[Logistics: Materials added: 1.2 tons. Discarded: 2.1 tons.]
[Emotion Matrix: Satisfaction.]
In the depths of the dungeon, there was a certain room. Every room in the dungeon had an inhabitant, a monster that the adventurers would slay, however, this room remained empty. The dungeon drew monsters to itself, it did not create them. Every room had a certain aspect that a type of monster prefered. Whether it was food, mana, water, or even treasures, every monster had a preference. What made the dungeons so special, no one could tell for sure. But the monsters and the dungeon shared a symbiotic relationship.
In simpler terms, the dungeon offered water to the thirsty, and the thirsty repayed their kindness with treasures. Indeed, the source of treasures was the monsters. In this environment, monsters could create treasures, whether it was the ore for weapons, or magical stones for enchantment, it was up to the type of monster.
However, this one room never seemed to attract an inhabitant. Even distant legends only vaguely went over whom the room belonged to: The First True Calamity God.
Whether it was true or not no longer mattered for now the room's sole inhabitant could be considered exactly that. Legend had become prophecy.
Surrounded by a hill of treasures and ores, Halas lay upon its throne of considerably expensive dirt, unaware of such foolish things like legend or prophecy. In a quantum world of possibilities and uncertainties, all things could come to pass. Even such coincidences as bedtime stories to scare the children becoming reality was not an uncertainty in such a world. It would come to pass eventually. Even a story made to elevate a country's glory would one day become the sword to sever it from the world of the living. Legend becomes prophecy, and prophecy becomes a death sentence.
All things in the world existed on borrowed breath and their true and singular purpose was to become nourishment for the thing in that forgotten room, within that banal dungeon. All things, without exceptions.
For now, so long as they paid tribute, that one borrowed breath would be very deep, and so full of vital life.
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To describe an Invasion Party was to describe an army. Although the party numbered nearly a hundred adventurers, the supporting elements numbered nearly just as many and covered all the domains of warfare and military strategy. From intelligence to logistics. From casualty recovery to communications. To assemble an invasion party was indeed to assemble an army. And even though this party did not have the numbers to compare to an army, their fighting strength and range could match any country's military power and reach, if not exceed it.
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Nearly a hundred adventurers of high skill and power gathered in the forest outside the Iscar dungeon, and their camp resembled a village more than a military base. All throughout the night, blacksmith hammers rang out as the smiths prepared the adventurers for their dangerous task. Woodsmen chopped down trees and carpenters shaped them into wagons. Merchants gathered as well, selling their stock of profound and powerful equipment to those who needed it the most.
All of this power rested in the hands of a single Guild, and in the country of Rineria, it was but one among many. The Knights of the Restoration, with their phoenix above crossed swords symbol, was the pre-eminent guild of the country, and ranked in the top 20 on the whole continent.
"Zalazar was the last recorded Calamity God on this continent," Asher, the guild leader, spoke to an assembled group of the highest ranked adventurers and his trusted lieutenants. "It was a Calamity God with the Rank I."
The expressions on the nine gathered lieutenants were thoughtful.
"Zalazar was an ordinary Calamity born at the rank of E. It was a Chromatic Physique Dragon," Asher continued, running a hand through his ashen hair. "However, after evolving into a Crystal-Chromatic Dragon, its rank surpassed the G rank delimiter, and it became a Calamity God of Rank I."
Asher was a wise, older man. Rumor had it that a long time ago, he was not just an adventurer seeking glory and fame. He was also a historian.
"Zalazar could sweep away an entire country with one bat of its wings. It could crush mountains with merely a glance. Zalazar..." Asher trailed off, taking a deep breath. "It was ruin personified."
"How did we kill it?" One of the lieutenants asked.
"There are not many places in the world where a Calamity can live. The more powerful any monster becomes, the more dependent on the world they become," Asher explained.
"Mana is the key," Alessia said calmly.
Asher nodded. "Indeed. Deep in the dungeons, the mana is bountiful. Luckily for us, the Iscar dungeon is not particularly rich in mana. When Zalazar evolved into a Calamity God, the mana could not sustain it, and it was forced to hibernate."
A collective sigh of surprise ran through the group. They all understood the implications of that revelation.
"We killed Zalazar while it was asleep?" one of the lieutenants asked.
"Disappointed?" Asher asked. "Don't be. The legends say we paid a heavy price to kill Zalazar in honorable battle, but the fact is, had Zalazar been awake, it would've sunk our entire continent beneath the waves. There would be no stories to tell, and no one alive to tell them."
Alessia, being one of the country's recognized Heroes, knew about the truth and added. "Even asleep, Zalazar nearly wiped us all out. When they say 'With one bat of its wings, countries were swept away' they are not exaggerating."
"Then what can we possibly do? Shouldn't we ask the other guilds for help?" one of the lieutenants voiced the question they all had.
"The portent was not that long ago. Zalazar, when it evolved, had already stepped into the ranks of the Heroes. This Calamity, if it is truly in the Iscar dungeon, did not. At best, it is level 40 right now. If we proceed urgently but cautiously, we can avoid disaster," Asher said.
The lieutenants nodded.
"Don't worry. I have already sent a missive to the King. Even if we fail to eliminate it, an Annihilation Squad will come after it," Asher said with a cruel smile.