- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The stone trembled.
Far below the surface, in a place no human eyes had ever seen, the walls of the deep tunnels vibrated with the echoes of distant battle. The last cries of dying men faded above like a fading storm, carried down the spiral shafts carved by claw, blade, and relentless magic.
Leonhart descended in silence.
The weight of the captured Aries captain hung over his shoulder, groaning faintly with each step. Behind him, the remaining warbands slipped through hidden cracks and passageways, vanishing into the underground city like shadows returning to the dark.
At the base of the descent, a vast chamber opened before them.
A city carved into stone and bone, suspended within the hollow core of a mountain. Tiered platforms wrapped around a yawning abyss, dotted with crude buildings, watchposts, and barracks shaped by monstrous hands. Glowing fungus clung to the walls like constellations, bathing the cavern in a pale blue light. Waterfalls trickled from high cracks above, flowing through runic channels that fed the city's life.
Welcome to the City Beneath.
Varokh was the first to greet them, his scarred form kneeling at the edge of the drop, eyes sharp.
"You made it," the orc grunted.
Leonhart tossed the Aries captain to the ground, where goblins immediately dragged him away in chains. "Of course I did," he said, voice low. "Tell Bruk to gather the council."
Varokh nodded. "Already waiting."
Leonhart swept past him, cloak dragging ash and dust in his wake. The tunnels behind him began to seal with stone—carved shut by runes etched by the lizardmen. No surface-dweller would follow them down here.
Not unless they were suicidal.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The War Council Reunites
The central hall was carved into the side of a cliff, overlooking the glowing city below. A massive war table dominated the chamber, etched with a crude map of the surface and the tunnel system stretching beneath it.
Leonhart entered to a chorus of nods from his war council.
Varokh. Drog, still bloodstained. Sshorak, calm as ever, tail coiled beneath him. Bruk, hunched over the table, scribbling notes with feverish speed. And Var'Zul, the silent lizard-champion, arms crossed and eyes glowing faintly.
Bruk looked up. "Reynard survived. Barely. Reports say he's injured. The Holy Knights pulled him out."
"Pity," Leonhart muttered. "I would've liked to finish him myself."
Bruk gestured to the tunnels on the map. "They'll strike back soon. We caught them off guard, but Aries doesn't make the same mistake twice. They'll descend into these tunnels if they have to."
"Let them try," Varokh growled. "We know these tunnels. They don't."
"They won't need to know," Bruk said. "They'll burn everything in their path if we let them."
Leonhart leaned over the table, golden eyes burning with thought. "Then we make it a path of fire… for them."
The council waited.
Leonhart tapped the map. "We flood the side tunnels. Collapse the false chambers. Rig the forward paths with mana bombs and traps." His gaze turned to Drog. "And your raiders will harass any search parties from the shadows. Never let them rest. Never let them know peace."
Drog cracked a grin. "With pleasure."
Leonhart straightened. "We are no longer the hunted. We are the storm beneath their feet."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Fear in Chains
The Aries captain awoke to darkness.
Chains clinked softly as he stirred. A flickering brazier cast dim light across the chamber. The walls were made of bone—actual bone, sculpted into grotesque patterns. Strange glyphs pulsed faintly between them.
He was not alone.
Leonhart sat across from him, chair carved from obsidian, one leg resting casually over the other. A glass of black liquid swirled in his hand.
"You," the captain spat.
Leonhart smiled faintly. "You fought well. Brave. Loyal. Stupid."
"I won't break," the man growled. "I know who you are. What you were. The king you betrayed—"
"I betrayed no one," Leonhart said softly. "I died. That's not the same thing."
He leaned forward, voice lowering.
"But you… you're alive. And that means you're useful."
The captain stiffened. "I won't talk."
Leonhart chuckled. "I don't need you to. I just need you to watch."
He stood, turning toward the far wall. With a wave of his hand, the glyphs shifted, revealing a crystal window into another chamber—where something massive stirred in the dark.
A silhouette, chained and snarling. Ancient. Wrong.
"Meet what lies beneath," Leonhart murmured. "The humans call it myth. I call it insurance."
The captain stared, color draining from his face.
Leonhart smiled wider. "Still think you're the ones hunting us?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Aboveground…
The King of Aldenholm stood before the blazing hearth, hands clenched behind his back.
"So it's true," he said, voice low. "He's alive."
A court mage nodded. "Our seers have confirmed it. The Blade King walks again. And he commands an army of monsters from the depths."
The King turned, eyes burning with fury. "Then we dig him out."
He pointed toward the table, where a new set of orders was being written.
"Mobilize the Stonebreakers. Burn the forests. Drain the swamps. Collapse the mountain if we must."
A grim silence fell.
The war was far from over.
It had only just begun.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
To be continued…