Silence grips the chamber. The Platinum Golem lies broken, its molten chest dimmed, its massive frame scattered across the stone. For a long breath, no one dares to speak.

Iskara is the first. Her lips curl as if the words taste foul.

"That bastard… actually did it. I thought he'd be ashes, yet he stands."

Asterion lowers his spear, the tip scraping against the floor with a dull ring. His eyes stay fixed on Jacob, wide with disbelief, his jaw set hard as though he can't reconcile what he's seeing.

"By the blood of the Titans… Jacob has overcome the trial."

Kaelric stands stiff, one hand on the hilt of his blade. He doesn't draw it, but the grip is so tight that the leather binding creaks. His eyes dart from the fallen construct back to Jacob, as if looking for the trick he must have missed.

"Impossible. How did he—" He cuts himself off.

Vyrrak growls low in his throat, a sound that rattles in his chest. His scaled tail lashes against the ground, the sharp tip carving shallow grooves into the stone.

"Hells. I said I'd strip my own scales if he survived… curse me, I may as well start peeling. But who cares. We're about to be showered in money."

Sabrina Margrave exhales sharply through her nose. She folds her arms with slow precision, the tilt of her chin daring anyone to point out the flicker of surprise in her eyes.

"Perhaps not as useless as I believed. Still reckless, still crude… but not useless."

Zibrek steps closer to the broken Golem, her boots crunching against the fragments of Platinum ore scattered across the floor. She adjusts her goggles, the lenses catching the last glimmers of dying light in the chest cavity.

"Lad, are you alright?!" Boomgar is the first who addresses Jacob, who just turns and gives him a thumbs‑up.

"A bit tired, but it's all good."

The chamber stays quiet after Jacob's answer. The echo of Rafnov's promise still hangs in the air, as if the old Miner's voice should roll back at any moment with treasure spilling out of the walls.

But nothing happens.

The silence stretches long enough that even the faint hiss of cooling metal from the broken Golem sounds loud.

Vyrrak is the first to break. His tail lashes the stone with a sharp crack. "Where's the damn prize? He said we'd get it. If Rafnov's legacy is hiding in here, I'll tear the walls down myself."

Sabrina clicks her tongue and glares at the ceiling, as though her disdain could force it to answer. "This isn't amusing. He promised a reward. To dangle it before us and then delay is… insulting."

The longer the silence lasts, the heavier the air grows. Greed, impatience, and unease bleed through the Champions.

The chamber answers only with the faint crackle of cooling stone.

* * *

I start becoming doubtful myself, actually. Where's the damn reward?

"Hello, Rafnov, sir?" I say out loud.

"Yes, Jacob Cloud?" the miner's voice replies immediately, steady and deep, as if it had been waiting the whole time.

The sound draws every Champion up short.

Vyrrak's head snaps around. "So you're still there?! Where's the money?!"

"Where's the prize?"

"You've already received it."

I frown. My hands tighten on the hilt of Black Flame, and for a moment I think I've misheard him.

"What are you talking about? Nothing happened."

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"You fought a construct of pure Platinum and won. You carved through the hardest ore and endured three weeks of trials that should have broken you. That strength, those Skills, and the way you bent the earth to your will—that is my legacy."

"Huh," I say.

It does make sense. The sheer increase in power is definitely more than worth the pain in the ass that I suffer throughout this Dungeon. It just feels… cheap not to receive any money. And I can't imagine that the Champions would be happy with this since they spent more than three weeks alongside me for no pay in exchange.

They might skin you alive and sell your organs in order to get their wasted time compensated somehow, King Baalrek comments.

"Sir, is there any way I could get a monetary prize, too? If that's not too much to ask. You're known to be very rich."

"Jacob," Rafnov's soul fragment laughs. "This is a Secret Room in a Platinum‑Ranked Dungeon. What type of coin do you expect to find?"

"Errr, Platinum?" I ask, confused.

And now that that's said out loud, the Champions groan.

"What am I going to do with some Platinum?!" Sabrina Margrave shouts. "Have we just wasted three weeks of our lives?!"

Rafnov ignores Sabrina.

"Cloud, would you mind telling everyone here what you're sensing inside the walls of this chamber?"

My senses light up and then I frown.

"Oh. Guys… there's a lot of Platinum in these walls. Like… a lot."

Zibrek is the first one to catch on.

"If this Platinum is heavily infused with Mana, it will fetch Diamond coins."

That's when I notice something else. The giant Platinum Golem, Rafnov's own construct, is still on the ground. My eyes widen.

"Sir, we can take apart the Platinum Golem too?!"

"You might take it apart and carry it with you. I'm glad you recognized the real reward. That golem should be melted down in order for you and your companions to forge equipment."

"Why would I wear Platinum armor?" Sabrina Margrave says. "I would much rather get a stronger one and—"

I can hear some annoyance in Rafnov's voice.

"The new generations have clearly forgotten much about ore. If you wear equipment made with ore that reflects your own Rank, your Skills will be amplified. This, of course, requires the purest of ores for the effect to be noticeable. If you use low‑grade Platinum, it will never show. Otherwise, you must wear ore that reflects your own level. That also generates better Karma."

At the mention of Karma, every single Champion perks up.

Vyrrak starts rubbing his hands and looks at me with a hungry stare.

"Cloud, get mining. Let's strip this chamber while we cut up the Golem."

* * *

In the end, the only one who can somehow reliably cut the Golem without trouble is Kaelric. I know the reason why, but I can't reveal it to the others for a matter of privacy.

Still, the swordsman has cut the golem into giant ingots that have been stored away in several Interspatial Rings.

It takes me almost two full days to extract all the Platinum ore from the chamber and by the time I'm done with the last big chunk, we hear Rafnov's voice once again.

"Congratulations, you passed the last test. You didn't succumb to impatience and you finished the job properly, not wasting one bit of ore. In return, you shall receive one last gift from this part of my inheritance. You've already received a good pickaxe, but there's one more piece of equipment that any miner worth their name needs."

Before I can ask about it, I feel something warm wrapping around my index finger.

I look down to find a ring. The band is rough at first glance, forged of dark‑silver metal etched with faint grooves that glow as soon as my Mana brushes against it. The warmth is steady, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. When I touch it, I feel the pull of a vast space inside.

"That is a decent Interspatial Ring," Rafnov says. "Every miner worth his salt needs one. Use it well. Farewell, young legends."

Right after, we get beamed right outside the Secret Room, finding ourselves, and every leftover ore, on the wetlands we had been traversing on the way to the Dungeon Boss of the Tomb of Fate.

However, what we see when we get out is not the camp we left. There's a slaughter in front of us. Every single attendant that had been left behind is in pieces. Our Squires are bound to stakes in the ground and gagged, unconscious.

A single man in dark robes with his hood up stands with his arms crossed, staring at us.

"Champions," he says in a deep voice.

Every Champion tenses, weapons raised, spells half‑cast. The air grows heavy with the weight of gathered Mana, yet the figure doesn't move. He simply lifts one hand, slow and deliberate, and pushes his hood back.

Black veins streak across his red skin. Two curved horns jut from his forehead, faintly glowing, and his eyes burn orange.

The reaction is instant.

Iskara's face drains of color, her voice breaking the silence like a whip.

"AZRAKEL?!"

The Infernal smirks, the expression cruel and familiar all at once. His gaze locks onto her, as though no one else exists.

"Long time no see, sister."

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