Chapter 1452 - 936: Iron Will (Part 3)

Chapter 1452: Chapter 936: Iron Will (Part 3)

Finally, at a slightly sheltered rocky depression halfway up the mountain, he discovered a pitch-black, bottomless cave entrance.

Without hesitation, he walked inside.

The cave wasn’t as pitch-dark as one might imagine; a gentle, steady, and perpetual glow of unknown origin filled the space, clearly illuminating the jagged and uneven rock walls inside.

Even more astonishing was that the scene inside the cave hadn’t formed naturally!

Massive, impeccably cut logs stood like Giant arms, firmly supporting the cave ceiling, forming a solid, stable framework structure to effectively prevent collapse.

A roughly laid track of thick, wear-resistant wooden boards snugly clung to the cave wall and extended deep inside; a weathered-looking mining cart with a mottled wooden body quietly rested on the rails, its compartment haphazardly filled with variously shaped and sized ores, faintly glistening with Metal luster.

When did all this appear? How did it appear?

Vane didn’t delve deeper, as if they were meant to reside here, as natural as breathing.

He walked to the mining cart, bent down, and casually picked up a chunky ore with a rough, uneven surface that shimmered with a muted Metal glow in the dim light.

He brought it close to his face, scrutinizing it carefully, the cold, gritty texture of the ore distinctly transmitted through his palm.

Then, his gaze instinctively fell upon the cold ground beside the mining cart—where, unbeknownst to him, lay a heavy Mining Pickaxe, its wooden long handle polished exceptionally smooth and shiny, while the sharp pick tip gleamed with a chilling radiance.

Did this exist before? Why hadn’t he noticed it earlier?

Vane couldn’t be sure, but the tiny doubt was merely like a small pebble tossed into a deep pool, sinking instantly without stirring a ripple of consciousness.

He put down the ore and naturally grasped the familiar and handy wooden handle of the Mining Pickaxe.

An odd, almost innate sense of familiarity surged forth, dispelling all doubts.

He took a deep breath, gripping the pickaxe handle firmly, and with all his might smashed it against a clearly defined vein on the cave wall’s hard rock layer!

"Clang—!"

The piercing sound of impact rang out sharply.

Sparks flew like fireworks in the dim mine cave, as the hard rock cracked open a crevice in response.

Vane didn’t pause for a moment, nor did he glance at his accomplishment, once more lifting the pickaxe high and swinging down with the same power and determination.

Swing down, raise arms! Swing down, raise arms! ...

He worked like a programmed, tireless Precision Machine, obsessively and fiercely repeating the simplest, most primitive digging motions.

The crisp sound of the Mining Pickaxe violently clashing against hard rock echoed continuously, urgent and powerful, becoming the sole monotonous yet awe-inspiring melody in this absolutely silent, enclosed world.

One by one, ores of various sizes were extracted through his digging, rolling down to his feet, forming several chaotic little piles that grew taller and taller.

He was tireless, unaware of the passage of time, merely digging, relentlessly digging, as if the act itself was the entirety of existence’s meaning.

Sweat drenched his thin hemp clothes, clinging to his skin, as his exposed arms throbbed and trembled from the sustained explosive exertion.

His muscles burned like fire, yet he remained oblivious, all senses focused on the moment when the pickaxe fell in each swing.

The surrounding rock walls receded constantly, collapsed under his relentless, frantic digging effort, crudely expanding the originally narrow mine space.

It transformed into a vast, empty "ore warehouse," nearly filled with various ores glowing with faint light.