Chapter 53: The Black-Iron Mount
The mines of Moster, known as the Black-Iron Mount, were nothing like the modest digging sites back in the Starter Zone. This place was colossal, sprawling across the mountainside like a living organism. A network of haul roads twisted and turned toward massive open pits, while deeper within, an intricate maze of tunnels and shafts branched endlessly into the earth. Without a careful sense of direction and a steady trail of markers, it would be alarmingly easy to lose your way and wander in darkness for days.
The upper layers of the mountain yielded common resources like iron and copper, materials that most players could gather without too much trouble. But far below, hidden in the deeper veins, lay the true prizes. Tungsten and silver. Both were critical for crafting mid-tier equipment, yet silver stood above the rest. Even a small amount could dramatically enhance an item’s quality, and many believed it was the key ingredient behind forging Silver-grade gear.
Unsurprisingly, the Black-Iron Mount had become the most fiercely contested location in the region. Yet despite its value, no player faction had managed to claim it. The local authorities maintained strict control over what was known as the Core Zone, the deepest sections of the mine where silver and tungsten were extracted. The perimeter of that area was heavily guarded by high-level NPC sentries, far beyond the reach of players who had not even broken past Level 20. Challenging them was nothing short of suicide.
For most players, that meant silver remained frustratingly out of reach. The only legal way to obtain it was through government-controlled mineral exchanges, where supply was tightly restricted and prices were kept artificially high. At this stage of the game, few were willing to invest such a rare resource into low-level gear. It felt wasteful, almost criminal, to use something so valuable before reaching higher tiers.
Even so, the mines remained one of the busiest hubs in the entire game.
Carriages moved constantly between the city and the mountain, delivering fresh waves of players and carrying exhausted prospectors back to Moster. For them, time mattered more than coin. The five-silver fare was negligible compared to the profits to be made. In a city teeming with hundreds of thousands of players, the demand for raw materials was insatiable. A single stack of high-quality iron could easily sell for several gold coins, making every trip worthwhile.
Amid the constant motion and noise, one figure stood quietly at the edge of the mining camp.
VoidShadow, clad in his Rogue leathers and looking faintly worn from travel, stared up at the towering mountain. His eyes traced the dark tunnel mouths carved into its surface, each one resembling the gaping maw of some buried beast. As carts rattled endlessly in and out, hauling ore from the depths, he felt a dull ache begin to form behind his eyes.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
The scale of the place was far beyond anything he had expected. What should have been a straightforward search had suddenly turned into something much more complicated. How was he supposed to find one person in a place like this?
Regret crept in almost immediately. He had tried to save a few coins, assuming the mines would resemble the smaller operations he was used to. A handful of tunnels, a manageable crowd, something he could search methodically. Instead, he was faced with a chaotic sprawl filled with thousands of players and NPCs.
If he had just taken the carriage from the start, he might have stayed close enough to track his target properly.
When he had left the stables in Moster, he had reasoned that anyone heading to the mines would be there for a while. Running the distance using his Agility had seemed like a practical choice at the time. Now, standing at the edge of the camp, he realized just how badly he had miscalculated.
After watching the flow of people for several minutes, VoidShadow exhaled slowly and stepped away from the main path. He found a quieter spot near the carriage station and sat down, letting his back rest against a wooden post.
If the man had taken a carriage here, then sooner or later he would take one back. That much was certain. No one in their right mind would walk twenty miles through monster-infested terrain just to save five silver coins.
VoidShadow had barely settled in when a voice drifted from the shadows behind him, carrying a faint note of amusement.
"Waiting for someone? Or just waiting for me?"
He reacted instantly.
Without hesitation, VoidShadow threw himself into a lateral roll, his hand already moving toward his dagger. He came up in a low crouch, eyes snapping toward the source of the voice.
A young man stood there, relaxed and smiling, as though the entire situation amused him. His weapons remained sheathed, his posture loose, almost casual.
Heat crept up the back of VoidShadow’s neck. There was no mistaking it. The man in front of him was his target.
Night-Stalker
The very person he had been trying to track down had somehow ended up behind him instead.
Flynn tightened his grip on his dagger, tapping the hilt against a nearby wooden post with a steady thud-thud-thud. "I asked you a question. You looking for me?"
The man, VoidShadow, said nothing. Instead, his figure flickered and vanished.
Stealth.
Flynn let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Really? You’re going to try that on me? That’s like trying to pick a professional’s pocket."
He stilled completely, his posture relaxing just enough to appear casual, as if he had already lost interest and returned to admiring the mountain. In reality, every sense he had was stretched to its limit.
He had once believed that Stealth in this world was absolute, a perfect invisibility that erased all traces of a person’s presence. In the real world, that kind of concealment didn’t exist. No matter how skilled someone was, there were always signs. A shift in air, the faint sound of movement, the subtle disturbance of the environment.
He had assumed the game simplified all of that. Unless there was a massive level difference, a hidden player was simply invisible.
But his encounter with Edruson in the Ceylan Ruins had shattered that assumption.
The old man had seen straight through his Stealth, explaining that even a hidden Rogue displaced the air around them. Level mattered, but it wasn’t everything. There were tells, small and subtle, waiting to be noticed.
Now, with a hostile Rogue circling him, Flynn finally had the chance to test that theory.
He focused, letting instinct take over.
A faint sensation prickled at the back of his neck. Not sight, not sound, but something deeper. The awareness of being watched, the quiet pressure of intent.
He could feel the threat. He could sense the direction. But he still couldn’t see the man.
Even for him, breaking through a high-level Stealth in an instant was impossible. He wasn’t Edruson. Not yet.
Several meters away, VoidShadow circled carefully, his gaze locked onto Flynn.
He was a mercenary, though not the official kind. Formal Mercenary Guild teams required Level 20 to form, but independent contractors operated under looser rules. VoidShadow had taken advantage of that, accepting jobs that paid well but demanded precision. Most of them involved eliminating other players.
In truth, he was less a mercenary and more a hitman.
The previous night, he had accepted an anonymous contract. The target: Night-Stalker. The file had included a hand-drawn portrait. The game system didn’t allow screenshots or recorded footage to be used as quest items, but a skilled artist could create a likeness accurate enough for recognition.
This one had been flawless.
At first, it had simply been the only available job, then the announcement came. A system-wide broadcast declaring that Night-Stalker had achieved a Glorious Achievement in the Ceylan Ruins.
The news had left VoidShadow conflicted. There was a flicker of concern, the realization that his target might be far more dangerous than expected. But beneath that was something else, something darker.
Excitement.
The chance to test himself against someone like that was rare.
After the achievement, Flynn had logged off, and when he returned, he had hidden his nameplate. VoidShadow had spent hours watching the Rogue Guild, knowing that eventually, every Rogue had to return there.
His patience had paid off.
He had followed Flynn to the stables, watched him board the carriage, and tracked him all the way to the mines.
And yet, one question still bothered him. How had the man ended up behind him earlier?
He had been careful, moving through shadows, keeping his distance. It didn’t make sense. He wanted to ask, but pride kept the question locked behind his teeth.
Minutes passed in tense silence, but Flynn didn’t move. VoidShadow’s patience began to wear thin. A thought crept into his mind.
Did he disconnect?
He edged closer, testing the possibility. Bending down, he picked up a small pebble and tossed it lightly toward Flynn’s feet.
No reaction. VoidShadow frowned.
’You’ve got to be kidding me.’
Still, he couldn’t afford to let the opportunity slip away. Even if it turned into a proper fight, he trusted his skills. Dungeon performance didn’t always translate into player combat.
He moved in.
Closing the distance in a blur, he slipped behind Flynn and struck. His blade flared with energy as he activated Keen Strike, aiming directly for the spine.
The moment he committed, everything went wrong.
The world seemed to twist. A flash of silver cut through his vision. Instead of a defenseless back, he found himself face to face with a grin that was far too wide, and far too knowing.
Pain followed.
A sharp line tore across his chest, followed instantly by a second strike that carved upward from his abdomen to his sternum. The tip of the dagger flicked beneath his chin, snapping his head back.
For a split second, his mind refused to process what had happened.
’Wait.’
That wasn’t the target’s blood, It was his own. But how?
He had initiated the ambush. He had been certain of his advantage. And yet he hadn’t even seen the turn, let alone the counterattack.
The speed was unreal.
Instinct took over, forcing him backward as he created distance. His thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the exchange. His Keen Strike had missed completely. Night-Stalker had reacted as if he had known exactly where the attack would come from.
Did he have some kind of anti-stealth equipment? Had the stillness been an act, a deliberate trap?
VoidShadow forced himself to steady his breathing, pushing down the rising tension. Then he glanced at his health bar and swore under his breath.
Nearly a third of it was gone.
His gaze flicked to the twin daggers in Flynn’s hands, their edges catching the light with a faint silver sheen. A bitter realization settled in.
Silver-grade. That had to be it.
They must have dropped in the ruins the night before. No wonder the damage was so high.