From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 187: We Meet Again... Kraghul!

Byung was taken deep into the mine by the dwarf, their footsteps echoing through ancient tunnels that descended far beyond where goblin excavations had ever reached. The passages here were purely dwarven construction—walls carved with geometric precision, support beams of metal that showed no rust despite obvious age, and those glowing runes that pulsed with protective magic designed to hide them from scrying eyes above. The air grew colder and damper with each level they descended, carrying mineral scents mixed with something fouler—decay, infection, the smell of a body breaking down slowly.

Finally, they entered a chamber lit by a single guttering torch, and Byung got eyes on Kraghul for the first time since the young orc’s mysterious disappearance. The sight was shocking enough to make him pause mid-step.

The great orc—once a towering specimen of raw power and arrogance, muscles like twisted steel cables under green skin—was now malnourished beyond recognition. Kraghul hung suspended by heavy chains bolted to the chamber walls, his arms spread wide in a crucifixion pose that kept him barely upright. His body had withered, ribs visible through skin stretched tight like parchment over bone, limbs thin and trembling. He looked like he was on the verge of death, existing in that liminal space where the body hasn’t quite surrendered but survival is no longer certain. Festered wounds covered his torso—deep gashes that had become infected, green and black at the edges, weeping pus that stank of rot. Sections of skin had been flayed and left to scab over poorly. His face, once handsome in a brutal way, was gaunt and hollow-eyed.

Byung’s eyes held no pity as he studied the broken orc before him. No sympathy, no horror, just cold assessment of an enemy who had tried to kill him, who had slaughtered his people, who would have burned the settlement to ash without hesitation. The dwarf looked at Byung, studying his expression, and saw the hate burning in those golden eyes. The dwarf smiled, satisfied with what he found there.

"This is my gift to you," the dwarf said, his voice echoing slightly in the stone chamber.

"Kraghul, son of Urgar, delivered as a gift. You are free to do with him as you please—kill him slowly, quickly, torture him for information, or simply leave him to rot. He is yours."

Kraghul was too weak to speak, his head lolling forward, breath coming in shallow rasps that barely moved his emaciated chest. Byung could tell immediately that whatever the dwarf had subjected him to over these weeks—starvation, calculated torture, possibly alchemical poisons that prevented healing—was something Kraghul might not be able to recover from even with intensive care. The damage was profound, reaching into organs and bones beyond what surface wounds suggested.

Byung knew there would be no joy in killing him in his current state. No satisfaction in ending someone already half-dead, no glory in striking down an opponent who couldn’t fight back. Kraghul had been dangerous, worthy of respect as an enemy, but this shell barely qualified as the same person. And returning him to the orcs might prove dangerous—Urgar would mobilize his entire army in fury regardless, perhaps viewing Kraghul’s return in this condition as an insult worse than death.

But what if he could use Kraghul as a bargaining chip? Alive, the orc represented leverage against Urgar, a hostage that could forestall invasion or force negotiations. Dead, he was just another casualty in an endless cycle of violence.

The dwarf was surprised Byung didn’t immediately cut off Kraghul’s head the moment he got permission. Most would have—the desire for revenge overwhelming tactical considerations. This orc had done so much damage, killed so many goblins, burned homes, spread terror. Yet Byung stood there calculating rather than striking.

"Can you keep him here?" Byung asked finally, turning to face the dwarf. "Alive, but secured. I may have use for him later."

The dwarf looked at him for a long moment, red eyes glowing in the torchlight, then nodded slowly.

"I have no problems complying. He’s proven... useful for my experiments already. Keeping him breathing requires minimal effort."

At that moment, Kraghul’s eyes opened—bloodshot, yellowed with jaundice, but still burning with that core of defiance that made him dangerous. They locked onto Byung, and despite his weakened state, a sickening grin crept across his cracked lips, revealing teeth stained with blood from bleeding gums.

He was impressed Byung was alive. The goblin should be dead—crushed under his fists during that brutal beating, broken beyond recovery. Yet here he stood, transformed into something that transcended his original form. Kraghul’s gaze traveled over Byung’s taller frame, the toned musculature, the confident stance. The shock registered in his eyes despite the grin—this was no longer prey but predator. And Kraghul instantly had no regrets that he had tried to take Byung’s life; this thing needed to be destroyed before it became unstoppable.

Kraghul’s lips moved, mouthing words without voice, too weak to push sound through his damaged throat. But Byung could read lips well enough, and what he saw made his eyes go from neutral assessment to genuine surprise.

The dwarf picked up on the shift immediately, his head snapping toward Kraghul with sudden suspicion. But the orc’s eyes had already closed again, face going slack as if unconsciousness had reclaimed him. The dwarf squinted, studying Kraghul’s face for any sign of deception.

"When are we leaving for the dark forest?" Byung asked quickly, deliberately redirecting the conversation before the dwarf could figure out Kraghul wasn’t truly unconscious. The dwarf’s attention shifted back to Byung, though suspicion lingered in his expression.

"The tunnel system doesn’t cover every corner of the world," he explained, gesturing vaguely upward.

"We’ll have to surface at certain points to traverse areas where bedrock prevents digging or where collapses have sealed passages. And there’s no way you’ll be able to hide from the elves should that happen—they track magical signatures, life force, disturbances in natural patterns."

He paused, then smiled that too-white smile against obsidian skin. "But I’ve spent a very long time preparing for this day. There’s no way I wouldn’t have countermeasures for their scrying."

The dwarf looked over his shoulder one last time, red eyes boring into Kraghul’s seemingly unconscious form with naked suspicion. Something about the timing bothered him, the way the orc had opened his eyes and delivered a message at precisely the moment to create doubt.

They left the chamber, footsteps echoing back down tunnels toward different sections of the underground labyrinth. The torch guttered in the sudden draft, shadows dancing across Kraghul’s broken body.

The orc’s eyes opened slightly once he was certain they’d gone, the grin completely absent now from his face. His lips moved again, forming silent words meant for no one: "Be careful, you little goblin monster."

---

Byung and the dwarf walked into a storage room carved from solid rock, its walls lined with shelves holding supplies accumulated over years—preserved food in sealed jars, coils of rope woven from materials Byung didn’t recognize, tools whose purposes weren’t immediately clear, and weapons of various designs hanging from hooks. The dwarf moved efficiently, selecting items with practiced precision and stuffing them into leather packs treated with oils that repelled water and scent.

They gathered everything needed for the journey—rations that wouldn’t spoil, waterskins, climbing gear. But there was a problem now that the dwarf kept to himself, his expression never betraying the calculation running behind those red eyes.

The elf had seen Byung. Which meant he could potentially be tracked through magical means—residual energy signatures, scent memory enhanced by spells, or simply visual recognition if they surfaced near elven patrols. But the dwarf kept this information to himself because if push came to shove, he was willing to sacrifice Byung to ensure his own safety and the completion of his goals.

The goblin was useful, perhaps even crucial to certain plans, but ultimately expendable if it meant avoiding elven capture or death.

"What did you mean by ’it chose me’?" Byung asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence as he watched the dwarf pack.

The dwarf simply smiled without giving him an answer, that infuriating expression that suggested he knew far more than he’d ever share. His hands continued their work—fold, pack, secure—never pausing.

Something told Byung not to push the question, an instinct honed through dangerous situations warning him that pressing too hard would either yield nothing or damage the fragile cooperation they’d established.

Some secrets the dwarf would share when ready, or never. Demanding answers would accomplish nothing.

The dwarf reached into a chest and pulled out armor unlike anything Byung had seen in this world. He granted it to Byung with a gesture, laying the pieces across a work table for inspection.

Byung couldn’t believe how delicate it appeared at first glance—thin plates of dark metal that seemed almost flexible, connected by intricate chainmail woven so finely it looked like fabric. Yet when he touched it, the material was impossibly strong, resistant to his enhanced strength when he tested it. The armor was the best he had seen, far surpassing anything forged in goblin or human smithies. Dwarven craftsmanship at its finest.

The dwarf helped him into the armor piece by piece—chest plate, pauldrons, vambraces, greaves—each segment fitting perfectly despite never having been measured for him. The entire suit weighed less than his crude iron plates but offered protection that would turn aside blades and cushion impacts that would shatter bone.

When finished, Byung stood transformed—armored warrior rather than desperate survivor. The dwarf stepped back, assessing his work, and nodded once in satisfaction.

"We are ready,"