Armand was ecstatic at the discovery; while he and his soul clones could not leave the dungeon, soul servants could. Most likely, because the portion of his soul they contained was far smaller than his clones. He also theorized that perhaps since they still had their original souls, it masked his own.

  The goblin frowned, however; unlike his true clone, he could barely feel, much less perceive, the warbeast after it left. Luckily, it quickly returned dripping in blood. The frown on his face intensified as he heard the additional news. He had intended to send his horde of hell-forged mithril golems out to easily erase the goblin army, but Fernri had just informed him of an issue.

  The warbeast required a lot of mana to function at peak efficiency. In the short bout with the troll, the mana in the vicinity was severely drained. It was a dangerous limitation, since it would leave his valuable warbeasts helpless should they drain all of the ambient mana.

  The goblin didn’t need to think long before sending sentinels to go retrieve his prototypes. He had hundreds of the iron hulks and nothing else to use them for anyhow.

  He also began to pull souls from his dungeon core; any beast would work. He began to make soul clones on the spot, having long engraved the soul-cleaving magic into his own soul. He mass-created soul servants on the spot; any souls that resisted he just threw back into the dungeon core.

  Hundreds of iron beasts began to rise from the pile of experiments and began to stride towards the doorway. His heart wouldn’t hurt losing these iron prototypes with minimal magic metal. The only order he gave to the souls was to attack anything that didn’t look human, elvish, or dwarvish.

  He could only hope their tiny animal minds could follow his instructions, secretly praying to the gods that they didn’t attack the wrong things. The goblin also sent a couple of his wolf souls, more in a supervisory role than a combat one. Each was precious to him, both emotionally and strategically, so caution was mandatory.

  They also would serve as generals of the iron horde. He transferred them into his best prototypes and sent them out. Several Readers began to guide the most recent round of refugees deeper into the dungeon while several full-power warbeasts surrounded the portal.

  The elongated seconds soon became minutes; he waited with bated breath. Finally, the door opened once again. One of his wolves had returned with a group of elves in tow.

  The wolf construct happily approached Armand, mechanical tail wagging as it projected its memories of the outside world. Images flashed through his mind: a beautiful city constructed of massive trees, covered in blood and metal scraps. Bodies of elves, greenskins, and constructs cluttered the streets.

  His initial bunch of soldiers had dwindled by half, but they, in turn, took out a large portion of the other army. The frontlines were still under heavy assault as the iron horde held off the frenzied greenskins.

  Reinforcements were needed, so Armand began to summon more prototypes, but even those ran out. He had to start creating new ones, which proved helpful as he tried to tailor each construct to the soul he put in it. He practically had a metal menagerie.

  The goblin wiped his brow; this war was going to be rough on his mana and soul stores. Luckily, both were sufficiently deep before the start of this battle. The minutes turned to days, the iron horde and the army of goblins battling day and night. Armand struggled to maintain his population, the whole process taking an immense strain on his soul.

  Furthermore, the mana within the dungeon was beginning to thin. Through the glimpses he could see of the outside world, the massive city of trees had practically become buried in constructs.

  There were some necromancers within the goblin ranks who rose those felled into living dead that would terrorize until put down. He even had to order the constructs to tear the corpses apart or they would just rise again and again to fight.

  But his efforts had proven fruitful; a large portion of the elven populace had been evacuated into the dungeon, and the majority of the weaker foot soldiers had been slain. But the elite guard still remained strong, surrounding the "Goblin King."

  Armand could only get glimpses of the ruler. Glordon had grown in size. It was quite odd seeing a goblin nearly the size of an ogre, two humans tall, and several times fatter. A mountain of muscle and blubber, oversized teeth poked from his jaws as the fat grin wobbled with every strike of his oversized mace, creating shockwaves through the warfront and shattering tens of constructs with every strike.

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  Every strike caused Armand to wince; he was running out of souls and mana. The practical part of his mind told him to retreat, but the furious part burned brighter. After all, every second he delayed them, his construct body grew closer, and in turn, brought his vengeance even closer.

  He was unsure of the whereabouts of Theoden, but he assumed it was probably in the giant tree at the center of the forest. The central bastion of the elvish kingdom was the ancient oak tower. Plus, the mana density there was rather thin—most likely due to Theoden’s construct.

  The giant tree was also under attack by the goblins, but they were fighting a front on two sides and had to devote the majority of their forces to defending from Armand’s assault.

  However, the constructs were crumbling apart, and Armand was out of the resources to replenish them. But one of the wolves finally brought some good news. The cavalry had finally arrived.

  The Goblin King stopped his attacks for a moment and stared out into the woods. Something out there stared back. A large metallic humanoid stepped out from the trees. Armand the construct had finally arrived.

  The construct took a good look at the surroundings; it was much like the wolves had shared to the main body. The hordes of constructs had thinned the mana in the environment. That ruled out any large-scale spells. He was slightly giddy; not only was the object of his vengeance before him, but this felt like it would be his first real battle. Armand eyed up the Goblin King before him; the one eye that he had previously destroyed was replaced with a glowing ruby-like gemstone.

  He noticed too that the Goblin King's soul was nearly as crimson as a demon's, and latched onto it were five different parasitized soul fragments. Armand immediately recognized one of them being Mammon.

  Glordon eyed him in return, the gaze cold and calculated. There was no recognition in those eyes, just a visual dissection of the enemy before him. The Goblin King waved to one of his lieutenants who wielded a tree essentially as a club. Sensing what was being asked, the hulking ogre began to charge the knight construct. The errant sprint sent iron constructs flying in all directions, and the behemoth was upon him in the blink of an eye. Luckily, he didn’t need to blink.

  He drew his bladestaff and swung at the incoming club strike. The blade effortlessly severed the tree in twain, but slowed upon meeting its tough hide. Nonetheless, the lieutenant lost a couple of fingers for his frenzied attack.

  Stepping back, the ogre began chanting. The voice was so guttural that Armand couldn’t catch what was being said, but when it was done, a large amount of earth began covering the giant’s body. The ogre enlarged to nearly double its original size and swung a massive earthen fist down at the construct.

  Armand raised the bladestaff and turned its flat side towards the fist, reinforcing the blade with his other hand. The collision rose waves of wind that sent metal fragments, leaves, and viscera flying. The construct clone didn’t budge, and the bladestaff was as pristine as before.

  The knight construct would have grinned if it could have; time to test another spell of his own design. He activated one of the magic circles engraved upon the blade, and it began to glow a bright blue.

  He swapped his grip and slashed. As he did so, a beam of hyper-concentrated water came out of the tip of the blade. The resultant slash appeared to have done nothing. The other lieutenants and the Goblin King in the background began to laugh; with such a grand display, they expected more.

  The laughter slowed as the earthen giant didn’t continue moving, and then hit a dead stop as the behemoth split into two. The halves slowly slid off each other as blood spurted from the wounds.

  The trees in the surroundings also had a hairline cut along them but stayed standing due to their thickness. Armand nodded in satisfaction at the effectiveness of his water blade spell. Gauging the mana around him, he could cast that quite a few times.

  It was his turn to act, so he flexed his mechanical legs and leaped forth towards his adversary. Glordon grabbed one of the sturdier-looking lieutenants and held him in front to intersect Armand's water blade strike. The poor meatshield was bisected, and a thin cut appeared on Glordon’s flabby flesh.

  The Goblin King didn’t hesitate to use the opening and struck out with his mace. Armand used his free hand to strike the mace, deflecting it off its path. It missed him by just a hair. The construct internally frowned; the metal was as hard as mithril and even hellforged. One of the benefits of hitching yourself to demonic forces.

  Luckily, the Knight was hellforged and heaven-blessed—a rarity, perhaps one of a kind, two if you consider Uriel’s puppet in the dungeon. He attacked once more, the dead lieutenant in the Goblin King’s hand used again as an impromptu shield. But the water stream pierced further into the giant goblin’s belly.

  “My master warned me of your arrival, usurper, and like you, I am well prepared.”

  Blood-red flames began to pour from his body, melting the little bit of corpse in his hand into a bloody pile. The flame seared his wounds shut, and with a guttural laugh, he leaped forth with a new level of speed that even Armand found difficult to keep up with. The soul clone noticed that the mana in the environment was not dropping any faster, so he looked closer at the Goblin King’s soul.

  Within its dark red mass were several hundred souls, quivering as if in agony as small strands of their energy were being pulled out and transformed into the dark red flames. The knight paused as he saw something he had been long looking for: a flickering golden soul struggling within.