“This is it,” Gregald announced, coming to a halt in the middle of an unremarkable patch of forest.
Mimi blinked, looking around. “This is what?”
“The hideout is here,” he explained, scanning the clearing with trained eyes.
To Mimi, it looked like any other part of the woods, with trees, shrubs, and uneven earth, but Gregald dropped to the ground and pressed close to the forest floor. Then, in a clear voice, he called out:
“It’s me.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a gruff voice echoed up from beneath the earth. “What’s our boss’s favorite metal?”
Gregald didn’t hesitate: “Iron. Slightly rusted.”
There was a brief pause. Another question followed, then another. Each one received quick, precise answers. It was a verbal lock, and Gregald had the key.
A moment after the final question and answer, the ground shifted with a deep mechanical clunk, and a circular section of earth slid open to reveal a wide, dark hole.
“It… it opened!” Delarosa cried out in awe, her eyes wide. Clearly, the entrance had been crafted with utmost secrecy, so well disguised that it would be impossible to find without insider knowledge.
From the depths of the tunnel, a dwarf emerged. Stocky, armored, and stern-faced, he took one look at Belamus and the others, and his expression immediately hardened. His gaze settled on Gregald, a mixture of suspicion and warning in his eyes.
“Who are they?” the dwarf demanded, voice low and guarded.
“They helped me bring Lady Mimi here,” Gregald replied without flinching. “I vouch for them. They’ve earned our trust; they even captured one of the assassins targeting her.”
He gestured toward the prisoner still hovering in midair, suspended by glowing strands of Magic Thread.
The dwarf’s eyes followed his motion, narrowing as he studied the floating captive. He said nothing at first, simply stared. A long silence stretched between them. Then, at last, he spoke.
“I’ll inform the leader. Wait here.”
Without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the tunnel.
As they waited, Belamus stepped closer to Gregald.
“I have a question,” he said, his voice quiet and curious. “That man just now. Is he one of yours?” Belamus glanced toward the sealed tunnel entrance where the dwarf had vanished.
“Yeah,” Gregald said with a nod. “That was Drew. He’s on watch duty today. We rotate shifts, and I guess it was his turn.”
Belamus studied the man’s tone, then asked the more important question: “Do you think your leader will actually let us in?”
Gregald didn’t hesitate. “She trusts me. I’m guessing she’ll give the okay. And once she sees how strong you are… hell, I won’t be surprised if she’s glad you’re here.”
That assurance, casual as it sounded, eased some of the tension in Belamus’s chest. If nothing else, it meant they wouldn’t be standing out here forever.
Their conversation was cut short as Drew emerged once again from the tunnel. He climbed out, giving a curt nod before turning his gaze sharply toward Gregald.
“The leader says she’ll take your word, Gregald,” he said. “But don’t forget: I don’t fully trust them yet.”
His voice carried the weight of a warning, and he didn’t bother softening it.
With the leader’s approval secured, Belamus and the rest of the group followed Gregald into the hidden entrance. They even brought the captured assassin with them, still floating in silence, bound in glowing threads of light.
As they descended into the winding underground passageways, Drew threw a questioning glance over his shoulder.
“That the assassin you caught?” he asked flatly, nodding toward the floating dwarf.
“Yeah,” Gregald replied. “We tried to get something out of him, but he’s tight-lipped. Doesn’t look like he’s going to crack anytime soon. Honestly, not much use as a hostage either.”
“Then you probably just asked the wrong way,” Drew said dryly. “Our leader’s good at pulling answers out of people.”
Gregald gave a quiet grunt. “Maybe so. But if this guy really is top tier, even she’ll have a hard time. Still… worth a shot.”
Their voices dropped lower after that, less like casual banter, more like something darker was simmering beneath the surface. Belamus didn’t miss the implication. Are they planning to torture him? he wondered. He didn’t like it, but he said nothing for the time being.
The group followed Drew deeper into the tunnels. The layout twisted and coiled like a labyrinth, clearly designed to slow or confuse intruders. It was a smart setup; if anyone ever did break in, they’d have a hell of a time reaching the command center.
After several minutes of walking, they finally arrived at a large, ironbound door.
Drew stepped forward and called out, “It’s Drew.”
A voice that was clear, calm, and unmistakably that of an adult woman answered from the other side. “Come in.”
Drew pushed the door open.
At the center of the spacious, empty chamber sat a dwarven woman, kneeling in a perfect formal seated position. Her posture was straight, composed, regal, and yet somehow austere, as if she had been sitting there for hours and would continue to sit for hours more. There were no guards, no banners, no symbols of rank—only the sheer weight of her presence.
She stood just over a meter tall, at around a hundred and twenty centimeters, Belamus guessed, but with dwarves, age was hard to place. She could have been thirty or three hundred.
“That’s her,” Gregald said in a hushed voice beside him. “Lady Meira, leader of Gagagamoor.”
Belamus blinked in surprise. He’d assumed the leader would be a grizzled old man, battle-scarred and growling commands. But the woman seated at the center of the room radiated authority in complete silence, her posture unshakable, her aura unmistakably commanding.
Meira’s gaze swept across the group before settling on Mimi.
“Gregald,” she said, voice calm and direct, “is that child the Blessed One?”
“Yes,” he replied at once. “That’s her.”
“Proof,” Meira said, her tone absolute. That one word was flat, simple, and unyielding.
Mimi understood what she meant. She’d been through this more times than she liked. Still, it didn’t make it any easier. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she hesitated, fidgeting awkwardly. Then, slowly, she lifted her shirt just enough to reveal the mark on her stomach: a faint, leaf-shaped birthmark that shimmered faintly in the light.
Meira’s eyes widened. For a moment, she said nothing, then she stepped forward, each footfall deliberate. She knelt before Mimi and wrapped her arms around her, clutching her tightly.
“You… you’ve survived,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “Thank the heavens, you’re alive…”
Tears spilled freely down Meira’s face as she held the girl. Mimi stood frozen, unsure how to react, caught between embarrassment and confusion. Meira didn’t let go right away, either. She held her for several long seconds, perhaps needing the contact to make it real, before finally pulling back and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Then she turned to the rest of the group.