Chapter 89: Chapter 88 - Dungeon
When the next morning came, Teclos reached the pub to find the others already gathered.
Derrick stood near the counter, rubbing at his neck while Marek handed him a waterskin that smelled more like ale than water.
Wallace was quiet as always, checking the edge of his longsword with a satisfied expression and practiced ease.
Milo adjusted the straps of his shield, his broad frame making it look almost small on his back.
Garren leaned against the wall with his crossbow across his shoulder, half-asleep.
And Vera stood apart from the rest, silent, hidden in the corner of the room, and already fully prepared.
Pete was sitting at a table with his spear across his lap, looking like he had either just woken up or had never gone to sleep.
Falcon looked him over and sighed.
"Try not to vomit in the dungeon or on anyone."
Pete raised one thumb and burped. "No promises."
Teclos shook his head.
’Ah yes, Zamas’s "elites" in action.’
Unlike the others, neither Falcon nor Teclos wore anything that marked them as part of the group.
He had learned that lesson multiple times already when he drank with Derrick, who always made fun of him for it.
Kira stood at the entrance of the back room instead of Zamas, ready to send them off.
"Derrick, you and the others go first. Meet the expedition at the eastern gate and act like proper hired help for once."
Derrick snorted. "I’m always proper."
They all chuckled at that, but when Derrick turned his head, they quickly looked away.
Kira’s gaze shifted toward Teclos and Falcon.
"You two wait half an hour, then follow from a distance. And stay hidden."
Falcon and Teclos nodded.
A short while later, Derrick led the others out.
"Alright, you knuckleheads, follow me!" he yelled with a smile.
Shaking their heads, they all followed him out, except for Pete, who started napping for a second before Marek slapped him on the back of the head.
He nearly forgot his spear as he scrambled after them.
Once they were gone, the pub felt strangely quiet.
Teclos and Falcon looked at Kira, and Teclos tried initiating small talk with her.
"So... how is it, working so close to the boss?"
She just rolled her eyes and left.
"Oi!... Did you see that? She just ignored me..."
Falcon only shrugged, then asked Marek for a word about a private matter.
Now all alone, Teclos sat down at a table near the entrance and waited.
Half an hour passed slowly.
Then Falcon appeared from the back room.
"It’s time."
They left through the back and slipped into the morning streets.
The city was starting to wake up. Merchants rolled open their stalls, and guards stood at every main corner because of Morholt’s death.
Teclos kept his hood low and his presence dimmed, letting his darkness mana cloak him in a thin sheet that made him unnoticeable among the crowd, while Falcon casually walked beside him like any other mercenary passing through.
"Stop showing off, kid, and just act normally. You’re going to get noticed quicker that way," Falcon said, shaking his head.
Teclos scratched the back of his head and released the darkness.
After that, they simply blended in.
By the time they reached the eastern gate, Derrick’s group was already gone.
A few rows of deeply carved lines were accompanied by a lot of footprints. It looked like they had many wagons with them.
"This way," Falcon beckoned.
"They seem to be heavily loaded," Teclos said, looking at the tracks. "The ground isn’t even that damp, and the wheels already carved this deeply."
"Probably just supplies, but now that you mention it... once the job is done, it might be worth seeing what’s inside." Falcon rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
—
Derrick yawned and noticed a mage looking at him.
"What?!" he said aggressively.
The mage was startled and quickly walked forward.
"Damn brutes have no manners," he whispered under his breath.
"How about you behave, Derrick?" Garren said, tapping him on the shoulder as he walked closer. "Kira and Zamas will be mad if you screw this up."
"Bah! I’m just an authentic mercenary. A brute with no brain, as those assholes would say."
He glared at the guards listening in on the conversation, and they all quickened their pace, getting as far away from this lunatic as possible.
Except for one.
He stepped closer.
"We’re not like the nobles you think of or pampered mages, so don’t lump us in together. I actually think you’ll be quite useful for clearing this dungeon," the man said.
He was tall, blond, and annoyingly good-looking. Broad shoulders filled out his polished gear, and a short beard framed his face neatly. A small scar crossed his forehead, but instead of making him look rough, it somehow added to his charm.
Derrick instantly hated him and wanted to rip his head off, but Garren stopped him.
The man had the kind of presence that made people listen before he even raised his voice.
The appointed commander of the expedition.
And judging by the way the others treated him, he was clearly close to Zamas’s so-called friend. Close enough that Derrick and the others would have to be careful around him.
"My name is Cassian Fyr, and I am a sworn knight of House Renwick."
He bowed slightly.
But Derrick just scoffed.
"Hah... I know our bosses are friends, but don’t act so chummy around me. I don’t like you."
"I will keep that in mind," Cassian said with a smile. "But please do listen to my commands. Teamwork is still important if this expedition is going to go well."
Then he left.
"He’s dangerous..." Vera said.
They all turned around and looked at her, stunned.
"You can speak?!" Derrick asked, seriously surprised.
She rolled her eyes. "I recognize a snake when I see one."
And with that warning, she fell back to the end of the formation.
She did not want to catch the dumbass disease from these knuckleheads.
After half a day of travel, the expedition finally reached the dungeon entrance.
It sat at the base of a rocky hill, half-buried beneath roots, moss, and old stone. The entrance itself was wide enough for three men to walk through side by side, but the darkness beyond it looked like it was hiding all kinds of dangers from prying eyes. Sunlight simply died the moment it crossed a certain threshold.
Cassian ordered the convoy to stop before anyone wandered too close.
The camp was set up quickly after that.
To Derrick’s slight annoyance, it was done with proper discipline. Wagons were circled near the back, horses were tied and watered, supply crates were stacked beneath canvas covers, and guards marked out a clear perimeter with practiced ease. A few men placed lantern posts around the camp, while others checked weapons, counted arrows, and prepared spare shields.
Most of the city guards remained outside.
Their job was to watch the camp, protect the wagons, and make sure nothing came out of the dungeon behind the main group.
Once everything was in place, Cassian gathered the expedition near the entrance.
He stood on a flat stone where everyone could see him.
"Listen carefully," he said, his voice carrying cleanly over the camp. "Once we enter, we will move in formation. No one wanders or rushes ahead. Keep the line at all costs."
He pointed toward Derrick and the other front-line fighters.
"The vanguard will consist of the mercenaries and knights. We will brace for the monsters with a shield wall formation, and hack them to pieces with two-handed weapons or spears right behind the wall. Your job is to take the first impact and keep anything from reaching the center of our formation."
Derrick only cracked his neck.
He liked the sound of this plan.
Cassian continued.
"In the middle line, we will have our archers, rangers, and mages. You will support the vanguard and focus your fire on big targets or pinned-down enemies. Also... no reckless spells in narrow passages."
His gaze briefly moved toward the mages, making it clear that was not a suggestion.
"The rear will be healers, support staff, and a small guard squad. Your job is simple. Heal the wounded, carry supplies, and make sure to gather valuable materials from the dungeon and monsters."
He turned slightly, looking over the whole group.
"Never split up or go alone, even if you find branching pathways. Always report it to me, and we will mark it and come back later. Watch out for traps, and if someone should fall, don’t risk the formation by hastily helping them. Instead, clear the threat, and then recover them."
For a moment, everyone was impressed.
So much so that no one spoke.
Even Derrick looked mildly impressed, though he would never admit it.
Cassian rested one hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Remember, this is not a joke. It is a dangerous dungeon, so treat it like one, or it will simply bury you."
Then he smiled and said, "Let’s all return alive and have a feast after it’s done."
Then he turned toward the dark entrance and ordered.
"Vanguard, forward."
—
The first real fight came when the tunnel widened into a moss-lit cavern.
It was quite a beautiful sight, and most of them were in awe.
But once the moss started moving, the awe was gone.
Glowmoss Crawlers dropped from the ceiling first, their needle-like legs pointed downward and ready to pierce flesh. A sickly green fungus glowed across their bloated bodies.
"Shields up!" Cassian ordered.
The vanguard moved as one.
The crawlers struck shields instead of flesh. Milo held firm, and Derrick smashed one into paste with his bare hands. Wallace also managed to pierce another cleanly through, water mana flowing along the shaft and tip of his spear.
A few crawlers slipped through the gaps, but they barely made it past the front line before arrows and bolts struck them down.
Once they cleared them out, they started looting the room dry. Anything that looked remotely valuable was taken.
They moved forward.
After a while of walking, they reached another cave.
It was filled with Stonejaw Salamanders, their rock-like scales scraping against the ground. Once they noticed the expedition, their orange throats started glowing faintly before they spat heated stones toward the formation.
Cassian stepped forward.
His sword flashed with light mana, splitting one burning stone before it reached the line. Then he stretched out his left arm, and a massive flow of condensed light mana gathered in his palm. The first salamander tried to charge, but before it made even two steps, a blast tore free from Cassian’s hand and eradicated the salamander, along with a few others.
The monsters collapsed, steam spilling from their lifeless bodies, or what was left of them.
"Keep formation, and move forward," he said calmly.
The line held.
Spears pierced their eyes. The mages, with the tower mage at their helm, wreaked havoc on the Stonejaws. Healers moved quickly behind the vanguard whenever someone was burned, injured, or poisoned.
But the most annoying and persistent monsters were the Rootbound Stalkers.
Their roots tore from cracks in the floor, wrapping around boots and shields. Their carnivorous flower cores opened between the twisting vines, wet red petals as sharp as knives snapping at their victims like iron hunting traps.
"Stems!" Cassian shouted. "Cut the flowers there!"
His blade flared again, and a clean arc of light severed three roots before piercing the flower at their center.
The stalker simply went limp.
After that, the others followed his lead.
The dungeon should have been dangerous, but so far, the formation made it almost effortless. The vanguard stopped everything. The archers and mages killed whatever slipped through while supporting the vanguard. The healers patched up the few unlucky ones.
By the time the cavern fell silent, the ground was covered in crushed insects, cracked scales, and severed roots.
Derrick glanced at Cassian.
"Tch. Not bad, pretty boy."
Cassian flicked blood from his sword.
"I will take that as praise."
