Do not ever become bored of the Dungeon, Archmage. The horror will fade, the Hounds will die and the Champions will fall like leaves in winter. And yet it will remind you of why none have won the war, and for many it is the last thing they ever realize.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
Marcus double checked that his new bracers were still secure, finally dropping his elemental and sensory protection. His defensive suite dropped to three total matrices, and he took a moment to inspect them.
His shield split into fourteen planes, these days, and his spatial affinity had seeped into its creation. Attacks curved around him should they lack sufficient force, and both sound and light was cut-off above a certain threshold. It wasn't a perfect replacement for elemental and sensory protection, but it did free up a matrix.
The bracers protected against heat and cold, so he still had roughly eighty percent of his usual elemental tolerance. Should it ever become necessary, he could always add it back.
It was part of his prioritization initiative. He was spreading himself too thin, learning too many spells for different situations. And while being adaptable was good, no doubt about it, he was a spatial Archmage. It was the same reason he hadn't asked Barry for a Demon Knight, or Gretched on how to control the weather.
He was far from done, but slimming his defensive suite was a good start.
A roar interrupted his thoughts, and Marcus glanced at the approaching army. He had another sixth-tier spell that would be wonderful for that, but it wasn't quite field ready. So he hummed and teleported up, startling the flock of flying Hounds he joined, and weaved his usual third-tier spatial arc.
Efficiency. That was the name of the game, and with being able to keep his defenses active while both teleporting and weaving spatial arcs, he was back to being an endurance fighter. Which the flock of Hounds found highly disconcerting, judging by their screams.
Oh well. The Champions were the main focus, not their beasts of terror. Marcus looked down at them while he made another pass, some ten thousand rushing towards his army.
Or maybe more. Less, perhaps. It was hard to tell. There was little organization in their ranks, and Marcus could spot their chieftains easily enough.
Thus began a very boring two hour project, which consisted of teleporting down, killing the tribal leaders, and teleporting away again. Most Champions immediately fell into infighting, especially with their blood up, and by the time the horde made it to the waiting barricade, any last trace of cohesion was gone.
The army waiting for them, having spent the last few hours building fortifications, ripped them to shreds.
A Champion Orc was a strong, vicious and durable opponent, but when they stepped on a runic mine, they died all the same. A corrupted Elf could weave around attacks like the wind itself, but faltered when encountering a shield wall.
Even the few Champion Giants, dangerous as they were, stood no chance against Elly's pupils. Not without their tribes to support them, and Marcus made sure there was no support to be offered.
Still, watching the bloodshed made him happy that they weren't returning to Mirrania.
No, they were going south. Vistus had sent a message that his stay in Estin would only be days long, and that he'd been recalled by the Empress. Something to do with a trio of Calamities appearing to cooperate. Either way, the city still needed help.
It was as good a place to go as any, and frankly, they were in survival mode. Dungeon Breaks never lasted that long, and until then protecting the civilians was everyone's priority. Farms could be rebuilt, fields resowed, but if millions died, the Empire died with them.
Marcus teleported away, confident the army could deal with the remainder. He spotted Barry as he did, the summoner standing on the earthen wall that had been raised. A group of four fire elementals were with him, high-mid tier by the feel of them, and were burning hundreds alive.
Good. The more those in his Academy rose in power, the more they could take from his plate. The Council of Three was already running the place, and with a few strong mages in their ranks he could trust them to hold together.
Now, to find Elly.
Finding her didn't prove too hard, and he found her talking with her commanders. And the nobles, for that matter, since their command structure was all over the place now.
She hated it, he knew. But not even Helios would take too kindly if she tried to remove them entirely, so compromises had to be made.
"Marcus," Elly greeted, the only one to not startle at his arrival. "The Champions are taken care of?"
He hummed. "I broke what unity they had, and our fortifications appear to be holding strong. The horde?"
"It seems to have moved on, but I'm sending scouts to confirm," she replied, the ghost of a smile on her face. "I was just bringing everyone up to speed."
Helios inclined his head. "Indeed. The Queen says your portal project is progressing well, your Grace. This is surely a good omen."
"It's going," Marcus said. What was it with everyone getting all stiff the moment he left them alone? "My apprentices are able to maintain it after creation, at least for a little while, so I can theorize the runes needed for proper stability. Miniaturization of the runic arrays is showing promise, since it allows for additional spatial affinity to help steer the negative matter in between reality."
Aaand now they were looking at him like he was speaking nonsense. This. This was why he preferred mages. With them he could at least count on some basic level of education.
Elly cleared her throat. "Right. More important are our supplies. We have enough spatial boxes to store everything our reinforcements brought, but it would take days to pack everything together. Until then we have a supply train, which is slowing us down significantly. Not to mention our increasing distance from Mirrania. Assuming nothing goes wrong—which I am not going to do—we have three months of supplies with us."
"I can't do much to solve the sorting issue, but I could enlarge a few of the wagons. It's not perfect, but it should speed us up. As for the rest, Vistus promised the Empire would set aside supplies for us in Estin."
Hargraf narrowed his eyes in thought. "From all reports Estin is massively overcrowded and critically low on foodstores. I would advise not to rely on there being anything left when we get there, and if there is, to be discrete about our retrieval. Large groups of hungry, scared peasants can be unpredictable."
"We'll be discreet," Elly affirmed. She seemed almost surprised at the man being helpful. "And I'll make sure the companies scavenge what they can as we travel. I doubt the Hounds will have left much, but you never know when some farmer built a surprisingly sturdy barn. Soema, how are the Knights doing?"
The Duchess stiffened, which probably meant he'd missed something. Oh well. "They acknowledge that their customary position of authority needed to be… reduced. Some have sent out, or are planning to send out, feelers in the Empire. It's likely we'll see a number of defections after the Dungeon Break."
"And risk looking like they're poaching an Archmage's people?" Elly snorted. "They're not going anywhere. And don't consider the war won, any of you. If a Calamity shows up at the wrong time, or we get trapped, this could turn nasty in a heartbeat."
The three nobles made all the right noises, but Marcus could see that not even Helios took it to heart. They would soon enough. Probably when they saw their first Calamity. At least the commanders nodded seriously.
Marcus looked between the three while Elly verified something about troop maneuvers, which mostly went over his head. But the politics were more pressing anyway, at least for him, and they seemed mostly unchanged. Helios was still in overall command, Soema seemed to have gathered the Knights under her, and Hargraf had brought most of the supplies.
Their combined army was more of a mess, both because of its non-centralized command and the variation in training, but it should hold. Mostly. Elly was planning to use them as shock-troops, she'd said, and in general for things that didn't require too much discipline.
After growing used to the Royal Mirranian Army, he had to agree. Lords commanding troops that came from their own lands, and were dependent on that Lord for training, equipment and pay, was sloppy. Nevermind that they were beholden to politics from back home. While that wasn't wholly absent from a more professional command structure, it wasn't that.
He blinked when four faces turned to look at him, having zoned out. The other officers seemed to have already left, too. He hummed. "Yes?"
"We were wondering if there had been any… developments regarding an heir, your Grace," Helios said. Elly seemed more amused than upset, the traitor. And Hargraf, for some reason, was the most nervous. Interesting. Helios forged on after a long second. "I am sure you remember that succession is—"
Marcus held up a hand, the Duke falling silent. "Shush. Firstly, a reminder. I can, and very much will not hesitate to, teleport you into the air. Then you will fall and impact the ground with significant force. This will break your bones, shatter your spines, and, if you're lucky, be instantly fatal."
"Your Grace, please—"
"I said shush," Marcus repeated. Helios fell silent, eyes glancing at the Royal Guards nearby. Marcus snorted. "Relax. Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that I won't do that. I was going to say that it won't be necessary, because Elly and I have already spoken of appointing an heir. Someone to lead the Kingdom should the worst happen. And if I do, for whatever reason, wish to kill any of you, I won't need the Royal Guards to do so."
No one interrupted him that time. Good. Marcus cleared his throat. "This is the first—and last—time any of you are going to attempt to insert yourself into whatever goes on in my bedroom. I like to think I'm a patient man, but rest assured, it does have its limits."
The three nobles bowed their heads, and if he was feeling uncharitable, fled. Elly walked up next to him, watching them leave.
"That was nice," she said dryly. "A good balance between 'I'm benevolent' and 'don't fucking push me'. The point might have sunk in more thoroughly if you had actually made them fall, at least for a little while, but you get points for style. Eight out of ten, with room for improvement by offering a proper demonstration."
Marcus sighed. "I'm glad that was entertaining."
"It really was," Elly agreed. "And I'm not in the habit of contradicting you in public, but, well, we didn't decide on an heir. Or at least I don't remember that we did, which is pretty much the same thing."
He teleported her a foot to the right, pushing through the resistance that her Life energy offered. Elly narrowed her eyes and huffed, but she seemed to get the general rebuke. Marcus tsked. "Be nice. And no, we didn't, but that would have rather undercut my speech. I did think about it, though."
"And who, pray tell, will be leading Mirrania should we both die horrific deaths?"
"Mitzi."
Elly paused, blinking. "Pardon?"
"I know. But she's well educated, a talented fighter, has the backing of the Moderates, and Helios approves of her as heir. Probably. I'll need to double check. Frankly, if we're both dead that's kind of her problem. With two factions behind her Soema will fall in line, and it doesn't hurt that Mitzi has connections in my Academy already."
"And she's terrified of you," Elly added, humming thoughtfully. "Of us, really. It will keep her in line for as long as she's the heir. And single, too, so a marriage to a Loyalist isn't out of the question. I hesitate to say it, but the idea has merit."
Marcus snorted. "I'm so glad you approve. I'm thinking we'll break the news after Estin, which will give me time to speak with Helios, but I'm not expecting much resistance. Frankly, we don't have a lot of good options."
"None but the obvious."
"I said good options."
Elly shot him a hurt look, which made him pause. Marcus narrowed his eyes. "You're fucking with me, right?"
"Am I so ugly?" she asked. Her voice wavered, and she seemed to realize it was an inch too much. Elly grunted. "Damn, so close. One day I'll make you feel bad about how you were born, you just wait."
"I'm starting to get the feeling you didn't have a lot of friends growing up."
"Did you say something, child mad scientist loner?"
Marcus tilted his head, pondering that. "Fair enough, but that's too many things. I can, at worst, be a child scientist loner. Or a mad loner child, if you'd like, but not all four."
"Since when do you make the rules, hmmn?"
"Oh that," he waved his hand dismissively. "See, someone put a crown on my head, and it instantly increased my ego by a factor of four. Did they cover factors with you yet? See, after addition and subtraction, multiplication is a method of—"
Elly shoulder checked him, which was just all kinds of rude, but he recovered with only a mild step to the side. He spotted a pair of passing mages as he did, who were watching with wide eyes, and he sighed internally.
Silent Gods, privacy was becoming a luxury.
"Aww, did I hit you too hard?" Elly asked, tone more than slightly mocking. "Maybe you'll want to put some ice on that. You mages bruise so very easily."
Marcus wrapped them in a privacy bubble, drawing himself up. "You are an uneducated, crass, wanton creature incapable of proper noun conjugation."
"That's the best you got, really?"
"Well, I have to dumb down my usual insults. Can't let them get over your head, can we?"
Elly rounded on him, a wide grin on her face. "How about we settle this like proper nobles? A duel to decide who gets to keep their dignity."
"Dignity is for fools," he countered, enjoying the way her eye twitched. "And while I would normally relish the opportunity to make you hit yourself again, we have to get moving soon. You remember, right? The war? You get a little forgetful, sometimes. That's alright."
"At least I kissed someone before."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "What are you, four?"
"You better hope not. We're married."
"That was against my will, if you'd recall. So who's the real victim here, hmmn?" Marcus waited until she was about to respond, speaking over her. "Me. I am the real victim. Now that we've established that, I'll take my apology."
Elly stepped closer to him, bringing them both to a halt. Her nose was so close that his own almost pressed against it, and got briefly—briefly—lost in her eyes. Then she kissed his cheek, turning away with an enormous grin on her face.
"There, I've apologized. When you're done collecting your train of thought, I expect a thank you."
Marcus blinked, clearing his throat. Then he cleared it again, her grin only growing more smug as the seconds passed. "Yes, well. Apology accepted."
That was weak and he knew it. She knew it, for that matter, which was worse. Marcus resisted the urge to clear his throat again, almost frantically double-checking his privacy ward. It was just a simple illusion, and usually only sound-based, but he'd been paranoid and added a visual blocker.
His paranoia had been justified, though. Elly seemed to follow his magical exploration—he was going to ignore how impossible that should be as a non-mage—and her eyes widened. She hadn't known he raised it, then. Oh, good. Very good.
Elly spoke before he could. "I offer a draw."
"Deal," Marcus agreed, only slightly slower than instant. "We should double check the Champion army."
She hummed in agreement, so he teleported them upwards. The weather was turning, unfortunately, and while it didn't limit him yet, heavy rain most certainly would. Not to the point of uselessness, since human eyesight was a marvel of evolution, but it would shrink his range.
The army they'd left behind to fight the Champions was doing fine, it turned out, and it was winding down. Champions actually retreated, if less quickly than mortals, and Barry alone was wreaking absolute havoc on their ranks.
What Marcus wouldn't do for a few dozen of him.
Hells, even his newly arrived necromancers were proving their worth. Already undead Champions were charging their own kind, usually in groups of twenty or so, and it created even more chaos. Low-level undead like that weren't particularly strong, or skilled, but they didn't feel pain. Didn't grow tired, or afraid, or showed any shred of hesitation in the slightest.
He could almost feel Elly's disapproval, but she didn't complain. The undead were a tool, and he'd managed to frame it as such. That meant they were using them, and importantly, not being saved by them.
Things moved on from there. They chatted some about home, about the rushed militiamen and abandoned villages, and debated how the Hounds had made it over the mountains. Flight or not, those were cold, and Hounds barely had any fat to insulate them. Not that they actually came over the mountains, of course.
That's what he'd thought at first, too, but it turned out they mostly came from Burrowers, though no Champions had been sighted yet. Either way, it killed some time.
Then they were marching again, solving army-killing problems with depressing regularity, and he managed to create a semi-stable portal. It was technically a success, since it remained open without assistance, but only for point four seconds.
A different runic formation was needed, and he really missed his library. He had books with him, since being a spatial mage enabled his hoarding tendencies, but not that many. Not enough, and neither had he access to his runic experts.
Which, disappointing, weren't better than him, but a fresh perspective could do wonders. But still, there was progress.
It meant he was in a pretty good mood when they finally arrived at Estin, both himself and Elly being at the front of the army. It had taken nine days of hard marching, but it was the fastest they could make it.
Pinching pace to let the army cross that river had saved them almost four days, too. No other army could have been quicker, and if Elly's officers—and their information—were right, Vistus and his Legions had only left the city days ago.
And now he watched it, one of the first to see it with his own eyes. Elly was beside him, having paused mid-sentence when Marcus turned his attention away from her.
The city, which housed three hundred thousand before accepting a mass of refugees, was silent as the grave.
Afterword
Book two has been finished on the patreon. (That's the last time I'll mention that, promise.)
Patreon (10 and 15 chapters ahead)
Discord (2 chapters ahead for free)