jimbo raises his ethereal hands and nods in resignation. «Thanks for trusting my crazy ideas. I owe you another one.»
Although he doesn't say it aloud, he also wants to believe that his summons are simple minions, mere flesh machines.
Hilda sighs.
"You owe me nothing. You merely try to be useful, which is what Arrax created you for, is it not? I must say I find you far more trustworthy than him. But do not grow overly bold; the bar that measured my opinion of that filthy mage was at the height of my ankles."
Jimbo whistles.
«I'm impressed by how you always rush to bury any compliments you give to others.»
The captain shakes her head and leaves without answering. Jim thinks he screwed up, reaffirming his belief that he simply doesn't know how to talk to women. Although, in reality, the inquisitor didn't pay much attention to that last comment.
Hilda would postpone her responsibilities in the castle to visit the mining guild, located in the merchant district. The marble floors and walls were far from evoking the dirt and dust of the business, and the guild representative was too flabby to hold a pickaxe. His intense perfume would be suffocating in any tunnel.
The representative used a handkerchief to constantly wipe the sweat from his forehead, but he calmed down when Hilda hinted that she wasn't coming for an audit or to cut his liberties in the name of the crown.
The sun is already setting over the green plains. The dark elf invasion is now a distant memory for the plants; the tall grass and flowers thrive, nourished by the blood spilled during the conflict.
The foremen were gathered at the edge of the Great Chasm, loudly discussing the possible reasons for the meeting. From the underground, the echo of pickaxes striking rock could be heard, along with the squeaking wheels of mine carts pushed by slave hands. The foremen fall silent when they see a horse approaching.
Hilda is the first to arrive, riding a brown-coated steed. A minute later, the gray carriage with the mining guild's insignia arrives: crossed pickaxes enclosed in a gold coin. The driver—who also served as an escort—leaves the reins to open the carriage door. The guild representative carefully steps down the small ladder attached to the door.
Further back comes another pair of horses led by a soldier in a black jacket, in charge of pulling a cart barely covered by a canvas tarp.
Hilda rides in front of the cart and waves a strange scepter made of bones, an action that earns looks of distrust, since the object looks like a talisman of necromancy. The canvas is pulled aside, and men with arms like tree trunks begin to descend.
The foremen lose their voices at the sight of those men; they look like foolish beggars, but their swollen muscles make it difficult to mock them.
Another pair of horses appears, although these do not belong to Hilda or the miners. A soldier in a bronze breastplate guides the beasts of the chariot, and accompanying him, her delicate hands resting firmly on the edge of the curved two-wheeled chariot, is young Cora. She is adorned with her distinct golden shackles—shackles that Hilda is now unable to stop looking at.
"My friends from the guild assured me that the king had a new force to excavate the earth, a force superior to common slaves. I grew curious and decided to come witness it myself," Cora wields a smile of transparent interest, a complacent expression that also asks a silent apology for arriving uninvited.
Hilda glares with her single eye at the guild representative, who continues to struggle with the sweat on his forehead. It is obvious that he leaked the information to the diplomats of the city-states.
The wooden elevators descend using pulleys and counterweights. It takes three trips to get them all down. The foreman gathers five healthy slaves, while Hilda directs a single caveman. The men without freedom face the primitive man; none of them seem to understand the situation until they are brought before a wall that the guild representative demands they mine.
The slaves raise their tools, but they freeze at the thunderous crack that rumbles when the caveman strikes the stone. With long movements of his broad arms, the primitive man grinds the wall as if it were made of soft clay. The slaves rush to compete, and only by working together do they manage to keep up with the caveman.
After a while, the guild representative orders them to stop.
The slaves obey, panting heavily, but the caveman keeps mining. Only when Hilda speaks to him does he stop. His broad chest rises and falls, and his arms are red and covered in sweat. The caveman keeps his eyes fixed on the wall sunken by his labor, and all present are left with the chilling impression that he would have worked himself to death if the captain hadn't stopped him.
"How much...? How much will the labor of these good people cost us?" the guild representative asks, rubbing his hands and holding back the urge to salivate. The caveman's performance reminded him of the legends surrounding the secret machines of the dwarves, only this primitive man was right in front of his eyes and within his reach. And according to Hilda's words, he only required a bone scepter to obey and function.
"It is an aid from the king to decrease our dependence on slaves. It is free," Hilda states, as if it were no big deal.
"F-Free?!" the guild representative gasps, losing the strength in his legs so suddenly that the foremen have to hold him to prevent him from falling to the ground. The representative fires his next question: "And besides those in the cart, how many of them can His Majesty offer to us, his humble servants?"
Hilda remains silent for a moment...
Ten?
Fifty?
One hundred?
She does not know the number of minions Jimbo is capable of creating.
Perhaps one day the Dungeon Core will be able to summon an entire army beneath the castle. One capable of bending a kingdom to its will.
(Of course, before that happens, I will eliminate him,) the captain thinks, although unlike the first few days, she does not feel satisfied with such a possibility. A part of her worries about softening up, or becoming too close to the Dungeon Core. (Perhaps it's the connection we share, that strange pact. If one of these days I come to doubt my own mind, there is no other way—I will have to kill myself.)
"Ten is all we can spare," Hilda replies, without her tone of voice giving away the flow of her thoughts. "Regarding the nature of these men, I trust you understand it is a secret of the kingdom. If you betray our trust, the consequences will be severe."
The guild representative faints again. Ten cavemen might seem like few, but if multiplied by five men, it yields fifty pairs of very powerful arms, filled with an idiotic and absolute willingness.
The elevators go back up. Hilda hands the bone scepter to the foremen and heads toward her steed. She strokes its mane, but does not mount. She directs her single eye toward the young woman approaching her.
Cora smiles.
"That was an impressive demonstration. But I hope it does not imply our countries are competing in the same trade, because offering such extraordinary labor for free is unfair competition."
"Unfair competition?"
"Perhaps you are not familiar with the concept. I highly recommend reading the ten volumes of The Profiles of Commerce written by Captain Leviathan; that man of the sea possesses a revitalizing sense of mercantile ethics. It is hard to believe he was a pirate in the past."
"I have no time to read," Hilda answers with sober diplomacy. "Those men are a supplement to the miners, not a replacement. I suppose that is what unsettles you and your partners."
"Of course not. It is not as if you could pull specimens like those musclemen out of a hole in the ground." Cora brings her fingers to her lips and lets out a jovial giggle, her gaze never stopping its study of Hilda's expression.
The captain remains stoic and quiet.
"But allow me to be indiscreet and ask, Lady Hilda... those men... what exactly are they?"
Hilda maintains her silence.
"What a foolish question, I apologize. It is a secret of your kingdom. But allow me to be indiscreet once more and share my theories with you. Those men, who look more like beasts, are tied to the miracle of the walls, or am I mistaken?"
For the first time since the conversation began, Hilda grimaces.
...
Beneath City-of-Thorns, forces antagonistic to King Marc assemble.
Dominus keeps her hands resting on her abdomen and her attention fixed on the giant stone skull protruding from the wall; she smiles like a maiden in love. The crimson light burns concentrated in twin spots within the sockets.
Moonsong is the first to arrive. She plants a knee and lowers her head, her long hair falling like silver cascades.
The second to appear is an elf with his masculine features covered by a black hood, and his hands full of rings. He positions himself to Moonsong's left and kneels as well.
"Apologies for the delay," says the third and last to arrive.
His scarlet cape flutters as he moves and kneels, paying homage to The Master.
When Dominus gives them permission to raise their faces, Axiel complies, as do the rest.