There was no sunrise in the Bloodsoul Mine. Only the vibrating stone siren emitted a bright red light, signaling the start of a new workday—or for us, an extension of our sentence. My body still ached and bruised from the impact with the stone wall.
But the pain was drowned out by the cold of death that spread from my gut. "Spring of Darkness." I was aware of its presence all the time now, like a malignant tumor slowly sucking away my essence. "You." The voice was like a hacksaw. The Head Slave—who I learned was called Borok—was already standing in front of our iron-mesh cell.
His hand held a thin wooden plank. "Wa Lang. Toxic Tunnel. Sector 4. Main channel cleaning." He spat out the words with a satisfied smile. Several other slaves who heard groaned in sympathy or simply withdrew, hoping not to be next. Old Bangka, sleeping in the corner of the cell, opened one eye.
There was a flash of warning in it before he looked away. I was forced to my feet and marched down the descending tunnel. The air grew stale and damp. The previously pungent odor had now turned into a metallic, stinging scent, like copper and sulfur mixed together. I felt dizzy after a few breaths. The Toxic Tunnel.
The name wasn't an exaggeration. Sector 4 was a large, low-ceilinged cavern. Down the center ran a wide, slowly boiling, neon-green sludge. Bubbles of toxic gas erupted from the surface, releasing clouds of greenish steam that made my eyes sting. Several blackened, stiff slave bodies lay on the edge, serving as a grim warning to the others.
My task: to clear a clogged stone pipe at the head of the drain, using an old shovel and a rusty bucket. No protective gear. Only a tattered cloth wrapped around my face, which was clearly useless against the poison in the air. "May your 'Seed' ripen quickly, you piece of trash," Borok growled before leaving me, along with a Clan overseer who stood far away at the entrance, unconcerned. I stood frozen, staring at the green inferno before my eyes. Fear froze my blood.
This was an execution disguised as duty. Take a breath. Think. The voice in my own head, the remnants of Earth's reason, tried to break through the panic. Neon green mud. Boiling without any discernible flame. Metallic vapors.
Most likely containing copper sulfate or arsenic compounds... or some unknown spiritual mixture. My knowledge of chemistry was limited. But I remembered one principle: poison can often be neutralized. Or at least, diluted.
My eyes scanned the cave. A small stream of water trickled from a crack in the rock wall, far from the poison drain. The water was clear. It was a bright spot. Then, there were the plants. Strange ferns that grew in the most toxic areas, close to the steam.
They were deep purple and looked thriving. Hyperaccumulators? Plants that actually liked poison and absorbed it into their tissues? On Earth, there were such plants for heavy metals.
A crazy, reckless, and extremely risky plan began to form in my head. I wouldn't clean anything. Not their way. I grabbed a bucket and filled it with the clear water from the drip on the wall. Then, with a shovel, I carefully removed some of the purple ferns, making sure to take the roots. I soaked it in a bucket of water, crushing it with a shovel until the water turned a murky purple.
I didn't know what I was doing. It was just a guess based on cursory observation. But it was better than dying from inhaling poison.
With a cloth soaked in plain water, I covered my nose and mouth more tightly, then approached the clogged pipe. Instead of digging right away, I poured the purple water the plant had soaked in around the blockage. Ssssss— The green vapor rising from the mud hissed upon contact with my purple liquid.
The metallic scent lessened, replaced by a musty, earthy scent. It was working! The plant contained something that could neutralize the poison, or at least precipitate it. With a little more courage, I began to dig at the blockage, occasionally pouring in my homemade "potion" to suppress the poisonous vapors.
The work was slow, tedious, and tense. Every breath was a game of roulette. But I was still alive. In the midst of my work, I felt something strange. The "Dark Seed" in my stomach, usually still and cool, suddenly pulsed weakly. It was like a faint, warm flow of energy, coming from... the neutralized poison vapor? Is this Seedling... absorbing something? Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. It wasn't Borok.
It was the Clan Overseer who had been standing at the door. He was a man with sharp eyes and a cold stare that made me freeze. His black uniform contrasted sharply with my rags.
He didn't speak. He just scanned the cave. His eyes landed on my bucket of purple liquid, then on the fern I'd pulled out, and finally on the pipe that had begun to flow smoothly again—without me being poisoned or knocked unconscious.
Then, his eyes met mine. It wasn't anger or violence I saw, but something more dangerous: curiosity. He approached, his steps silent. I tried not to tremble. "How did you learn that trick?" his voice was low, almost a whisper, but full of authority.
My mind was spinning. Claiming to be from Earth? Crazy. They'd think I was a monster or an experiment. "I... noticed those plants, sir," I replied, trying to sound modest. "They thrive in toxic places. I thought maybe they could resist the poison. Just a guess." "A guess," he said, mirroring me. A faint, unwarm smile appeared on his lips. "A guess that managed to keep the 'fertilizer' alive for three hours in the Toxic Tunnel. Longer than any other." He picked up a fern I'd left behind. "Your name?"
"Wa Lang, Sir." "Wa Lang," he said, seeming to taste the word. "The Grasshopper. A fitting name. You're persistent and annoying." He tossed the plant into the toxic sludge. "You'll come back here tomorrow. There will be more blocked channels. Your 'guess' will be tested again."
He turned and left, leaving me alone in the toxic cave, with my heart pounding and a terrifying realization. I had survived. I had attracted attention. And in this world, attention is a double-edged sword. It could be my ticket out of this hole, or the knife that would kill me more quickly.
I looked at the "Dark Seed" in my stomach. It felt... less than before. Had it actually absorbed something? Had the neutralization of the poison given me... nutrients? If so, this was a dangerous discovery. Because that meant, to survive and perhaps become strong, I had to play with a poison that could kill me at any moment.
The walk back to the cell felt like a nightmare. Borok stared at me with burning eyes, both amazed and angry that I was still alive. Old Bangka, for the first time, truly looked at me when I entered. His gaze was full of deep questioning. "You're alive," he whispered, a statement that sounded like an accusation. I just nodded, too tired to speak. He leaned in, his voice so low it was barely audible. "Be careful of Warden Yan. He's not like the others. He collects... strange things. The slaves who survive longer than they should are his collection." Sitting in the cold corner of the cell, I realized something.
Today's battle wasn't against poison or Borok. This was the first battle in a much larger war. A war to keep my "logic" from becoming the reason for my next death. And the "Spring of Darkness" in my stomach, now feeling slightly warmer, might be both a secret weapon and an executioner waiting for me. ---