Xunlai Deep-Mining Hand Drill

Xunlai Deep-Mining Hand Drill gleams with a tempered brass sheen, its cylindrical body wrapped in copper bands that hiss softly when you turn it from the palm. The head bears six narrow teeth, sharpened to a pale silver edge, while the grip is a smooth, satin-black wood worn glossy by years of use. A line of faint runes runs along the flute of the shaft, tiny sigils that glow faintly when you hold it under lamp-light, as if the tool remembers the hands that forged it. The Xunlai crest is stamped near the base—not merely a decoration but a promise: this drill was meant for pressurized tunnels where ore veins hide behind stubborn rock and ancient heat. Legend has it these drills were forged in the hidden arches beneath the Xunlai Vaults, perfected by artisans who understood both metal and memory. Some say it was gifted to a caravan captain who survived a collapse while escorting jade shipments, a tool that cut time and fear from the journey. In the stories told by miners who carry them, the drill is more than metal; it is a kinship with the earth, a device that makes the world reveal its seams rather than hide them. On the surface, equipping the Deep-Mining Hand Drill feels like stepping into a different pace of life. When applied to rich ore nodes, it unlocks deeper yields—permitting the miner to coax layered veins and coax out rarer metals with less effort. It resists the dull ache of long-duty mining; endurance drain remains manageable as you angle the teeth into stubborn stone. It also helps with stubborn seams—blocked veins that would crumble under a less patient tool—allowing the player to harvest silver, copper, or jade more efficiently. In market terms they'd call it a premium investment, a tool that pays for itself in a single expedition as you bring back shards of ore to the supply lines. Prices at Saddlebag Exchange tell a story of supply and risk. At the stall, a pristine, lightly used drill may fetch a handful of silver from a night shift dealer, while battered examples go for mere copper. The broker who sells a bundle of ore-laden picks will tell you the same: the Deep-Mining Hand Drill isn't just a tool, it's a symbol of trust between prospectors and the houses that bankroll the next dig. Traders negotiate, weigh memories in the brass, and trade across caravans that cross deserts and frost-hollow hills. As I pocket the drill and step back into the market's warm glow, I feel the weight of history in my hand—not just metal and mechanism, but a passport to the underground world that feeds the surface. When I drift a finger along the etched crest, the drill seems to whisper that every seam opened is a story paid in ore and kept by hands I will never fully know. That weight in your hand is a reminder that every shipment, every vein coaxed into light, binds the people who live by the dull burn of lamps and the sudden glitter of ore.