The Core's Origin

The core was happy to see humans finally enter the third level of its newest dungeon, even if it was clear that they were trying to destroy the dungeon rather than make use of the dungeon.

The expedition possessed an exceptional number of magic users, one of whom had participated when the core’s undead dungeon had been destroyed, and there were several others who similarly possessed something more to their presence.

Even before the expedition had stepped foot inside the dungeon, the core had marked their movements, and it was certain that most, if not all, of the gods were observing the humans’ actions through the eyes of the six humans with the odd weight to their presence.

Things had proceeded normally as the humans had pushed through the first level, once again failing to truly kill any of the vicious plants that attacked them, but on the second level, the humans’ behavior had proven their intentions. Not once did any of the humans collect any of the rewards from the dungeon, regardless of whether those rewards were material, increased physical abilities, skills, spells, or anything else that they were offered.

Seeing the unicorn’s performance had been quite satisfying to the core, up until the creature had gotten itself killed by being distracted by the female humans. The core had seriously contemplated either scrapping the unicorns all together, or trying to rewrite what seemed to be instinctive behavior, but then it had seen how effective the unicorns had been in the third level.

Two of the humans had been lured away from the rest of the group, and while they had only taken the time to recover one of the two missing women, they had clearly been distracted by the loss, and had willingly broken away from their goal in order to retrieve the woman they could find.

The unicorns were more effective than the core had anticipated, though it still did not understand their attraction to female humans. The unicorns did not even do anything more than force the women to keep them company.

As for the trolls, the core felt that their performance was quite satisfactory, though they might prove to be too much of a challenge for teams which lacked fire magic or skills. They simply healed too quickly to be put down by regular attacks.

The delve was taking longer than almost any other before, but even so, the core could not tell if altering the length of the day and night cycles was having any impact during the few days the humans stayed on the third level. It would need further testing.

Given the size of the expedition, some of the smaller forest creatures had never even made contact, as they were more skittish and would only target humans in the dungeon when they either held the advantage, or were able to remain hidden.

As for the guardian of the floor, the core had found its performance passable, but the humans’ performance to be quite pathetic. It had predicted several possible scenarios, none of which had featured the humans freezing in fear before scattering in terror. The wyvern had not even needed to really put forth any effort into driving the humans back. There had been a single scream, a blast of flames—which no one had bothered to even try to block—and then the wyvern had lashed out a few times with its body, biting and lashing about until all of the humans had fled. Once the humans were gone, the wyvern had simply turned back around and returned to its den.

The beast enjoyed flying, but the core had received the distinct impression that it desired more room than the confines of its chamber permitted.

However, that single incident had been incredibly busy on the core’s part, as it had experienced several events for the first time.

The initial blast of flames from the wyvern had been targeted at the center of the group of humans, as they had felt the most threatening to the beast, but that meant that aside from Irene, all of the other leaders of the temples had been instantly incinerated without being able to erect any defenses.

While the gods were sometimes able to take control of their chosen representatives and treat them as avatars, doing so required a strong connection between the two, and within the dungeon, the gods had already been putting a good bit of effort into simply maintaining a connection, let alone doing anything more forceful. The dungeon itself resisted the gods’ presence, and they lacked the ability to wield any of the power they usually had access to while connected to their representatives.

When those five humans had died, the gods had each reacted very differently. Yur and Hidde had already dealt with some hidden entity trying—or even succeeding—in stealing from them, and thus they reacted instantly, shielding the souls of their representatives and all that was connected to those souls. Thus, the core was unable to reap any bit of energy or memories from the Saintess or the Champion, aside from their rather impressive mana reserves.

As for Ixel, he was the god of death, and thus he wielded the greatest power and control at the moment of death. While he had not been ready for something to try to steal his Matriarch from his embrace, the god was able to instantly react, and once again, the core received nothing from the death but mana.

As for Urdan and Anba, when their Philosopher and Legate had perished, the god of magic had been so captivated by the sight of a false dragon that he had not been able to react in time, and the core had managed to seize a good portion of the Philosopher’s memories before the god finally took action.

In particular Anba was the god of the sun. The dungeon lay deep in the earth, as far from the light of the sun as possible. In addition to the resistance that all of the other gods faced, Anba had been further suppressed while trying to remain connected to his representative, given the antithesis to his own power, and he had nearly lost the connection on several occasions.

The god was naturally proud and aloof, much like the sun itself, and had refused to share his struggles with his Legate or the other gods. For this reason, when the Legate fell, Anba was instantly cut off. He lost any connection to anything happening within the dungeon, and was unable to sense even his Legate’s soul.

The core got away with everything that was not the core seed of the Legate’s soul. All of the mana, all of the memories, and even a sliver of Anba’s power that had been ripped away by the death of his Legate while the god had been connected to the human.

This was the greatest harvest the core had ever reaped.

All of the Legate’s memories, all of his mana, and a bit of something more.

It was at this moment that the core learned that its suspicions were correct and it was fighting the gods for control of the Concepts it had gained access to. From the Legate, the core gained control of a bit more of the Concept of life. If before the core had felt that it had control of less than a tenth of the Concept, it had instantly gained at least half again as much as before, pushing it to control of nearly 15% of the Concept.

Even more interesting, the core felt a strange connection to about a third of the Concept that was not under its control. It seemed that the control that the core had stolen still resonated with the god.

Could this be used?

Overall, the core was delighted with the results, even if it was still a bit disappointed that not even such a powerful expedition had been able to press further than the third level.

When would the humans have the strength to face the wyrms and phoenixes that were on the fourth level, or the cerberus and the flame and lava elementals deeper in its original dungeon?

They were growing stronger, but it seemed that they were limited in how fast they could gain power.

The expedition dealt with, the core turned its attention to the new memories it had gleaned, probing the greater control of the Concept of life it had received, as well as the very interesting developments happening closer to the core itself.

***

War raged at the southern border of Farun. The two nations’ armies fought fiercely, but in completely different styles.

Farun sent their elites who had been trained in the dungeon. They were effective in smaller teams, and they coordinated with each other to perform smaller operations and were treated as the generals’ scalpels.

As for the Savaren Empire’s army, all of the soldiers sent north had received similar boosts from the dungeon. They could not match their enemies’ strength or physical abilities, but greatly outnumbered them. The empire’s army fought like a machine, tactics meshing together seamlessly, and soldiers organized by skills or spells that they wielded, to allow for better synergy and greater effectiveness.

A single shield spell might be able to protect a handful of soldiers, but an entire squad casting the same or similar shield spells could protect an entire section of the army.

One side moved about in quick and delicate movements, darting out and back like a knife stabbing an opponent, while the other side was like the unstoppable surge of a rising tide.

The empire had the numbers, and they slowly overwhelmed their opponents and pressed northwards. Progress was not fast, and the cost for each step taken was steep, but the empire was relentless.

Simon was recalled from the dungeon, sent to the frontlines along with the other generals. Each of the three oversaw different aspects of the war, and Simon was given control of the elites.

He directed them about in increasingly reckless maneuvers as he tried to slow the inevitable progress of the empire, or even prove that Farun would cost too much to overtake.

A week after the invasion began, Simon was feeling frustrated and a bit lost. How could they make any difference? Farun’s troops were indeed stronger, but given time, a relentless tide could wash away even the hardest stone.

Farun’s dungeon-trained elites had only suffered a few casualties so far, but those numbers were rising as risks increased and exhaustion set in.

While checking the casualty list, Simon stumbled upon an old report from the Shadow Guard, one of the busiest divisions of soldiers.

This old report was about a deserter, but how had Simon not been informed that Burt had deserted?

Rising to his feet, Simon stomped out of his tent. It was late, and most of the soldiers were resting for the night, but Frederick would never turn in while Simon was still up.

The problem was, Frederick had served Simon long enough to be familiar with Burt and many other members of the Shadow Guard, and Simon’s aide-de-camp had definitely been informed by mutual acquaintances of Burt’s disappearance. Why had nothing been said to Simon?

Frederick stepped forward almost as soon as Simon left the tent, miraculously appearing from somewhere or other. Simon was so upset that he did not even pull the man back into the privacy of his tent, but instead shoved the report into Frederick’s face. “How long have you known about this?”

Frederick took a moment to interpret the moving text, and when he did, Simon was shocked to see the man’s face turn hard and determined. “You were no longer responsible for the Shadow Guard, General. No report was sent to you, and I saw no need to disrupt you with soldiers’ rumors.”

Simon nearly shouted, but the cold response was like a splash of cold water, and he realized that he was already drawing attention from nearby soldiers and officers who were still awake.

Grabbing Frederick’s upper arm in a vice-like grip, Simon practically carried the smaller, slender man into the tent. His eyes flashing with a furious glint, Simon turned back to his servant. “How long have you known?”

“I was not immediately aware, and given the fact that he slipped away while on a scouting mission, no one was certain that he had deserted until after the village he had been scouting had been taken. Some of the survivors mentioned seeing him at the gate, being led along by a young girl.”

That news was like a slap in the face to Simon. He was one of the few people Burt had confided in about his sister and her children, and Simon already knew what must have happened.

Even so, while Simon knew what had happened, and even understood why Burt had made the choice he had, Simon still felt betrayed. He and Burt had known each other since basic training, and had been two of the few commoners to qualify for the Shadow Guard, though Simon had quietly pulled some strings to see the sometimes abrasive Burt admitted to the elite division of soldiers.

Burt had always struggled with authority, and it seemed that he had finally lost that battle.

“What happened to that village?”

Simon received a flat stare from Frederick. They both knew the fate of any village that was taken during war. Cities might be allowed to submit and receive some measure of mercy, but the fate awaiting villagers during a war was something both men were all too aware of, and there was no need to give voice to such atrocities.

When men became jaded by the violence of the battlefield and the shakes and night terrors grew worse, many of them would find release and vent their pent up stress on those who were helpless and at their mercy.

Burt had never succumbed to that, and Simon had tried not to think about how long his oldest friend would be able to remain in the army before his heart or mind broke. Somehow, it seemed that neither had happened, and instead, Burt had broken his oath to his king.

Simon could not decide if that was worse.

There was but one fate awaiting deserters, and Simon would not wish that sort of torture and death on anyone. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it.

With a shaky sigh, Simon dismissed Frederick with a wave, no longer thinking about the fact that the servant had in some sense betrayed Simon and supported Burt.

At that moment, a horn sounded. Right as it cut off, Simon heard screams and the clash of blades. What was wrong with the night watch? How had they allowed a sneak attack in the middle of the night?

The sounds came from the eastern side, while Simon was posted on the western front. He ran out to get a read of the current situation, and prepare accordingly. Reinforcements might be needed, but before that, it was imperative that they confirm that no secondary attack was going to be thrown at another section of the camp.

Simon strode through the camp, knowing better than to run through the chaos. That was a good way to trip or run into someone. The only people who should run through the camp were organized squads of soldiers, and even a general needed to step out of their way.

“Report!” Simon demanded as soon as he arrived at the front. These were his men, trained in his ways, and so there were no salutes or bowing in an active combat situation. Simon’s ego was not so tender that he would see men die to show him the required “respect.”

“Eastern front is under assault. Assassins slipped in, starting fires and targeting officers. Middle camp is reinforcing them and taking command, due to the lacking number of officers now. No sign of further assaults.”

Simon nodded. This was not unexpected, as assassins were frequently used to pick off the chain of command. He had done the same himself in years past.

“Light torches and place them at both fifty and a hundred paces out from the camp. Get a patrol out to check the perimeter. All squads are to remain in sight of at least two others. I want no more surprises tonight.”

The lieutenants and corporals scrambled to deliver the orders, and in short order, the camp’s perimeter was illuminated, and squads marched through the darkness, searching for hidden enemies.

There were no real surprises, though a few more assassins were discovered throughout the night.

Sleep had been disrupted for everyone, and when the tally was delivered, Simon learned that while none of the generals had been killed, five captains, twelve lieutenants, and two colonels had been assassinated during the night, and the eastern camp was completely disorganized.

Dawn rose, and with it came despair.

While Farun’s armies had been searching for assassins and putting out fires in their camps, the Savaren Empire had moved three quarters of their army around the camp, taking out every scout as they moved.

No more than a token force had been left in the invaders’ camp, keeping fires lit and the enemy distracted.

At this moment, the empire’s army was between Farun’s army and Guilone. There was a knife to the nation’s throat.