Chapter 107: Straight to Hell

"William, I think we need to talk." Kraft pushed open the door, draped in the dim twilight, with Kup following closely behind; after Yin Feng entered, he quickly barred the door.

"About those mine tunnels... eh?"

No lamps were lit inside; faint patches of light from high, narrow windows were slipping away from the heads of those bowing low. To facilitate a private conversation, the original owner had been asked to move to the next room, leaving the entire house temporarily to them; at this moment, only Peter lay slumped over the table.

These past few days he had indeed been tired, chasing an elusive target with several tireless people, not knowing when it would end. It was rare to have a free afternoon for a nap.

Hearing the voice, Peter lifted his head, wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, adjusted to the light inside the room, and said, "Mr. Kraft, how have you returned? Did you not go with William and the others?"

This remark seemed to reveal a dangerous signal; there were no bars in this village, so where else could they possibly have gone?

"Where?"

"You don't know?" Seeing the accusatory stance of Mr. Kraft, Peter knew something was wrong; William had likely left him behind specifically to act as a messenger, someone to deal with people. "Mr. William found someone to guide them, saying they were going to the mine tunnels."

"Damn it, choosing to wander off at this exact time!" His voice involuntarily rose, breathless as if being chased. Just as they had found some leads here, not yet having time to sort them out, someone over there was willing to guide them. At first glance, it seemed to hit Murphy's Law squarely, but on closer thought, one could detect the possibility of non-accidental factors at play.

As for Kup's face, it looked even worse; he pressed himself against the wall, hand resting on his waist. Since entering the room, he had relied on this posture to maintain his fragile sense of security. The dim environment stirred up feelings of fear, as if something would appear at any moment from the poorly lit dark corners.

The person involved was missing, with a vague omen of bad things to come; this scene carried a certain sense of inexplicable déjà vu.

"Who guided them, and when did they set off?"

The dazed guide rummaged through his mind and described to Mr. Kraft the only knowledge he had of William's whereabouts: "An old man who came to our door himself; they set off before I went to sleep."

"I simply cannot believe this is something William would do!" Kraft grabbed his cloak and began counting the contents of his backpack. There were too many suspicious aspects to the situation, making it hard to guess what considerations a steady and experienced captain like William could have had in making this decision. Was it confidence in the price offered? Or perhaps he felt that even if the other party had ill intentions, a few armed sailors would not be a cause for concern?

How he considered it at the time is unknown, but the fact that they had not returned by dusk spoke for itself. Locals never willingly spent the night in the mine tunnels, nor did they easily risk challenging the treacherous mountain paths in the middle of the night; no matter how urgent, could they not wait until tomorrow?

The only answer made it hard not to associate it with the heretics; it might very well be Old Gori himself.

"Should we wait a bit longer? Perhaps they will return soon?" Peter glanced at the beam of light that had already climbed to the upper part of the wall; sunset was imminent, but if William was already on that rocky mountain path, there was still time to return before needing torches.

"I must go and see." Kraft pulled out two more torches and stuffed them into his backpack, binding them securely with cloth strips. If something truly unexpected happened, now would be the last suitable time to ascend the mountain. At worst, he might meet William returning on the way, wasting some effort; better than waiting until night fell, having to climb the entire way holding torches.

Kup also grimaced and began packing his things, reluctantly pulling out clothes to put on. He did not know what was meant by psychological trauma, but he was clearly aware that he absolutely did not want to go out after this hour, especially to walk mountain paths.

As a squire, he had no standing to refuse; strictly speaking, his status was not that of a simple hireling, but rather closer to that of a vassal and his liege lord. Mr. Kraft had saved his life and was cultivating him as a direct subordinate; out of both sentiment and reason, he must follow, from the battlefield to a night road linked with unspeakable things, without exception.

Correspondingly, consistent with many sung stories, he was simultaneously enjoying the opportunity to become a de facto vassal.

As Mr. Kraft said, they were a "whole," and the emphasis of that statement was clearly not on Yin Feng, but on him, Kup.

Realizing this, some things were not so terrifying; one should have had the resolve when choosing to learn martial arts. "Shall we set off now, Mr.?"

"Kup." Mr. Kraft pressed his hand, moving it away from the hammer handle. "You stay here."

It felt like punching thin air; Kup stepped aside from the doorway and stammered slightly awkwardly, "I thought I performed well enough in training."

"No, precisely because of that, you must stay here."

Mr. Kraft half-opened the door; the evening valley wind and the sinking sunset light poured into his cloak. In his final assessment of the remaining personnel: Peter, a lifelong carriage driver; Yin Feng, clutching a small notebook, seeming eager to act but powerless; and the novice squire Kup—the only one left with armed training experience, who was at least at the amateur level of those sailors.

"Remember what I told you; this place is now beyond my reach."

He closed the door, and his footsteps faded away.

Mr. Kraft soon began to congratulate himself on the timely decision.

Lighting a torch and entering the mine tunnel, the night curtain fell precisely behind him, blocking the way back.

Descending along the mining passage experienced during the day, until reaching the edge of the mining area, the escaping chill made him tighten his cloak. The deep cave did not exhibit a relatively constant temperature; instead, it cooled down faster than the outside world.

Thanks to the crushed ore and gravel produced by the mining area, amidst the chaotic footprints, Mr. Kraft was still able to distinguish several footprints extending deeper.

After a brief hesitation, his boots crossed the blurred boundary.

"Alright, coming here is half my fault," Mr. Kraft muttered, drawing his sword from its sheath, talking to himself to soothe his somewhat agitated state of mind as he gradually walked into the cold darkness. Regardless of right or wrong, regardless of whose responsibility it was, he could not simply leave William down there to perish; from the perspective of a friend and conscience, that was unacceptable.

As he descended, Mr. Kraft sorted through the existing information.

That long, segmented object was called a "messenger." A messenger was, of course, responsible for bringing things, from here to there.

The rock wall with its upper and lower sections of different colors should represent the world where people live and another concept. According to the boy's account, that messenger was to bring his father, from "another place," back to the world where he currently lived to see him.

No matter how one thought about it, it felt obscure and chilling, causing Mr. Kraft to involuntarily recall some absurd legends mentioned in rural ghost stories and thrillers: the dead still have attachments, returning from the underworld—here called hell—to the human world. The smile the child mentioned seeing on his father's face in the mine tunnel now seemed particularly bizarre.

By his experience, he had seen neither hell nor the underworld; even if he had visited the latter, he would likely have forgotten it all after a bowl of soup. However, regarding "another world," he indeed knew of one; the heavy geometric object brought from there pressed tightly against his skin in his sleeve. "At worst, it's another deep-layer thing; what else could..."

The words of self-comfort ultimately failed to leave his lips.

Gray-white rock with speckled seepage appeared in the torchlight, occupying the cave wall and marking a clear boundary. Terrifying cracks spread in a lightning-like pattern, with gravel scattered everywhere, testifying to the power capable of shattering mountains that could manifest in the present world.

If the gray-white part of the messenger brought out from the dead is interpreted as hell, then he was standing at the entrance of a real, existing hell, just one step away from carving "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here" on the wall.

"... Perhaps I should just let the Heavenly Father save him?"