Monarch Chapter 85

Chapter 85

There was one thing the army had taught Rayne.

It wasn’t the battle itself that weighed on a soldier—it was the waiting. The long, drawn-out anticipation before the battle began, when nothing happened and everything felt like it might.

And now that they had reached the dungeon, it settled over the camp like a suffocating fog.

They were ordered to make camp and rest while a few members of the Crown’s Hand, alongside scouts, stepped through the shimmering gateway of the dungeon to map what they could.

They had already entered once days earlier, but a lot of things might have changed in the meantime. Especially because the necromancer clearly knew they were coming and might have set up traps and choke points to kill a large number of them.

From what Rayne had seen, the master necromancer was clearly capable of that.

So, while the scouting was in progress, he and his party settled near a cluster of large boulders, far from the portal but with a clear view of it.

No one camped close to it.

Even the nearest group of soldiers kept their distance, sitting at least thirty paces away, their weapons within reach, and some still wore their helmets. Half the camp looked ready to spring up at the slightest movement, eyes flicking back to the portal every few seconds as if expecting undead to pour out at any moment.

Rayne doubted it would happen.

The master necromancer was smarter than that. He already had the terrain advantage, since he should be in the dungeon for quite a while, and sending undead out would be stupid—simply because it would be really easy to deal with them by surrounding the dungeon portal.

If he was going to fight, it would be on his terms, inside the dungeon where he knew every corridor and choke point.

Still, the tension remained.

Rayne placed his helmet beside him and leaned his sword against the stone, forcing himself to appear relaxed. As the party leader, he couldn’t afford to look uneasy. Not today. Not when soon they would likely be in the hardest fight they’d faced so far.

Unfortunately, Nate didn’t like it.

“Stop making that face,” he said bluntly, glancing at Rayne.

Rayne frowned. “What face?”

“The one where you look like you already know we’re all going to die, but you’ll walk out anyway,” Nate replied. “It’s annoying.”

Kesh snorted, polishing his blade. “Only because you know it’s true.”

Rayne shook his head. “I doubt that. I’m as vulnerable as any of you. That necromancer in there has even the commander on edge.”

Nate stared at him for a moment. “Being vulnerable doesn’t mean you won’t survive,” he said slowly. “We’re all vulnerable to a stonefur bear. Or slipping into a dungeon river. But we didn’t—and wouldn’t—survive those.” He pointed at Rayne. “You did.”

Rayne opened his mouth to argue, but John cut in with a laugh. “Would at least make for a hell of a bard’s tale.”

“That’s not—” Rayne started.

Bran spoke before he could finish.

“There’s actually truth in it,” the veteran said calmly. “I’ve seen men like that before. Soldiers with a certain zeal for coming out alive from even the most lethal situations.”

Kesh looked up. “What happens to such men?”

Bran smiled faintly. “They either rise fast, get promoted until they’re rich and important enough to avoid the front lines, or they keep getting sent on dangerous assignments until their luck finally runs out.”

Nate nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”

Rayne wished he could explain it.

That half the reason he’d survived those encounters wasn’t luck or grit or some strange blessing from the gods, but his unique skill—one he couldn’t talk about without painting a target on his back. So he stayed quiet instead, letting the conversation die where it was.

That was when he noticed Hobbs.

The burly giant was striding toward them with purpose, boots crunching against gravel. Bran caught sight of him first, straightening slightly, and the rest of the party only realized he was there when Hobbs stopped in front of them.

“Rayne,” Hobbs said, voice low and firm. “Come with me.”

Rayne was already on his feet. “Everything alright?”

Hobbs nodded once. “Axel’s called for you. He’s in the command tent with Captain Edran and a few others. We need to be there too.”

That did nothing to settle the uneasy knot forming in Rayne’s stomach.

He didn’t argue. He picked up his sword, settling it against his hip, and grabbed his helmet with his left hand. Before moving, he glanced back at Nate.

“Let’s hope my luck doesn’t run out today,” Rayne said lightly.

Nate snorted. “Hope not. If your luck runs out, we’re dead long before you.”

Rayne smiled at that, then turned and followed Hobbs.

They moved through clusters of soldiers sitting close together with their eyes constantly drifting back to the dungeon portal. He caught bits of their conversations, and none of it was optimistic. As he’d thought, waiting before a battle only gave time for doubt to fester, especially after the men had already faced waves of undead on the march here.

At least, he didn’t have to push through the crowd.

It parted for Hobbs without a word, men instinctively stepping aside rather than forcing him to squeeze through. There were advantages to being built like a walking siege engine, and Rayne quietly walked behind him.

The command tent sat on slightly raised ground near the portal. It wasn’t impressive—just thick canvas stretched over a frame—but it let the captains and commander make decisions without worrying about prying eyes.

Rayne was also sure a few spells were already cast around it for anti-scrying purposes. Casper had told him a little about that.

Two soldiers stood guard outside the tent as usual, and when they approached, they stepped aside immediately.

“You two can go inside,” one of them said.

Rayne took one last look at the portal—at the slow churn of mana and the sensation of death mana pressing against his skin—then ducked into the tent.

The inside of the tent was warmer than the cold air outside, but whatever comfort it offered was drowned out by the tension hanging in the air. It pressed down on Rayne’s shoulders the moment he stepped in.

He straightened automatically and saluted.

There were too many people inside for the space. All the captains stood around a small wooden table at the center, armor creaking softly as they shifted. Commander Evans was at the head of it, his posture rigid. Axel also stood near Captain Edran, along with Casper and a few other squad leaders, their deputies hovering close by. Rayne caught Jason’s eye briefly, and the man gave him a short nod.

But Rayne’s attention soon drifted elsewhere.

Selene stood just off to the commander’s side, calm as ever, her expression unreadable. Varrick was beside her, arms crossed loosely, his gaze sharp. When their eyes met, the man smiled.

Rayne didn’t return it.

He and Hobbs moved quietly to Axel’s side without a word. No one spoke. The silence stretched until it felt deliberate.

Then Commander Evans cleared his throat.

“Now that everyone’s here,” he said, his voice steady, “we can go over it.”

He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded parchment, laying it flat on the table. Instantly, everyone leaned in, and Rayne recognized what it was the moment he saw the rough lines and stretching hallways.

A dungeon map.

It wasn’t like the one he had retrieved from the chest, but a hand-drawn one that was incomplete. Still, it helped him understand the dungeon layout, and he counted at least five levels marked on it.

Commander Evans tapped the parchment with one finger. “This is what the Crown’s Hand managed to chart during the last scouting run. It’s incomplete, but it gives us the major routes and choke points.”

He looked up, eyes sweeping the group. “What we’re dealing with is an army of necrotic creatures.”

A few squad leaders looked nervous, but the captains listened calmly.

“And our biggest enemy and main aim,” the commander continued, “is the master necromancer controlling them all. Based on what we’ve observed, we estimate his level to be around—or over—one hundred.”

Rayne widened his eyes, and so did a few others.

“He commands an army of undead,” Evans went on. “During the same scouting quest, the Crown’s Hand spotted over a thousand undead. And they didn’t even reach the deeper sections of the dungeon. So there’s probably much more, with a good variety of stronger constructs.”

Rayne felt a slow chill crawl up his spine. He already had an idea of the undead numbers, but hearing it stated as fact was something entirely different.

“We will be pushed hard, and a lot of men under you all will die,” Evans said plainly. “But I believe we can handle it.” His expression hardened slightly. “However, the master necromancer isn’t our only problem.”

Commander Evans swept his gaze across the tent. “There is another apprentice besides the one we already killed.”

For just a heartbeat, his gaze flicked toward Rayne.

Then Selene stepped forward.

“During my scrying through the ring the apprentice carried,” she said calmly, “I felt two distinct connections.” She pointed at the map. “One strong presence near the middle of the dungeon. That would be the master.”

Her finger slid further down the parchment, toward the deepest edge.

“And a weaker one,” Selene continued, “at the far end of the dungeon. We believe that belongs to the remaining apprentice.”

Rayne understood something almost immediately at those words.

The reason he—and the other squad leaders under Captain Edran—had been pulled into a meeting that was clearly above their usual station.

Commander Evans continued, tapping the edge of the map with a finger. “The Crown’s Hand couldn’t venture deeper than the fourth level,” he said. “Not without losing their lives. But there are branching paths here, here, and here.” His finger traced thin lines leading away from the main route. “All of them lead deeper into the dungeon toward what we believe is the apprentice’s approximate location. Somewhere near the core chamber.”

A few of the other squad leaders immediately seemed to grasp what was happening and leaned in again, their expressions tightening as they followed the lines on the map.

Captain Edran spoke then. “You want my warband to split from the main force,” he said evenly, “and take those paths to deal with the apprentice.”

Commander Evans nodded once. “Yes. Your warband has performed consistently well against the undead and has also gained a good understanding of dungeon operations. You’re suited for it.”

Selene looked at Captain Edran. “Varrick will also accompany you,” she added calmly. “That will give your group a balanced mix of spellswords and mages. Enough to deal with most necrotic threats you’ll encounter.”

Rayne felt his jaw tighten.

His gaze flicked to Varrick, who stood beside Selene with the same composed expression he’d worn since the meeting started.

“I can help beyond combat,” Varrick said casually. “With my [Information Analysis] skill, I’ll be able to gauge the relative strength and levels of the undead constructs we face. That should help us fight more efficiently.”

Commander Evans grunted, then looked back down at the map. “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “This won’t be easy. You’ll be operating deep inside hostile territory while the main force engages the master necromancer. But with the chaos of that clash, I believe you’ll have the opening needed to break away unnoticed.”

He looked around the table, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

“Your objective is simple,” Evans continued. “Eliminate the apprentice. Destroy any abominations in the area. Then break the dungeon core.”

The discussion soon spiraled into details about different types of undead, the terrain inside the dungeon, and other dangers they might face. Rayne listened quietly, committing every word to memory.

At the back of his mind, unease slowly took shape.

What they were being tasked with felt… worse. More dangerous than clashing head-on with the master necromancer amid hundreds of soldiers. The apprentice wouldn’t be guarding the core for nothing. If anything, that would be the most heavily defended location in the entire dungeon.

And yet, he understood the logic.

This was the failsafe.

If anything went wrong, they could destroy the core and pull back, trapping the master necromancer inside a collapsing dungeon and letting him die with it. Rayne was certain Selene already had plans built around that possibility.

But as the discussion went on, Bran’s words echoed uncomfortably in his mind.

Luck didn’t last forever.

And when Rayne finally stepped out of the tent, he found himself hoping that his luck hadn’t chosen today to run out.

Because he would need a lot of it to break the dungeon core.