"I-I'm... I'm just a normal mine worker, Sir..."
Adul's voice came out in a stutter, sounding almost like the squeak of a trapped mouse. His head was bowed deeply. His soot-stained hands frantically twisted the hem of his own shirt. He didn't dare meet the eyes of the towering, black-cloaked man before him.
Inside his chest, his heart was still hammering wildly—thump, thump, thump—exactly like the deafening war drums that had just echoed through the mine shafts.
"I... I don't know how to fight, Sir. My hands slip just holding a pickaxe. The foreman always beats me, says I'm clumsy... always too slow..."
Tears welled up again, burning the edges of his eyes. Adul squeezed his eyes shut, resigning himself to his fate. This mysterious man from the assassination squad would surely be disgusted, disappointed, and leave him to rot here—or worse, put a bullet in his head for being useless.
