The cavern shrieked, a jumbled assortment of stamping feet, clashing metal and the groans and pants of men. Each expiration is faint even when the mouth and lungs are pumping oxygen and carbon dioxide in and out at maximum efficiency. But when the sound erupts from around one hundred voices, it creates an audible, billowing, rustling noise that shakes the walls.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

A new set of clanking of metal on metal, clinking of chains and the heavy, rapid footsteps of boots joined the noisy, thunderous ambience of the massive cavern.

A shout broke through the din of equipment jittering and the dim flashes of clashing swords. Cyrus raised a clenched fist, halting the formation and signalling them to break off. A cheer rose from the collective. The red wall disintegrated into individual red rectangles leaving the scene in groups of two to three in the direction of the white tents.

With a final glance to ensure his men were following his orders, the Decanus strode towards the sprinting legionnaire, quickly closing the distance.

Reaching a respectable metre or so from his commanding officer, the man halted, adding an extra flair of effort as his legs slammed into position. The legionnaire saluted, slamming his fist into the chain mail with a clink.

Cyrus inclined his head in acknowledgement, "Report?"

The man frantically nodded, "Yes sir. A single man is standing outside the gates and demanding to speak with you."

The Decanus scrunched his forehead, eyebrows lowering as his lips pursed, forming a thin line. "A single man you say? Equipment?"

The man facing Cyrus spewed out all known information on this unknown anomaly, "From a cursory view, his armour is runed. His armour is light class, with a high likelihood of leather. There is a crossbow on his back and a broadsword on his belt."

"Any insignias or symbols that could denote rank or kingdom?"

The man shook his head, "None that we could spot."

The roman rubbed his still-clean chin, a smooth, glossy white eggshell. His mind drifted to his lack of manliness upon his face. As of yet, Cyrus hadn't found a cure. He could ask Shaylah, but alas, this is a private matter. Plus, he would never hear the end of it if she found out about this particular weakness.

Pulling his hand from his chin, Cyrus redirected its efforts to tapping the iron handle protruding from the sheath. "One man..." His eyes narrowed. They widened. A small smile overtook the thin, straight line. But as his gaze lifted from the stone ground to the legionnaire's face, the grin faded. "It'll be worth it," he comforted himself.

His eyes hardened. His back straightened. Returning the salute, he ordered, "I want half of the level 15s to head into the forest from the back entrance and surround the forest. If enemies are spotted, do not engage unless in self-defence or I order so."

The man saluted again and quickly ran off towards the camp area. The din of stamping feet and metal screeching filled the air once more.

As the legionaries began leaving the cave, Cyrus strode over to the work section. A hazardous mess greeted him. Random rocks, dust and other strange objects lay randomly on the floor. Books were scattered across the benches and floor with little care for order or cleanliness. No order. No system. No planning. This was the greatest violation of sacrosanctness he has ever witnessed. In the middle of this disaster zone was the heretic herself, sitting casually on a crescent-shaped, granite block, flicking through a massive tome elevated from the ground by a thick stone pillar.

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Cyrus coughed.

His second-in-command looked up, stabbing him with an annoyed glare. "What do you want? I am busy over here!"

Cyrus gave her a placid smile and a shrug before resuming a more serious image. "We have a situation on our hands."

Shaylah nodded, now sitting back straight and alert. "What is up?"

The roman regurgitated the information provided by the legionary onto the fairy-turned-officer. He paused, giving her a quick glance to see if she wanted any input. Seeing no questioning looks, Cyrus continued with his plan. "So for the first part, I have my high-level troops surround the forest. There is most certainly more of them hiding in the trees." She nodded. "Second part, after they declare their intentions, I may or may not order them to attack." Shaylah nodded along. "I pretend to panic and order all my troops to attack. I will open up a tunnel to the core room. Upon the attack, I will slowly run to the location and open up the tunnel with a squad of soldiers. They will pursue." Cyrus looked up to check his second-in-command was following. She gave him a sharp nod. "I will lead them through the tunnel as the ceiling collapses. The squad will blockade them halfway, crushing them while we escape somewhat scotch free."

Shaylah pursed her lips and picked up a rock absentmindedly. She began to fidget. The officer gave her input, "While I am not exactly pleased that you are exploiting the system..." She paused, "It will do," ending the statement with a sly grin.

Cyrus gestured towards the swirling portal, a hub of commotions as legionaries jogged through in a never-ending procession. "Let's." Shaylah rolled her eyes. A smile played on her lips.

The two highest-ranking officers strolled towards the line. Upon noticing the incoming two-man entourage, the legionaries gave way, allowing the two officers to bypass the queue and directly into the portal. A wave of salutes and acknowledgements followed in their wake.

A smattering reception of greetings and salutes received them on the other side. Much of the standard, core room was empty with most if not all soldiers having been directed towards the fortifications. The faint echoing of pounding boots and metal rang through the caverns. Cyrus and Shaylah followed after the source, settling into a light jog.

Within a few minutes of navigating through the rooms and obstacles, they arrived at the dungeon exit. The humid, hot air buffeted his skin. The roman lifted a hand, shielding his eyes from the Sun's bright glare while his eyes peeked at the treeline from beneath the makeshift cover. Alas, the steel walls obscured his vision of the ground, leaving the threat's image in his imagination's hands for now.

The dungeon core and his assistant ran down the gentle slope, propelled forward by gravity. After a few minutes, the two scaled up a staircase and popped their heads over the battlement.

The man was just as the messenger had described. Runed armour. Two visible weapons, a broadsword and crossbow. Nothing else of note had been found, even after Cyrus scanned him intensely. The stranger looked him over in return. Silence. The two veterans glared at each other, unwilling to back down in a clash of wills. Tension rose into the air.

After a few minutes of eye contact, the man on the ground spoke, "I presume you are the mercenary guild leader?" Cyrus nodded along, remaining quiet lest he gave away information that the potential enemy could use against him. Despite the lack of response, the scout continued, "In that case, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that many villages and towns were massacred. By the lack of belongings and items taken and the carpet of bodies, it is assumed the deed was done in cold blood or possibly, dare I say it, levels and skills."

He reached into a pouch sitting around his belt and pulled out a red, rectangular shield, bearing the lightning bolt on a red background in the centre, "This is your insignia, is it not?"

Cyrus's jaws moved but his vocal cords refused to coordinate. His eyes darted to the men guarding the wall on either side of him, analysing everything from the way they held themselves to the expressions. Unconsciously, his hand grasped the handle of his gladius. He swallowed, "You are wrong."

The man arched an eyebrow and sighed, shoulders sagging. "I guess you are all in on the plot. Then so be it! With the authority granted to me by the crown, I hereby place you all under arrest!"