The cavern still reeked of venom and blood. The corpse of the spider mother lay shattered across the stone, its ichor drying in black pools. The mercenaries shifted uneasily near the entrance, waiting for Leon to give some order that never came.
Trafalgar's voice broke the silence. "We're not leaving yet."
Every head turned. Garrika raised a brow, Augusto tilted his chin, but only Trafalgar kept his eyes fixed on Leon and his men. He gestured toward the glowing veins of violet ore running jagged along the cavern walls.
"We came here for mythril. And until it's mined, no one moves."
One of the mercenaries blinked, stunned. "You… want us to—"
"Yes," Trafalgar cut in. His tone was sharp enough to make the man flinch. "Pick. Haul. Load. Unless you'd prefer I inform my family that House Mariven and some mercenaries attempt to blow my head off."
The Shadowlink Echo wasn't in his hand anymore, but its unspoken threat still lingered like a blade at their throats.
