The warmth in the pit of my stomach did not fade.
It was different from the cold of the cell floor and the despair gnawing at my bones. My "Seed of Darkness," which yesterday was just a lump of ice, now felt like a small, slumbering ember. Every time I gasped for breath—a memory of the toxic green vapor—the ember seemed to pulse weakly, responding to something.
I couldn't sleep. Old Man's warning echoed in my head. "Collection." That word was far more terrifying than Borok's crude threats. A collector wanted a preserved specimen, not a free human. What did Overseer Yan want from me? Did he want to study my "guesses" until they were exhausted, then discard me when I was no longer useful?
The stone siren sounded again. Day two in hell.
Borok himself opened my cell, his face as gloomy as the sky before a storm. "Come on, 'genius'. Overseer Yan is waiting for you." He sneered, but there was wariness behind his mockery. I had become an unpredictable variable in his simple world: violence and blind obedience.
I was taken not to the Toxic Tunnel, but to a small stone room attached to the main guard post. This wasn't a cell. It had a crude wooden table and chairs, and a map of the mine drawn on animal skin hung on the wall. An unimaginable luxury.
Overseer Yan sat behind the desk. In front of him were several sheets of parchment and a stone bowl containing a clear liquid that emitted a cold aura.
"Sit," he said without looking up. His hand was writing something with a fine brush.
I sat, feeling utterly out of place in this chair. My dirty, stinking clothes contrasted sharply with the orderly impression of this room.
"Borok's report states you cleared 70% of Sector 4's channel with minimal toxicity. A record for a new slave," he said, still writing. "Explain the process. Step by step."
This was a test. More frightening than facing the toxic sewer.
I took a breath. "I saw those purple ferns growing in the most toxic area, Sir. My logic... they must have a way to survive. Perhaps by absorbing or transforming the poison. I tried soaking them in clean water, to draw the 'substance' that neutralizes it into the water. Then, I used that water to suppress the toxic vapor before working."
He finally lifted his head. His sharp eyes stared at me, as if trying to peel back my skull and see the contents of my mind.
"'Substance'? 'Logic'?" He smirked, but there was a flash of interest in his eyes. "You don't speak like a mine slave. You don't even speak like a farmer or craftsman. You use words like... a failed scholar."
My chest tightened. He was too smart.
"In... my village, there was an old healer, Sir," I lied, trying to cover up my possibly carried-over Earth accent. "He often told stories about plants and poisons."
Overseer Yan clicked his tongue, knowing I was lying but choosing not to press. He slid the stone bowl of liquid towards me.
"This is 'Pure Spirit Water'. Very valuable. Drink."
The command was direct. I was confused. Why give me something valuable?
"Sir?"
"Your Seed of Darkness. Does it feel different since yesterday?" he asked, his voice flat.
A chill ran down my spine. He knew. He knew everything.
Trembling, I took the bowl and drank its contents. The liquid had no taste, but once it reached my stomach, an explosion of cool, clear energy spread throughout my body. The fatigue and muscle pain immediately faded. And the "Seed" in the pit of my stomach reacted. The small ember flared, greedily absorbing the energy, and for a moment, its warmth turned into a comfortable heat, filling my weakened body with a strength I hadn't felt since arriving in this world.
It was... intoxicating.
I looked at my hand. The dirt and small wounds were still there, but it felt... stronger.
"The Seed is a parasite," said Overseer Yan, observing my reaction carefully. "But like any parasite, it is a part of you now. It feeds on your spirit, but it can also give you power—if you know how to feed it."
He stood and walked to the stone window, looking out at the gloomy mine.
"The Clan teaches that the only way to feed the Seed is with the 'Nutrients' we provide—spiritual extracts from harvested slaves. That keeps the slaves dependent and obedient."
He turned, his eyes gleaming.
"But you... you fed it another way. By neutralizing the poison. You gave it energy purified from chaos. An unorthodox path. A path that, according to Clan rules, is heresy."
I froze. Heresy meant death. A death more terrible than becoming fertilizer.
"Don't worry," he said, reading my fear. "I have no interest in orthodoxy. I am interested in results. You are an interesting experiment, Wa Lang. A grasshopper that can sing in an unusual tune. I want to see how far your song can take you."
He returned to his desk and threw an object at me. A small, dull knife, but sharp enough to cut.
"Your task today is not in the Toxic Tunnel. Your task is to survive in the Regular Mining Sector. Borok has spread the word that you are the Overseer's 'golden boy'. Many other slaves are jealous and hateful. They will test you."
This was worse than I thought. He wasn't just testing my knowledge, but also my ability to survive in a hostile environment. He was placing me in a lion's den, just to see if the grasshopper could bite.
"And... my Seed?" I asked, still feeling the remnants of that warm energy.
"Continue your 'experiments'," he replied. "Report any changes. That is your only value to me at the moment."
I was escorted out by another guard. As I crossed the mining plaza towards the Mining Sector, hostile stares pierced me from all directions. Hateful whispers were heard.
"He's the one saved by Overseer Yan..."
"Cunning bastard..."
"Thinks he's better than us..."
Borok was waiting for me at the tunnel entrance, with two large slaves by his side. His smile was triumphant.
"Welcome back, 'genius'," he said. "Today, you're on my team. We'll be working in a new excavation area. Very... unstable."
He slapped my shoulder hard, and in a whisper only I could hear, he growled, "Let's see how far Yan's protection goes in there."
I clenched my fist, feeling the handle of the small knife in my tattered pocket. The "Seed" in my stomach felt warm, reminding me of the power I had just experienced. Fear was still there, but now there was something else: a cold anger.
I was no longer the desperate Wa Lang from Earth. I was Wa Lang, trapped between an overseer who wanted to make me a lab rat and fellow slaves who wanted to make me a victim.
Overseer Yan's experiment had begun. And one thing was certain: neither he nor Borok would guess what kind of "song" this grasshopper would sing when cornered.
The journey into the dark, narrow excavation felt like marching to an execution. But this time, I would not go obediently. The small knife in my pocket and the hungry "Seed" in my stomach were a promise of that.