CHAPTER 245: CHAPTER 245: DEPTHS

Torwan walked ahead with firm, purposeful strides, his long crimson cloak brushing against the stone floor beneath them. The corridor they followed was dimly lit by soft blue mana-lamps embedded into the stone walls, casting faint glows along the runes etched into the rock. The air was dense with the scent of iron, old smoke, and distant alchemical residue.

Behind him, Noel and Balthor trailed by a few steps, both clad in their formal outfits—Noel in his dark green suit, Balthor in deep crimson. Their masks still covered their faces, maintaining the guise of Estermont representatives. Their footsteps echoed faintly, though their voices did not. They spoke in near whispers, low enough that no one without magical enhancement or a specific item could hear them.

Noel kept his eyes ahead but leaned slightly toward Balthor. "This place turned out to be more than just an underground restaurant or a den for illegal bets," he murmured. "It has its own fighting arena too."

Balthor gave a quiet grunt. "Yeah. Honestly, I didn’t know all this was here. When I came the first time, I only heard about the bets and the arena. Seems like we’re uncovering layers of my brother’s empire I never knew existed."

"What do you make of it all?"

"That I don’t like a damn bit of it," Balthor replied in a grim tone. "But we can’t act rashly."

Noel gave a slight nod. "Agreed. If he’s got the king in his pocket, then he’s got the whole nation shielding him. And that’s not counting the students of Tharvaldur Institute of Arcane Might. He’s clearly controlling them—maybe through some spell or this enhancer he’s pushing. We can’t move unless we’re ready to risk them too... and I don’t like that option."

Balthor’s jaw tightened. "So he’s using the kids as test subjects now."

A brief pause.

"Now that I think about it," Balthor added, "aren’t you fighting one of the Tharvaldur kids tomorrow?"

Noel blinked, eyes widening slightly behind his mask. "You’re right... I am. The thing is, I don’t know if he’s supposed to win or lose against me. If he’s meant to lose and I win—it’s fine. But if he’s supposed to win and I defeat him... I might mess up their plans just by being me."

"So you’d be working both sides of the board."

"Exactly." Noel sighed. "But that means sacrificing one of their students."

Balthor glanced at him. "You already have something in mind, don’t you?"

"...Yeah." Noel hesitated, then muttered, "You don’t know this, but Charlotte—my girlfriend, red hair, hazel eyes—is actually the Saint. Charlotte, the Saint of this generation, she is just using an item to disguise her appearance."

Balthor nearly choked on his breath. "What!?"

Torwan, several paces ahead, turned around at the sudden outburst. "Is everything alright back there?"

Noel immediately raised a finger to his lips, signaling Balthor to stay quiet. He stepped forward with a calm smile. "Nothing, Sir Torwan. My companion just got a little... excited. We’re thrilled to see what we’re about to finalize."

Torwan chuckled lightly and turned back. "Understandable. This could be the start of a true revolution."

"That’s what we’re hoping for," Noel replied.

Torwan added over his shoulder, "And of course, all the credit will go to House Estermont."

The corridor opened into a wider chamber with a high-arched ceiling. Torwan approached a large door at the far end, gesturing for them to follow. Noel and Balthor did so, their expressions unreadable behind their masks—though beneath them, both bore the weight of a thousand questions.

Torwan pressed his palm against a glowing sigil on the metal door. With a low hum, the mechanism unlocked and swung open smoothly, revealing a narrow walkway lined with reinforced railings. As Noel and Balthor stepped through behind him, they stopped in unison—visibly stunned, though their masks kept their expressions hidden.

Below them stretched a vast underground facility—an industrial factory unlike anything Noel had seen in this world. It wasn’t mechanical in the modern sense, but a hybrid of dwarven engineering and magic infusion. Enormous rotating rings floated midair, powered by mana circuits etched into the very stone. Glowing blue conduits pulsed between platforms, feeding energy into furnaces and vats of swirling liquid. Steam hissed through copper pipes, and thick vents exhaled pale smoke that smelled faintly of alchemical compounds.

All around the production floor, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of dwarves moved with uncanny precision. Each wore a uniform marked with the crest of Tharvaldur, but none made a sound. Their actions were coordinated, almost automated, like they were under some kind of mental directive.

Balthor muttered under his breath, "By the forge..."

Noel didn’t respond. He was too focused on absorbing every detail. The entire facility was dedicated to one thing: mass production. Bottles, flasks, and containers were being filled with a soft glowing liquid—no doubt the enhancer Torwan had mentioned.

Torwan turned slightly toward them, raising his voice to be heard over the humming of arcane machinery.

"Well then. What do you think? This is where progress is born. A revolution, like I said."

Noel stepped to the railing and gazed down. ’So this is how they’re distributing it in such large quantities. Not just a few potions. They’re planning long-term supply. This will really be a hard blow if everything goes well for us.’

"We’ve spared no expense," Torwan continued proudly. "Each worker is trained, each vial inspected."

Noel replied calmly, "Impressive. It’s more advanced than I expected."

Torwan smiled. "Shall we return to the lounge and finalize the deal?"

Noel nodded. "Let’s."

The three turned from the railing. As they exited, the door closed behind them with another low pulse of mana—sealing away the quiet storm of industry beneath the surface.

They returned to the private lounge in silence, the weight of what they had seen lingering in the air like dense fog. On the table now rested two documents—identical sheets, neatly arranged, one for each party.

Torwan gestured toward them. "These are the contracts. No magic, no mana-binding. Just paper and ink, as discussed."

Noel nodded and sat down, Balthor taking his usual place beside him.

"Let me take a look," Noel said calmly, reaching for the document. He glanced over the lines quickly, but thoroughly enough to follow the key points. As expected, it was mostly fluff—non-binding statements of collaboration and shared goals. But one clause stood out, near the bottom: Distribution to begin immediately upon signature.

’Tch. That won’t work.’

Noel cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Mr. Torwan. There’s one thing that doesn’t quite align with our current plans."

Torwan raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"We still have several engagements across Elarith that require our attention. The Estermont family cannot begin distribution immediately. We’d need at least a month before moving into the Valor continent."

Torwan leaned back, visibly displeased for a moment. But then he exhaled. "Hmph... I see. I suppose I can’t force a partner to act before they’re ready." He reached for a quill and scratched out the line, replacing it with: Distribution to begin no sooner than thirty days from signing.

"There. That should suffice."

"Much appreciated," Noel said, then picked up the quill and signed—scribbling a name he’d fabricated in advance, elegant and unmistakably noble.

Torwan took his turn and signed the other copy. Then he stood and extended a hand across the table.

Noel took it without hesitation. "A pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise. I trust this is just the beginning of something big."

Noel forced a small smile. "Let’s hope so."

Just as Noel and Balthor turned toward the door, Torwan’s voice stopped them.

"Wait."

They paused, Noel glancing back over his shoulder.

Torwan reached into the inner pocket of his crimson coat and pulled out a folded parchment. "This contains the results of tomorrow’s matches," he said smoothly.

He held it out toward Noel, who stepped forward and accepted it without a word.

"Thanks."

With a courteous dip of the head, Noel turned again, Balthor followed close behind, his expression unreadable beneath the red mask.

The hallway outside was quiet, the muffled noise of the hidden world behind them fading into the distance. Noel tucked the folded sheet into his inner pocket without looking at it.