The Core's Origin

Burt was tired. While war was never constant fighting, it was constantly exhausting, even with all of the improvements the soldiers enjoyed. No, this war was exhausting precisely because of those improvements.

It was true that Burt and all of the rest of the “elites” had been sent to the dungeon to harvest the benefits of improved strength, speed, reaction speed, as well as magic and other supernatural abilities, but all of these improvements had been matched with greater demands on all of the soldiers. Each of them had become expected to do what would have been considered the work of ten men before the discoveries in the dungeons.

They were forced to march what would previously have been impossible distances to cover, sent to face off against double, and even triple, their numbers, while still expected to return with overwhelming victories.

Even worse, while in the past, armies had enjoyed the seasonal rest when the weather turned before winter, or even after a grueling string of battles, the soldiers were currently being sent back into the dungeons during what should have been their rest times.

There was simply no down time at all, and it was wearing on all of the soldiers. No matter how eager some of them appeared to be about the current situation, Burt could see that people were burning out. Tempers were frayed, eyes were turning glassy, and soldiers were waking in the middle of the night, screaming from the terrors that haunted them.

The nightmares and the shakes were things that nearly every veteran soldier eventually had to face, and it either broke them, or they found some way to cope with it and “soldiered on.”

No one ever spoke of their night terrors, and the veterans quietly pushed the fresh meat to ignore such things and go about their business. Burt knew it was a problem, and he had known many men who had tried to retire from the army, only to return a few years later, as brash and reckless as a kid straight out of basic training.

Those men quickly died, though they seemed almost relieved to meet their fate.

Another possible fate for such soldiers that Burt knew of, but was also never discussed openly, were those who ended up lashing out at those close to them, sometimes at home, or in a bar, or on a random street corner.

Burt had his own demons he struggled against, and that was also why he and many of the other older soldiers remained in the army long after the others their age had left and retired. It was better to die on the battlefield than as the shriveled husk of the man you had once been.

That same haunted, hollow look that Burt had seen in his former companions was appearing on the faces of his comrades who were still active in the army, and that was not a good sign at all. That was a symptom of a much deeper problem, and if it was not dealt with soon, these men would start breaking before they reached the next battlefield.

Burt had tried to meet with Simon, but the general was stationed elsewhere, and Burt’s current commanding officer was some noble toad who spouted horse shit like nobel privilege, weeding out the weak, and telling the men to “toughen up.”

The noble prig was insufferable as a commander, but there was no denying that he was a shrewd tactician, and he was directly responsible for the long string of victories that Farun had enjoyed over Tamar.

Simon had been “rewarded” with the responsibility of training soldiers in the dungeon, and then helping them to incorporate their new abilities into functionable style of combat. Burt could not deny that Simon was the best suited for such a role, but at the same time, not having Simon on the frontlines and instead having to deal with a noble with a superiority complex was rapidly becoming completely unbearable for the aging woodsman.

Though he would never admit it, Burt knew that a big reason for his reluctance, as well as that of many of the other soldiers, was that this war did not seem to have any purpose or reason other than the king’s ambition, and that was a difficult thing to fight for.

National pride might rouse support for a war and draw in young men to join the army, but those idealistic notions were shattered after just a few battles, or worse, when conquering Tamaran villages and cities.

Slaughtering a civilian militia which was only trying to protect their homes was never an easy thing to live through, but the way that many soldiers acted after such conquests to distract themselves from their guilt and their sins was even worse, as far as Burt was concerned.

Maybe it was because he had been raised in a remote village and had later been looked down upon as being lesser due to his background, but Burt had never been able to see other people as lesser, no matter where they were from or what they looked like. Whenever he was sent to attack a civilian center, Burt was never able to see anything other than his own village. That had always guided his actions, and he always grew silent and cold during those missions.

Others believed Burt to be a cold-blooded killer, yet the truth was that he was trying to show people the same mercy he hoped would be shown to his own sister and nieces and nephews should his own village ever be attacked. Better a quick, painless death than the lingering existence that awaited those who survived the fall of their own city or town.

It was moments like the current one that allowed Burt to maintain his sanity, though there were times he questioned whether he still had any.

He had been sent ahead to scout the army’s path, and if possible, choose an optimal location for the 500 soldiers to make camp for the night.

Given his seniority, Burt was well within his rights to send others for such a routine task, but time in the woods away from other people had always been Burt’s place of solace and refuge. He sought out the quiet of nature, and tried to become a part of it himself as he moved through the trees and undergrowth.

This was what made Burt such an effective scout, but it was also the most difficult aspect of being a soldier for him, as he was quite limited in how much time he could spend in the woods in the manner that he enjoyed the most.

It had been months since Burt had been alone among the trees, as he had been fighting, traveling with the rest of the soldiers to provide reinforcements to various locations that had met with greater resistance than expected, and then his own stint in the dungeon.

While Burt had failed to obtain any sort of magic or skill, he was not bothered by it. The only magic and skills the dungeon offered used fire mana, and Burt had no desire to control fire.

Now, if he could obtain something that could allow him to move faster, fly, or turn into a bear like in the fairy tales, Burt would do whatever it took to acquire such magic.

Still, Burt had succeeded in becoming faster and stronger than ever before in his life, and he also felt that it was more difficult for him to tire or get sick. He had even lost the few gray hairs that had touched his head, though unfortunately, none of the lost hair had returned.

At the moment, the army was on their way to some village called Triple Falls, and from what the spies had learned, the town had suffered some sort of anomaly about the same time that what had come to be known as the dungeon break had occurred. Burt had been deployed at that time, but when he had met back up with Simon, the general had shared just how terrifying that incident had been for everyone near the dungeon.

According to Simon, the creatures of the dungeon had attacked everyone in the dungeon, and had swarmed every last person who had been inside. The flaming creatures from the depths of the dungeon had left their territory, and had even been seen as far away as the first cavern. Most of the soldiers in the dungeon had been slaughtered, and this time, not even their bodies had been recovered.

Burt had lost friends and comrades that day, and despite the weeks of investigations, there had never been any indication of what had triggered the dungeon break.

If this Triple Falls had dealt with some incident at the same time, could the two be connected? After all, Burt had learned from Simon that there was another dungeon in the sewers of Guilone, though it seemed to be much weaker, and the layout did not at all allow for training any sort of group tactics, which was why it had been mostly ignored.

In fact, it had been the dungeon break that had alerted the city of the existence of a dungeon directly beneath it, as the sewer cleaners had kept it to themselves. Burt doubted that any of those who had been complicit in keeping that dungeon a secret had met good ends when their involvement had been discovered. Burt had been forced to participate in “clean-up” missions before as a member of the Shadow Guard.

Those were far from his finest moments…

While it was impossible for Burt to ever settle down, given his own demons which he had accepted over the years, he was feeling more and more inclined to leave the army as the war had progressed.

However, what else was there for Burt to do with himself? He had been a soldier for more than half his life, and he knew that something deep inside of himself had broken long ago, ruining him for any other sort of life.

Triple Falls would just be another step down the path of damnation that Burt and the rest of the soldiers were walking.

***

Simon knew that they were pushing too hard with the war. He could see it in the eyes of the soldiers who visited the dungeon for their training deployment to strengthen Farun’s troops. He had heard the reports, and he knew that Lord Ivon had won a long string of victories, many of which had been overwhelming victories against foes which had vastly outnumbered Farun’s troops. He had seen the map in the palace that showed how far Farun’s border had pushed westward.

Even so, it was hard for Simon to really comprehend that a war was happening. He was stationed at the dungeon and was responsible for the soldiers’ training, and that included the enhanced soldiers’ training to adopt their new abilities and magics into a unified fighting force.

Simon loved every minute of it.

His job was to grow and improve soldiers, making them the best they could be, and he was thrilled to see the new powers that the dungeon was granting the soldiers, and then working with others to find a way to incorporate the new magics or physical abilities into the army.

Already, siege weaponry had become practically obsolete; a team of strength-enhanced soldiers could use a simple tree trunk at least as effectively as any properly constructed battering ram. It was simply not worth the time and effort to transport or build siege weapons any longer.

On top of that, there were soldiers who no longer needed shields or weapons, as they could simply create those tools for themselves.

Bows and javelins were becoming increasingly useful, as the soldiers’ increased strength meant greater range, and their improved senses and coordination allowed for them to aim accurately from double or even triple the distances that had been possible in the past.

In fact, for months, it had been weapons themselves that had limited the soldiers’ abilities, as swords, spears, and bows had not been able to keep up with the soldiers’ improved strength. Farun’s blacksmiths and bowyers simply lacked the means to produce weapons which could withstand greater forces.

That had changed when Simon had seen one enterprising soldier find a unique solution.

Jack had been a terror even before visiting the dungeon. A giant of a man, his strength had overwhelmed all of his peers, and he had routinely shattered swords and spears even during basic training. Because of this, his preferred weapon had been a battle hammer, as it was better able to handle his strength, and it fit his fighting style perfectly.

After visiting the dungeon, Jack had seen his strength spike to a truly ridiculous level, and not even his hammer had been able to keep up with him.

His solution had been simple; when his delver team had faced a flame bear, Jack had taken the bear’s thigh and used it as a club instead of a hammer. Finally, the man had found something that not even he could break.

Seeing that had gotten Simon thinking, and he had approached some of the bowyers and blacksmiths. It had already become common knowledge that various creatures would leave behind a body part when they died, at least for a time. Given what Jack had already demonstrated, it seemed that these dungeon materials were stronger than common materials. In that case, it might be possible to use bones, teeth, claws, hides, chitin, and more in weapons and armor for the army.

A slew of tests had quickly been carried out, and the results quickly improved and showed promise.

After that, there was yet another task assigned to every delver team: bring back whatever drops they could recover.

In the past, those drops had been treated as mere trophies by those who cared about such things, but after learning the potential use, a flood of drops started to be turned in to the weapon and armor smiths for their use and experiments.

During Burt’s last visit to the dungeon, Simon had seen the man’s exhaustion, and had heard how the soldiers were reaching their limits, but Simon had sworn his loyalty to the king, and he would do his duty no matter what.

Burt would keep it together, he always did.

As for the other soldiers, Simon knew that people were more resilient than most realized, and he expected that they would pull through and be fine. Farun just needed to push for a few more months, and then they would be victorious over Tamar. Until then, Simon would continue to strengthen the soldiers to the best of his abilities and theirs. That was the best way to ensure both their survival and Farun’s victory.

***

Hera knew she was supposed to stay near the shrine and the priest of Ixel, but the man didn’t know how to play any fun games, and no matter how many times he said that Hera would be able to see Daddy soon, she knew that something was wrong. Someone had even wanted to take her to another town to some sort of temple.

Hera knew what a temple was, even if she had never seen one. Daddy had said that they were big, beautiful shrines with lots of priests, priestesses, and other people. They were the most special places to worship the gods, though Hera really didn’t know what that meant.

Of course she knew what the gods were, she was smart! What she didn’t understand was “worship.” What did that mean? All Daddy ever did was whisper funny words to Ixel, but he did that both at home and in the shrine, so Hera really didn’t understand what made the shrine special. If Ixel was as strong as Daddy said, then could he really hear them better when they were in his temple or his shrine? That seemed really silly.

No, Hera just thought that Priest Betsrith- Priest Betstith? Anyway, the old priest was dry and wrinkly and smelled funny. He also didn’t know any fun games at all. All he ever wanted was Hera to practice her reading, writing, or pray with him in the shrine. That was so boring, and there were so many more fun things to do!

However, every time that Hera had tried to go do those fun things, she had been dragged back to the shrine. The last time, it hadn’t even been a priest who had taken her back! Old Irma—she kept telling Hera she wasn’t old, but she was already thirty! That was old!—but Old Irma had grabbed Hera’s hand and dragged her back to the shrine.

She had just been chasing birds in the square. What was wrong with that?

After Irma’s betrayal, Hera had started sneaking out and avoiding everyone in the village. Daddy had told her that there weren’t any bears or wolves in the nearby woods, so Hera had started going to the woods to play.

She climbed trees, chased squirrels, watched deer, ate berries, splashed in the streams, and anything else she wanted.

While it was more fun to play with the other kids, they liked to tell the grown-ups where she was, so Hera just found ways to play by herself.

Even if it was a little lonely, some of the animals in the forest would be her friends soon, she was sure of it!

Hera was up a tree. She had been trying to get closer to some birds she had seen earlier, but they had flown away. However, while up the tree, she had found some cherries, so she had stayed for a snack.

As she was enjoying the juicy berries that were only a little bit sour and still very tasty, Hera stopped kicking her feet for a moment and looked down from the branch she was sitting on to see what had rustled the leaves she had just heard.

Was it a deer? Another squirrel? Maybe a quail or a pheasant?

She grew increasingly excited as she waited as still as possible to see what was coming. She had learned the hard way that the animals ran away when she made noise, so she had been practicing being quiet.

Unfortunately, what came walking under the tree wasn’t any animal at all, but a man. Even though the sun was so warm, he had a fur hat on his head. Hera knew Daddy said she shouldn’t say anything, but she knew that a hat in the sun meant a shiny, bald head.

Did bald heads squeak when they were rubbed? They looked like they should.

Hera quickly remembered her manners, as Daddy said that if you had food and someone else didn’t, you always offered them some of yours, even if you were still hungry. “Do you want some cherries? They’re only a little sour today.”

The man jumped so high when Hera called out to him and looked so scared that she almost fell off the branch from laughing. She knew it was mean, but the man had looked so silly, jumping like that. It had knocked his hat off, and he was just as bald as Hera had known he would be.

When Hera finally managed to stop giggling, she looked down and saw that the man did not look at all happy with her, which meant that she had been rude.

She also noticed he had a few long knives on his belt and strapped to his legs, and a small hunting bow unstrung on his back. He looked like a hunter or a woodsman, though not a very nice one. Maybe he was hungry.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Hera. Do you want some of my cherries? I can pick some more. There’s lots up here!”

There, her apoto- apolj-... saying sorry made things better. The man didn’t look quite so angry any more, and instead he was looking around. He probably wanted to see where she had gotten the cherries.

“You out here by yerself?”

“Yep! Wait… nope! I came out with friends to pick cherries.” Good thing Hera remembered how Daddy had told her to never let strangers know when she was alone. That had been close!

“Right… Well, thanks fer the offer, but I need to be gettin’ to Triple Falls here, so I need to be movin’ on.”

“Oh… alright then.

“Mmmm… I’ll walk with you! I need to head back, so I can tell you who everyone is!”

The man opened his mouth, but didn’t manage to say anything before Hera slipped down the tree and onto the ground. Before he could even react, she grabbed his hand and started walking towards town, showing him the quick way to get there that none of the grown-ups knew about. They always went the long, boring way with none of the fun steps and trails.

Surprising, the man was able to keep up with Hera. All of the other grown-ups, especially old ones like the bald man, were slow on the fun paths, but this man stayed right with Hera.

He must like taking the fun paths too!

***

Burt was in truly uncharted territory this time. Not only had he been caught while scouting, he had been caught before he had even laid eyes on his target, and a child at that.

It was one thing to silence a witness; Burt had done that plenty of times before, even if he did not like doing it, but taking out a little girl was something else entirely. He just could not make himself do it.

As Burt was trying to reconcile himself to his current situation, he was quickly approaching the village of Triple Falls, dragged forward by Hera.

What was he supposed to do? His accent would immediately give him away in front of any adults, even if he was not dressed like a typical soldier. Burt was a scout, not a spy. He had trouble getting his reports clear enough to be understood, let alone come up with a story for people to believe.

Already, the first buildings were in sight. Burt was out of time, but what could he do? Going forward would get him killed, running away would be seen as a breach of duty, and when the child talked about the man she had met in the woods who had run away, the villagers would put the pieces together, which would cause the attack to fail. However, the only other option was to silence this little girl who was pressing slightly squished, unripe cherries into his hand while continuing to keep chatting to Burt.

What to do?