Forgotten Dungeon

Uno

My plan had - for once - gone without a hitch and the new patients had been safely distributed between various operating theatres. The Butchers chittered over unconscious dwarves but their preparations were already in full swing. Amongst them, a large number of Ratlings squirmed and screeched, psyched to begin gruesome work.

The earlier batch of prisoners had their absent limbs replaced with metal. It was a curious technique more complicated than I expected. Unlike what I thought their arms and legs weren’t made from solid metal (mostly due to weight constraints) instead, my doctors had attached stick-like appendages surrounded with a thin grid of sheet metal.

It still weighed a ton but was apparently bearable to their fleshy bodies… or what they were transformed into. The techniques used included Anima infusions and installing a few additional organs.

Nothing too outrageous.

At least it was so until I asked the Butchers for additional anti-undead features. This whipped the creatures into a frenzy, their discussions reaching a whole new level of creepy.

Besides that a new group of Dragoons had been completed, their armored figures milling uncertainly on the laboratory floor. Thick armor and reinforced flesh combined with small figures had given them a dwarf-like feeling. The slow, lumbering pace the changed kobolds kept only reinforced this idea.

And all was well…

Not counting one, simple problem.

The future.

Due to how my second floor was constructed (not to mention how I was losing control over it) I had to repeat these attacks each time a new batch of prisoners arrived from the underground river. What happened once, could be dismissed as a coincidence. Twice - a stroke of bad luck. But any more than that?

Yeah…

On the one hand, I knew that hiding my survival forever was impossible. It would be different if my location had been abandoned, yet the pesky humans were using my depths to gather resources. And, like with any interaction, accidents happen. It was inevitable.

On the other hand, my forces had grown in strength and I wasn’t as defenseless as before. Yet even with that gained might, we were still too weak to stand against this world’s most powerful inhabitants. Not counting Lord Hawk, even the half-elven princess had been a pain in the backside with all her specialized dungeon-killing magic and artifacts. This narrowed down my options. Especially after my ability to avoid being killed became common knowledge.

A Dungeon Core cannot move by itself. It had the freedom to grow and create creatures and even a whole different world underground, yet it was destined to never have contact with the surface. Moreso it only journeyed deeper and deeper, with each built floor.

That was a constant. An immutable truth.

In the interest of survival, I had to either forge alliances or… overthrow that common sense.

Or maybe just do both.

That was however a plan for the future. Right now my attention turned back to the operating theatre. The yipping and yapping of the creatures achieved a peak of its crescendo, which signaled something worth my time.

A golden-faced dwarf was the first one to finish the enhancement procedures. What remained was more similar to the Dragoons than to the sentient races - a figure with armor-like limbs and copper wires spreading from the gouged chest into every possible direction. Pieces of the metal chest plate, gauntlets, and graves awaited nearby.

Most of his organs had been either replaced or augmented and countless scars decorated his tanned skin - a silent witness to the amount of work the Butchers invested in this creature.

His eyes were open but vacant, the constant pain and abuse already destroying his rebellious spirit. Only flesh remained. Flesh and metal.

I observed as a helmet was cautiously fitted on his head, the metal rails mounted on the neck instantly snapping together with an audible click. It was a simple, flat-headed iron bucket with two long openings for eyes and a few holes punched near the wearer’s mouth. More metal had been embedded in the flesh, prepared to accept other pieces of armor.

The experiment was ready.

The surrounding monsters held their breath, as the most important part of the process began.

The Mechanical Gem - my secondary heart - was taken out from its decorated box. Both Ratlings and the Butchers stood at the attention, lowering their heads in reverence as it was being brought closer to the prisoner. After a moment of hesitation, the container was put on the ground and its cover opened, spilling the radiance outward. Slowly a blue-skinned rat carrying the crystal changed its grip, lifting it in the air, and then inserted the item into an opening left in the middle of the dwarf’s chest. With a satisfying sound, both pieces joined perfectly.

As it slid in an unknown feeling swelled in my chest.

There was a... connection.

My mind swirled excitedly and inadvertently I began to read the creature’s memory, taking it for myself.

There was a lot to digest. Memories of halls decorated in gold and stone. Of a hierarchical society that had cast away weakness like one would a faulty sword. Of the constant threat of monsters or greedy surfacers. Disdain for those who abandoned their ancestors and their hallowed ways. Numbers, feelings, desires. And… a name - Hune Copperoot. I could feel myself change, the dwarven sensibilities merging with my mind.

After the flood of memories came the ability to move. My vision shifted suddenly and I experienced a bewildering discrepancy. I could see the dwarven body and I was the one piloting it.

I forced his - my - hand to move and an iron fist appeared in the corner of my vision. After a moment of awe, my monstrous servant freed it from the chains, giving me a full range of motions.

It was great.

It was exhilarating.

I could temporarily inhabit some of my other creations, yet with this body… with this body, there was a way out of my predicament! The underground cities awaited, and my ancestors were looking over me with pride, keen to see the things that I would accomplish! The things I could teach them!

As I marveled in silence, the connection grew hotter and hotter, my subservient gem searching for something to... attach itself to. Something that the dwarf in question was clearly lacking. I could feel his feeble mind trying to desperately fight back as the greenish fire ravaged every centimeter of the stocky body.

It was a futile struggle.

The crystalline heart vibrated quicker and quicker searching for something and failing to find it. The host’s neural pathways were burning, quickly reaching the limits of flesh and soul. The pain was unbearable, some of it even spilling into my main core.

I grit my teeth, trying to understand, and desperately working to remain whole. I was not going to lose this chance, ancestors damn it!

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!” An animalistic scream left the dwarf’s mouth, his eyelids fluttering wide open and formerly dull eyes filling with dread.

He started spasming, his reinforced limbs barely kept in place by operating theatre restraints. The hand I freed earlier only made matters worse, the metal gauntlet suddenly focused on breaking the golden dwarf’s skull. It was trying to kill itself to escape the pain... At least the surrounding monsters reacted immediately, stopping the victim’s movements. Seconds passed and the dwarf stopped screaming, his golden face relaxing, not even a shred of intelligence remaining in his wide-open eyes.

With an ominous ding, the Mechanical Gem fell on the ground, refusing to connect with what remained of my victim. Nothing worked, no matter how I tried, or how the blue-skinned Ratling busied himself. There was simply nothing left to connect to.

I sighed. It was not quite the result I was expecting. My experiment to create an avatar of some sort resulted in a complete failure. At least the flesh survived, so it should be somewhat usable. I scanned the resulting creature, and the System’s description seemed to only confirm my suspicions.

Soulscoured Puppet

A former sapient creature subjected to inhuman torture, ending in the absence of will and an independent soul. The resulting residue is completely dependent on received orders and dungeon mana. It can be however repurposed to function outside the depths that spawned it.

The Puppet remains indistinguishable from other sapient beings and retains the skills and magical abilities that it was capable of before the change, the only exception being the ability to speak or write. It is still however able to understand speech. Due to extensive remodeling, the physical strength and reflexes of the Puppet had been greatly enhanced.

Threat level: dependent on the base model

After reading the analysis, I frowned. Torture was never the goal, only the shortest path to achieving an acceptable result. Progress often demanded sacrifices and I was more than willing to provide them.

I left the laboratories while Butchers freed the failure from the restraints and replaced it with another specimen. When you don’t succeed in the beginning, try again, and again. It may be a definition of insanity, yet sometimes it works anyway.

Curious, huh?

That was however enough for now. My creatures worked busily in the depths, so it was time to observe how the surface was faring. The intensity of the Mechanical Gem merging with another patient seemed to lessen with distance, which had a bit to do with my decision.

Anyway - only a few hours had passed since the last battle. Two remaining roads into the outpost had been blocked by militia and their prickly spears. Spread amongst them were heavily armored Geinard Kingdom's soldiers, mostly content to keep watch over their inferiors. Rarely they elected to dive into the ranks of the dead army, spreading destruction in their wake.

Behind the hardy shield wall, a few of the mages bombarded mindlessly advancing undead. The archers were absent, their figures visible far in the back, moving busily between suspiciously bubbling vats and another group of mages.

These spellcasters seemed more gritty and mad-eyed, their wild gesticulation earning them the suspicion of the surrounding soldiers. Most of them carried various vials and containers on their waist, with everpresent smudges of chemicals visible on their clothes. A few dragged still kicking undead creatures towards a grim-looking place. The dissecting table looked the same above and below the surface, huh?

It seemed like these mages were of the alchemist’s type. This world’s equivalent of scientists. Or should I say, mad scientists?

This had only drawn more of my attention, the liquid they were peddling turning more and more interesting. I wasn’t the only one thinking so, as a group of Ratlings crouched nearby, their snouts trembling with anticipation. It seemed like I wasn’t the only one thinking about borrowing a few drops…

While I mused, the atmosphere suddenly changed.

Even though it was still midday, the air turned colder and biting, unnatural clouds covering the sky. The advancing undead suddenly stopped, before retreating, leaving a veritable carpet of broken bones and decaying flesh in their wake.

“Reform the ranks!” I heard the commanding officer scream.

“Prepare for an attack! Replace the shield-bearers!”

“Heavy infantry to the back! Regroup!”

“Archers! At the ready!”

“Send a runner to inform Master Charles!”

There was a shuffle, as the Geinard Kingdom army strained and flexed like a living thing, the fresh troops moving to the front, while the rest waited nearby. The faces of soldiers were full of concentration, their hands tightly gripping the handles of their weapons. Some were praying quietly, others glared with hatred at the enemy. Most simply waited with a quiet conviction in their tired eyes.

The tension in the air turned and twisted, and then dispersed immediately when a familiar voice echoed in the air, followed by the sound of violently opened doors.

*BAM*

The words spoken grew harsher and louder, followed by a noise of harsh footsteps - and Charles’ figure appeared, clad in a red haze, his teeth and hands clenched in silent fury.

Following behind him was a silver-haired servant, Adam.

“Master! Please, stop!” He gasped, and seeing the red-haired mage keeping his pace, he turned back to the outpost proper. “What are you waiting for? Get the healers and clean bandages! And for Gods mercy, somebody stem the bleeding! We can’t have him dying before we get all the answers.”

“Yes!”

“Yes, at once!”

Grunts of acknowledgment followed his statement, and a second later Adam was back to chastising his hotheaded lord.

“Master Charles! Please! Observe some decorum!”

“I do not care.” Charles bellowed, his rigid footsteps portraying the man’s fury. “You heard the fucker as well as I did. This is not an illness of the flesh but a magical construct. A vile, volatile thing.”

“They dared… they dared to touch her!” The mana churned and swelled all around him, the temperature growing higher with every second. The red-eyed mage seethed with rage, ignoring Adam’s increasingly bright and sweaty face. “We’ll fight fire with fire then… Get me Master Vincent. I need counsel.”

“That won’t be necessary.” A calm voice came from behind, as an aged wizard in a violet robe and ridiculous helmet appeared from behind. Unlike Charles’ his steps were slow and steady, the magic much less pronounced.

It was a curious thing to observe.

“Young man…” The old mage frowned, which was easy to see despite most parts of his wrinkled face being covered by armor. “I am not an expert on everything magical just because I am an older spellcaster than you…”

“And yet the majority of your research covers old magic artifacts and spells. You’re the closest thing we have to an expert!” The older man yelled, gesticulating wildly.

“Good.” The mage grumbled. “Good. So be it then - as an expert, my answer will be simple.”

He shook his head. “We don’t know. It is not even because it’s old magic but rather because the way it was made is so unique… An original magical spell in this day and age - cobbled from knowledge about blood, charm, and nature magic. Simply marvelous.” The old wizard smiled helplessly.

“It is not a marvel, but a simple abomination, mage!” Charles glared at him while baring his teeth. “Still… it’s a familiar thing. I don’t know why.”

“It should be.” Master Vincent nodded. “After all Blueflames are not the only ancient family in existence.”

“House Verdant!” The red-haired mage hissed. “These twice-cursed monsters!”

“I wonder. To my knowledge, their magi should be incapable of creating such brilliant spells. They lack both power and understanding of mana, not to mention willpower and levels needed to enter the field of system-less magic.”

“Then… who? My rage needs an outlet - do not test me, old man!” Charles snarled.

“My best guess would be the ancient lord of Nature.” The old mage’s voice unconsciously turned quieter in a show of reverence. Or fear. “Princess Agnes went to reinforce her forces, after all. It makes sense.”

“B-but… why would Green Succubus--”

“Lady Green.” Master Vincent interrupted. “Please try to keep decorum. Walls have ears.”

“I don’t care.” Huffed Charles. “Ancient lord or not - if she cursed my beloved then she needs to die!”

“Master! Please...” Adam’s trembling voice chided the hot-blooded youth. The flames surrounding him grew thinner, as he looked up, at the sky. For a split second, I saw tears forming in his eyes, only to immediately evaporate due to heat.

“Then what I am supposed to do, Adam?” He spoke aloud. “Just wait until the spell consumes her whole? Unable to do anything to stand against the strong, like always?”

“Do you have anything to add, Master Vincent? What are our chances?”

“As I mentioned… it is complicated and powerful magic. We need to work out its innards, analyze the structure, and devise a solution. This takes time, and it is a process I cannot rush.” He shook his head sadly.

“Then we just... wait? That’s it?”

“We are already doing what is humanly possible. A few of my apprentices are supporting the war effort, and defending the outpost. I simply cannot order them to go back. Nothing short of divine intervention would make this process go faster.”

“Divine intervention, you say…” Charles mumbled quietly, his red eyes squinting in reflection.

“Fine.” He grumbled. “FINE.”

“I have a few more ideas. But remember…” Master Vincent’s tone lowered, turning into a hoarse whisper. “We’re far over our heads. We can slow it down… but stopping the parasite completely, or destroying it?” Vincent shook his head. “It’s beyond mortal reach.”

The fire mage turned crimson red as he bared his teeth, stifling his anger. A few deep breaths later he managed to answer.

“T-thank you for that. I…” He stared silently at the rows of soldiers. “I don’t have much beyond her. Keep up doing what you can.”

“Yes, I will. Remember, the girl is dear to me too. Do you need any help with these?” He nodded towards the quietly waiting undead legion.

“No. I am more than enough. It’s a good way to relax. I’m always angry nowadays.”

“I see.” The old mage hesitated for a moment before swallowing his words. “Don’t overdo it.” He said instead.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Charles glared at the undead creatures. “I’ll be just fine.”

With a solemn nod, Master Vincent turned around and left for the frontlines, his steady steps slowly growing quieter and quieter. Moments later a few of the soldiers and mages approached the red-haired outpost leader.

“Master Charles!”

“Sir!”

“Leader!”

There was a chorus of voices. Be it an officer or wizard, all of them showed reverence, their eyes full of pride and faith.

“What is the situation?”

“Reporting: the undead have retreated. Our forces are barely spent and ready to continue fighting.”

“Our mages are mostly available too. We can either provide cover or bombard the enemy.”

“Archers are waiting for orders. We stopped the attack since normal arrows were proven ineffective.” A leather-clad officer grimaced in annoyance. “A few of Master’s Vincent apprentices shared their anti-undead solution. We’re ready to rain death on these abominations!”

“Good. Good. Send runners to get half-giants ready and prepare the undying ones.”

“Sir!”

“Acknowledged. But… is that really necessary?”

“Yes, sir - could we not? They give me the creeps!”

“It might be. It might be not. I have a bad feeling. We need to prepare for any eventuality.” Charles scratched his chin. ”Do you know what their retreat means?”

His gaze danced between surrounding officers. Seeing that nobody spoke, he sighed.

“The undead crave death of the living. It’s their reason to exist. Usually, they’ll stop at nothing to taste our flesh and blood. To see us screaming in fear.”

“Yet now they retreated. Do you know why?”

“B-because they found another target?”

Charles mused for a moment. “Maybe. A more probable explanation would be the appearance of a superior undead who took command over their forces. Just like those liches before.” The fire mage's tone turned colder. “We don’t know who or what the opponent is, thus we should remain cautious. And be prepared to use whatever we can.”

“As you wish!”

“Now… let’s give them a taste of magic since they are so bunched up.” Charles smiled and waltzed closer to the frontline, the soldiers parting before him. He stopped in clear sight of the enemy, only a few shieldbearers keeping watch over the carpet of bone and flesh spread before them.

“Give me some room.” He ordered and surrounding troops quickly retreated, a thin line of knights replacing their comrades, sharpened swords and axes kept at the ready. “Good.” Charles nodded before spreading one, and then another hand. He slowly chanted, thick and heavy words condensing under his nose. Then, in a commanding tone, he spoke. “Greater Fireball”.

A swirling flame rested on his palm before he repeated his words and another one appeared on the second one. These baseball-sized constructs didn’t look that dangerous at first sight, yet they excluded a sense of pressure that made humans around the red-haired mage tremble.

A greenish light blinked in Charles’s eyes as he spoke again.

“Devour flames.” And suddenly the fires disappeared… but the pressure was still there.

“F-f-firebomb.” He spat through his clenched teeth, a familiar reddish-green human-sized magic reappearing before him. Like before it almost immediately started to fray on the edges, the framework too weak to contain its explosive power.

“I-i-imbue FLAMES!” Charles roared in the end and the death ball before him… changed.

It was no longer a simple red orb, containing compressed destruction. It excluded sickly green malice instead - a hungry, monstrous feeling, resembling a rabid animal. It spun around its axis, the fire wisps no longer trying to break the form endowed upon them. They remained intertwined with flame magic, gleefully waiting to be unleashed.

“How beautiful…” Charles whispered, gazing at his creation.

The flames danced in response to his words, like hunting dogs waiting for their master’s command.

“Go!” He screamed. “Show me your power!”

His reaction was completely disproportionate to what seemed like a basketball-like overhead shot. It felt as perfectly silly as before. I guess the awe factor depended on the observer, as the surrounding soldiers weren’t laughing at all, their wide, reddened eyes full of fear and pride.

In the meantime, the corrupted Firebomb slowly sailed through the air before reaching the highest point of its parabola.

This elicited a response.

A giant shield appeared in the air, poised to intercept the attack, and, from the ranks of the undead army, a deep voice spoke in an ancient language.

“Oh, how the Geinard Kingdom has fallen. Attacking without a warning? And with such parlor tricks?” The humans simply stared in silence, clearly incapable of understanding the words of this new enemy. Somehow, I didn’t have the same problem.

“Weak and cowardly! That’s what you have become! How fitting that you’ll join my army and find a greater purpose after death!” A small, black-robed figure appeared at the back of the undead horde. With a gnarled staff in its hand and a few black-clad knights nearby, it was clearly the supposed commander. The being pointed at the incoming attack while shaking in rage.

Its face looked completely mummified - like its body was preserved for decades in some desert crypt, completely different from half-decomposed skeletons or zombies. The undead mage sported a creepy grin and cold, blue mana was escaping its half-closed eyelids.

Unlike me, humans knew who they were facing.

“It’s an Elder Lich! Prepare mana shields!”

“Skirmish formation! Magical attack incoming!”

“Fallen Knightage is here too! May the Gods have mercy!”

“Don’t blaspheme, just get the Giants ready!”

The human army turned into a hive of activity while both Charles and I were simply watching the slowly descending attack. On my side, it was just an onlooker’s curiosity, yet the red-haired mage sported a nihilistic expression as he observed the enemy’s actions.

“Disperse!” Ordered the Elder Lich, his hands glowing with magic. In addition to the shield, a long shadow bolt has sprung from its skeletal fingers intercepting the Firebomb. It guided the attack in the middle of flames before shouting. “Disappear!”

Yet the flames simply devoured incoming dark magic.

Seconds later Charles’ magic touched the mana shield and all hell broke loose.

The primary explosion broke magical protection, and a moment later rain of secondary projectiles showered the undead army with tainted flames. Just like before the dead were helpless against the onslaught, the flesh and bone surrendering to ruthless heat.

For a few moments, the silence reigned on the battlefield.

Then a roar of anger shook the heavens.

“YOU WORMS!” The Elder Lich screamed, its voice shrill and piercing. “YOU DARE TO RESIST? YOU DARE TO WASTE MY PAWNS? I WAS GOING TO BE MERCIFUL, I WAS GOING TO MAKE YOUR DEATH QUICK AND PAINLESS!”

It quietened down, bitter, blue mana spilling out from its empty eye sockets. “But no more.”

I shook my head. The theatrics were all fine and dandy but when nobody understood what you were talking about the whole drama seemed a bit pointless.

This opinion wasn’t shared by the human forces, though. Even if they didn’t understand the words, the tone behind them was pretty obvious. They reacted in the only way possible - reinforcing their defense. The Geinard Kingdom shieldbearers tricked forward, taking their place beside armored knights. Archers and mages left the safety of the outpost and formed craggy lines behind their comrades.

Amongst them, officers and sergeants were shouting commands and obscenities, directing soldiers to reinforce weak points, and changing their line formation to an inverted triangle.

In the deepest part of the triangle stood Charles, his aura rolling down to the ground like a red sea. The people around him were trying to get back, the leather boots of the closest warriors already smoking.

Compared to the hustle and bustle of the human army the undead were moving closer like a mindless wave, some failing to avoid the raging inferno, others squeezing and pushing, all to reach the living.

The Elder Lich intoned a chant in the language even I couldn’t comprehend, the magic bending to its will like a tamed beast. Unlike Charles’ lively spells its intent was slow and cruel. Soon a large number of skeletons gathered behind enemy lines, clacking and trembling. They desperately fought the spell to leave and freely attack the humans.

It took a few minutes, but the undead stopped its chant and glared at the milling bones. His leathery face split in a smile, as it spoke a single word.

“Empower.”

The dead responded, their skeletal remains slowly starting to merge, forming larger and thicker bones. A few moments later I saw that snouts, tailbones, and large cartilages were formed. An animalistic form emerged from the chaos, a monstrous beast called from beyond the grave.

Once again humans were quick to react, plastering a name onto the unknown.

“Greater Skeletal Beasts! Get the news to the commander!” The frontline officers shouted, their panicked screams propelling runners to greater speeds.

Chasing them was Charles’ energetic roar. “Don’t dawdle! Release half-giants!”

The ground trembled, as large, skeletal monstrosities tried to push through the dead army. Slowly but surely they made way, trampling smaller undead in their wake. Following them were small - five to six soldiers - squads of the black-plated knights. They moved with a sense of purpose and wielded two-handed weapons, just like their Geinard Kingdom counterparts.

Both mage and archer squads took this time to send a few welcoming packages toward the marching undead. Their accuracy left much to desire but the attacks still managed to slow the advance down or even straight up kill a few of the aggressors.

Even the frontline soldiers changed their tactics, focusing more on pushing back the enemy, instead of killing them off. I could hear their leaders yelling until their voices turned hoarse.

“Keep them at bay!”

“Use the blunt end!”

“Shield warriors to the front!”

“Keep at it! Reinforcements are on the way!”

“Don’t let them break through!”

THUD, THUD, THUD

The slow, rhythmic noise of iron striking stone came from the human side, eliciting shouts of happiness from the soldiers.

A moment later four large figures appeared from the newly built shed, their forms clad in haphazardly attached metal plates and random parts of iron armor. Ogrekin, or as the humans called them - half-giants - wielded iron-studded clubs and wooden shields, both seemingly fashioned from farming implements or maybe even parts of a building.

Their three-meter-tall figures loomed over the rest of the human warriors.

“Bad?” One of them spoke.

“Bad. Guys.”

“We. Smash.”

“Smash?” Grinned the third one.

“Boss?” All of the ogrekin stared at the nervous-looking officer standing nearby. To his credit, the man stuttered only for a second, before answering.

“Y-yes! We need you to smash these undead!” He swallowed heavily. “And please try to avoid trampling your allies!”

“Smash. Baddies.” One of the ogrekin nodded sagely.

“Avoid. Small. Peps.” Added the second one.

“We. Play.” Cheered the third.

“No, no you need to kill the enemies, not play!” The confused officer rebuked. “We’re on a battlefield, not in the playground!”

“Play.”

“Smash.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

With stupid grins, the half-giants started to run, yelling with simple happiness. Their armor clanged with each step, as humans desperately dove out of the way to avoid getting trampled.

“Make way, make way!” The officers screamed at the top of their lungs.

“Prepare to retreat!”

“Fold the line!”

Their eyes were glued to sprinting ogrekin.

Not much time had passed before, and with enormous noise, the four of them collided with the undead forces. They went in like a hot knife through the butter, smashing and kicking the surrounding enemies. Zombies and skeletons were either torn asunder or ground down by their weapons and heavy bodies.

The slaughter continued for a minute or two - until their momentum stopped completely and they were forced to focus on defense. Humans made sure that the pieces of armor strapped to their legs and waist were of superb quality as most enemies could reach no further. Each of the half-giants simply stood with their legs spread apart and swooped the ground with the iron club.

The battle stabilized, the undead being cleaned up at the same rate as they were arriving. There was still a veritable sea of them, but I could already see the end of this encounter. Or it would be so, if not for the elite Skeletal Beasts and black-clad knights that were due to join the fray any second now.

Not to mention the Elder Lich in the back was being suspiciously quiet at the moment. The spell it cast seemed to take a lot of energy, thinning the amount of fog escaping through its eyes.

Charles seemed to share my opinion, as he observed enemy lines with sharp focus, leaving the actual defense to his subordinates. While the half-giants rampaged on the frontlines a bunch of wooden carts had been moved from the outpost’s interior. The people pulling them seemed spooked but slowly managed to create a shabby line behind their own troops.

I was curious, though it was hard to ascertain what was going on with these things. A human-sized cart, with a hole in the upper part, and some iron chains attached in the back. They had a familiar magic signature like many other things born in my dungeon, yet it might’ve been just the silvery wood used in their construction…

As I mused the battle progressed - ogrekin clashed at last with the elite undead.

“Bad. Dogs!” The left one screamed, grinding the Skeletal Beast to the ground, a simple overhead swing breaking its false life.

Another Beast attacked a moment later, latching onto Ogrekin’s lowered hand. It was lifted in the air, as the half-giant moved around erratically. The dead knights followed with their heavy swords, axes, and hammers smashing unceremoniously into the armored leg like a woodcutter would do with a stubborn tree. Only this time the tree sometimes squashed back.

“Help him!” The frontline officers bellowed and a few groups of soldiers surged forward, clashing with the dead.

Their eyes were full of fear, yet determined, and soon I understood why. Most of the humans either missed black-plated knights completely or had their attacks blocked, leaving them open to a counterattack. It was something that the normal undead couldn’t do but seemed easy for their elites. Red blood was spilled on the ground again and again as shouts of exertion, fear, and pain filled the air. Human soldiers refused to retreat.

It was not a completely one-sided affair though, as here and there undead knights were cut and smashed, their withered flesh bared for all to see. One even had their head caved in, a dribble of black pus trickling down his armor even after it smashed the offender to bits.

These were pinpricks, however, a trashing of wounded animals beset by predators.

And Charles knew that. “At this pace, we’re going to lose.” He mumbled before shouting in a husky voice. “Surge and retreat!” His words were repeated by the commanding officers.

A moment later the defensive line had been broken - intentionally - and a sea of soldiers collided with their enemies. It was a quick and bloody affair, charging troops using their mass and red-eyed desperation to push back incoming undead. After an ear-rending noise of clashing iron, bone, and flesh filled the air, momentum slowed down and the dead took their due.

“Hold!” The commanders shouted - even as each second of fighting was paid in blood.

“Hold, sons of the Kingdom!”

“HOLD!”

Their screams cut the air as humans bled and crushed their enemies in return.

Ten long seconds later another order came, rough and tense.

“Retreat! Help those who can walk, leave the heavily wounded!”

The soldiers listened, their eyes hard and helpless, as the screams of those left behind were chasing their backs. Ravenous undead took their time to pull the slow ones apart, and the tactic worked wonders - slowing down enemy counterattacks.

The mages were given precious seconds.

A slew of different mana sailed through, like colorful yet deadly fireworks.

The explosions took out some of the dead, charring the rest of the closest abominations. Magical ice, fire, and noxious gas lingered, blocking access to the defensive line. It was a shabby shield - a temporary solution… but it seemed it was intentional to buy time for the outpost's real trump card.

Charles was already spilling out his fiery mana once again, the people around him forced to retreat further and further from the glowing mage. The soldiers defending him gritted their teeth in a desperate fight to keep their weapons aloft as they grew hotter by the moment.

He was currently compressing wave after wave of unruly energy into a flattish disk. Each bit was followed by a jaw-clenching whisper of devour flames and a greenish, nearly invisible nucleus. Only I seemed to notice that doing so quelled some of the flames still burning between the armies.

After doing that four or five times he squinted, observing something unseen. Whatever it was it elicited a grumble of approval before he lightly tossed the spellwork into the air. The disk vibrated before stopping about twenty centimeters above his head.

With a sharp nod, the red-haired mage pointed toward the chaotic space remaining between the two armies. Compressed magic followed his will and flew above human soldiers before falling with a soft *thump*.

Despite looking so fragile its arrival elicited an even more frenzied retreat. Even the undead somehow were able to sense monstrous power sleeping within.

“Wall of Flames!” Charles shouted and fiery magic was simply… released.

With a roar tainted red flames jumped from ground to flesh, to metal, to stone - cutting, burning, and devouring all that was present with endless desire.

The fire spread left and right, drilling into the soil in mere seconds, turning into an indestructible barrier between the living and the dead. It moved with a purpose, bending the ever-greedy flame into a shield. It did not spare those caught in the flames, be it a zombie, a skeleton, a black-plated knight, or a human soldier.

All were consumed.

All were equal before the raging flame.

“R-reform ranks!” Came trembling voices of officers.

“Squads! Count out!”

Behind the inferno, the slow steps of Charles made his warriors part like the sea before Moses. He looked dirty, tired, and angry.

Worse, a green flame danced in his eyes.

“Prepare.” He grumbled, drinking the contents of a waterskin.

“Your orders?”

“Tell the Knut’s men to get ready. We need them on the battlefield.” The silence followed his words before one of the warriors spoke.

“Sir?” The soldier choked out, his face swung between fear and disgust.

“What is it?”

“Is it wise to unleash t-the u-u-un-n-dying?”

“Between death and a tiny sliver of hope, what do you choose, Junir? Will you follow me, even if the road is dirty and full of thorns?”

The man’s eyes widened at Charles’ sharp words. After a moment of hesitation, he clenched his teeth before shouting to the heavens.

“This Junir will follow master! Glory or death!”

“This Anday will follow master even if the Gods curse us!”

“This…!”

More declarations echoed right after the first one, as every soldier present screamed their lungs out, raising spears and swords in defiance.

The mages weren’t far behind, their words quieter, yet no less piercing.

The wooden boxes that the army prepared earlier were now slowly opening, their contents soon available for all to see.

Now, this was the type of entertainment I was looking for!