Grey sprinted at a line of steel shields. When it seemed he would run into them, he disappeared, finding himself in an empty street. A few more steps and a touch of Dungeon Walker later, he was in the Dungeon once more, only behind the shield wall created by the steel armor suits.

He turned. They fought in a long, arching hall. A checkered marble floor ran its length, and stone walls met in high, vaulted arches above. From his best reckoning, the Steel Legion operated from a great castle or manor, one that had a distinct Gothic style. The halls were wide enough to give them room enough to maneuver but not so large their closeness couldn’t be taken advantage of.

Battle plan started.

Grey’s spear slipped into a gap on the back of an enemy’s leg, and though the blade did not bite into any flesh, the armor fell all the same. His boot caved in its helm, Chi Breathing filling his body with the clash of steel. His spear emerged from the other side of another vacant helmet a moment later.

Then the others arrived, and they rushed into the gap he had created. Kamaru ducked a thrusting sword and grabbed a shield, channeling his Heat Aura through his hand and dropping another suit of armor. Then a bigger man rushed forward and brought his hammer down onto a shield. Then another. Soon enough, the room rang with clashes, grunts, and moans of pain.

Grey walked through the mayhem, his spear occasionally darting this way or that, but his focus remained on a single person. At the back of the hall, two groups stood. One was a group of agents with guns and Evolutions that enabled them to attack from range, while the other consisted of those with healing and support abilities. Jessica stood among the latter.

Occasionally, she would thrust her hands out, her palms covered with light, but the boosting effect only reached a single fighter at a time. They were always the same fighters, too. Lazarus, Kamaru, Agent Rodriguez, and another Grey did not recognize. He searched for the similarity between them, but without further observation, he couldn’t reach a conclusion. Research, then action.

A stabbing blade interrupted his thoughts, and Grey stepped out of the Dungeon, moved to the side, and stepped back in, his spear punching through a breastplate with a grinding screech. His mind had started to pulse with a faint pain, but he bit his lip. His body was still willing. Nothing else mattered.

A shield slammed into his face and knocked his head back. He stepped out of the blow he knew to be coming after, and launched his spear over top the shield, drawing the short sword at his side and parrying an incoming stab. Like all thinking beings, the suits had patterns. Grey had only to learn them. So he did.

Shield bash, stab, step forward, slash, repeat. It was an effective combination when the shield wall was in place, but without it, exploiting it was relatively simple. No, the difficulty with the Legion was that they seemed almost like magnets, and separating them for any period of time was nearly impossible due to their coordination.

Grey, however, was the Knight on this board. When his opponents grouped into small squads, he appeared behind them, stabbing and brute-forcing his way between them. It was ugly fighting, true enough, but the desert had taught him pretty died quickly.

When his short sword severed the life of the last Legionnaire, he stepped back, sheathing it and surveying the room. He picked his spear up a moment later. A corpse sat beside it, the man lying in a pool of crimson as though it were a bed of roses. They had lost a few others, which was troubling for several reasons. To begin with, they numbered only thirty, and this was only the first room, meaning these were the weakest the Dungeon had to offer.

This was Gold. A Diamond might have destroyed the whole city. They had no intel on whether the Hunters or the Guild had conquered any of their own Golds, which was part of the reason why Rodriguez wanted to transfer understaffed teams into those areas, but Grey deemed it unlikely. The Guild was good. The Hunters were good. The ARA was better than both. They were better supplied, better informed, and nearly as numerous.

He sat down for a rest, as did many of the others. Jessica came and sat beside him, offering him a plastic water bottle. He shook his head. He had no idea how common poison Evolutions might be or how much it would take to disable him.

She opened the bottle and drank from it instead. “This will be a tough one.”

“Yes.” Grey was running the battle through his mind, analyzing his memories for any details he might have missed or mistakes he might have made.

“I plan on talking to Rodriguez about some changes we can make. Our tactics were,” she shrugged, “shoddy.”

“Very much so.” He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. His use of Dungeon Walker could be more efficient. Chi Breathing, too. The strain was almost too much to keep active for a whole battle, and it left his body extremely tired.

He opened his eyes to trace the fallen figures of the Legionnaires. The closer he looked, the more alien they seemed. Their armor seemed almost liquid, silver swirling and mixing with an unnameable azure. They were uniformly tall, towering above even himself. The shields they wielded looked like steel coffins, and the blades they wore reminded him of box cutters.

His mind wandered further in the Dungeon. They would add long weapons, he decided. Spears, most likely. He also imagined there would be elites scattered throughout the basic soldiers, ones that could match individual Returnees. He set the board in his mind.

Historically, armies combatted shield walls with a wedge formation. The point drove in with the intent to buckle the wall, and from there the wings would wrap around, attacking the flanks. If the shield wall moved to defend the flanks, they often exposed their front. To do both was to spread the line too thin. Mobility was war, more often than not. Rome had made their shield walls more flexible by dividing their cohorts into smaller squadrons, allowing them to outmaneuver the unwieldy phalanxes of Macedonia.

History was perhaps the most important of subjects. Learning could be achieved through two possible avenues: experiencing misfortune or viewing it secondhand. The former was often necessary, but the latter was more efficient. Tactics, of course, changed over time. War, however, did not. It was waged with different weapons, fought by different rules, yet its core remained the same. Deception, mobility, communication, coordination. Where war was waged, these things would be forever valuable.

He crafted a plan, pulling on a strand at the time. They could pierce the shield wall, fake a retreat, and swing their line in on either side of the shield wall until it resembled a U. The ranged attackers could melt through the flanks. Which left the elites. Here, he would pull from modern militaries. They needed a special force of sorts, one that could penetrate behind enemy lines and target specific enemies. In short, they needed him, the Knight.

“Grey.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting Jessica’s. “Yes?”

“Where did you go just now?” She tilted her head.

“Just thinking.”

She smiled. “So you have an idea about how to handle the rest of the Dungeon?”

He opened his mouth to answer and then paused. She was using him. Reading him. He would not only be revealing the depth of his own planning abilities, but she would use his insights to see how his mind worked. Combat strategy was the least of her worries, though he had the sense violence was… foreign to her.

That was a weakness. The best kings tasted war before sending their pawns into it. The king had to move first. He dismissed the thought for later, instead poking a few holes in his own plan before explaining it.

“The ranged units would swing out to the sides, and the melee unit would conduct a false retreat, pulling us out of the way of allied fire. If they swing to defend, then we penetrate the middle.” He made no mention of the specific Evolutions he had in mind for various purposes, nor did he include his guesses about elite soldiers and longer weapons. He did not care to protect the ARA, only use them to reach the end of this Dungeon. Still, a king did not waste his pawns so lightly.

Of course, Rodriguez could not die. He had yet to find out where the agency’s Keys were, after all. That was a plan that had to wait, though.

Speaking of, Jessica had called the fit woman over and started to speak to her about the plan. Soon enough, many of the others had gathered, and they discussed the pros and cons of his plan, adding details and discussing their Evolutions’ roles. He remained silent throughout.

The hall ended in a room whose arched ceiling towered high overhead. The entirety of the back wall was covered in stained glass windows, ones that depicted a beautiful sunset of oranges and reds. The suits of armor faced them, kneeling and still as though they stood vigil for some ceremony. Grey’s eyes picked out pikes and spears among them. He nodded, his face impassive.

The silent suits rose to their feet in silence. Rodriguez waved her hand, and the ARA agents gathered into formation. They made an upturned V with Grey near the head. His part in the whole thing was simple; he would use Dungeon Walker to get behind the front ranks and cause damage. The others would penetrate after, letting those on the end of their formation swing around to the sides of the enemy. Then they would retreat and allow the ranged attackers to do as they wish.

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Battle plan started.

Grey sprinted towards the row of pikes and shields, but when their tips leaped out towards his throat, he was gone. A few moments later, he exploded into their midst. His spear he dropped, drawing instead his short sword and a dagger. A suit tried to drop its pike and grab its sword. It failed. A few stepped forward from the back ranks with shield and sword in hand. He ignored them and killed another pike wielder before they could catch up. By the time they caught up, the sound of a crash echoed behind Grey. He ducked back into the real world.

When he reappeared in the Dungeon, it was in the midst of chaos. Fists, spears, swords, bright flashing lights, and the crash of strange Evolutions. He broke free of the ranks of fighters, catching a glancing stab for his efforts. When he broke free, he waved towards Jessica, who stood at the back of the wall. She turned and spoke to the woman beside her. A moment later, a flash of light filled the room.

The ARA started their false retreat, which stretched the line of the suits. Another light flared up. The agents on either side of the room who had not retreated, brandished guns and lifted hands. Snaps rang through the air, and great balls of fire and plasma crashed into the ranks of armored beings.

Grey watched the scene play out and nodded at Jessica. Another light flared. The barrage stopped, and the melee fighters plunged into the fray again, taking the armor suits before they could wheel back around. The ranged fighters fled in the meantime.

Grey helped finish off the stragglers, having instead chosen to watch the others fight for most of the battle. He saw no point in risking himself, but there was gain in observing. Lots of it. He would have to write down some of his thoughts later and organize them.

A few of the agents approached him after, sparing him grateful nods and back slaps. Even a few remarks of gratitude. They knew who had come up with this plan, knew to whom they owed their health to. Good. He might need such loyalty in the future. Having goodwill to spend was a nice variable to have in play.

The next few rooms proceeded similarly. Formations and soldier composition changed, but they were ultimately heavy infantry nonetheless. The group suffered more losses, and though the ratio was far from ideal, Grey realized such things were expected. If he had total command, he believed things would be more efficient. As it were… It was good enough, he supposed.

The final room of the Dungeon was different than the others. It was an intimidating throne room. The checkered floor spread out into a hall with walls lined by towering suits of armor, ones who stood much taller even than the normal ones from before. These were the elites, the Tribunes as Grey called them. At the end of the hall, a throne of slag iron sat, vacant helmets laying at the end of its arm rests. A suit of armor stood there, its elbow propped on its knee and its fist under its chin. A great longsword rested against the throne, and in the darkness behind the figure’s helmet, two blue lights gleamed. Grey decided it would be Legate.

Their previous strategies wouldn’t quite work here, but the Tribunes showed no sign of movement yet. Rodriguez ordered everyone to back out of the room. She gestured for Grey, Jessica, and a few others to come over.

“How are we approaching this one?”

Eyes flicked over to Grey, and Jessica spared him a knowing smile. “There’s no special trick here,” he said after a moment. “They’re most likely individually stronger than us, and the worst possible scenario is them grouping together. I counted about ten, not including the boss. Split us into our original groups and account for the numbers we’ve lost and assign each group a target.”

They did that, which meant Grey was grouped with Jessica, Kamaru, and Lazarus once more. In truth, he had another reason for suggesting this plan. Something about Jessica’s Evolution was bothering him. Not once had she buffed him, and she only aided the same people over and over. With only their small group to look after, she would surely have to buff him at least once. If she could. If she couldn’t, then he knew he had to look for a thread that connected the people she could.

They stepped into the throne room once more, split into nine groups. That left both the boss and one Tribune unguarded, but the groups closest were to distract them as best as they were able. More likely, Grey would have to intervene.

He could solo a Tribune. It was a close thing without Metallurgy, but he could. He gave his group a high chance of defeating their own quickly, and there were other groups he imagined could do the same. It was the Legate that gave him pause. He didn’t have enough information for a battle plan. Its leadership and the effect that would have on the battle was also largely unknown.

The Tribunes moved, and the room burst into motion. Lazarus ducked under the spear of their opponent, heading for its legs. Kamaru rushed after him. Jessica held out her hands. Grey stood back and observed. Her buffs did not touch him.

The Tribune retracted its spear, sweeping the haft up and catching Kamaru in the side. The dark-skinned man sprawled to the ground. Lazarus managed to draw an exchange out of the armored figure, and Grey spotted his opening.

He stepped out of the Dungeon and reentered close to the Tribune, bypassing its spear’s range. His own weapon skidded into a gap in its chest armor, and when it stumbled, Lazarus darted into it, crashing into its legs. It fell. Grey ripped his spear free and thrusted it past its helmet, punching through the other side.

Jessica helped Kamaru up, and they examined the situation. The boss was unmoving, its sapphire eyes darting between its Tribunes. Two of the enemies had managed to group up and were massacring a squad. Another was on its way. Two others besides their own had fallen or were close enough. The rest were locked in combat.

“To them.” Jessica pointed to the Tribune duo. Grey nodded. The Tribunes getting close enough to activate their bonding Evolutions was the worst possible outcome. He rated their chances of victory around thirty-five percent if more than four managed to group up so.

Grey’s spear flew towards a Tribune, and he sucked in a breath, singing with Chi Breathing. The world seemed to slow and speed up at once. His temples throbbed. He pushed past it.

He sidestepped a thrusting sword, ducked beneath an axe from the opposite side, rammed into a shield, and reappeared on the other side of it. His short sword plunged into the back of a leg, into a back, skidded off a gorget. A counter attack caught his shoulder and blasted him from his feet, where he skidded against a wall. A glance told him the boss was still unmoving, though its eyes landed on him. Their gazes met. A song interrupted his own, the beautiful ring of his swords filling his mind.

He grunted and shoved the sound aside, running back into the battle. The third Tribune had joined the others now, but more and more of their comrades were falling. His own comrades were too, however. He made a decision, ran to a fallen Tribune, picked up its large warhammer, and sprinted towards the large melee. Metallurgy lifted some of the hammer’s weight, making it wieldable. His eyes scanned the room. Most of the Tribunes had fallen, but the group of Tribunes- now four- was holding of the ARA at the base of the throne’s pedestal, their power multiplied.

“Focus on the one I hit,” he shouted.

He appeared behind a Tribune, bashed its knee in, and roared past the pain in his head, stumbling. Blood dribbled from his nose, but he focused on the song, on his plan. The spear of another rammed into the crippled suit of armor. Then a bolt of electricity. Attack after attack.

He rushed past the other three and towards the Legate. The others could handle the rest, and he didn’t have much time left with Chi Breathing. The blue eyes tracked him, their owner rising to its feet. The longsword left the ground with a sweep.

The Legate fell into a combat stance. Jab. Grey leaned his head out of the way. Slash. The hammer’s haft caught the blow, a pained grunt escaping his limbs. Upwards cut. He stumbled out of the way, nearly falling. He had the energy for perhaps a single step with Dungeon Walker. His hammer came up, was blocked, and he swung again, his vision blackening for a moment.

The blade cracked the armor of his arm and cut into his bicep. Not yet, he told himself. He swung the hammer again from above. Backwards step and jab. He dodged another blow and swung again, this time from the right. Parry, slash to the head. He looked for a pattern, for anything. A fireball crashed into the Legate to little effect. He couldn’t wait to see how close help was.

He choked up on the haft and swung overhead again, and the Legate backstepped and jabbed again. Grey read the pattern, warm blood running down his arm. He smiled, the blood from his nose staining his teeth.

Battle plan started.

He faked the overhead swing, stepped into the space the Legate’s backstep left, and lunged forward, preparing to use Dungeon Walker. The jab never came, however. Blue eyes seemed to brighten into roiling pools of flame, and the Legate closed the distance between them, moving faster than it ever had before.

A great arrow knocked its sword aside at the last moment. Grey stumbled to the side. He had almost died. He had been outsmarted. In panic, the metal of the Legate’s armor seemed to cry out to him, and he reached a hand out, Metallurgy tugging on the Legate’s legs. Its lunge became a stumble. Grey fell. Attacks rained down on the Legate. It fell, too.

On top. He crawled, dragging the hammer behind him. Boots on stone could be heard rushing towards him. He snarled, couldn’t make words, gave up. His mind throbbed, and vision faded out. He didn’t stop moving. The desert had taught him well.

On top of the armor now. It tried to move. He threw his weight down. Hammer up. Bang. Hammer down. Another snarl. Hammer down. Bang, louder this time. Voices around him. Grey lifted the hammer high above his head and-

He slid off the Legate, pushed off by the monster’s strength. His vision went black. He had lost the fight, made himself look reckless, and passed out in the midst of it all. He was satisfied.

There was a strange quality to losing. Nobody remembered it after victory, and Grey, he was after the most ultimate of victories.

---

“This is yours,” Agent Rodriguez said, pressing the Gold Key into his hand.

He blinked and looked around the throne room, running a tongue over his lips. He felt… sluggish. After a moment, he refocused on the agent and the others, realizing they looked at him in concern. Distantly, he felt something slide into place. Perfect.

His hand wrapped around the Key. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t the ARA keep these together?”

Rodriguez smiled and turned her head. “What do you mean?”

Something went off in his head. A warning. He acted as though he didn’t hear it.

“I…” He rubbed his head. “If you want the Key back, just tell me where and I will take it to wherever you store them. That sounds like the best idea, honestly.”

Yes, he needed to learn where the Keys were. Where they stored them. A hand grasped his shoulder, and another voice washed over him.

“Ma’am, I think he’s feeling the effects of the battle. I believe he’s overwhelmed.”

“Yes, you’re probably right, Jessica. Thank you, Grey,” Rodriguez said, standing from his side. “Keep the Key. You’ve earned it.”

“But… Let me take it…” He slurred his words a bit more than he had to, and he shut his eyes, letting the pain wash over his face.

She walked away, but the hand on his shoulder never left. “Oh, Grey,” Jessica said. “You had me ever so worried. But tell me: why are you insistent on giving the Key back? Why are they so important?”

Sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Any good Player understood that.