How long exactly is a day's travel supposed to be? It shouldn't be very complicated. Everyone knows how long a day is. But is it truly always the same length? Sometimes, it seems to pass in an instant. You fall asleep in the carriage, and you wake up at the destination; it's practically teleportation magic. Wouldn't it be blissful if that were always the case?
Aric was staring out the window of the carriage. The color of his now perpetually bloodshot eyes vaguely resembled the setting sun they were peering at. His party sat around him in utter silence. The solemn atmosphere was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Nobody had spoken a single word throughout the entire trip. The mere day-length journey took a toll on them as if they had been traveling for weeks.
Looking at the sunset, Aric was reminded of the teachings from the Church of Light. According to the scriptures, it is a message from Aureon to rest and be at peace. He retracts His light so as to not disturb the necessary healing process one must go through to unwind after a long day.
"To overcome the darkness of the heart, one must face the darkness of the night. Only after achieving peace in the absence of His grace, can we once again bathe in the warmth He provides us the following day." The words from the elderly High Cleric at the last sermon he attended echoed in Aric's mind.
After reading the letter the previous night, he and his party spent the rest of the evening preparing for their journey. They went to the guild to receive remuneration for their Goblin hunt, arranged for a carriage to set off the first thing in the morning, and packed supplies for an extended trip. By the time they were done, they barely had time to sleep before setting off.
As for Aric, he didn't sleep at all. After his initial state of denial and confusion, the wrath that came never subsided. It only grew more potent as time passed, and sleep wasn't on its list of priorities, only revenge.
Consequently, he had been up since yesterday morning. He wasn't quite sure if it was the physical or mental fatigue that placed the most burden on him, but needless to say, he felt awful. Now, seeing the Lord retract His light and being reminded of His teachings, a sense of clarity broke through the wrath consuming him.
Perhaps Aureon was blessing him, or perhaps his mind simply couldn't sustain the wrath boiling within any longer. The last bit of will inside him struggling to keep his eyelids pried open was overcome. They gradually closed, capturing the beautiful scene of the setting sun one final time.
When they opened, he was no longer traveling in the carriage. The journey had been completed and his companions had carried him into the room they rented. From traveling for what felt like weeks to instant arrival; it was truly a miraculous sensation. Seeing the illumination from the full moon shine into the window, the remnants of Aureon's grace left behind for those not ready to face complete darkness, he realized there was no need for him to get up. His eyes gently closed again, allowing him to drift into a dreamless slumber.
***
***
***
This had never happened before.
The Church always warned about the insidiousness of the demons. They're loathsome beings cursed by Aureon to dwell in a realm of darkness, a place denied the privilege of receiving His Light, the Abyss. There were no warriors or clerics among them; they only produced dark mages, wielders of the cursed energy that could only be cleansed by light.
However, they were predictable. Their mission was simple. The most powerful demon to exist in the Abyss, the Demon King, compelled the others to worship him as a God. This despicable, evil God sent his subordinates to invade the realm protected by Aureon to slander His name.
Portals between the Abyss and the Lord's realm were weak upon formation. They could only accommodate mindless foot soldiers such as Goblins and other tier 5 monsters at first. Over time, they'd grow more powerful to let stronger beings come through, but they'd be destabilized upon the transfer of matter or energy. If they were disrupted beyond a certain threshold, they'd fully close.
No matter their other flaws, the demons were intelligent. They knew that the forces they could send through were no match for the strength of man. Their solution was to utilize the sorcery of their evil God to 'collect' the portals and build underground dungeons to protect them. Combining this method of concealment with the occasional dark mage capable of clouding the senses, they'd do whatever they could to escape detection. In this manner, they'd attempt to cultivate the portals to achieve the power to one day bring their God into the realm.
Of course, evil could only do so much. With the guidance of Aureon, light always illuminated the darkness. The dungeons would be found by men without fail, and the vile demons would only be allowed to live if the portal they protected was deemed useful. It'd be too much of a hassle to fight them unless necessary.
They were smart enough to know when to accept the benevolence before them; it was the only way for them to survive, after all. Thus, they'd hide away in underground caves, and passively let men take the materials formed around the portal when eventually found. Resistance would only come if the portal was attacked, as they needed to follow the will of their evil God, even if it meant throwing away their lives.
That's why this had never happened before. It was unthinkable for them to fight back when adventurers went to collect magic herbs. Did they not value their lives? Were they not supposed to stay alive and guard the portal they came through under orders of their God? Whatever the reason may be, the fools inhabiting the dungeon Arth went to had sentenced themselves to death, as far as Aric was concerned.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
He and his party went straight to the Adventurer's Guild at the crack of dawn. If they had it their way, they would've just gone directly to the dungeon. Unfortunately, there were procedures that needed to be followed. Although unprecedented, the response to this odd dungeon behavior would fall under the normal processes of dungeon status assessment.
The emperors of the two human empires where dungeon portals exclusively opened would have the final say on Tier 2 dungeons that appeared in their kingdoms. The Kings under them and the leaders of the Adventurer's Guild in those kingdoms would provide council. The National Guild Leaders would consult with branch leaders on tier 3 dungeons. Any dungeons below that level could be handled by city branch leaders and their advisors.
Aside from annual reviews, there were a few instances that called for a sudden change in status for dungeons. A dungeon approaching the next tier, a sudden spike of new dungeon portals coming into existence, and a shift in regionally available personnel were all typical reasons an assessment might be called. An unruly dungeon boss not knowing his place would be the first.
"I'll go speak to the Guild Receptionist. You guys should sit down and order some breakfast. It won't do us any good to set off on an empty stomach." Eld displayed his rare responsible side.
The esteemed scholarly aspect of mages would often be overshadowed by their over-inflated egos. Their sense of self-confidence would often cause them to have an air of nonchalance as if they could easily handle any problem that came their way. Eld was no exception to this. However, he knew when to draw the line.
The usual leader, Aric, had calmed down a bit. Still, one look at him and the group could tell he was in no mood to bother with the bureaucratic process. Seeing this, Eld promptly stepped up and went ahead of the others. No other words were spoken, but there was tacit acknowledgment as they proceeded to find a table and sat down.
It didn't take long to hear from Eld. Apparently, things weren't going to go as simply as they thought they would. According to what he heard, Eld explained that the National Guild Leader, Soren Hartwell, made the executive decision that the dungeon would be exterminated after receiving news from the scouts on the death of Arth's party.
There were a few odd points. For starters, the National Guild Leader had no reason to involve himself in the assessment of a mere tier 4 dungeon. Then, there was the question of why he was in Coln City instead of the capital. The most unexpected, though, was that they were being summoned to meet with Lord Hartwell himself.
An unbridgeable difference in status existed between them. Whether it was the societal position or simply raw strength, he was in an entirely separate league. The dungeon situation was slightly unusual, but they didn't expect it to merit an audience with such an individual.
Considering everything, they didn't have much of an appetite. Still, they understood the necessity of maintaining their strength. Quickly forcing down their food, they went ahead to the reception room and waited for Lord Hartwell to be ready for them.
"Good morning. Lord Hartwell will see you now. Please follow me."
A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman appeared to escort them. His greeting was polite, yet his expression was stoic. He appeared to be a direct assistant of Lord Hartwell, trained to maintain a strict and professional attitude.
Of course, the party wasn't in the state of mind to notice such details as the gentleman's mannerisms. They were led upstairs and into what seemed to be an overly grand meeting room. In the center of the room was a finely crafted round table and Lord Hartwell casually leaning back against a chair, his legs crossed.
Despite his relaxed posture, the dense mana dancing around him was absolutely stifling. For a moment, the party forgot to breathe.
"Ohoho, apologies, apologies." Lord Hartwell had a sincere smile on his face as retracted the magic energy under his control. It was a training habit of mages to constantly expel and absorb magic energy in order to advance. As the Branch Guild Leader, he was often around people accustomed to his level of energy circulation, so it wasn't unreasonable for him to forget to consider their lower tiers.
The attendant was expressionless in the face of his superior's mishap and simply excused himself after showing the group to their seats.
Soren Hartwell was in his mid-sixties. He had long, neatly combed gray hair, and a matching beard. His hand gently ran through his beard as he curiously observed the young adventurers in front of him.
After a moment of silence, he straightened his posture and his attitude shifted to dead seriousness.
"You must all have a few questions on your mind. I'll get straight to the point. Later today, we will be declaring war on the Mystorian Empire."
Silence. Aric and the others didn't know how to respond. They were still processing the deaths of friends and loved ones; their minds didn't seem to have the capacity to accommodate another ridiculous surprise.
"Oh, come now. Don't look so shocked. Anyone with half a brain could've seen this coming. Let's not get too into details. I'm sure you're all able to fill in the answers on your own. It doesn't really matter that I'm mentioning this now since everyone will be hearing about it in a matter of hours. The reason I'm bringing it up at all is simple. Nobody likes surprises in times of war. In the first place, peace has only lasted between our empires for so long due to the wariness of the dungeons."
He took a breath and scanned the room.
"With things appearing to be stable, it's only natural that the conflict couldn't be restrained any longer. That being said, we can't have unexpected variables pop up. Now, it could be nothing. A mere tier 4 demon misbehaving is probably just showing its true self. Still, it doesn't hurt to be careful. I want it brought back for interrogation. I'd like to know if there's any greater reason behind this abnormal behavior."
Aric fidgeted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with what he heard. Was this man going to impede his revenge? He was out for blood, not a bounty mission.
Lord Hartwell narrowed his eyes seeing this.
"This is exactly why I called you here. Don't spit in the face of my graciousness. Even if it could be nothing, I was tempted to have the dungeon dealt with as soon as I heard the news. I only decided to wait because I heard about your group. Your family member was killed, and you have the strength to clear the dungeon. I decided it wouldn't hurt to let you be the ones to take care of it, so I waited. Don't make me regret it. I'll let you finish the demon after we extract all the information we can. Albeit low, this can be considered of national importance. If you choose not to capture the demon despite taking on the mission, you may be sentenced to death."
Lord Hartwell once again circulated some of his mana, bringing an instant pressure that complimented his cold words.
Lysandra put her hand on Aric's seeing his complicated expression. He wanted to kill at first sight. He wanted to tear the demon apart. But his brother and his friends wouldn't want anything to happen to him, nor the rest of his party. In the end, he'd still eventually get his revenge. He'd just have to wait. He needed patience.
"Alright." He nodded.
"We'll drag him back by the end of today."
It no longer mattered. It could be a second, a minute, or a year. He'd wait however long he had to in order to satisfy his wrath. After all, from the moment he received the letter to that point, it had already felt like an eternity had passed.