The night in the Obsidian Mining Area was so deathly silent that only the crackling of torches could be heard.
In the other slave camps, the Corrupted Believers Kane had secretly contacted were waiting anxiously.
They curled up in their cold shacks, enduring the hunger gnawing at their bellies, their eyes filled with longing for that vague, intangible hope.
"Could what Kane said... be true?" A man so thin he was barely recognizable asked his companion in a whisper.
Hunger had left his voice weak.
As one of the oldest slaves in the mining area, he had watched countless people be taken away. If nothing unexpected happened, he might not even survive the year—perhaps not even this summer.
Perhaps it would be better to simply die like this... Yet Kane, their nominal foremost Corrupted Believer, had brought him hope and news of food.
But that only made tonight even harder to endure.
"Who knows... Even if it's fake, what do we have to lose?"
His companion licked his cracked, bleeding lips, a sickly gleam flickering in his eyes. "What if it's real?"
They recalled the secret message Kane had passed on. Following his instructions, they awkwardly and cautiously shifted their bodies, assuming the posture said to obtain food in the shadows—facing the shack entrance, one hand pressed over their hearts.
Then came the long, agonizing wait.
Time trickled by. The mine fell completely silent, save for the occasional roar of Demonic Beasts in the distance and the heavy breathing of their companions.
The expected "Divine Miracle" did not appear at once. Cold reality was like a bucket of icy water, gradually extinguishing the sparks of hope that had just flared in their eyes.
Drowsiness and disappointment came together. Some could no longer hold on, their heads drooping bit by bit