The roar of meshing gears echoed through the enclosed shaft.
The copper lift car trembled slightly as it plunged underground at astonishing speed. The air pressure changed rapidly, making their eardrums feel faintly swollen.
"Depth: three hundred meters."
Tristan stood in a corner of the car, still holding that thick ledger. The yellow glow of the magic-stone lamp fell across his impassive face.
"My lord, although the 'Fishing in Troubled Waters' plan is theoretically feasible, it amounts to letting thieves return to their old trade."
"Tristan, do you know the difference between a thief and a constable?" Veylin watched the layers of rock flashing past outside the car, his tone even. "The only difference is that a constable draws his salary from the Lord's Manor."
"But that doesn't mean they deserve our trust."
"Pay them enough, and they'll be the most law-abiding 'constables' you could ask for."
The car jolted, then slowly came to a stop.
The heavy iron gates slid apart. A rush of hot, humid air hit them, thick with the smells of machine oil, metal, and the sea.
This was White Tower Territory's deepest secret-the Deep-Sea Resources Development Bureau.
Countless metal pillars covered in runes supported the vast underground cavern. Glowing moss and fluorescent ore studded the vaulted ceiling, illuminating the space as brightly as daylight.
In the distance, countless Worker Mantises gnawed at ore veins and rock walls, sending sparks flying.
But they were not the stars of the scene.
The stars were the figures moving among the scaffolding, mine carts, and Worker Mantises.
They had dark blue skin and four powerful arms, with thick tentacles or webbed legs forming their lower bodies. The Many-Armed Folk. Once overlords of the seabed, now White Tower Territory's "model employees."
"Move! That's copper ore from Pit Two! Don't block