​Three days after the grim recording was played, the atmosphere in the Sudrath strategy room felt colder than usual. The map of Project Legion was spread wide across the teak table—an old parchment they had used years ago, now cluttered with fresh ink markings and coordinate points glowing blue, thanks to the data from the Mana Core. Crystal lamps on the ceiling emitted a sharp white light, revealing faces that looked tense yet filled with grim determination.

​Riven stood closest to the map, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. His sharp eyes traced lines that had begun to fade, as if trying to pierce through the Adamantite walls with his imagination. Thorne stood on the other side, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm—tap, tap, tap—on a crystal tablet containing logistics manifests. Arvid arrived carrying a thick notebook with a leather cover peeling at the edges, filled with complex ancient script. Meanwhile, Dom chose to stand in the dim shadows, nearly invisible. He remained silent, but his eyes moved dynamically, calculating every variable in the room.

​Rianor adjusted his glasses, which had slipped slightly from the thin sweat on his nose. He opened the meeting without preamble. "We are returning to Project Legion."

​Silence. There were no objections, no grumbles. They had all seen the recording of that slaughter. They knew the King’s order wasn’t merely an archaeological expedition, but a quest for identity against the ’Demonic’ accusations hurled by the Church.

​"I’m in," Riven’s voice was flat but heavy, like a hammer striking an anvil. It wasn’t an offer; it was an absolute decision that left no room for argument.

​Rianor gave a curt nod; he had expected as much. "Hmm, I never intended to stop you, Riven."

​Thorne leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he looked at Rianor. "How many troops are you preparing, My Lord?"

​"Not many. Moving with a large group through that underground labyrinth will only slow us down. And in a place like that..." Rianor paused, his eyes staring blankly at the map. "Too many people means too many lives at risk of being wasted."

​He pointed to several red dots on the map. "We will move in a small team. Riven and I will be at the vanguard. Arvid, you are mandatory for the ancient linguistics. Dom—you lead the Ghost Squad. Five men, including yourself."

​Dom gave a slight nod, barely perceptible. "Understood."

​"Thorne, you lead twenty elite infantry. Choose those who have the nerve for cramped, dark spaces. I don’t want anyone having a panic attack down there," Rianor continued.

​"Understood, My Lord," Thorne replied firmly.

​Arvid closed his notebook with a loud thud. "Tsk. So, when do we enter that hole?"

​"Three days. Use this time to ensure your weapons and gear won’t jam at the crucial moment."

​That evening, Arvid walked down the castle corridors with feet that felt as heavy as lead. His mind was in turmoil, not because he feared the underground monsters, but because of the person waiting behind his bedroom door.

​Rhea was sitting in a chair near the window when Arvid entered. Ana, their baby daughter, was fast asleep in her arms. The infant’s breath was soft and rhythmic, her lips slightly parted—a sight that suddenly made Arvid’s heart ache. Moonlight illuminated half of Rhea’s face, accentuating her sharp jawline.

​"I want to talk, Rhea," Arvid whispered softly.

​Rhea didn’t turn. She merely rocked Ana with extremely gentle micro-movements. "You’re going, aren’t you?"

​Arvid was stunned. His wife always had terrifying instincts. "The expedition to Project Legion. They need someone who can read those ancient inscriptions... and well, there isn’t another professor willing to take the risk." Arvid sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. "I... I need your permission."

​Rhea finally turned. Her cold eyes—the eyes of an assassin who once never hesitated to draw a blade—now looked at Arvid differently. "Hah... you’re a professor, Arvid. Not a fighter."

​"I know."

​"You can’t hold a sword properly. You’re a slow runner. You even get nauseous at the sight of too much blood," Rhea pressed, her voice low to avoid waking Ana.

​Arvid swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. "Gulp. I know all that. But if I don’t go, they might be trapped forever behind a locked door. The data there could change all our fates, Rhea."

​Rhea fell silent. She looked at Ana—their child who was still untainted by the sins of the world. Her hand stroked the baby’s tiny cheek before looking back at her husband.

​"I can’t go with you," Rhea’s voice suddenly turned hoarse. There was a trace of disappointment and frustration there. "I can’t leave her alone."

​Arvid stood, knelt before his wife, and placed his hand over Rhea’s fingers. "You protect us by staying here. Now, let me do the one thing I can do for this family."

​Rhea’s jaw tightened. She stared at Arvid for a long time, as if memorizing every inch of her husband’s face. "Come back. That’s an order, not a request."

​Arvid nodded firmly. "I promise."

​The next day, amidst the bustle of preparations in the Alpha Building, Raveena came to see Rianor. Her brother seemed preoccupied checking a line of mana rifles that had just arrived, his eyes never leaving his crystal tablet.

​"I want to come, Brother," Raveena said without preamble.

​Rianor stopped typing. He let out a sigh, then turned to look at his sister with a flat expression. "No."

​"But Brother—"

​"You’ve only just recovered. Your mana flow isn’t stable yet, Raveena. And remember, the school needs a magic teacher," Rianor interrupted, setting his tablet down on an ammo crate. "I won’t drag you into that dark place."

​Raveena opened her mouth to argue, wanting to say she was strong enough. However, she saw the look in Rianor’s eyes—the same look she saw when she woke up in the hospital after the Battle of Northveil. There was a fear buried very deep there.

​"I... I just want to be useful," Raveena whispered softly, her shoulders sagging.

​"You are already very useful here," Rianor pointed toward the construction map of Seruni School. "You will be the first magic teacher. That is a far nobler task than following me into a death trap."

​Raveena looked down, biting her lower lip. "Fine. I understand."

​In the afternoon, in the corridor leading to the garden, Roland crossed paths with Rianor.

​"So, leaving in three days?" Roland asked, leaning his shoulder against a stone pillar.

​"Yes. Preparations are eighty percent complete."

​Roland nodded slowly. He didn’t offer himself, and Rianor didn’t ask. Both understood their respective positions. Seraphina was coming, and diplomacy with Draconia was a vital priority that Roland had to safeguard.

​"I’ll hold down the fort at Iron Hearth," Roland said seriously. "And I’ll make sure our ’dragon’ guest is welcomed with the best protocol."

​Rianor looked at his brother for a moment. "Are you nervous about facing Seraphina?"

​Roland chuckled, though it sounded a bit forced. "Eh... a little."

​"That’s normal."

​"Oh? You mean you’ve never been nervous?" Roland asked curiously.

​Rianor seemed to think for a moment, then a thin smile played on his lips. "Once. When I proposed to Elara. It felt more terrifying than facing the Iron Empire’s army."

​Roland laughed heartily, a laugh that chipped away some of the tension between them. "That’s actually quite comforting."

​They fell silent for a moment, exchanging meaningful looks. Two brothers about to embark on different paths in the next three days.

​"Be careful out there," Roland said sincerely.

​"You too."

​The final night before departure.

​Rianor stood on the balcony, letting the night wind—carrying thin flakes of snow—hit his face. The cold air stung his lungs, but he remained still, staring into the darkness toward the north.

​Creak... creak...

​The sound of wooden wheels approached. Elara stopped right beside him, staring into the same darkness.

​"You’re not asleep yet," Elara chided gently.

​"It’s hard to close my eyes," Rianor replied softly.

​Rianor knelt before Elara’s wheelchair, taking his wife’s fingers, which felt cold. The hands that once could summon magic storms could now only grip him back weakly.

​"I’m leaving tomorrow, Elara."

​"I know."

​"I’m not sure how long we’ll be down there."

​"I know."

​Rianor stared into his wife’s violet eyes, which were now dim. "I will come home."

​Elara gripped Rianor’s hand tighter, as if refusing to let go. "You always come home, Rianor. Never think otherwise."

​"This time the place is different. Darker. I don’t know what other surprises that ancient civilization has prepared on the lower levels," Rianor murmured hesitantly.

​Elara placed her index finger on Rianor’s lips. "Shh. Don’t start with ’what ifs.’ Just focus on your steps. You will come home. Period."

​Rianor kissed his wife’s fingers, feeling a warmth spread to his heart. "You’re always stronger than me in things like this."

​"Of course," Elara smiled, a smile that was Rianor’s primary reason for always surviving. "I am your wife."

​At the crack of dawn, a small convoy was ready at the north gate of Iron Hearth.

​There was no grandeur, no cheers. Only the roar of the engines from two Wolf-Tusk tanks spewing hot steam into the cold air. Riven stood tall beside his main tank, his massive mechanical axe strapped firmly to his back. Thorne was conducting a final inspection of his line of twenty elite infantry. Dom and the Ghost Squad were already inside the transport vehicle, checking their rifle barrels with terrifying efficiency.

​Arvid sat inside the command vehicle, clutching his notebook like a baby. His face was deathly pale, but his eyes radiated a mix of tension and curiosity.

​Rianor stood before his troops. His crystal tablet lit up, projecting a small digital map into the air. "You all know the risks. I will not promise a sweet victory or a complete return."

​He looked into the eyes of each of his soldiers, one by one.

​"But I promise one thing: the truth we find down there will change the course of history. We will prove that what we build didn’t come from demons, but from the dreams of those who wanted to survive. And that... is something very much worth fighting for."

​Rianor boarded the command vehicle resolutely. "Move out!"

​Vroom!

​The engines roared powerfully. Iron wheels crushed the snow, leaving long black tracks as the convoy began to move away from Iron Hearth. In the distance, the city slowly shrank, but its spirit remained carried in the hearts of everyone in the convoy.

​Rianor stared at the expanse of snow before him. Beside him, Arvid began to reopen his ancient notes.

​"Are you ready, Professor?" Rianor asked.

​Arvid turned, taking a long, shaky breath. "Not at all. But look, I’m still here, aren’t I?"

​Rianor almost smiled. Almost.

​The convoy continued to speed on, piercing through the morning mist toward the north, toward the Adamantite gate that waited with all its dark secrets.