CHAPTER 428: CHAPTER 428: THE LAST GOOD MARCH

Four Years Ago

Count Nicalo Vaelmont stood in his private study, weathered hands tracing the edges of newly drawn maps as morning light streamed through tall windows. His grey hair was shorter then, his face carrying fewer lines, but the same warmth that had defined him for decades shone in his eyes.

"This could provide resources for decades," he murmured to himself, studying the scout reports spread across his mahogany desk. "Elara and Mariana have worked so hard to build this county. They deserve this gift."

The newly discovered dungeon on Lysora County’s eastern border represented more than treasure, it was opportunity itself. A chance to secure their prosperity, to give his beloved nieces the foundation they needed to build something lasting.

Nicalo had already begun assembling his expedition team with characteristic care. Each member chosen not just for skill, but for character.

Tank Squad: Captain Marcus Ironwall, a veteran shield-bearer whose three children ran to greet him every evening. Sir Garrett the Stalwart, a young knight eager to prove himself worthy of his family name. Dame Elena Stormbrace, Nicalo’s trusted bodyguard who’d saved his life twice and never let him forget it. Brother Thane, a warrior seeking to test his faith against the darkness. Korven the Unmovable, a dwarf defender who’d been drinking with Nicalo’s father before Nicalo was born.

Damage Dealers

: Besides Nicalo himself with his heavy sword, there was Lyra Quickstrike, the scouts’ finest twin-blade dancer who could carve her initials into a tree while falling from it. Valdris Flamecaller, a battle mage whose enthusiasm for discovery matched Nicalo’s own.

Healers: Sister Miraleth from the temple, who believed their noble cause deserved divine blessing. Alric the Mender, a field medic who’d once saved Nicalo’s life and refused all payment beyond friendship.

Support: Sage Cordwin, an enchanter whose knowledge of dungeon lore was encyclopedic. Whisper, a scout who spoke little but saw everything, whose real name no one remembered but whose loyalty was absolute.

Twelve souls bound by duty and affection, marching toward glory.

Or so they believed.

****

The dungeon’s entrance carved itself into the mountainside like a wound in the earth, ancient stone etched with symbols that spoke of civilizations dead before the kingdom’s first stone was laid. The morning mist clung to the carved archway as if reluctant to enter, and even the mountain wind seemed to whisper warnings.

Nicalo stood before the threshold, his weathered hand resting on his sword hilt as he surveyed his assembled team. Twelve souls he’d chosen with the care of a father selecting guardians for his children. The silver-and-red banner of Lysora County snapped proudly in the mountain breeze behind him.

"Listen well," he called, his voice carrying the authority of decades spent leading good men into danger. "We’re not here for personal glory or empty heroics. Every coin we earn, every treasure we claim, it goes toward building something better for our people. For our home."

Captain Marcus Ironwall stepped forward, his scarred face earnest beneath his helm. "My lord, my daughter’s been asking when she’ll get that pony." The veteran’s smile was genuine, infectious. "Tell her it’ll be soon enough?"

"Soon enough, Marcus," Nicalo chuckled. "Though knowing little Sarah, she’ll want two ponies by the time we return."

Lyra Quickstrike laughed, her twin blades catching the morning light. "I’m opening that training academy we talked about, my lord. Give the street kids something better than picking pockets."

"Noble work," Valdris Flamecaller agreed, adjusting his mage’s staff. "And I’ll finally have funding for magical research that benefits common folk, not just noble coffers."

Nicalo felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest, this feeling of leading people who trusted him, who shared his vision of something greater than themselves. This was what real leadership meant. Not the endless political games of the noble court, but this: shared purpose, mutual respect, genuine affection for those under his command.

Dame Elena stepped beside him, her voice low but carrying easy confidence. "Ready when you are, my lord. Though I still say we should have brought more healers."

"Sage Cordwin’s research suggests the dangers are manageable," Nicalo replied, though he appreciated her caution. Elena had saved his life twice in previous expeditions, and her instincts were usually sound.

They descended into the dungeon’s maw with the easy camaraderie of a team that had worked together for years. Whisper scouted ahead with silent efficiency, Brother Thane offered prayers for their success, and Korven the Unmovable grumbled cheerfully about "youngsters and their optimism" despite being Nicalo’s most trusted defender.

The early chambers fulfilled every hope. Minor treasures glittered in ancient chests, manageable monsters fell to coordinated tactics, and each room they cleared brought them closer to securing Lysora County’s future for generations.

"Enough here to repair the eastern bridge," Marcus noted, carefully cataloguing silver coins.

"And expand the orphanage," Sister Miraleth added, her healer’s heart always thinking of those in need.

As they descended deeper, Nicalo felt something he’d treasure in memory for the rest of his short life, the pure satisfaction of leadership done right. These weren’t just soldiers following orders; they were friends united in purpose, each contributing their unique skills to something bigger than any individual ambition.

He had no way of knowing it would be the last time he felt truly human.

The wrongness crept in like poison through clean water.

The air grew thick and hot, making their armor uncomfortable despite the mountain’s natural chill. Whisper’s silent hand signals became more frequent, more urgent. Stone walls bore scorch marks that followed no pattern from any bestiary, and the very air seemed to hum with a malevolent frequency that made their teeth ache.

"My lord," Dame Elena’s voice carried new tension as she examined strange gouges in the corridor wall. "These claw marks... they cut through solid granite like it was clay."

Sage Cordwin’s face had gone pale as he studied ancient murals they passed. "The symbols... they’re changing. These aren’t the same markings we documented at the entrance."

Whisper materialized beside them, shaking her head grimly. She held up her hands, demonstrating the size of tracks she’d found, twice the span of a man’s reach, with talons that had carved grooves in the stone floor.

"Something doesn’t feel right," Valdris muttered, his mage-sight showing him magical signatures that defied classification. "The energy here... It’s something else entirely from the principle I know."