By the time we were within earshot of the stairway, Dralos was already out of sight, and I could hear the heavy steps of armored guards clamoring down the steps. Judging by the number of discordant footsteps approaching us and the many different sources of heart energy, I figured Nida had perhaps underestimated their numbers.
There were around 150 ex-slaves and a little under 90 Paragons in total, yet I felt at least 200 energy sources barreling down the stairs. Although I did not sense a Core among the guards, many had powerful auras resembling a magic core. It was much weaker than a Heart Core, but it explained why individuals like the Knight Captain and the Cael King’s son-in-law could wield such power without their hearts exploding.
The stairway was no wider than that of eight armored soldiers, maybe ten if they eschewed the heavier sort. I chewed on my bottom lip, debating the best approach to clash with the soldiers. Strategically, enclosed spaces were best fought with traps rather than outright warfare.
The ceiling was unstable, so a collapse was a realistic plan. I shook my head, dispelling the thought. Unless I could trick the guards and mercenaries into fully entering the underground passageways while we took the stairs, a ceiling collapse would only crush the ex-slaves and Paragons.
“Nasq,” I whispered, “can you shroud us in shadows?”
The "elf" took on a look of extreme concentration for a moment, then shook his head. “The passage is too small, and we are too many.”
He was right. Even if the stairway could fit eight armored men, the dungeon passages could only accommodate five unarmored men side by side. I clicked my tongue in disappointment.
I looked again at the staircase. The guards would disembark the stairway toward the first section where I had been kept. We were coming from the third section, which was behind the walls of the stairs. If we clashed directly with the guards, we would at least have the element of surprise since they would have to turn the corner toward the third section to see us.
The dungeon layout was similar to a trident, with the stairs coming down the middle prong. The length of the base was the first dungeon section, while the left and right prongs were the second and third sections. So, technically, we did have the element of surprise even if they already knew we were down here.
When Dralos returned with the stragglers, I motioned him back the way he came. “Dralos, take half and wrap back around to the second section. Stay behind the wall and out of sight until I say so. Nasq, stay here with the others. Same as Dralos. Don’t reveal yourself yet.” I waved for Nida and some of the other Paragons to follow me. “We’re going to start in the middle section so their attention is focused on us.”
I felt some resistance from the Paragons I left with Dralos and Nasq. Even if they did not feel much loyalty toward me, they would inherently understand that their survival depended on my own. So I wasn’t surprised that many were disgruntled by having me on the frontline. Still, they kept it to themselves. I brooked no argument and expected obedience in this situation—even the freed slaves who had no connection to me could feel my aura of command.
My group positioned itself directly in front of the descending stairs, leaving enough distance for the incoming guards to be well into the dungeon lobby heading toward the first section before reaching us. Hopefully, at that point, Nasq and Dralos’ teams could collapse in a pincer attack. There would be a few seconds for the guards to react before the other two could reach the foyer of the dungeon floor, but it should be a small enough window of time that the surprise would still send their ranks into chaos.
“There! The slaves are over there!” The armored guards and mercenaries swarmed down the staircase like hungry ants rushing toward food. For a moment, it seemed that fortune was finally in my favor as the guards would spill out into the foyer in a chaotic mess, allowing the pincer move to work without a hitch.
However, mere seconds before the first row of guards crossed the threshold, a powerful, deep voice echoed from the back of the armed mob with alarming command. “HALT.”
The word wasn’t shouted or screamed. It was spoken calmly, almost a whisper amidst the clamor of soldiers and clanking armor. The order didn’t need to be loud. Every soldier stopped, some taking a few steps back. Even the mercenaries in less armor and more ragged clothing stopped, turning their eyes toward a large, heavy-set man in the middle of the pack. The foremost rows of armored soldiers did not turn toward the commander, though they did halt. I narrowed my eyes at them, sensing something off about their energy, but my attention was stolen when I spotted the man who had spoken.
I did a double-take. Not a man. Male, yes, but not a man. Even from my distance in the dim lighting of Nasq’s flames and the moon shining down the stairway, I could see that the commander was blue. Though most of his body was clad in heavy silver armor, a distinct belly protruded forward, and his face was bare, covered in black swirls of tattooed markings I didn’t recognize. The design began at the base of his neck, snaking its way up his chin before spiraling up his cheeks to form new symbols on his bald head.
Despite the limitations of the stairs, the commander stood at least ten feet tall, nearly twice my height. The ceiling seemed to just barely miss scraping against his head. The foyer between myself and the blue warrior had a vaulted ceiling - the only part of the dungeon that did. If I could lead him into a pathway, perhaps the squeezed space would give me an advantage.
What in Ashwash’s name was he? My confusion didn’t last long.
“Holy Gods,” Nida muttered from my left, gripping her spear more firmly with one hand as she used the other to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a High Pandorian.”
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“Pandorian?” I whispered back. The name sounded familiar. Where had I heard that before?
“From the Pandorian Empire,” Nida responded, voice trembling slightly. “I don’t understand why he’s here. High Pandorians directly serve the Pandorian imperial family and the…”
She stopped, eyes wide, and I pressed her with a hiss. “And the what?”
“The Church of Light.”
I should have known the Church would have its own forces with it. I had no idea what a High Pandorian was, but when he stepped forward and some of the armed crowd parted to make way, I instantly sensed just how powerful the Pandorian warrior was.
Not only did the High Pandorian have that bundle of magic near his stomach that I’d been thinking of as a Magic Core, but he also had a Heart Core. An Ashwash-cursed Heart Core. And the Core was at the silver-level, even if its foundation did not strike me as particularly stable. Holy Ashwash.
My heart began to thump so loudly that it echoed in my ears. Those around me shuddered in fear and terror at the mere presence the Pandorian exuded. I didn’t. I couldn’t. My body was so filled with excitement and anticipation that there wasn’t any room for fear.
Finally. Finally! I was about to get a real Core battle. That was exactly what my Bronze Heart Core needed to evolve into a Silver Heart Core. It was already on the verge of becoming Silver, and all it needed was one last giant push. This was it. This was my chance.
I shot Nida a giant grin and laughed. The sound cracked the silent pressure of the Pandorian like it was mere glass, and the aura around my own fighters lightened, their shoulders slumping slightly in relief.
“Listen, slaves,” the Pandorian said, spitting the word 'slave' like it burned his tongue. “This is your only chance to live. Go back to your quarters like the good little rodents you are and stay there until the Slave Master decides what to do with you all. I promise you, if you fight, you will die.” As he approached our smaller center group, I saw there was no white in his eyes. They were completely black.
I sneered at his words, unsheathing my sword only to let it drop complacently to my shoulder, and stepped in front of our group so the armored Pandorian could see me. “What is a follower of the Light doing here?”
The Pandorian’s next words seemed to catch in his chest for a split instant at the sight of me. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat and withdrawing a two-handed battle axe from where it had been sheathed against his back.
“I see our Saintness Candidate isn’t one to sit still,” the Pandorian said with a sneer of his own.
“Does the Church know you are here?” I asked, standing up to my full height and throwing the pressure of my heart energy forward. "I don't imagine it would take kindly to know an elite of its ranks is fighting slaves." It was a complete assumption on my part based on what Nida had said, but my assumption was proven accurate with the Pandorian's response.
He didn’t flinch. “Her Eminence does not concern herself with such…” he peered down his nose at all of us, “...with such trash. The Colosseum mercenaries and guards are enough to deal with the likes of you all.”
"Then why are you here?" I mocked. "To ask for the Saintness' forgiveness for the actions of your subordinates?"
The Pandorian smirked and looked at me as if one might look at a sick puppy. "My master does not believe you to be a true Saintness. You should not have killed his niece. He will be quite pleased to hear of your death."
“Good,” I responded, hefting my sword in front of me. “I guess I don't have to worry about killing you then.”
The Pandorian chuckled, but the mirth did not reach his eyes, which remained cold as ice. “This is your last chance, Saintness Candidate. Go back. I do this out of kindness against my Master's desires.”
“That is funny, Pandorian.” I pointed the tip of my sword at him. “Because you do not have any choice in your death here today.”
He snarled, his previous casual chuckle nothing but a regretful memory in the face of my insults. With a wave of his hand and a shout, his men charged at us. Perhaps twenty rows of eight men shot down the stairway roaring with promises of death, clanking in their heavy armor and carrying their swords. They tried to make their way around me to the others in my group. Not a moment after the first row hit the floor, I leaped toward them, covering nearly fifteen meters in seconds, and thrust my sword forward between the first soldier's eyes. Gore and blood exploded out the back of his head. The mercenary dropped, his body falling back against the others like a domino, slowing the others' advance both physically and in apparent mental trepidation.
Behind the armored soldiers was a group of men and women in red-blue robes who had remained at the higher elevation the staircase provided. I could sense a combination of magic and heart energy forming from them. I didn’t have the opportunity to worry about what spells or techniques the mages and energy users would use.
The soldiers behind the initial row of mercenaries and guards made short work of the remaining distance, not even pausing from my show of dominance, following their other comrades who were engaging with us. Only as the second row of combatants approached did I finally realize that many of those I’d believed to be human were not. Some were, of course, like the one I'd dispatched. But a large number of them were not.
They weren’t even alive.
It explained how the Colosseum leadership had managed to gather such a large force in so little time despite most of its guards likely being asleep in barracks or some off-Colosseum residence. And, even then, what were the chances the Colosseum even kept hundreds of guards at any one time?
No, a large portion of our foes were enormous humanoid golems. That was the Pandorian's true power, the power I'd sensed condensing near his gut. Magic.
“Pandorian Golems!” someone shouted from my right. When I turned my gaze toward the voice for a split second, I saw Romeo and Julius fighting with one of the large stone golems that towered over them with an empty, lifeless expression. I hadn’t even noticed that they’d followed me to the center group. I hoped they would be able to hold their own.
I let my lunar attribute heart energy cascade over my body and sword like a veil as I charged the first golem that had attacked me. My sword shot like lightning through the air toward the humanoid golem directly in front of me. It deflected my initial strike with a fist of steel and I understood that the golems were not clad in armor. They were armor.
I swore under my breath again, spinning on my heels to drive the empowered point of my blade through the golem’s stomach to where I sensed its heart. I felt the thrum of power as my blade penetrated the creature’s heart core and shattered it. An instant later the golem crumbled to dust and I darted forward toward the next one.