At least a thousand entered the gutters, and barely over five hundred left. The tough few were the ones the army wanted, anyway. No case in feeding and supplying mouths that were gonna drop dead anyway.

They marched straight out of the army block, and towards the North exit. They traveled in fives, each carrying supplies and equipment. Dungeons and monster areas were sprouting all around the kingdom, and while these were usually trimmed and left for low-levels, their current condition was disturbing trade and army maneuvering.

“And the word is,” Nilbog heard out of the corner of his ears, “That we’re going to be helping them clear it.”

“Why us? They could do it themselves much quicker.”

“They can't, dimwit. There is a level cap. They’re also trying to increase our level so they could use later on.”

“You reckon we’ll be part of the army, once we get stronger and shit?”

“Fuck man, either way is no good. We might get a position but we’ll always put us in the most dangerous spots. You know how they are. They’ll milk us dry. Send us to one dangerous mission to the next. I heard some of us are going to be doing a raid."

"Word is, a dungeon appeared in the mountains where iron is mined. They might have us do that."

Nilbog nodded, listening to the whispers as he stayed to himself. 633, the one with the weird class, and 664 hit it off, while 666, the one that was beaten bloody, trailed behind them. The Rogue kept to himself. 

In a way, Nilbog was glad for having the numbers inscribed. At the very least he'll avoid the awkwardness of forgetting their names. 

As they walked through the city, the stench and remains of battle had yet to be cleaned. Blood and the smell of burning flesh were everywhere. The prisoners and the High Guard encountered many mounds of corpses. It was where the dead were gathered to be burned--a wise precaution against the raising undead. Burying them would not do. 

The bodies were then set a flame, sometimes through magical concoctions, and others through more rudimentary tools, such as oil and a spark.

The greatest pyre were those in the Third District, where the human population was the densest. Nilbog could only imagine what type of slaughter occurred there.

The screams of the living accompanied the corpses. Not out of remorse, but of the men and women who had the poor luck of being accused of corruption for one senseless reason or the other. They too were tossed in the pyre. Nilbog watched the sinful smoke creep skyward and feed the dark heavens. It was an ugly gray, full of dark clouds and nauseous wails. Wicked things flew above the clouds. 

It was the beginning of a Dark Age. It was the beginning of the Games.

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Nilbog did not mind. His life was always miserable, but now he gets to share it with everyone else. Let the entire world be swallowed by black flames, for all he cared. 

Haggard prisoners joined arms with other haggard prisoners from other parts of the city. There was Thirty High Guards to each couple hundred, yet all knew that no amount of number advantage could overwhelm The High Guard. How foolish and tinny they all seem in comparison to the Empire's deadliest machines. 

The spear to the empire’s heart, as the rumors went, was the loss of Dijhat by the Free Ascended. The whispers running through the rebel army was all it took for Nilbog to gain a picture. The city had connected the empires supply routes as well as it’s trade routes, in addition to the manufacturing of most types of crystals, and now that it was lost, the Profectus Empire would lose a vital tactical advantage. No more Purple Crystals to decimate a courted army in posion, no more earth-shaking Green Crystals to assist in burst skirmishes.

Rumor also had it that the land now roamed with legions of the undead, minions of Dylon, Riser Of The Fallen, of the most powerful and feared Ascended roaming the bright side of Earth.

In each case, the defenders died of starvation and disease, and catapulting sick cows and corpses was much more efficient than rocks and arrows. How would that even work for the undead? Throwing corpses and sick cows against the undead? That would be a funny sight.

They marched for half a day in the cold, entering the forest’s road that leads to the Djhat. It wasn’t much of an issue for Nilbog, with his Endurance, but it was much more so for the rest of the scrabble following the heel of the guards. Low temperatures, harsh winds, and a lack of proper clothing wared down the group. 

By nightfall, they laid down their equipment in a clearance within the forest. They were given instructions on how to set camp, including how to cook a meager meal and the gathering of wood for the fires, and were finally reminded that any type of escape would result in instant death for everyone, and that any suspicious behavior must be reported.

This was a great way to reduce desertion rates, but unfortunately, no ingenious, penetrative, and thoroughly crafted method was sufficient enough to prevent stupidity from prevailing. A dozen or so people attempted to escape that night. A couple were caught by the guard’s patrolling, a couple were caught by their own party mates, and a couple individuals and one group escaped. At sunrise, in what felt like a few short hours from when Nilbog set his head against the ground, the guards showed them exactly what happened when a crystal breaks.

There were seven people in total, hanging off ropes by their feet from the dry branches of the trees. A couple were ones caught in their escape, but most were people who failed to prevent their party members from escaping. Some of them screamed, some kept quiet, and others seemed to have already fainted. The lead guard, the one in the large, golden armor, laid a box in front of him. Within it, in fur covering, were the Blood Crystal cores. They were the size of large marbles, and glowed fiercely. He picked one, tossing it up and down, clicking against the iron of his gauntlet. He then raised it up in the air within his fists. “Observe what disobedience will result in!” he yelled, and crushed the core.

Nothing happened. The prisoners looked at each other, slightly confused. A few daring ones went as far as to giggle. The guard, looking around him, shrugged and tossed aside the broken pieces. “I guess that was the group that escaped. Let’s try this one,” he said, as he picked up another and crushed it.

Once again, however, nothing happened. There was no explosion and neither did the men upon the trees scream. Then blood seeped down from one of them. It began with a few drops at a time, and then it gushed through his mouth, eyes, and ears. Minutes passed as the blood drained from his body like a broken faucet.

Meatbags. Nilbog understood why they were called as such.

The guard reached for the next core.