Chrysalis Chapter 3 Body of Iron, Heart of Flame

Donnelan was utterly spent. Over the past twenty-four hours, the young fire mage had been drained of every drop of energy, pushing his mental capacity until his brain felt scorched and blood began to seep from his tear ducts.

Actual blood! Leaking right out of his eyes!

When he had approached the centurion overseeing his unit to report his physical collapse, he was met with nothing but a disdainful grunt and a mere five-minute reprieve. Those five minutes were spent with his face submerged in a pail of slushy ice water within the medical tent. Once the time was up, he was forced back onto the wall to endure the final half-hour of his rotation.

Since this was Donnelan’s first experience defending against a wave, he lacked the perspective to know if this chaos was standard. Regardless, the events of the last day had permanently shattered his perception of the Dungeon.

He was well aware that the Legion maintained a draconian grip on Dungeon operations. Among the mercenaries, the Legion’s regulations were notoriously referred to as the 'Stone Law'—as immovable and oppressive as a mountain range.

In the past, Donnelan had sympathized with that perspective. While the Dungeon was undeniably hazardous, it hadn't seemed quite so extreme; fools often met their end exploring the depths, but then again, fools could kill themselves while shaving. Was such heavy-handed regulation truly necessary?

The mage no longer held that doubt. As the light returned, the Legion had mobilized in full strength upon the ramparts of their makeshift fortification. Officers marched back and forth like wrathful spirits, inspecting gear and barking sharp hand signals at any Legionary whose preparations were found lacking.

When the monsters began to erupt from the earth, claw through the walls, and plummet from the cavern ceiling, Donnelan felt as though he had been plunged into a vision of the underworld. Savage slaughter broke out everywhere simultaneously. The metallic tang of blood and the piercing screams of beasts overwhelmed his senses to the point of nausea. Several other trainees had actually vomited over the battlements. The centurions ignored these visceral reactions from the younger soldiers, remembering that they too had once stood in those same boots.

A relentless sea of monsters collided in a chaotic frenzy before turning their collective rage toward the fort. Though the Legionaries couldn't explain the phenomenon, the monsters seemed to be under an irresistible, suicidal compulsion to breach the walls once they drew near.

It didn't take long for the fortification to be engulfed by so many creatures that it resembled a lonely island besieged by an endless tide.

The only reason the beasts didn't manifest directly within their ranks was the activation of an ancient Legion artefact. This device suppressed monster spawning in a localized zone at the heart of the camp. This was yet another Legion secret revealed to Donnelan during this mission, leaving him wondering how many more mysteries they kept hidden away.

It was jarring to realize he had trained alongside these people for five years without hearing even a whisper of these hidden assets. Not a single word!

“How are you holding up, Don?” a weary voice called out.

Donnelan glanced up to see Mirryn approaching. Her face was masked in grime and dried monster ichor as she reached the rest area, collapsing against a tent pole as if her very life force had been extinguished.

Mirryn had been pushed just as hard as he had. She had been forced to exert her archery skills to their breaking point to pick off distant threats and fill the gaps whenever the monsters managed to scale the ramparts and endanger the mages.

In the distance, the cacophony of monstrous roars and rhythmic explosions continued as mages blasted the horde with every scrap of magic they could muster. Donnelan had never experienced mana this dense. Every practitioner felt as though their spells were being amplified by the environment—their fire burned more intensely, their storms grew more vast, and their ice became more frigid than ever before.

Unfortunately, the same empowerment applied to the monsters. That explained the deafening noise.

The unending racket was starting to break the minds of some Trainees. Donnelan recalled an archer—a decent fellow nicknamed ‘Fingers’ because of the incredible dexterity he used in his craft. After fourteen hours of the wave, he had suffered a mental break, collapsing into a sobbing heap in the rest area while begging for the noise to cease.

Two medics had promptly silenced him with a sleep rune and moved him to a cot, where he remained unconscious.

The situation was so dire that Donnelan briefly considered if he should start screaming as well; perhaps then he would finally get some sleep!

“Never been better, Mir,” Donnelan joked tiredly. “It’s basically a holiday.”

Mirryn let out a soft laugh, her eyes remaining shut as her head rested against the wood. “I heard about the blood in your eyes. Did they really only give you five minutes?”

“Really,” Donnelan confirmed.

His friend shook her head in sheer disbelief, too exhausted for a more dramatic reaction.

After a silent moment, she spoke again. “I might have some actual good news for you, though.”

“Oh?”

“Word is that the trainees are being granted a twenty-four-hour reprieve before our next wall duty.”

Donnelan was so startled by the news that he bolted upright, instantly triggering a sharp cramp in his leg.

“Ouch!” he cried out.

It took several minutes of painful stretching to work out the knot. Throughout his struggle, Mirryn continued to chuckle weakly.

“How can they afford to give us a break? Don’t they need every hand on deck? I don't see any sign of the assault slowing down…” Donnelan muttered with skepticism.

Mirryn snorted. “If anything, the intensity is rising! You can see that as clearly as I can. I have no clue what the commanders are thinking, but the Tribune personally gave me this news ten minutes ago. I swear it’s true!”

The young fire mage could only shake his head in confusion. How could they possibly maintain the perimeter if a large portion of the force was resting?

Meanwhile, at the center of the camp, the high-ranking officers had assembled. Between them, they possessed centuries of collective experience within the Dungeon.

Despite the harrowing noise that pounded against the eardrums of everyone in the camp, these officers remained unbothered. They stroked their beards or rubbed their chins, grumbling to one another about the perceived weakness of the modern generation of soldiers.

A sudden movement caused the group to turn as one toward the left, their chatter instantly dying away. Moments later, Titus stepped out from his command tent, his aging but still powerful frame encased in dark armor plating.

As he reached his old comrades, Titus grinned broadly, clapping shoulders and exchanging warm nods and laughs with his peers. Despite the howling carnage occurring less than a hundred meters away, the commander seemed more at ease than he had in years.

Many of his subordinates noted the transformation.

“Almost feels like being back home, doesn't it, Commander?” a scarred centurion remarked with a grin.

Titus gazed out at the brilliantly glowing forest and took a deep, lung-filling breath, drawing the saturated mana into his Dantian.

“Almost, Margnus. Give it another 10% and it’ll be just right.”

The other veterans followed suit, breathing deeply and nodding in consensus. Like their commander, these seasoned warriors looked more revitalized and moved with more fluidity than they had in a long time.

Margnus looked back toward the tent Titus had just exited before speaking. “Any progress in waking her up, Commander? I’d give anything to see her on the battlefield again after all these years.”

Titus simply shook his head. “It’s going to take much more than 10% to get that old battle axe moving, you know that,” Titus chuckled. “Regardless, I think if we can stretch our old limbs, the rest of the troops should be able to sleep soundly for a day. What do you say, friends?”

The men and women serving as the officers for the surface headquarters of the Legion’s Liria branch laughed as they gripped their weapons and began moving toward the perimeter. Only Titus and Aurillia stayed behind.

“How much longer until the real threats arrive, Commander? Will the trainees be prepared?” the Tribune asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Titus only offered a smile. “Those old monsters would have started emerging hours ago; the pressure in the second strata will reach its zenith very soon. It won't be long before those beasts begin pushing their way up here. We will let as many soldiers rest as possible for now, and then we will truly test their mettle.”

The Tribune nodded solemnly. “Body of Iron.”

“Heart of Flame.”