That morning, the City of Gath expeditionary force repeated their tactics, aiming to wipe out the remaining three thousand or so skeletons around the Lightless Tomb.
Unfortunately, it wasn't clear if it was due to the previous day's escape of several skeleton leaders, but part of the skeletons seemed to lose their aggro-mechanism. They completely ignored the humans riding horses around them, no matter how much they flaunted.
In the end, the expeditionary force captured about two thousand five hundred skeletons with their overwhelming military advantage.
By noon, Doyle, leading three thousand men, gazed across the camp at the nearly nine thousand white skulls and mused at how eye-opening the expedition had been.
After lunch, the expeditionary force promptly set off. The infantry were tasked with guarding the outnumbered skeleton prisoners and soldiers injured for various daft reasons, while the civilians broke down the tents and the cavalry maintained the perimeter vigilance.
Thankfully, the entire return journey proceeded without any unexpected incidents.
The now over ten-thousand-strong troop marched grandly along the kingdom's road in single file. Calculations showed that due to Doyle's overly successful battle plan, the remaining supplies were enough for the expeditionary force to take the captives to the mines and then return to the City of Gath.
At this moment, the commander of the expeditionary force, Doyle, was still basking in the joy of his victorious return. He reminisced over and over about his experience defeating the skeleton leader. Despite the overwhelming differences in strength, Doyle still felt like a war god at that moment, "If only I could join the ranks of heroes in ten years," Doyle murmured to himself.
As the expeditionary force returned in triumph, all the blacksmiths in the City of Gath and the nearby towns received the second massive order in this period: produce pickaxes, as many as possible.
During this time, Alaric had achieved complete control over all the resources of the trade guild, absolutely dominating. Obeying commands like a well-oiled machine, thousands of pickaxes were continuously bought from various places and transported to the mines, with many more being forged.
Considering the wear and tear, Murphy prepared ample funds to purchase twelve thousand pickaxes for any unexpected needs.
The return journey was smooth sailing. The troop's movement slowed due to the large number of captives, but no one complained. After all, such a large scale victory was a significant event that would have been lauded even in the tumultuous times a hundred years ago.
Twelve days later, the City of Gath expeditionary force and the captives reached the loyal mines and saw Murphy, who had been waiting at the mine entrance.
Under their leaders' control, the skeletons hadn't acted out during the journey. In their interaction with Doyle, they learned of their captivity, and the leaders knew everything was unfolding as His Majesty the Demon Lord had anticipated.
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After a brief orientation, the skeletons realized their new predicament: work or die.
The skeleton leaders took on the roles of foremen, commanding the rank-and-file skeletons to pick up the ready pickaxes and enter the mine one after another.
Seeing the mine operating again, Doyle contently led most of the troops back to the City of Gath with Murphy.
The remaining small detachment was endowed with a new position: overseers.
They were to watch for any shirking or escape attempts by the skeletons and manage ore transport to City of Gath or elsewhere.
In reality, the skeletons far exceeded the overseers' expectations, proving to be the best workers. Under the leaders’ command, there was no resistance or escape, making their job incredibly easy.
The skeletons had similar thoughts. To them, the dark, gloomy mines were almost as good as the Lightless Tomb as a habitat.
Although the Lightless Tomb was rich with the essence of the deceased nourishing the skeletons, some diminished sunlight still penetrated during the day that left them, not people, but skeletons somewhat languid.
In the mines, however, skeletons could avoid daylight altogether — a pure delight. The mere cost of this luxury was wielding pickaxes tirelessly against the rock walls, which was blissfully simple.
What was more peculiar was the sense of growing proficiency and satisfaction they felt as they mined, which sparked unparalleled enthusiasm among the instinct-driven low-level skeletons toward mining.
A few days later, skeletons well-adjusted to their work received new orders from their leaders: extract the Slime from their skulls to mine alongside and share experiences, maintaining the same level.
---
At the Reed family castle in the City of Gath, a victory feast was in full swing for Murphy, Byron, and Doyle.
The young captain of the Black Armored Guard was in high spirits, drinking non-stop, and swiftly became quite inebriated.
What a naive young man, Murphy thought. It would be a missed opportunity not to get some words out of him.
Murphy and Byron exchanged glances, and Byron instantly turned into a scene-stealing dramatist.
Byron, toast after toast, quickly swayed, hugging Doyle's shoulder and slurring praise, making the young man seem like the hero of his own legend.
Doyle, boosted by the unexpected surge of "heartfelt" praise from the usually silent and dependable Byron, wore a self-satisfied smile.
Murphy chimed in, mentioning how Doyle, who had never faced battle, could triumph without a single loss; even kingdom generals could learn a thing or two from him, declaring Doyle should lead the fight against the demons in ten years.
Doyle, hearing this, modestly waved his hand, "That's an overstatement; I have a lot to learn from my father."
His comment was exactly what Murphy was fishing for, and he eagerly asked, "May I inquire about General Doyle's father...?"
Doyle, his excitement slightly dulled by drink, considered the question and saw no harm in sharing, "I'm Rhodes Doyle, and that 'general' bit is just a bit of fun. My father is the real deal—General Morton Doyle, commander of the Black Armored Guard in the capital. My family has no title, but for generations, we've held direct command over the king's Black Armored Guard. That's why the capital nobility calls us the 'Black Armored Family' and keeps their distance..."
Once the young captain started, there was no stopping him. Murphy thought to himself that, if he were a noble at the capital, he’d keep a healthy distance from the Doyle’s too; it would be no different from courting death.
"...The Black Armored Guard is the king's most elite unit. They rarely leave the capital except to intervene in noble affairs or breaches of law..." the young man slurred, his eyes blurry with drink.
"...I thought this would be a simple assignment but turned out quite intriguing. Thank you both, Mr. Mage Murphy, and my good friend Byron. Even when I return to the capital, I'll write to you both..."