Chapter 198 (Thank you for your support, Isaac Boyles!)

Gaius came to slowly, as though surfacing from a lake of mud.
His eyelids were heavy; his breath rasped dry against the back of his throat. Every inch of his body screamed with dull, aching protest — muscles cramped, mana veins sluggish and knotted.

The first thing he noticed was cold stone beneath his back. The surface wasn’t smooth like worked marble — it was rough, imperfect, cut from a mountain and left unfinished. It drank the warmth from his skin until he could feel the bite of it in his bones.

Then came the weight.
Not just fatigue — pressure. His wrists, ankles, and chest were bound by something thicker than rope. When he tried to move, the sound of iron links scraped faintly against rock. The chains didn’t rattle; they groaned. Heavy, rune-marked things that pulsed faintly with mana, leeching his strength every time he flexed against them.

His mouth was desert-dry. His tongue stuck to the roof of it.
He’d lost track of time — could’ve been hours, could’ve been days. His stomach twisted, empty and quiet. Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily, a rhythm that only made the thirst worse.

A dim light flickered across the walls — a single torch wedged into a slot in the stone. The flame’s glow bent and wavered, sending orange and red shadows crawling over what looked like runes carved into the chamber itself. He could feel the magic in them. It hummed faintly, like a sleeping beast breathing beside his ear.

Every blink made the room swim. Every inhalation drew the acrid sting of burned tallow and damp rock deeper into his lungs. His head throbbed in uneven waves — exhaustion mixed with the dizzy sickness of mana drain. He’d been here too long. Much too long.

When he finally turned his head toward the sound of movement, the world listed. Boots on stone, soft and deliberate. A figure emerged from the edge of the light, shadow first, then a face half-lit by fire. Calm eyes studied him with the faint, easy interest of someone examining a rare artifact rather than a man.

The figure tilted their head.
Their tone came smooth, polite — almost gentle.

“Good morning, Gaius.”
A thin smile curved in the half-light.
“Are you comfortable enough?”

Gaius’s groan was a swallowed, ragged sound. The voice had a familiar cadence—too smooth, too pleased. Recognition flickered in his fogged mind like a lantern finding a mark.

Gaius groaned low, breath hissing between his teeth as his body shifted weakly against the chains.
That voice—smooth, arrogant, too damn pleased with itself. He knew it.

“Aaron,” he rasped, forcing the word out through cracked lips. “Figures. One of Meira’s golden boys.”

The figure in the torchlight smiled, the motion slow and deliberate. He straightened his coat and gave a polite nod, the kind reserved for social events—not interrogation chambers.
“Well now,” Aaron said, tone light. “No need for masks between old acquaintances, eh?”

Gaius’s jaw tightened. “Why’s one of Meira’s top guilders slumming with rats?”

Aaron laughed—sharp, genuine amusement that echoed off the stone walls. “Slumming? Oh, old man
 you’ve got it backward.” He leaned close, grin widening until Gaius could see the faint glint of a gold tooth. “I don’t work for an underworld guild. I run one.”

The statement hit like a stone to the gut. Gaius opened his mouth to speak—then Aaron’s fist came down.
The crunch was immediate and wet. Pain exploded through Gaius’s hand, fingers bending in directions they weren’t meant to. He swallowed a scream, breathing through his nose, every pulse of agony sending black spots across his vision.

Aaron’s smile didn’t falter. “There we go,” he murmured, studying the damage like an artist admiring a fresh brushstroke. “That’s the problem with you old-timers. You think the guilds are still about honor and banners.”

He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his gloves. “You killed fifty of my people up in the mountains. Fifty. I should be furious, but honestly?” His shoulders rose and fell in an easy shrug. “You did me a favor. I’ll just have to find more
 disillusioned citizens of the Empire. Train them, feed them purpose, and let them bleed for coin like the rest.”

He tilted his head, eyes glittering with mock gratitude. “So thank you, Gaius. You’ve cleaned house for me. Now I get to rebuild with sharper tools and with more money as well.”

Gaius said nothing, breathing ragged, blood dripping from his ruined hand to the cold stone floor. He met Aaron’s gaze with the kind of quiet fury that could outlast mountains.

Aaron only chuckled, stepping back toward the torchlight. “We’ll talk again soon,” he said softly. “Once you’re done pretending you’ve still got a chance.”

Then he was gone, boots echoing down the tunnel, leaving Gaius chained to the stone, breath shallow, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air—and rage burning through the fog of pain like a spark in dry tinder.

Gaius coughed, a wet, guttural sound scraping up from his throat. His voice came out rough, but steady enough.
“Then get it over with,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. “Kill me and be done with it.”

Aaron chuckled — a low, mocking sound that echoed lazily through the chamber.
“Tempting,” he said, tapping Gaius’s bruised jaw with two fingers. “Truly tempting. But I’m afraid that pleasure isn’t mine to take.”

He straightened, brushing his hands together as if to rid himself of dust. The torchlight caught on his grin, sharp and wolfish.
“I haven’t been paid to kill you, Gaius. Only to keep you breathing. Apparently, someone thinks you’re still useful.”

Gaius turned his head weakly, the movement scraping his skin against the cold stone. “Useful?” he repeated, bitterness coating the word.

Aaron spread his arms, pacing a slow circle around the table. “Could be a few things,” he said, tone light, almost conversational. “Maybe they want to pick your brain — you’re one of the last geomancers who can bend mana into solid earth without a conduit, after all. A walking relic of a dying art. That kind of thing fetches a high price.”

He stopped behind Gaius, voice lowering until it was almost a whisper.
“Or maybe they just want to make an example out of you. The great Gaius Stonefist, once a pillar of Meira’s guild system, rotting in a hole. That sort of message carries weight.”

Aaron’s laugh followed — sharp, ugly, genuine.
“Hell, maybe they’ll parade you in front of the new recruits. Tell them this is what happens when you dig too deep in other people’s business.”

He leaned close, breath hot against Gaius’s ear.
“Don’t worry. When the time comes, you’ll find out exactly what you’re worth. Until then
”

He grabbed Gaius’s broken hand and squeezed. The old geomancer hissed, his breath cutting short.
“Try not to die on me,” Aaron whispered, eyes gleaming. “I don’t get paid if the merchandise spoils.”

Then he let go, the sound of his laughter echoing down the stone corridor as he walked away, leaving Gaius alone with the flickering torchlight — and the unbearable weight of being needed by the wrong people.

Since the day Ludger, Viola, and Luna had left Meira, Gaius had not stopped working.
The old geomancer had always preferred the quiet rhythm of his empty guild, but after the ambush in the iron golem labyrinth, something gnawed at him. It hadn’t been a random attack. So he started tracing the patterns left behind, missing delvers, unmarked carriages traveling after midnight.

At first, the pieces didn’t fit. The Empire’s agents claimed it was a rogue faction of smugglers, but the trails always led back to the same shadow: a nameless guild operating below the surface, through the tunnels under Meira. An underworld guild.

Gaius followed rumors like a bloodhound. He bribed tavern owners, leaned on old favors, even dug through sealed guild records that still smelled of dust and fear. Step by step, he began to connect the dots: the missing shipments, the deaths of minor mages, the sudden appearance of exotic materials in the black markets. Each clue pointed to one thing — an organization buried deep, clever enough to use the guild system as a mask.

Finally, he found what looked like a break — a string of contacts working near the mountain range northeast of Meira. The signs were perfect. Too perfect.
The meeting point, the timing, the coded messages — all too clean.

The moment he stepped into that valley, he felt it in his bones.
No birds. No wind. Just silence, heavy and deliberate.

Then the ground erupted. Traps hidden in the soil, wards that shimmered to life in circles around him. Figures emerged from the mist, cloaked and efficient — not bandits, not amateurs. They were waiting for him.

All the leads he’d followed, every breadcrumb, every whisper — they’d been planted.

He’d been herded into the open.

Now, lying broken and chained in the dark, Gaius could still remember the feeling of mana burning out of him as he fought to the last. The smell of scorched earth, the sound of bones breaking — not his, theirs. Fifty men, maybe more. All buried under stone before they brought him down.

Just thinking about it made his blood boil, even through the haze of exhaustion.
Right now, if he’d had even a single drop of energy left, he would’ve brought the whole mountain down on Aaron’s smug face.

The faint rumble came first—subtle enough that Gaius almost mistook it for his pulse hammering in his ears. Then the chains at his wrists began to tremble, dust drifting down from the ceiling in thin, lazy trails.

Aaron stopped, his grin faltering. The torchlight flickered with the vibration, shadows jumping across the walls like startled ghosts.
He straightened, chair scraping against stone as his eyes snapped toward Gaius. “What the hell was that?”

Gaius didn’t answer. He barely could, but there was the faintest glint in his eyes—half pain, half defiance.

Aaron’s jaw tightened. He studied the old man for a long second, searching his face for any sign of focus, any twitch of concentration. “You didn’t
” he muttered. “No. Impossible.”

He stepped closer, eyeing the bindings that wrapped around Gaius’s body. The runes along the chain links pulsed a steady red, siphoning mana with every heartbeat. Even a Master-ranked geomancer couldn’t cast a spark under that kind of drain.

And yet, the ground trembled again—slightly stronger this time.

Aaron frowned. “Tch. Don’t tell me these idiots built this place over a fault line.”

He gestured sharply to two of his subordinates standing near the tunnel mouth. “You two—check the perimeter. I want to know what’s shaking my damn floor.”

They nodded and disappeared into the shadows, boots echoing down the corridor.

Aaron exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. “Probably a cave-in,” he muttered to himself. “Those idiots caused quite a stir up in the mountain. Wouldn’t surprise me if the aftermath’s still settling.”

Still, his gaze lingered on Gaius a moment longer—just long enough for uncertainty to flicker behind his eyes. Then he clicked his tongue and turned away, muttering, “Doesn’t matter. Even if you could move a pebble, old man, you’d kill yourself trying.”

The chains hummed quietly in the silence that followed. And under the steady siphon of mana, Gaius closed his eyes, letting a slow, almost imperceptible smile creep across his face.

Half a day passed. The torches burned lower, their light dimming into long, orange streaks across the damp stone walls. Aaron sat in his chair, one boot resting on the table’s edge, arms folded. His mood soured with each tick of silence.

Still no word from the men he’d sent out. Not even a single runner.

He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “What the hell are they doing out there?” he muttered under his breath. The surviving crew — the few who hadn’t gone scouting — had already been sent to deliver news of the mission’s “success” to their client. That left him with a handful of guards, a chained mage, and a growing sense that something wasn’t right.

He didn’t like it. The mountain had gone quiet after the initial tremors, but there was an itch under his skin that wouldn’t go away.

Aaron stood, glancing back toward Gaius. The old geomancer lay still, eyes half-closed, expression unreadable. The flickering torchlight painted the wrinkles of his face like scars carved into stone.

Aaron frowned. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “You’re not fooling anyone. You can’t move a damn pebble in those chains.”

He paced once, twice, then cursed under his breath. Leaving Gaius unattended wasn’t smart, but neither was sitting here blind. The tunnels stretched for kilometers; if the ceiling started collapsing or someone else was moving in the area, he needed to know.

Then the ground answered his hesitation for him.

A low, rolling rumble passed beneath his feet — deeper this time, heavy enough to make the lantern hooks rattle against the walls. A few chunks of stone broke loose from the ceiling, scattering near his boots.

Aaron flinched back instinctively, eyes snapping upward. “Oh, come on!”

He spat a curse and shoved his chair aside. The sound of rock grinding somewhere deeper in the tunnels followed, a slow groan like the mountain exhaling.

He grabbed his coat, glared once more at Gaius — who still hadn’t moved — and hissed, “If you’re playing tricks, old man, I’ll make sure you regret it when I get back.”

Without another word, Aaron turned and strode out, boots pounding against the stone corridor. His torchlight disappeared into the dark, leaving the chamber to its silence — and to Gaius, who lay staring up at the ceiling, listening to the faint, rhythmic tremors that were no longer random.

They had a pulse. A sense he recognized.

And for the first time in days, a flicker of something that might’ve been hope stirred behind his tired eyes.