Ten minutes later, Ezra stood before the mine's back entrance.
His black suit was sharp, his hair combed neatly back. In his hand, he carried a leather bag containing 100,000 IGE—a lifetime of savings gathered with painstaking effort.
He looked every bit the young nobleman from Nova Aethelburg. But deep inside his pocket, the folding knife remained.
"Sir... are you sure about this?" Ben whispered from behind a large boulder.
"I'm sure."
Ezra strode toward the door.
A guard—a bald man with a dragon tattoo snaking across his neck—stepped into his path.
"Private area. Move along."
Ezra lifted the leather bag slightly. "I was invited. Mr. Jamal himself invited me."
The guard paused, his eyes flickering toward the bag.
"Your name, sir?"
"Lord Alex Tan. From Nova Aethelburg. I have an appointment with Mr. Jamal regarding... the main lot."
The guard pulled a phone from his pocket, punched in a few numbers, and spoke in a low voice.
Ezra waited, his heart hammering against his ribs. If Jamal refused to cooperate—or if he was already suspicious of outsiders—Ezra would die right here.
The guard hung up the phone.
"Mr. Jamal says... please, come in."
The iron door creaked open.
Ezra stepped forward, disappearing into the darkness.