Miracles (I)

An hour before Zhang Tie's Bloodfire Canopy erupted, everything had been sliding along its predetermined, cruel course toward that cold track. In such a desperate situation, everyone struggled with every ounce of strength they had.

Shalba gripped the short knife in his hand tightly and followed the Prospectors who had brought him here, walking with stiff, tense steps onto the battlefield amid the ruins.

The knife's hilt was wrapped in coarse, stiff cloth strips. By now, the cloth had been completely soaked through by the sweat seeping from Shalba's palm, making it feel somewhat slippery in his grip.

Before heading onto the battlefield, Shalba had taken a deep drink of water. It was the last of the drinking water he carried on him. Once he finished it, there would be no more.

Ever since the passage leading out of these ruins had completely collapsed in a terrifying upheaval of earth and mountains a week ago, all the Prospectors had fallen into terror and despair.

Shalba was only eighteen this year, a young Prospector. Like so many worn-out tales passed down among Prospectors, his father had been a Prospector, so he too had become one. He did not know who his mother was. Ever since he was old enough to understand, he had followed his father into the ranks of the Prospectors, living a drifting life under open skies.

His father had died two years ago. Before he passed, his greatest wish for Shalba had been for him to settle down—to go to a human city, find a job that could put food on the table, then find a woman and live a good life...

Until a week ago, he had never understood why his father had held such hopes for him. Only now did he understand. But... it was