Renna leads me deeper into the tunnel, taking turns at intersections with the confidence of someone who's been here many times.
After a few minutes, she stops in a wider section of the tunnel.
"Here," she says, setting the lantern down on a flat rock. "This vein has good iron deposits. And some copper if we're lucky."
The wall in front of us has a different color to it—reddish-brown streaks running through the gray stone. I assume that's the iron she's talking about.
She pulls the hammer from her belt and hands me a pickaxe that was leaning against the wall—left from a previous trip, I guess.
"Start here," she says, pointing at the wall. "Hit it at an angle, break off the chunks with the ore veins. Pile them by the cart."
"Got it," I say, taking the pickaxe.
It's heavier than I expected.
Renna moves to a different section of the wall and starts working with her hammer and chisel, striking the stone with practiced precision. Each hit echoes through the tunnel.
I position myself and swing the pickaxe.
CLANG.
The impact reverberates up my arms. A small chunk of rock chips off and falls to the ground.
I swing again.
CLANG.
Another small chunk.
This is going to take a while.
I settle into a rhythm. Swing, impact, chip. Swing, impact, chip. It's hard work. The pickaxe is heavy and swinging it over and over makes my arms burn.
But I keep going.
As I work, I can't help but glance over at Renna.
She's in her element here.
Each strike of her hammer is controlled, efficient.
She's broken off three times as much ore as me in the same amount of time. Her muscles flex with each swing—her arms, her shoulders, even her back visible through the vest.
And she's starting to sweat.
Just a light sheen at first, but as the minutes pass, I can see it on her forehead, her neck, the exposed skin of her arms. A bead of sweat runs down her temple and along her jaw.
She wipes at her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of dirt.
It shouldn't be hot. The mine is cool. But watching her work, watching the way her body moves, the slight flush on her cheeks from exertion—
Yeah. It's hot.
I force myself to focus on my own work.
We continue for what feels like an hour. My arms are screaming. My back hurts. I'm not used to physical labor like this. Gaming and typing don't exactly prepare you for swinging a pickaxe.
But gradually, we accumulate a decent pile of ore chunks by the cart.
"Good," Renna says, finally stepping back from the wall. She's breathing a bit harder now, her chest rising and falling. More sweat on her skin, making it glisten in the lantern light. "Load it up. We'll go deeper and check another vein."
I start picking up the ore chunks and loading them into the cart. They're heavy. Really heavy. Each one weighs several pounds at least.
By the time the cart is loaded, my arms feel like jelly.
"Come on," Renna says, picking up the lantern and heading deeper into the tunnel.
I grab the cart handle and pull.
It doesn't move.
I pull harder.
The cart barely budges. The wheels are designed to roll, but the weight of the ore makes it take serious effort to get it moving.
I plant my feet and pull with my whole body.
The cart lurches forward with a creak of wood and metal.
I start pulling it down the tunnel, following Renna's light.
This is brutal.
Each step is an effort. The cart is heavy, the tunnel floor is uneven, and my body is already exhausted from swinging the pickaxe.
We go deeper into the mine, the tunnel sloping downward slightly. The air gets cooler, damper. The dripping water sounds closer now.
Renna leads me to another section with good ore deposits and we repeat the process. She mines. I mine. We load the cart.
Except now the cart is even heavier.
And my body is screaming at me to stop.
I've never done manual labor before. Not like this. I've walked places. I've stood for long periods. But actual, physical, hard labor? Never.
My hands are starting to blister. My shoulders ache. My back is on fire. Every muscle is protesting.
But I keep going.
Because I need the money. Because I need a weapon. Because I need to survive this nightmare world.
Renna glances back at me as I struggle with the cart.
"You holding up?" she asks.
"Yeah," I lie, my voice strained.
She raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.
We go even deeper.