Cyrus glanced over the amassed troops, four equal squares arranged in an arc formation encircling the teleporter. Men dressed in the Lorica Segmentata and equipped with Scutums and gladiuses made up the central battleline directly facing the portal. The side wings consisted of fully-plated knights, broadswords and kite shields.

Behind the ranks of soldiers stood the ballistas, proudly bearing sinister serrated projectiles at their centre.

Seven legionnaires stood behind each of the machinery. Two manned the winches on either side. One stood behind them, glaring down at the metal semicircle attached on top of the front plate. Another duo stood beside the front mantel, ready to adjust the twenty-five-kilogram mass of wood and steel at will. Several crates of bolts could be seen haphazardly scattered behind each siege weapon.

Cyrus methodically dove into the depths of every man's pupil, finding nothing but cold indifference. "An army without fear," the Roman muttered. A shiver of excitement ran down his spine.

Shifting his body to the right, the Roman addressed his second-in-command. "Just making sure. You're in charge of the ballista regiments. Target the sections that seem to cause the most trouble. But..."

The centurion gestured at her to finish the sentence, only to receive an eye roll in response. Only after much encouragement did the Roman receive a verbal response, "Target the ogre. I get it! Sheesh!"

The Roman raised his arms in surrender. Backing away to a safe distance, the dungeon core repeatedly swung his head in a vertical arc. He replied with a placating, "Of course. I was only checking. It is the most critical part of the plan after all."

A huff of indignation followed his comment.

With the plan firmly cemented in place, Cyrus turned to the left. The two knights nodded in understanding. The Roman inclined his head in kind, "You know what to do."

Without another word, Cyrus walked to the lever. Taking one last glance at the scouts and the army behind them, his hand pushed downwards.

The blue aura returned to the empty circular frame. It gently pulsated and swirled, unknowing of the death to come.

Without sweat on their brow, without fear in their eyes, without a single shiver, the two men closed their visors and marched into the blue.

The wait began. Time trickled onwards with no word from the soldiers.

Cyrus tapped gently on the handle, sending vibrations rolling through the metal. A warm, soothing hum permeated Lever like an aura, seeping through his body like sunlight on a warm sunny day. The rhythmic thumping within his chest slowed. His muscles eased.

A few moments passed.

Just as the Romans began suspecting something to be amiss, the two soldiers popped through the vortex.

Eyeing their untarnished and clean armour, without a visible scratch or mark, the dungeon core requested a report.

Saluting, the scouts presented their findings, "The room is pitch dark with no visible exit. However, there are no enemies within sight nor any signs of their presence."

Cyrus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His brows furrowed. His eyes narrowed and unseeing. "Something is off..." Looking back up, he stared into the men's eyes, randomly alternating between the two. "Was there anything else?"

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"No sir."

Cyrus remained unperturbed and pressed the two again, "Are you certain?" His eyes swarmed over the men's faces, searching for any hints of fear or guilt. Nothing.

The hand rubbing at his whiskerless chin shook. His eyes widened.

A harsh, clipped tone full of malice slid from his pursed lips, "How did you know the room was empty if it was pitch dark?" His hand strayed towards the cool steel touching his right thigh.

"We used the abilities of [Shield Bash] to illuminate the room."

Cyrus's hands wrapped around the gladius. He snapped his head in Shaylah's direction with a questioning look.

The reply of "I don't think they have been possessed, and it is certainly possible," eased the centurion's muscles.

Rubbing his forehead in embarrassment and frustration, the Roman unfurled the fingers wrapping around the handle. Dismissing the soldiers, Cyrus marched over to his officer's side.

"Do you know of any technology or magic that disrupts portals?"

The woman looked at the ceiling and unconsciously twirled several strings of hair around her finger. She looked at the Roman and shook his head, "I don't recall any such thing in the catalogue."

The centurion grinned in relief, his rigid body loosening. "Our escape route is unblocked then."

Shaylah shattered the brittle illusion of safety with a shake of her head.

Arching an eyebrow, he looked speculatively at the officer, baffled at the oxymoron.

Following up on her previous statement, she questioned, "If a pass is impregnable, don't you go around it? Besides, you know as well as I that our enemy likes to cheat."

The Roman queried, "Your suggestion for the plan?"

"We have no choice but to go along with it. Unless..."

Cyrus stopped his pacing and looked up, "Unless?"

"We abandon our current base and tunnel straight to the surface."

"Let's go with the latter."

Shaylah opened and closed her mouth, utterly spellbound by the reply. Stammering out incoherent noises, the officer finally managed out a weak, "What?"

The Roman cut off the line of thought with a sharp tone brimming with finality, "I am not making the same mistake twice. It has killed me once already."

Gawking at the sudden turn of events, the dungeon fairy numbly nodded in agreement.

Cyrus smiled mirthlessly, "Let's get to it." Shifting his stance to face the troops, the centurion ordered the immediate packing of tents and equipment in preparation for the move.

The dungeon slipped a hand into the satchel swinging by his hip. Retrieving the metal clock, the Roman set the deadline to 4:00pm.

With the speech concluded, the soldiers dispersed and rushed towards their individual tents. The sound of striking wood and metal along with a din of fifty voices rang in Cyrus's ears.

Turning back to his second in command, the two nodded in mutual agreement and headed towards the wall opposite the portal frame.

Arriving, Shaylah gave a quick refresh on the dungeon building. The duo discussed and settled upon a single-file tunnel design. Cyrus began by carving a rectangular indent in the wall around an average man's width and height.

With the boundaries set, the two took turns constructing the tunnel, each wave of the hand chewing away massive chunks of earth.

The mounds of stone, dirt and sand vanished, leaving a smooth, rectangular cutout in their wake. The occasional tree root would obstruct their path, only to be removed along with the others, leaving rings of wood on the wall.

Small globes of light were installed periodically in measured segments, leaving segments of the route in deep shadow.

[Dungeon Mana] has reached 10% of max capacity.]

Greeted by the system message, the two sat on the dry, dusty inclined surface. Crossed their legs and meditated, shortening the regeneration period. Within a couple hours, their bars had recharged up to full. Work began once more.

After several painstaking hours of gesturing, waving and moderating the slants, the final layer of dirt was cleared away.

[You have created a dungeon entrance.]

Cyrus took in deep gulps of fresh air, ridding himself of that thick, suffocating damp musk of dirt. Conjuring a linen undershirt, he wiped his now-tanned skin, revealing the paleness beneath.

Shaylah grinned cheerfully at the dungeon core, taking much delight in his suffering."Let's head back down to get the troops." Without a look back, the fairy darted back into the damp, dark and dingey tunnel.

Groaning in exasperation, Cyrus trudged after her, muttering, "That damn brat is gonna be the death of me."