At nightfall, while everyone in the castle slept, Asteroth mounted his horse. He set off for the plateau, unknown to almost everyone because of its steep slopes. He set off for a man who was expecting him.
A warlord who owned several mines with inexhaustible reserves of gemstones. A man who liked to call himself a king. And had no scruples. He owned thousands of slaves and commanded a vast army of minotaurs and other beastmen. His name was Asterion.
That same evening there had been a landslide in one of the mines.
Dozens of men were trapped like rats.
And they tried everything to get away.
Even using the precious dynamite. It took hours before they could get outside.
And there the slave masters were waiting for them. Those who had used dynamite were handcuffed and taken away separately. Their fate was very uncertain.
The others were taken away, split into two groups, to the quarries, with even harsher working conditions. Asterion didn't like troublemakers, even if it wasn't their fault.
The men were silenced in this way, no longer resisting to their hard lives and an untimely death.
The most important thing of the day, the gems, were rolled out by other minotaurs. The cost was considered negligible.