Black Owl stood in the shadows at the foot of the city wall, looking down at the little one wolfing down bread in front of him.
He had just "bought" the bread from the bakery on the corner, which had only just opened. Its owner was a plump, middle-aged woman who had reopened after the storm. The oven was still burning, and the aroma of bread drifted halfway down the street.
He had placed a few silver coins on the counter, picked up two loaves, and turned to leave. The owner had called, "Your change!" behind him, but he had not looked back.
After all, he had happened to rummage those coins out of some abandoned house last night. Whose house it was, when the coins had been lost, or whether the owner would return-he did not care.
Fuyila ate with intense concentration. Her cheeks bulged as she took little bites along the edge of the bread, as though she were eating something that needed to be savored.
The way she ate was different from last night-last night, she had been starving, gobbling down her food as though she wanted to chew up the bones and swallow those too. This morning, she had the leisure to eat slowly, one bite at a time, tasting the wheaty aroma and faint sweetness as the bread dissolved in her mouth.
Black Owl watched her for a few seconds, his enclosed faceplate turning slightly.
"How did you find me?" King Ghidorah asked through Black Owl, a trace of genuine puzzlement in his voice.
Early that morning, he had moved from the city wall to the ruined district in the east of the city, intending to get a full view of the city in the morning light. Yet before he could even settle into place, he had sensed a little tail behind him.
She had stayed about fifty paces behind him, neither too close nor too far, like a fish he could not shake off.
He had frozen in surprise.
Hadn't Apekus said this intelligent unit was "good at concealment" and "could blend into crowds unnoticed"? Was this the best treasure a world administrator who had lived for who knew how many years could offer? It couldn't even hide from an eleven- or twelve-year-old girl?
Though this little girl wasn't ordinary...
He silently lowered his assessment of Apekus another notch.
Fuyila looked up, bread still in her mouth, and blinked her red eyes at the question. She swallowed her food, pointed at her nose, then pointed at Black Owl.
"Mm... smelled it. Your scent."
Her voice was quiet, her tone matter-of-fact, as though she were describing something perfectly normal.
Black Owl fell silent.
Scent?
Did his avatar have a scent? This intelligent unit was a technological creation of the Sixth Era. Its shell was some unknown alloy, and inside were energy circuits and magical patterns, with no biological tissue that could produce any scent.
If she could smell even this, that little girl's nose had to be some sort of supernatural sensory organ.
Hmm... perhaps she had the bloodline of some monster skilled at tracking? A dog? A wolf? A fox?
King Ghidorah controlled Black Owl to look Fuyila over a few more times. Long white hair, red eyes, and two crimson horns at her temples-nothing about her looked canine. She had no ears-at least, none of the upright, furry kind.
Forget it.
"Are you full?" Black Owl changed the subject.
Fuyila stuffed the last bite of bread into her mouth, chewed hard, swallowed, then wiped the crumbs from the corners of her mouth with her sleeve.
"I'm full."
Black Owl nodded.
Fuyila looked up, wanting to say something else, but the black figure before her was already gone. He had not walked away or hidden in the shadows. He had vanished completely before her eyes, as though he had never existed.
She blinked, then blinked again.
The morning breeze swept past the foot of the city wall, lifting a few dead leaves and sending them spinning across the ground. Sunlight spilled through gaps in the clouds onto the empty patch of ground before her. Apart from her own crooked shadow, there was nothing there.
Outside the city, at the Magic Nexus Mine.
Nuoyaji and Yimulei stood side by side at the edge of the ruins, facing the mine entrance buried beneath the mudslide. The morning light was a little brighter than before, most of the mist had dispersed, and the distant ridgeline was much clearer. Yet in broad daylight, the devastation at the mine looked all the more glaring.
Rubble, dirt, broken timber, twisted rails, and overturned mine carts lay piled in layers, like a mass grave without a headstone.
"I've already sent people to investigate the old mine passage you mentioned." Yimulei clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the ruins. His tone was level, as though discussing a routine task already arranged. "If the situation is as you said, I'll assign people to clear it as soon as possible.
"But..." He paused. "Until the grain arrives, the people in the city still need to eat. I'll do my best to keep grain prices stable over the next few days. If necessary, we'll have to draw on the viscount's grain reserves first."
Nuoyaji nodded without saying more. Yimulei was a clever man who did not need to be taught how to do his job. What Nuoyaji could do was provide information Yimulei did not have, then let this pragmatic man make his own judgments and act on them.
"I'll go take a look over there." Nuoyaji tilted his chin toward the collapsed mine entrance.
Yimulei glanced at him without stopping him, merely offering a quiet warning. "Be careful. It's still unstable over there."
Nuoyaji set off, stepping over rubble and mud as he headed deeper into the mine site.
The collapsed area was even larger than he had expected. The mudslide had poured down from halfway up the mountain, its impact flattening everything around the mine entrance. Rubble and dirt had formed a small mountain nearly two stories tall.
He stood before the mound of rubble, looked up, then lowered his gaze to the shattered wood and scraps of iron at his feet.
Memories of his previous life surged up like a tide.
It had been after the War of the Kings, when the situation on the continent had stabilized somewhat and the empire had begun large-scale repairs to infrastructure damaged during the war.
Mine collapses had occurred frequently during that period. It had not just been Luoweida; several mining cities in the southern empire had suffered similar cave-ins.
Scholars had argued for a long time. Some claimed the geological structures were deteriorating, others said excessive mining had disrupted the balance of the earth veins, and still others blamed structural damage from earthquakes during the war. They had argued back and forth, but none had provided a definitive answer.
Nuoyaji had not been particularly interested in those debates at the time, only occasionally hearing a few remarks from his colleagues.
He had been more concerned with the fighting on the front lines and the movements of the demon gods. Against that backdrop, mine collapses hardly counted as important news.
But now, standing here and looking at the storm-ravaged ruins before him, the answer was plain to see.
It had not been geological deterioration, excessive mining, or the aftermath of earthquakes. It had been the storm. That unprecedented superstorm that had covered half the continent.
Landslides, mudslides, and scouring rain-the forces of nature had spiraled utterly out of control at that moment, effortlessly crushing mines that people had painstakingly developed over decades into dust, as easily as crushing an egg.
Nuoyaji took a deep breath, suppressed his surging thoughts, and continued deeper into the rubble. The footing grew increasingly difficult, with loose stones and slippery mud. Every step required care; the slightest misstep could send his foot into a gap or make him slip.
"Hey-" A rough voice came from behind him. "Watch out for falling rocks if you go any farther! It's unstable in there!"
Nuoyaji turned to see the dark-skinned mercenary captain standing on a nearby pile of rubble, one hand on his hip and the other waving at him, signaling him not to go any farther.
The captain wore a look that said, "Don't make trouble for me," but there was still a trace of genuine concern in his voice.
"Thanks for the warning." Nuoyaji nodded to him but did not stop.
He merely slowed down, choosing his footing more carefully as he inched toward the mine passage entrance sealed by rubble.
Standing before the opening, he could see the layers of stone and dirt more clearly. At the bottom were the passage's original timber supports, snapped and crushed, jutting every which way from the mud.
Above them were the large rocks brought down by the landslide, angular and varied in size. The largest stood taller than a person, wedged firmly in the center of the entrance like a massive lock, completely cutting off the inside from the outside.
At the very top lay loose dirt and gravel that fell at the slightest touch with a faint rustling sound.
The guards and mercenaries had begun clearing it yesterday. They had worked for most of the day and moved plenty of rocks, yet their progress had been minimal.
Those large rocks were too heavy for even several people to lift together. They could only pry them loose bit by bit with crowbars, then push them away. At this rate, it would take at least several more days to dig out a passage.
Several days.
Nuoyaji frowned.
If there really were people inside, they could not last several days.
He closed his eyes, sank his awareness into his body, and gathered his meager mana, channeling it into both ears. This was the first practical spell he had learned in his previous life-Supernatural Hearing.
It required neither high-level mana nor complex incantations. Simply concentrating mana around the auditory nerves could greatly enhance the ears' sensitivity, allowing the caster to hear sounds ordinary people could not.
In his previous life, he had used this spell countless times on the battlefield to listen for enemy movements, pinpoint ambushes, and even find survivors in ruins. This spell had saved his life, and the lives of many of his companions.
On the other side of the rubble was dead silence.
It was not the silence of a quiet, empty place, but the silence of sound blocked by something so thick and heavy that it could not pass through.
He could hear only his own heartbeat, water dripping through gaps in the rubble, and the distant moan of wind sweeping over the ruins. Those sounds mingled, muddled and indistinct, like a radio tuned to the wrong frequency.
Nuoyaji did not give up. He increased his mana a little more. His ears grew slightly warm, and his hearing sharpened again.
Then he heard it.
It was not dripping water, wind, or the scrape of falling rubble.
It was footsteps.