The warcamp outside the ruins of Marlow was a structured chaos of discipline. Rows of tents stretched across a cleared field, and the sharp tang of smoke from the central cooking fires mixed with the metallic scent of armor and sweat. Four hundred soldiers were stationed there, a mixture of hardened veterans and fresh recruits, the clang of weapons and shouted commands echoing from the barracks. Adventurers were also present, recruited from the surrounding towns to assist with the investigation and dungeon cleanup. The air was thick with the smell of leather, steel, and anticipation.

  A single large tent, reinforced with thick canvas and reinforced poles, sat at the center of the encampment. The tent bore the standard of the Imperial Army: a Golden Dragon rampant against a dark burgundy and purple field. Inside, it served as the command center for the operations surrounding the ruins. At this hour, the camp was relatively quiet, soldiers busying themselves with maintenance of gear, formation drills, or whispered speculation about the rumors from the Marlow area.

  Four figures emerged from the main entrance, moving with precise formality across the camp. The first was Luim Trill, the leader of the temple envoy. At forty-two, he was tall and muscular, the white-and-gold tabard of the Temple of Celestine hanging over his frame. The hood of his cloak shadowed his graying brown hair, and his short beard gave him an air of calm authority. He moved with the confident, disciplined steps of a man trained in the temple's elite guard, his gauntleted hands resting lightly at his sides.

  Behind him, Lilian Minelle glided with the careful grace, barely touching the ground with her feet. At eighteen, her bright brown eyes seemed too young for the weight she carried as a Saintess and Maiden of Light. The staff in her hands, tipped with the golden symbol of a moon cradling a star, glimmered faintly in the sunlight as she walked, its presence a constant reminder of the power she carried. Her conservative temple robes, tightly wrapped and layered, concealed most of her frame, leaving only her expressive eyes visible.

  Flanking Lilian were Sunette and Agitha, twin-like in presence though not in appearance. Both in their mid-twenties, they wore black temple robes that, upon closer inspection, hid full black plate armor trimmed in white. Their heavy tower shields were strapped to their arms, and one carried a warhammer, the other a massive mace. Every step they took was deliberate, a silent warning to any who might think to challenge them.

  The four approached the command tent, the canvas flap lifting easily under Luim’s touch. Inside, they were met first by Brill Artum, the commanding officer. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated authority. His balding black hair left the top of his head bare, but the sharp green of his eyes pierced through the half-light of the tent. His steel armor, trimmed with gold and burgundy, gleamed even in the muted sunlight filtering through the canvas. One hand rested on his sword hilt.

  "Envoys of the temple," Brill intoned, voice deep, measured, filled with the kind of authority that demanded immediate attention. "You honor the camp with your presence."

  Luim inclined his head respectfully, stepping forward. “Commander Brill. It is our duty to aid in the investigation and ensure the sanctity of the ruins is maintained. We hope to be a boon to this operation.” His voice carried the calm discipline of decades of martial and spiritual training.

  Brill’s gaze swept over the newcomers, noting the Saintess and her guardians. “Of course. I trust you understand the risks of this assignment. Reports suggest a significant goblin and hobgoblin presence in the surrounding villages, and who knows what else lies beneath that acursed place. We need clarity on what has been reported inside the ruins themselves.”

  Before Luim could respond, a soft rustle of cloth drew their attention to the far side of the tent. Vel Auilinwood, an elvish advisor from Aulin, stepped forward. Her green leather armor clung snugly, the bow on her back and buckler at her hip betraying her readiness for combat. She gave a small nod to Brill, and then her gaze landed on Luim and his company.

  Lilian’s eyes widened slightly. “An elf?” she whispered under her breath, though loud enough for Luim to hear.

  “Yes,” Luim replied, “Advisor Vel sent by Aulin. Expert in reconnaissance and forest operations. We are fortunate she joins us.”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Vel’s gaze then flicked to a corner of the tent, and all four envoys stiffened. Prince Cillian Belgruim stood there, almost casually, though the subtle weight of command emanated from him. His golden blond hair was immaculate, his blue eyes sharp and calculating. Unlike the formal and ceremonial appearance of Brill, Cillian’s attire was functional, steel and cloth blended for mobility despite his high status.

  Upon recognizing him, Luim and the others immediately dropped to one knee, heads bowed. “Second Prince Cillian,” Luim intoned in unison, the words heavy with respect, awe, and a hint of unease.

  Cillian’s voice cut through the tent smoothly, authoritative yet calm. “Stand. I am here in secret. This mission does not require ceremony.”

  The temple envoys hesitated for a moment but obeyed. Lilian’s hand gripped her staff lightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in her expression. Sunette and Agitha shifted slightly, their shields tapping against the floor.

  Cillian’s eyes swept over the room, taking in the formations of the soldiers and adventurers outside, and then back at the envoys. “Over a month and a half ago, we received reports from Gilium and its surrounding villages. Goblin activity was noted, and adventurer scouts confirmed it. They requested backup when they found a sizable force of hobgoblins as well.”

  Vel’s eyes sparkled faintly, excitement written on her face. “I you received and reviewed the reports from Archmagus Hurman?”

  “Yes,” Cillian replied. “He detected abnormal energy fluctuations within Marlow itself. Initially, we believed this was merely escaped creatures from Surille’s monster enclosures. But the magical signature is distinct. It suggests the possible resurgence of the dungeon core.”

  Luim’s brow furrowed. “The necropolis has remained dormant for over two centuries. How can a dungeon core resurface after such a long time?”

  Cillian’s tone was clipped. “That is exactly what we need to investigate. Our mission is to clear the dungeon, confirm the source of energy, and determine if Surille had any involvement. Efficiency and caution are paramount.”

  Brill nodded, his hand resting on his sword. “Then we are ready to coordinate operations. The soldiers have been briefed, and the adventurers will follow orders strictly.”

  Vel, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle tension among the temple envoys as they absorbed the situation. She allowed herself a small smirk, directing it at Cillian as the others prepared to leave. “I see you are here to escape the endless politicking at the palace,” she said quietly.

  Cillian gave a faint shrug, expression neutral. “It is… one way to avoid the nobility’s attempts to force marriage arrangements. They push endlessly, comparing me to my brother, and now that he has married his childhood sweetheart, they have become more relentless.”

  Vel laughed softly, the sound bright but restrained. The others visibly relaxed after hearing her. “It never changes, does it? At least here, we have a mission that matters beyond titles and politics.”

  Cillian’s eyes softened slightly, rare in its subtlety. “It is frustrating. But necessary. We still have responsibilities, even if we would rather be elsewhere.”

  The two shared a quiet moment, reminiscing about the Royal Academy days when life was simpler, focused solely on curriculum, dueling practice, and magical studies. Vel’s husband, Avarn, a High Elf Master Enchanter, had been a constant companion in those days as well, and the mention brought a soft smile to her face.

  Cillian noted it. “How is Avarn? I trust the arcane studies keep him well?”

  “He is well,” Vel replied. “Still as brilliant and stubborn as ever. Keeps me on my toes, though it is far more pleasant than dealing with the antics of human nobility.”

  Cillian allowed himself a small grin, a rare flash of humor. “I imagine it is a welcome change. Far preferable to navigating our political pitfalls.”

  Their moment of levity was interrupted as the tent flap rustled, and a young soldier stepped inside. “Prince Cillian, Commander Brill. The soldiers are ready to move out. All units report prepared and in formation.”

  Vel’s eyes met Cillian’s, the unspoken understanding between old friends passing silently. The light teasing, the shared frustration, the nostalgia—they all needed to be put aside. Duty called.

  Cillian straightened, his commanding presence returning in full. “Very well. Ensure the troops maintain strict formation. Luim, Lilian, Sunette, and Agitha, you will coordinate with my unit, and the adventurers will be support units. Vel, stay close. We move together.”

  The tent emptied swiftly, the temple envoys and commanders leaving to prepare their units. Only Vel and Cillian remained, the soft light of the late afternoon casting long shadows across the canvas.

  Vel stepped closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You really are here just to escape them, aren’t you?”

  Cillian’s gaze remained steady, eyes calculating. “Perhaps. But even escape comes with responsibility.”

  Vel laughed quietly, shaking her head. “And yet, somehow, we always find ourselves in the thick of it. I suppose some things never change.”

  Cillian allowed a faint, dry chuckle, and the two turned their attention to the warcamp beyond the tent, where soldiers, adventurers, and the shadows of the Marlow ruins awaited them.