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Chapter 66 Escalation arc
🕑 Added 2025-10-28 07:35:22 +0000 UTCPdf and Epub versions below.
The bush mage insisted I write in this infernal contraption. I have thus threatened a scribe into my service, and have eaten one of his fingers when he attempted to change my words. Vess has told me to write of my experience with my summoner, so as to create a ‘legacy that any future Archmage would hesitate to cross’.
If I must speak, I will speak my truth. The Unborn still elude me, their delicate shells going uncrunched between my teeth, and I am still owed the flesh of an Imperial noble. If you must know anything of the bush mage, it is this; ensure you receive your payment promptly, or he will forget he ever promised you a single thing.
He is selfish, corrupt, lazy and hesitant. But he is also good at providing scritches, so I will forgive his shortcomings.
You who read this in the time beyond now, know this. If you take my finger-having ape away from me, I will rain all the fires of all the Hells down on everything, and everyone, you love.
Note added by scribe Estaban:
I wish to add this to the official record for the sake of accuracy; Not a single one of my fingers has yet been eaten by a demonic horse. Also for the sake of accuracy, my services were dismissed when my temporary charge heard that Archmage Marcus returned to the fort, and was grumbling about requiring more attention. I am unsure if this was an attempt at influencing my opinion of the demon.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
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“You seem upset,” Marcus pointed out, sliding his knife back into its sheath. He’d come to marginally enjoy sharpening it, surprisingly. Elly huffed, making him raise an eyebrow. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
Elly stabbed her own knife into the stump they were using as a table. “He was weak.”
“I think that you think that I know who you’re referring to, which I don’t.”
She glared at him. “The Life Enhanced Champion. He was weak. Pathetic. I killed him in two seconds and slaughtered his entire underground army in an hour, most of that being taken up by me having to hunt them down.”
“That was days ago.” Marcus raised his hand when she glared at him. “Shutting up now.”
Elly sighed. “Sorry. It was just… I finally found something I was good at, something no one else could do better, and the Dwarf wasn’t even a good fighter? What kind of anticlimactic bullshit is that?”
“The kind that happens in real life, I guess?” he replied, shrugging. “You’re strong and lacked a reason to hold back, be that moral or strategic. I’m not surprised he died quickly.”
“If you were anyone else I’d think that flattery was an invitation to blow off some steam.”
Marcus tilted his head, frowning. “A spar? I mean, I think we have time, but that messenger said-”
“I know, I know. Big important visitors, Calamities on the loose, all that.” Elly rolled her eyes. “If you were any thicker your skull would count as armor.”
He scoffed. “Prickly. And I know you meant sex, but here I was being a gentleman by pretending to be stupid rather than informing you, again, that any such attempts will end in disappointment.”
Elly shook her head, a smile threatening to break over her face before she schooled it into a mask of indifference. It was a good mask, Marcus knew. Too bad that he both knew her and was coached by Vess to read people.
“Women are supposed to be the sexual gatekeepers," she lectured, shaking her head in disappointment. “You’re an aberration, is what you are. A mistake.”
Marcus turned to her, blinking, and made sure his tone was as insulted as could be. “Excuse you? My birth was foretold by an Archmage seer and ensured by an entire Empire. It was the very opposite of a mistake. You, on the other hand, simply-”
Elly’s posture shifted, going from playful to rigid, and Marcus clicked his mouth shut. A group of soldiers rounded the corner a moment later, accompanied by some of their guards, and the remainder were closing their previously scattered ring of protection.
The lieutenant saluted, speaking more to Elly than him. “Apologies, your Grace. General Pator requests your return to the Eastfort. Another wave has been reported by the scouts.”
Marcus sighed, waving his hand and manifesting two dozen telekinetic hands to clean up their small campsite. Elly nodded, glancing at him with a small smile when the soldiers turned away. He rolled his eyes, making her scoff, and he only just about suppressed a smile of his own.
Still, another wave. Another battle that was becoming increasingly routine. He stood on one of the towers, slicing down wave after wave of spatial arcs—which was still his most efficient area of effect spell—while Elly would be stalking the grounds.
It was… normal. They’d only been here a few weeks now, but already the Hounds were a common sight. Champions, who he rarely interacted with up close, didn’t seem so special. Perhaps to the common soldier they were a terror, but he was used to sparring with Elly and fighting other Archmages.
A pretty strong, normally intelligent humanoid with monster qualities wasn’t that threatening in comparison. Was that how it usually went for Archmages?
Kill monsters by the thousands with relative ease, then nearly die fighting a Calamity? Low level but never-ending stress interrupted by a brief moment of true danger? Eh. He supposed he would find out.
Xathar walked through the portal Marcus summoned and Elly mounted her own horse, their guards closing ranks as they started moving. It was nice to be outside and alone with Elly, for a change, but he wasn’t stupid.
No Hound had gotten close, though they wouldn't have done much. Elly would hear them coming long before they could execute an ambush, and Marcus himself had his own tricks. Still, no Hounds had been slaughtered by their hands, something he would have to get used to.
The Eastfort had been fully repaired, fortified and secured. The basic runic formations strengthening everything from the walls to the floors had been refreshed, the traps had been laid, and even the ground inside the fort had been hardened.
Any Burrowers trying to come from underground would have to work hard to get through, especially with anything resembling speed.
But everything was fortified and secured now, so Elly had insisted it was time to let the army do its thing. For both of them to observe more than fight, which was going to happen regardless when a Calamity finally reared its head.
Best to get the army used to fighting without their support.
The Eastfort rose in the distance not minutes later, he stood on top of one of the towers half an hour after that, and two hours after his lunch with Elly had been interrupted, another wave came into view.
It was, even now, hard to describe. The Hounds did not tumble over one another to get to them, it was not a literal wall of flesh, but it was a blanket. Like snow had fallen four feet thick, snow with gnashing teeth and clicking claws, and covering all available surfaces.
And Marcus did nothing. Did nothing as the first few thousand Hounds triggered a canopy of traps, falling into spike-filled holes or blown apart by magically fueled explosives. He did nothing as his mages fired their first volley, hundreds of relatively small fireballs raining down onto the enemy.
He did nothing when Champions came into view, hidden behind their more numerous—and stupider—cousins. He still did nothing when those Champions returned fire, throwing rocks and firing primitive bows, nor did he do something when the first ladders were successfully pushed against the walls.
Marcus couldn't see the whole battle, Eastfort was too big for that, but it would be the same everywhere. Hounds scrambling up the slopes, claws digging into living walls, Champions scheming to breach the fort. Down below another front of the battle was raging, Burrowers digging tunnels as mages tried to stop them, and any moment now he expected something to go wrong.
Maybe the Hounds would finally create a path onto the walls, flooding into the structure and overwhelming them with sheer numbers. Maybe the Champions would finally decide this wasn’t working, pushing forth catapults and starting a proper siege.
What he expected most of all was a Calamity. Those didn’t seek out Archmages, he’d been told, but there was a reason he was stationed on the eastern front. A focal point for those living disasters to be drawn to, lest they slip past and devastate whole regions.
But no. The wave came, the wave continued, and his people held. Mages burned thousands, soldiers unleashed bolts and the few times the Hounds did manage to scale the walls, steel and muscle beat them back.
Elly had been right, as usual. Not surprising. She had a knack for battle that he would probably never have. But the Mirranian Royal Army held, and neither he nor Elly had to lift a single finger.
It was callous, in a way. A hundred dead, a hundred that he could have saved, but war was a cold endeavor. If the army became reliant on either of their power, it would shatter when it was gone. If general Pator couldn't fight without Elly looking over his shoulder, the man would break when she was busy.
If his mages couldn't fight without their Archmage, his Academy would have been a failure.
But they could, and the general air of victory was enough to chase away his lingering guilt. The bottle of wine Elly brought helped too, and while nineteen thousand soldiers worked to clean up the dead, they retreated to the roof of the keep.
Gods, teleportation still wasn’t getting old.
The spikes could have been a problem, but he had enough raw power that a basic druid spell was enough to smooth them out. It left them a flat area to sit on, and a flex of will forced his perspective into their room.
A blanket and cups joined them a moment later, and he grinned at Elly’s eyeroll. It was tiring, teleporting things through an altered perspective, but oh so convenient.
Elly sat, he joined her, and he only realized she’d leaned against him after some long seconds had passed. Hells, he was actually not minding physical contact.
Marcus drank a sip of wine, whisked away a group of soldiers who’d set off a dysfunctional runic trap, and snorted when their captain absolutely tore into them. The woman’s shouting could be heard all the way from here.
If this was all the Dungeon break could offer—which, for the record, he doubted—it wouldn't be so bad.
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“And don’t forget her titles,” Otmon repeated. If Marcus didn’t know better, he’d think the man was nervous. “They are; Empress of the Abliosian Empire, Governor of the Imperial City, Warden of the Dungeon, Archmage of the Unseen Truth, Defender of Man and the Nine Provinces, Herald of Destiny and Breaker of Meagar. Don’t get them mixed up, or else-”
Elly glared at the man, which Marcus had been wanting to do for fifteen minutes now but had been too polite to. “Otmon, shut the fuck up. And don’t say things like ‘or else’, because it makes me want to stab you.”
The Vizier quieted down, and Marcus was pretty sure the man only bowed his head to hide his irritation. Well, as long as he was silent.
You’d think they were meeting the Empress, or something.
He suppressed a snort, glancing back at the Eastfort. Repairs were still ongoing from the last battle, but she was in good shape. So was his army, though since this morning, twelve hundred and four soldiers had been returned to Mirrania. Only a third of those to be buried, thankfully, but the remainder wouldn't be fighting in this war regardless.
Some were physically broken to the point not even magic could fix them, not quickly enough to matter, and those souls had a long journey of recovery ahead of them. Others had mentally burned out, cracking under the pressure, while more still were sent back due to missing limbs. Those were hard to heal, too.
Elly had said the latter would be sent to the training camp next to Redwater, replacing or reinforcing the training officers already there, and Marcus had been informed another fifteen hundred green soldiers would be arriving within the week.
The army would actually have more souls than when they got here, though sadly his Academy hadn’t managed to recruit, train or otherwise acquire necromancers yet.
A pulse of power snapped Marcus out of his own thoughts, Elly stiffening next to him. The entire welcoming party picked up on it—the joys of being important—and it would seem the Empress would finally grace them with her presence.
Considering the messenger had said she’d be here at midday, and the sun was already well on its way back down again, it was about time.
The first thing he saw wasn’t the Empress, though. It wasn’t even her extensive guard retinue, though that drew his attention too. No, it was a man. A lone fool flying where all the world could see him, and all the world could shoot him down.
Also, flying. What the fuck?
Presumably the fool was important, because Marcus didn’t actually know of any enchantments that could let someone fly.
“I’d suggest bruising that one’s ego,” Elly began, rolling her eyes. “But that armor he’s wearing reeks of magic almost as strongly as the School of Life did. Ten gold on who that is.”
He’d keep his money, thank you very much. The Crown Prince, zipping around in a no-doubt unique set of armor. Armor that, apparently, could let him fly. And she’d never seen the School of Life in its prime, something he debated pointing out.
…It’d been a while since he felt poor, though.
Then the Imperial family's retinue drew his attention, and Marcus really did feel poor. Not because of the size, though it was significant, but for the sheer amount of things they had.
Enchanted weapons, the kind equal to his mace, and enchanted armor. Bombs and potions crowded for space on every belt, several squads of Life Enhanced soldiers marching along the outskirts of the group, and alongside a central figure moved two dozen mages positively glowing with power.
Sixth-tier, at the least. The Life Enhanced souls felt almost as strong as Elly, though undoubtedly less skilled, and he even saw a few shapeshifters among the ranks.
Divination, too. He felt it crawl over his skin as the future was parsed for information, the pressure of seven high level summons joining it. A Demon Knight and stone elemental, some strange flying cat with eyes of lightning, a snake the size of his arm, and more. But the remainder felt unimportant as the Empress came into view, and he had to steady his breath.
Her core. The magic that seeped into her skin, pulsing through her body, part of her in a way even Vistus hadn’t shown. Artistry. Pure, unadulterated artistry. A level of control he could only dream of, strands of magic weaved through her body in patterns so fine it was barely a pattern at all, and-
And he should probably stop salivating over some random woman who he’d never met and was technically subordinate to.
His own welcome party was left behind when the Empress stopped, three hundred feet of empty space between them. Elly joined him as he walked forwards, the flying figure descending to reveal a man maybe a year younger than himself, and the Empress walked out from between her guards.
Ah, not just her guards. Both hers and the Crown Prince’s. The size made a little more sense, then. Protecting the Empress was important, no doubt, but using up that many resources to protect someone who was very able to protect herself was… inefficient.
Marcus slowed his walk as they got close to the middle-point between their parties, Elly at his side and two strangers opposite him. The armored man landed gracefully, a thick beard covering his face but otherwise seeming well-groomed, and a pair of watchful brown eyes almost danced with excitement.
The Empress herself was, as he’d already noted, relatively normal. Tall, only a little shorter than Elly, and possessing one of those faces that blended in just about everywhere. Fitting for an illusionist, he supposed.
He stopped fully, Elly standing slightly behind him in an unusual display of deference, and Marcus bowed his head. “Empress.”
“Archmage,” she replied, nodding curtly. “I am sure my Vizier has needled you plenty about decorum and titles, but pleasantries must wait. Nine Calamities have already walked the surface, six of whom are still alive. Me and my son are hunting two further to the north, while a third is projected to move east.”
Marcus hummed. “That is why I am here, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” the Empress replied, twitching slightly. She sighed. “Forgive me. We usually like to introduce new Archmages to Calamities much like Vistus introduced you to the Dungeon; in pairs. But there is no time, and according to the reports I have read, the two of you work well together. I will leave its fate in your hands.”
Elly shrugged. “If it’s moving east, it will pass close to Mirrania. We would have taken care of it regardless, Empress.”
“Quite,” the Empress’ lips twitched. “Please, call me Izzolma. I prefer to keep things informal between Archmages, and my own Life Enhancement specialists insist you have the potential to be one. My son, Brandon.”
The man’s hand shot forward to grab at Marcus’ own, and only the sheer enthusiasm in his voice kept Marcus from yanking it back. “A pleasure, truly. Welcome to the war! I heard you spent time in the School of Life, and that makes us brothers. Brothers!”
Right, well. Marcus supposed he should reply to that, but the man smashed a fist on his own chestplate, the thunk-thunk distracting him, and before Marcus could reply Brandon continued.
“The Armor of Aversion,” he said proudly. “Forged by Balthazar himself, and one of his six great treasures. One third the weight while double the usual thickness of plating, and with four overlapping, automatically regenerating shields. But best of all, it lets me fly! Not even mother can do that!”
The man laughed again, and Marcus really wanted to hate him. Hate his loudness, his presumption, being called ‘brother’. But he was just way too damn genuine, and by now he rated his ‘reading people skills’ highly enough to judge it wasn’t an act. Probably. He’d get Vess to take a look at him.
Assuming she bothered to show her face one of these days, that was.
“Quite,” Marcus finally replied, making the Empress almost smile. Damn, he actually kind of liked her. That hadn’t been part of the plan. “Nice to meet you too.”
Brandon grinned, nodding rapidly, but made some distance after his mother cleared her throat. “As I said, pleasantries will have to wait. We have much to talk about, and I’d prefer if we get started.”
It didn’t sound like a question, but that was alright. The woman did control the entire continent, now. He supposed it was fair that that came with some level of presumptuousness.
Marcus shrugged, Elly shifted her weight, and the Empress smiled in a not-very nice manner.
Time to see how the rest of the Empire had been faring, then.
Couldn't have been worse than them. They’d been hiding in their fort the entire time.
