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 repeatedly, pushing his mental capacity until his mind felt scorched and blood began to seep from his eyes.

Blood! It was literally leaking from his eyes!

When he had approached the centurion overseeing his unit to report his physical distress, he was met with nothing but a cold snort of disdain and a meager five-minute break. He spent those five minutes with his face submerged in a bucket of ice water within the medical tent before ascending the wall once more to complete the final half-hour of his duty.

Since this was Donnelan’s first time participating in the defense against a wave, he wasn't certain if what he was experiencing was typical, but the events of the last day had permanently altered his perception of the Dungeon.

He was aware that the Legion maintained a strict, uncompromising grip on Dungeon management. Among the mercenaries, the Legion's regulations were known as the 'Stone law'—unyielding and heavy as a mountain.

In the past, Donnelan had sympathized with that perspective. While the Dungeon was undoubtedly hazardous, it didn't seem that extreme; fools died exploring the depths, of course, but fools could also die while shaving. Was there truly a necessity for such rigid control?

The mage no longer held that opinion. As the light returned, the Legion was out in full force along the ramparts of their makeshift stronghold. Officers marched back and forth like wrathful demons, inspecting gear and barking sharp hand signals at any Legionary whose preparations were deemed insufficient.

When the monsters began erupting from the dirt, bursting through walls, and plummeting from the ceiling, Donnelan felt as though he were witnessing a nightmare. Savage fighting broke out everywhere simultaneously. The metallic tang of blood and the screeching of beasts overwhelmed his senses until he felt nauseous. A few trainees actually vomited over the edge of the wall. The centurions ignored the reactions of the younger soldiers; many of them had stood in those same boots once before.

The unending surges of monsters collided like a turbulent ocean before turning their collective rage toward the fort. Though no Legionary could explain the phenomenon, once the beasts drew near the fortification, they seemed caught in an irresistible, suicidal compulsion to scale the barriers or smash their way inside.

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

The only reason monsters weren't manifesting directly beneath them was the activation of an ancient Legion artefact, which suppressed monster spawning in the center of the camp. This was yet another Legion secret Donnelan had discovered during this mission; he wondered how many more surprises they were hiding.

It stunned him that he could train alongside these people for five years without a single whisper of these secrets reaching him—not a word!

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

Donnelan glanced up to find Mirryn, her face masked in grime and dried ichor. She approached the rest area and collapsed against a tent pole, looking completely drained of energy.

Mirryn had been pushed just as hard as him, utilizing her archery to the limit to strike distant monsters and filling the gaps whenever the beasts managed to crest the walls and threaten the mages.

In the background, the thunder of monsters and the shockwaves of explosions shook the fort as mages continued to pelt the creatures with every bit of magic they could muster. Donnelan had never experienced mana this dense; every mage found their spells supercharged by the environment—their fire burned hotter, their storms grew more violent, and their ice was colder than ever.

Naturally, the same applied to the monsters. That explained all the noise.

The ceaseless clamor was starting to break some of the Trainees. Donnelan had seen another archer—a decent fellow nicknamed 'Fingers' because of his incredible dexterity—collapse into a trembling heap after fourteen hours of the wave, screaming for the noise to end right in the middle of the camp.

Two medics had used a rune to knock him unconscious and moved him to a bed, where he had remained ever since.

The situation almost made Donnelan want to start screaming himself; perhaps then he could finally get some sleep!

“Never been better, Mir,” Donnelan joked tiredly. “I’m basically on a holiday.”

Mirryn let out a soft laugh, her eyes shut and her head resting against the pole. “I heard about your eyes. Was it really only five minutes?”

“Really,” Donnelan confirmed.

His friend shook her head in disbelief, too exhausted for any further reaction.

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

“Oh?”

“Word is the trainees are getting a twenty-four-hour reprieve before our next wall shift.”

Donnelan was so startled that he bolted upright, instantly causing a cramp in his leg.

“Ouch!” he cried out.

It took several minutes of stretching and straightening his leg for the pain to subside, while Mirryn chuckled weakly at his misfortune.

“How can they give us a break? Aren't we needed up there? The fighting doesn't look like it's slowing down at all…” Donnelan muttered with skepticism.

Mirryn snorted. “If anything, it’s intensifying! You know that as well as I do. I have no clue what the commanders are thinking, but the Tribune gave me this news ten minutes ago. I swear it's true!”

The young fire mage could only shake his head. How could they maintain the perimeter if so many soldiers were resting?

In the heart of the camp, the senior officers had congregated, representing centuries of combined Dungeon experience.

Despite the deafening roar that assaulted the ears of everyone in the camp, the officers remained unbothered, stroking their beards or rubbing their chins while grumbling about the lack of grit in today's young soldiers.

A stir went through the group as they turned as one toward the left, their talking ceasing. Moments later, Titus stepped out from his command tent, dark armor plates fastened to his aging but still powerful frame.

As he reached his old comrades, Titus smiled warmly, clapping shoulders and sharing laughs and nods with each man. Despite the fierce battle raging less than a hundred meters away, the commander seemed more at ease than he had been in a long time.

Many of his officers picked up on the shift in mood.

“Almost feels like home, doesn't it, commander?” a battle-worn centurion grinned.

Titus gazed at the glowing forest and took a deep breath, pulling the concentrated mana into his system.

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

The others also inhaled deeply, nodding in consensus. It wasn't just the commander; all these veterans looked more revitalized and moved with more grace than they had in years.

Margnus looked toward the tent Titus had just left before speaking. “Any luck waking her up, commander? I’d love to see her on the field again after all these years.”

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

The men and women serving as officers for the Legion Liria branch surface headquarters laughed and gripped their weapons, heading toward the walls. Only Titus and Aurillia stayed behind.

“How much longer until they 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 ascending hours ago; the pressure in the second strata will peak very soon. It won't be long before those beasts start pushing up here. We’ll let as many soldiers rest as possible for now, and then we’ll truly test their spirit.”

The Tribune nodded. “Body of Iron.”

“Heart of Flame.”