The 972nd tunnel was a place of absolute darkness. The beam from his headlamp cut a lonely swathe through the gloom, but it was not enough to push back the oppressive blackness.
Yoon Ji-han stood before the wall at the end of the passage.
Fresh scars from pickaxe strikes scored the rock face, the final traces of the men who had been here before him.
He could almost see them, miners laboring in this sunless pit, their bodies straining to tear
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