Do not seek the bottom of the Dungeon.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
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The generals were not what he had been expecting. Rough and gritty, maybe. Or the complete opposite, their high ranks granting access to all manner of cosmetic healers. Instead they looked just like people. Tired, stressed people.
Both of them turned away from the large table dominating much of the space, eyebrows raised at their entry. Recognition bloomed a moment later, and he was almost surprised when they didn't salute.
The older of the two spoke, voice clear as a bell. "Archmage. Welcome to the combined twenty fourth and twenty ninth Legion. I'm Helma, in overall command of the army."
"Reginald," the younger, if still over forty, man introduced. "Second in command. Greetings."
Marcus hummed. That was more relaxed than he'd been expecting. "Marcus. I'm afraid I don't have long, so I'd prefer it if we got down to business. Why are you stuck, and how do I help you get out of it?"
"I don't suppose you could teleport us all to the Eastfort?" Reginald asked dryly. Helma shot him a look, though Marcus just snorted. The general sighed. "Yeah, thought not. Well, the problem is simple. If we don't dig in we'll be overrun, if we don't leave we'll eventually be ground down. I haven't seen this many Hounds during anything but peak levels, which this Break hasn't gone on long enough for."
Helma grunted. "It's going to get worse, and we're running out of supplies. Four, maybe five more days before we start having to ration our more effective tools, and food starts becoming scarce soon after."
"Like the runic catapults?" Marcus asked, curiosity peaked. Those had been inspired, really. Not too fancy, but solid work. More importantly, they seemed somewhat easy to mass produce. "I assume you have a few mages on site that can make their ammunition?"
Reginald snorted, turning into a laugh when Marcus blinked. He could vaguely feel Elly stiffen beside him, though Vess seemed more interested in studying their maps. Helma cut the laughter short with a sharp snap of her fingers.
"Sorry, sorry," the man said, not seeming very sorry. "Mages capable of that belong to the Great Houses, and good luck finding someone brave enough to suggest taking a single one of their 'investments' away from them."
Helma shrugged in agreement. "The Empress before our current Empress funded a Legion school to train our own mages rather than bargain with them, if that clears anything up. We get Runekasts when we deploy, and we make do until we can get resupplied."
"Right." Marcus glanced at Elly, who had joined Vess in looking at their map. "So, what do you need from us?"
Elly spoke up before either of the generals could, pointing at the table. "The river."
"Quite right," Reginald replied, smiling in approval. "Before we can get back to friendly territory we have to pass the river, and the bridge there has long since been destroyed. Building one would take at least six hours, and that's if we exhaust our mages. In that time the Hounds will have torn us to shreds because we couldn't build fortifications quickly enough, but if we pull mages from the bridge project to build the fortifications, the bridge will take days."
Marcus grunted. "At which point you will run out of supplies. How wide is the river?"
"About two hundred feet," Helma replied. "But the real problem is how quickly it flows. Had it been more gentle we could have raised the riverbed, but alas."
"Going up stream to find a different spot?"
Elly rejoined them as he asked, answering. "No time. This is a shit place to get yourselves stuck."
Helma's face grew grim, though Reginald didn't seem to mind the assessment. Or insult, but she was politically important, so assessment. Marcus shot her a look anyway, which was answered with a begrudging eye-roll of assent.
"She's not wrong," Helma said after a moment, looking between them. "Begging your pardon, Archmage, but you seem quite… casual."
Him, or them? Marcus shrugged. "I am who I am. Certain events that I'm not sure are classified or not beat any preconceived notions of pride out of me, and I find people relate better to, well, other people. And for all that being Royalty and an Archmage and such can be useful, no one can actually relate to it."
"Even the Gods aren't immune to being stabbed in the back," Reginald murmured. Marcus raised an eyebrow, the general clearing his throat. "Something someone once said to me. Back to the point, we only have enough strength for one push. One sally to drive back the Hounds and move towards the river. Whatever we decide, we only get one chance."
Marcus hummed. "If we'd known supplies were the main issue, we could have brought some. At least another few days worth, which would let you build the bridge as normal. It would take at least two days to fetch them now, though, so unless you think that's an option?"
The generals shared a glance, Helma speaking up. "It's a possibility, but we were hoping you would be able to make a portal over the river."
"If I could make a portal over the river, I could make it to the Eastfort," Marcus pointed out. He paused. "But then, I could reduce the distance between the shores to a point where a company of men could step over it easily enough. I've never tried that, though, so I can't be sure how long I could hold it."
Helma snapped to look at him, eyes narrowing in through. "That would take significant power, especially for how long you would need to hold it. Without interruptions I could have the Legions march over in half an hour, but now? I'd need two, at least, and that's two hours where you will be unable to assist with the defense."
"Assumptions, dear general," Vess interrupted, her tone a whisper of honeyed poison. "Five since this conversation started. I am not usually one to be this blunt, but I shall list them for your benefit. You spoke first instead of waiting to be addressed, which while technically allowed by your stationed is rude all the same. A bow when addressing an Archmage is customary, and while you could likely have gotten away with a salute, you did neither. Thirdly-"
Marcus raised a hand, watching the generals grow more and more tense. "Thank you, Vess. I think they get the point."
"Do they?" she asked, turning back to the map. Elly was still studying it, not paying the conversation much attention. "Well, if you insist. I shall be here if you find a need for me."
He let the silence stretch, wondering what her angle was. Not to correct any breaches of decorum, certainly, because he'd already waved those away. After the fact, yes, but dealt with. And going against his implied wishes this publicly undermined him, which she would know.
Setting aside the remote possibility that she had gone mad, it probably meant not interrupting would have led to a worse outcome. The timing would suggest it was about greed, the greed of using an Archmage's abilities, but at that point he was just guessing.
Marcus cleared his throat. "You have concerns, let's address them. You prepare your men, I'll go test my theory at the river. We regroup here in four hours, let's say?"
Reginald bowed, tone smooth enough to almost hide a nervous edge. "By your leave, Archmage."
Helma didn't speak at all, expression closed off and fingers twitching. Angry or afraid? Perhaps more importantly, did he care?
No, not really. He gestured to Elly, who'd turned to him at some point, and soon he was walking amongst the Imperial soldiers again.
Time to see if this gross overconfidence in his own abilities would lead to embarrassment.
That would almost be refreshing.
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Marcus prided himself on his power. Not pride-pride, but it served as a well of confidence. Something to rely on even when everything else was falling apart.
It was the reason he survived against the Calamity, how he was able to turn the tide of entire battles during the invasion, and even before when he'd been stuck in the School of Life. A pool of confidence he could use to bolster his willpower.
Fifth-tier mages were rare—even more so at his age—, and while holding more matrices didn't naturally translate to more power, they did allow a mage to rapidly empty their reserves. To concentrate it all into one strike, the amount of strength they could unleash growing exponentially with each added matrix.
His power had shown itself capable of making a 'bridge' over the river for five and a half hours, a number he'd admittedly calculated after ten minutes of testing, and once he finally figured out his sixth matrix, it would inter-connect an entire continent. Maybe even the world.
Which made this rather embarrassing, because the two Imperial mages bowing their heads in deference easily outstripped him in terms of power.
Two sixth-tier mages, one from each Legion. Hounds were amassing at the northern wall, more and more soldiers being pulled away to break up the camp, and apparently those two were the solution.
Neither had introduced themselves, but then Marcus probably wouldn't have heard. Would have been too busy staring at the terrifying wellspring of power in their core, both of the fifty year olds holding twice as much power as he did.
He managed to get his mouth working, more glad for Vess' lessons now than ever before. Not a good idea to make a fool out of himself in front of mages this strong. "Let's begin."
The pair straightened, having held their bowed position for nearly ten seconds. Which was roughly eight seconds longer than necessary to make him feel uncomfortable, something he supposed was a result from his upbringing.
Growing up as the only child of the King, and a talented mage besides, there hadn't been a lot of people both stronger than him while also needing to show his deference.
In perfect sync the two mages turned towards the horde of Hounds, not seeming bothered by their proximity in the slightest. Soon there would be enough bodies for them to climb the wall, and unlike usual, there were no mages to remove them. No druids to sink them underground, no fire to cleanse them or necromancers to raise them.
A small mercy there hadn't been many Burrowers, really. Apparently the generals had chosen this place as their last stand because Imperial earth mages had sealed all the tunnels after the last Dungeon Break, which slowed those worm creatures down significantly.
Power rose as the mages weaved, and Marcus felt a small note of almost guilty relief. At least they weren't more skilled than him, though honestly it was closer than usual. Going by the amount of enchantments and minor artifacts each of them carried, he was going to hazard a guess and say they didn't represent the average mage of the Empire.
That inkling of relief washed away when their power kept rising, four matrices linking to a fifth and then a sixth. He'd almost expected fire, a great tornado of flame spurred on by artificial wind.
Instead a spray of water erupted from the left mage, the man not budging an inch as thousands upon thousands of liters poured out. It spread like a living wave, dousing the entire horde in moments, and he almost felt an electric tingle woven into it.
Then the second mage unleashed his own spell, and Marcus realized he'd been half right. But instead of combining fire and wind, lightning fell like a waterfall. Crashed down the wall in a yellow downpour, hitting the wet Hounds slowly enough he could follow it with his bare eyes.
His elemental protections flared as light bloomed, his eyesight shielded from the glare, and an estimated fifteen thousand Hounds died. They died instantly, they died slowly and they died with no visible wounds, but all of them died. Dropped like puppets with their strings cut, the effect rippling outwards over mere seconds until the entire horde was nothing but corpses.
The ground, what little he could see between the mountain of bodies, looked scorched in a way he'd never seen before. Hardened mud almost shining with light, trapping ashes under their coat, alongside great faults stretching dozens of feet.
Marcus looked at the devastated countryside, feeling stupid for thinking it hadn't been possible to make it look more barren than it already had.
The two mages turned back around, faces dripping with sweat and fighting to keep their hands from shaking. The right man spoke, tone surprisingly even. "There will always be more Hounds. By your command, Archmage, we will join the evacuation."
"Yes, of course," Marcus said, having to take a moment to ensure his voice came out steady. "Go join the others."
The pair left, swiftly joined by a small host of other mages. Younger ones, trailing behind their elders and shooting him furtive looks. Marcus ignored them, wondering how many years those two must have practiced. Practiced not only to achieve that much power, but to deploy it in spells so large one mistake would kill them with ease.
Them and everyone around them, for that matter.
Elly joined him a moment later, bounding up to the wall with Vess trailing behind her. Those two were getting along better, he noted, though he didn't know how much of that was because of a shared dislike of the Empire.
Vess wanted to install him as Emperor, which wasn't happening, and Elly didn't trust them. With Xathar being neutral, that made half of the group against the Empire, with him as their only advocate. As much as he could be called an advocate, anyway.
"Shitttt," Elly drawled, looking out over the field of corpses. "I think I'm finally getting how the Empire conquered the continent."
Vess hummed. "The Archmages weren't enough?"
"Nah," Elly replied, shrugging and shooting him an apologetic smile. "No offense, but Archmages are unpredictable. Powerful, yes, but not something you can really build anything with. Being able to reliably train mages capable of that, though? Yeah, I can see it."
Marcus snorted. "I'm a little offended, but when has that ever stopped you before? Now, any more burning questions before we go join the evacuation?"
"Oh, actually, yes." Elly perked up, pointing at the ground around them. "So, I'm no farmer, but this land is fucked. Even if we ignore the damage those two mages just did, it's barren, dry and stripped of anything resembling food. So why did someone tell me the Empire gets most of its food from farms close to the Dungeon?"
Vess answered before he could, tone almost smug. "That's a state secret, of a sort. Not a secret-secret, but one they prefer people to not know. Basically, the Hounds and Burrowers turn over the land every Dungeon Break, but can't actually eat the nutrients in the soil. So the farms get destroyed, the Dungeon is beaten back, farms get rebuilt and the farmers only have to plant and harvest, which is done very carefully to ensure the latter doesn't coincide with a Break."
"So the Dungeon actually helps their food production?" Elly asked, humming. "Huh. Interesting."
Marcus snorted. "Vess, stop being smug about having spies in the Empire. It's unbecoming. Also, it might be important to note that all the magic near the Dungeon makes food grow fat, healthy and quickly. Like druids are permanently enhancing the soil, but without any druids."
"Alright, sure," Elly allowed. "But what about the corpses? Those will rot, and that can't be good for the plants."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes it is? They decompose, turn into fertilizer which then enriches the soil. Which is just another thing that makes it so attractive to farm there despite the dangers."
"Really?" Elly said, surprised. "Wait, how do you know this? I would think I've heard if you'd spent a summer working on a farm, or something."
Marcus replied, tone dry, and he turned around. "I was friendless and alone for most of my life, thank you very much, and you can only read so much magical theory before you get a headache. So yes, I know a little about farming, just like I know a little about smithing, and weaving, and a dozen other disciplines. Not enough to make me an expert, or even a talented amateur, but I dislike sounding uneducated."
"So the Empire takes what corpses they can for necromancy and enchanting and what not, lets the rest decompose, then move in farmers when the Dungeon finally calms down." Elly said, turning to him a moment later. Her tone grew accusatory. "Wait, did you just call me uneducated?"
He rolled his eyes at her fake look of hurt, spinning up his latest sixth-tier exercise. It wasn't even a spell, this time, and the internal weaving of magic without ever completing the process was almost maddeningly difficult.
Well, it was maddeningly difficult when he tried to braid six strands of magic at once, making nothing more complicated than vague imprints. Little hints of not-yet intent, which should have been ridiculously easy.
Power comes from the desire to act.
The old him had said that. The old, cane-wielding him also turned out to be an asshole, but that didn't mean he'd been wrong. It also didn't mean a single phrase had promptly unlocked the secrets of the universe, as nice as that would have been.
Elly was complaining to Vess now, who seemed to be humoring her for the moment, so he kept practicing. Kept straining his mind and making what one could generously call progress, having to drop it when they got back to the generals.
He'd probably never see those two again after this, come to think of it. Oh well. First he had to get them over the river—Elly making sure they didn't die doing it—and then make the trek back to the Eastfort.
Which, to his quiet disbelief, was exactly what ended up happening. He pinched space until the river was no wider than a foot, well-organized companies of soldiers marched over it in good time, and even when an unfortunately timed Burrower deposited a swarm of Champions directly in their middle, the Imperial legionaries butchered them without much issue.
Fire and earthen walls kept the Hounds off them long enough to make the crossing, the Legion promptly pulled itself into a double march, and not three hours after the beginning of the evacuation, it was over.
He'd shared a 'this is too good to be true' glance with Elly, summoned Xathar, and was quite looking forward to spending a long day of languid reading in their room.
Instead they arrived to find the Eastfort flooded with Hounds, an actual army of Champions marching towards its gates, and the defenders barely holding on by a thread.
Marcus turned to Elly on their low hill, the closest Hounds already racing toward them. "You said you had a bad feeling about leaving the Eastfort alone, right?"
"I did," she replied, actually seeming intimidated by the sheer number of rabid beasts. That… that didn't fill him with confidence, to be honest. She continued, tone hesitant. "It was just a feeling?"
He grunted, adrenaline settling as he planned out a path towards the fort. "Can we win this?"
Elly didn't reply, Marcus letting out a low, long sigh.
The Hounds having noticed their arrival finally closed the distance, the Eastfort lit up as fire streamed down onto the enemy, and the ground shook as a Burrower passed straight under them.
And for the first time since setting foot outside of Mirrania, he properly regretted leaving.