Chapter 179: Into the Throat of the mountain

Chapter 181: Into the Throat of the Mountain

The forest smelled of crushed pine and burnt sugar—the lingering trace of Seana’s purified spores.

On the roof of the octagonal bunker, the severed section of the iron grate lay tilted into the shaft, its edge caught on a rusted lip of masonry. Below it, the darkness was absolute.

The cold rising from the opening didn’t feel like the clean mountain chill of Country B. It carried the damp, oily weight of wet stone, stagnant copper, and machine grease that had sat undisturbed for decades.

Darian wiped a smear of soot from his cheek, his breathing finally returning to normal. He picked up his two heavy brass rings from the moss and slipped them onto his forearms. "My mistake. I moved without scanning the area first."

"You touched an unknown plant in an unmapped ruin," Nyren replied, her tone neither harsh nor gentle. "The next error might not be resolved by an ally’s technique."

"Understood." Darian didn’t offer excuses. Instead, he crouched beside the severed grate and examined the cut again. "Three inches of industrial iron, sheared without warping the surrounding metal. That’s terrifyingly clean."

"Nor should we underestimate whoever did it," Elder Rowan said. He stood near the outer perimeter, his staff resting across his forearms as his spiritual sense swept the tree line. "The person who planted that orchid was watching us."

Lothe remained beside the opening. "You sensed him?"

"I felt the air settle three seconds before the spores cleared." Rowan’s gray brows drew together. "A powerful presence. But it vanished before my sense could reach the upper branches."

Caelan stepped toward the rim, peering into the blackness. "He didn’t climb down through the trees," Lothe said quietly.

Rowan glanced at him. "You’re certain?"

"The moss near the lip is scraped inward. Whoever he is, he dropped straight into the shaft. He knew where the opening led—and he knew we would eventually find it."

Silence settled over the clearing.

Caelan drew a three-inch copper needle from his sleeve, murmured a short activation phrase, and released it. A thin line of pale blue light traced its length as it fell.

One second. Two seconds. Three.

A faint metallic tink echoed from below, followed by a soft chime that hummed through the copper.

Caelan tilted his head, listening carefully. "Ninety paces to the first solid surface. The resonance suggests a metal platform, but there’s another structure beneath it. Deep enough that an uncontrolled fall would shatter both legs."

"Very reassuring," Oren muttered dryly.

Caelan ignored him. "The shaft narrows near the bottom. There’s an iron ladder on the southern wall, but several rungs are corroded through. Beyond the platform, I hear air moving through a separate passage."

"Can you tell where it leads?" Nyren asked.

"Not from here. But moving air means the lower system isn’t completely sealed."

"Or something down there is driving the draft," Darian added.

Elder Rowan nodded. "Either way, we proceed under the assumption that the passage is active."

Seana knelt beside the cut iron. Her Herbal Sight remained active, the world around her layered in botanical structures, mineral densities, and chemical traces.

She studied the thin, translucent residue clinging to the rim.

"The chute is greased," she said.

Lothe glanced down. "Animal tallow?"

"A rendered fat base, mixed with heavy mineral oil," Seana answered, rubbing a microscopic sample between two silver testing needles. "It’s identical to the lubricant used in ancient biological preservation. If the children were dropped through the nine-segment trapdoor in the village alley, they didn’t fall into an open pit. They slid down an angled sluice lined with this grease."

Oren frowned. "And that would keep them from breaking bones?"

"It eliminates friction and softens the deceleration curve," Seana said. "It doesn’t guarantee safety, but if the goal is to deliver small living subjects to the lower level without fatal trauma, this is precisely how you’d design it."

Lothe’s expression hardened. "They treat human cargo like fragile glass. You don’t break the merchandise before it reaches the workshop."

The words hung heavy in the damp mountain air.

"Then the question is where the workshop is," Nyren said.

"And how many are still alive," Oren added quietly.

Elder Rowan tapped the butt of his staff against the stone. "We descend in pairs, maintaining fifteen-pace intervals to prevent a single trap from compromising the unit. Caelan and Darian secure the descent line. Oren and Nyren take the second drop. Lothe and Seana take point once we reach the transfer platform. I will hold the rear."

Darian tapped one brass ring against the other. "And if the shaft gives out?"

"Then you use those rings to keep the masonry off our heads," Nyren said.

Darian sighed. "I was hoping for something slightly more comforting."

"Prepare better, then."

Even Seana’s lips twitched faintly, the brief humor cutting through the tension.

Rowan looked at Lothe. "Can you manage our descent without relying on those corroded rungs?"

Lothe didn’t answer immediately. He cast his Spatial Perception downward into the dark chimney, feeling the rough stone, the rusted iron ladder, and the metal transfer ledge below. Metal and ancient residual formations created subtle interference, but the spatial contours were clear enough.

"The rungs are powder," Lothe said. "Don’t touch them. I’ll establish a spatial dampening plane at the forty-pace mark. It won’t freeze your momentum entirely, but it will bleed eighty percent of your velocity before you hit the ledge."

"And if the anchors slip?" Rowan asked.

Lothe met the elder’s gaze evenly. "Then we see how good your landing techniques are."

"I don’t love that answer."

"It’s the honest one."

Rowan gave a short nod. "Do it."

Lothe raised his hand. Invisible spatial threads snapped into place within the chimney, locking three stabilizing nodes across the shaft walls.

"Clear," Lothe said.

Seana drew her Blood Moon Sword, the crimson steel catching the gray daylight, and stepped off the ledge without hesitation. Lothe dropped right behind her.?

Above them, Caelan and Darian hit the dampening field with muffled grunts, touching down smoothly. Oren and Nyren followed, their boots ringing against the iron. Finally, Elder Rowan descended with absolute control, his staff meeting the metal deck with a quiet thunk.

"Darian. Light," Rowan murmured.