Cyrus's eyes fluttered. A slice of light cut across the black wall, peeling back the darkness to reveal a grey stone wall.

Pale faces bobbed into view, each wrapped in reddish bandages outlined by the faintest touches of white.

The dungeon core's vision grew clouded once more but was replaced by naval blue rather than pitch darkness. Blurry bubbles of black appeared over the blue window, gradually separating into bold symbols.

[Connection with Dungeon [Floor 1] has been cut off.]

[All mana effects on surroundings dissipating in 3...2...1...]

[Dungeon core has lost anchor point.]

[[Invulnerability] has been nullified due to lack of mana.]

[Foreign aura influence detected.]

[Dungeon core has been destroyed.]

[ER06! ER&^4 (&%%&u*^%$h]

[Administrator override.]

[Dungeon core has been transferred to [Dungeon Core Avatar]]

[Reestablishing anchor...]

[Success.]

[All effects, capabilities and other features of the [Dungeon Core] have been transferred to you.]

[Secondary class has been forcefully unlocked.]

[[None] has been forcefully changed to [Hidden][Unique][Living Dungeon].]

[ERROR! ER)*%]

[Progression adjustments have been made accordingly.]

[Reconfiguring status...]

[Personal System restarting...]

[Unfortunately, no compensation can be given at this time for any lost progress.]

[Personal System is now online.]

[For changes, please consult your status sheet.]

"What..." Cyrus mumbled, unconsciously reaching his trembling hand towards the incorporeal screen, only for his fingers to phase through it.

"This isn't Elesyium... How am I not dead?"

A familiar, bratty feminine voice whispered in his ear, "Did you forget? You ordered a general retreat." The words held no heat, nor snark or sarcasm but a softness.

Continuing this silly whispering game, Cyrus murmured, "But I didn't order one..."

A cough interrupted their conversation as a figure strode into view. A tattered, greyish-white wolf-head covered the intruder's hair, presenting the facade of a long grey mane. "Apologies Imperator, but it was I who ordered the retreat."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Cyrus's eyes turned into slits, a burning flame flickering on the edges. His eyebrows narrowed. A dangerously quiet whisper left through the gaps of his clenched teeth, "What did you say?"

The man squared his shoulders and braced his feet on the stone floor. His eyes edged themselves into the distant wall. Drops of clear liquid rolled down his forehead and cheeks before pooling at his chin.

Licking his dry lips, the Aquilifier composed himself and continued in a cold, emotionless tone, "To preserve the general's life, as is my primary duty, I decided to contradict the imperator's order and requested a retreat. This would allow the unit to recover its strength while preventing meaningless losses in the face of an unbeatable enemy." His voice broke and quivered as it died down to a dim mutter.

Cyrus's glare pierced through the man, spitting out, "An unbeatable enemy you say..." Each word was lit alight with fury, so much so that one could feel the fire licking their faces as if spewing from a dragon's mouth.

The centurion staggered to his feet, uneven and swaying as if aboard a vessel rolling over the waves in a turbulent storm. His face was red, his cheeks flushed.

Striding forward, Cyrus raised his hand and struck the man on the cheek. A purplish colour stained the soldier's left cheek.

The standard bearer remained steady, turning his head back to the front as if the blow had been nothing but the tickle of the wind.

"THAT ISN'T FOR YOU TO DECIDE, AQUILIFER!"

Grabbing the soldier's shoulders, the general furiously shook him as if attempting to dislodge the disobedience stuck to his brain.

"THE ROMAN LEGION DOES NOT FLEE AT THE FIRST SIGN OF TROUBLE! NOR DOES IT COWER IN THE FACE OF DEATH HIMSELF!"

A stone-dead response exited the warrior's mouth, "As you command, Imperator."

Cyrus's bloodshot eyes stared down the surrounding troops, who remained unmoved by the display of violent rage. Their eyes were lifeless and cold.

A shaking finger pointed at one of the legionnaires, accompanied by the blunt, coarse words of "Your sword."

The soldier silently drew the weapon from its sheath and handed it to the dungeon core.

Cyrus swung and twisted the broadsword in his hand, getting accustomed to the weight and motion. The sorrowful hum and swish of steel echoed through the thick and suffocating atmosphere.

A sharp command sliced through the silence, "All legionnaires excluding the Aquilifier are to step back 5 paces." The men obeyed.

The dungeon core avatar wrapped his hand around the handle, clenching it in an iron grip. A slight tremor vibrated through the blade as if shivering at the user's anger. He stared deeply into the opposing man's face, which held a pale complexion on par with a soul drowning in the Styx."

Cyrus raised the sword to chest height, pointing the tip at the standard bearer. His eyes grew foggy, "Decimato should be your punishment... But..."

His sword arm wavered, and the point of the blade dropped slightly. "But..." The broadsword regained its stillness. The man's eyes grew clear like the blue sky after a storm. His muscles grew taut, and the gleaming metal arced backwards. The general's eyes hardened, "Roman law must be followed. Good soldiers follow orders."

A silver arc appeared in the air. The wind sang its mournful whistle. Only for its deadly trajectory to come to a stop, his wrist caught deftly by a slim pair of nimble hands.

A whisper entered his ear, "Do not mark yourself as a tyrant."

Snarling, Cyrus craned to look at the perpetrator, "How dare you call me something so disgusting!"

His second-in-command remained stoic and unphased by the aggression, "Think about it. Only an oppressor of the people would be so cruel as to behead the man who saved his life, especially if under the guise of some random law."

Cyrus gritted his teeth, rebutting, "Military regulations aren't some random law, but the cornerstone, the heart of the might of the Roman Republic! The very force that saw our banners flying from the fringes of Parthia to the coasts of North Africa!"

"As that may be so, but are you one to think that all things are perfect? That all customs or regulations are perfect and just in all situations...?"

The centurion opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. He furrowed his brow. "No..."

"Doesn't every great leader have to make compromises and think on the spot?"

Again, Cyrus nodded.

"Then think of this as an improvisation based on the circumstances rather than the disregarding of a rule."

Sighing out bitterness and relief, the man loosened his grip, allowing the deft hands to slip the would-be-killer out of his hands.

Cyrus's gaze briefly flicked to the Aquilifer's face before casting it downwards, mumbling, "My apologies for the rashness."

"Your apology has been accepted...sir," came the clipped response, emotionless as ever.

The centurion waved his hands at the gathered crowd, "Everyone is dismissed, relax and recover your strength."

A thunderous boom echoed as fists slammed into chest plates. "Yes, Imperator!"

The general nodded and gestured for Shaylah to follow him. As the dungeon fairy caught up to him, Cyrus leaned in close, muttering "We need a way to deal with that cyclops. Fast."

The woman nodded in acknowledgment, remaining silent, the residues of tenseness still in the air.

The general mused to himself, "Something with a lot of punch..."

His eyes lit up, and a grim smile spread across his face, "A scorpion."