Ruinous Return

Volio was seen off the next morning by Lyn and a squadron of her skirmishers. He was to be escorted to the mountain gap to the South, exiting the Valley of the Volcano. He had letters for each of the heroes, sealed with an intricate inscription that only the recipient could open – otherwise the document would burst into flame. Inside each letter was one of the symbols Lyn had the smiths and inscriptionists work on through the night. Lyn gave him a broad smile and waved farewell as he left. As soon as he entered the tree line and vanished from sight, she turned to Vael. "Are there still only two ways into this valley?"

Vael shook her head, "No, my Lady. Just the pass to the South."

Gael frowned, "Are there other passages?"

Lyn nodded, "The heroes used a hidden passage to enter our lands. I will use that to leave. Come, there is a dungeon only a week away by foot."

Both of her Bodyguards nodded and hefted their packed supplies. Lyn's council had instructions to secure the Valley of the Volcano, including re-establishing an alliance with the Newen – the lizard-folk – that resided in the Southern part of the valley. That task should take a few weeks, at minimum. But it will give me a buffer between the outside world and my realm. She knew that, eventually, she would have to build fortifications at the mountain pass.

But this hidden passage lay behind the dread fortress. Behind Shiverburn Summit. A small hole in the ground, barely big enough for two people to walk side by side. Lyn had found it when she was scouting out the valley before their assault on the citadel. As long as it hasn't caved in, she thought. She led the way, and over the course of half a day, they arrived at the tunnel. It was overgrown with bushes, but pushing her way through she was pleased to find it still open. Continuing their journey took them into the evening, and by nightfall, they had arrived on the Northern exterior side of the Valley. The lush, rolling plains stretched out before them.

"Have either of you two been to a dungeon?" she asked.

Both of her companions shook their heads as they began to set up a single large tent, "No, my Lady." They said in tandem.

Of course. Who would clear out dungeons except for heroes or the most foolish or arrogant adventurers? As they set up the housing for the night, she delved into the knowledge of dungeons as she knew it, regaling her allies with her learning.

Dungeons were creations of the first people of Ghomar. Those who created the language of magic. The Elenthians. There were fifty of them across Ghomar that Thomas tracked down through various historical records, but he theorized there were endless possibilities – she made sure not to mention to the twins that Thomas was the person who discovered this. The process was a mystery, but the best way Lyn could describe it was that dungeons appeared near locations where prominent events were to unfold.

Normally they were some type of ruin – a shattered doorway with a shimmering portal, for instance. Entering a dungeon began a timer. One week to reach the end. If you didn't get to the end by then? The dungeon would return you to the entrance, and vanish. They stayed in place until attempted or defeated and then would travel elsewhere on Ghomar. Defeating the dungeon by reaching the end came with a variety of rewards depending on what that dungeon required to complete it. If lots of spell use was needed, then a mana core or two would be the reward. If it was a lot of monster-slaying, then artifact-tier weaponry would be there. In addition to monies and even sometimes books, tomes, or scrolls written in Elenthir.

"That sounds incredible," Vael said as they finished putting up the tent and went inside, laying down the huge bedroll. "How do you know this one is still here?"

Lyn laid down on the soft furs and stared at the roof of the tent, "I know it is." Because I hid it with a spell, and told no one. She willed her armor to recede and channeled mana into the inscribed choker, banishing it to the pocket dimension. "But enough about dungeons. I want something else," she said lustfully staring at the twins.

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They glanced at each other, whispered to each other, and Gael left the tent taking guard outside. Lyn shrugged as Vael lay down next to her.

Volio exited the Southern pass as his escort left him. He took in a deep breath as he looked out over the once-ruined battlefield, slowly being reclaimed by nature. Ten years ago, this is where the Khrelardian military, and the now-Valagonian military fought the Demonic Dragon's forces. The heroes, however, had snuck around to a hidden entrance Lyn had found to assault the Demonic Dragon directly. She's so smart, he thought as he set out towards Valagonia. And strong. She got the killing blow.

He chided himself and cursed internally. Why did he let himself get bullied by Cecily and James? He should have stood his ground and told everyone how amazing Lyn was taking on the villain herself and beating it.

But now? She was so much more. Despite her different appearance, the same personality was there. It was even nicer to him than before. Their first date went amazingly, and she gave him her intimate apparel. He knew she loved him. She just wanted to take things slow, and he was okay with that. He'd wait for eternity to be hers and have her be his. She shared her vision of uniting everyone under a common banner. And he wanted to be there with her, alongside her, helping her dreams come true.

They had a connection, after all.

It would be a several week journey on foot, but he could go to Fort Watch and acquire a mount. Then, he would travel. First to Khrelardia. Then, Valagonia. And finally, North to Trisk. He'd do as she asked and deliver the letters and emblems to the other heroes. She had promised him a reward…and he would do anything to please her.

Lyn came to the next morning and manifested her armor once more. She helped the twins pack up camp, and after a cold trail ration, they set out on the long trek. The next two days played out the same, the only difference being that she alternate sleeping with Gael and Vael, respectively. They both obviously enjoyed the physicality, as evidence by their amorous repast. And for Lyn, she needed that physical distraction. That exhaustion to lull her to sleep. If she had to just wait for sleep to take her, she knew that the memories would return.

Thankfully, she didn't dream. Misty had always ribbed her for that, saying that, "Only people without imagination don't dream." But Lyn always laughed that comment off, replying, "People who want to stay sane don't dream." Lyn smiled at the memory of her friend. One of the good ones. One of the few.

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The travel brought lightness to her heart and she reveled in the feeling of the wind through her hair as mile after mile was paced out. Even if it was just by foot, her heart soared at the joy of simply moving from one place to another. Part of that was due to the Scout core. Part of it was because of who she was before being summoned and having her personality shifted by the mana core. On Earth, she was always filled with a need to move. Her teachers called her squirrely, but she just wanted to be doing something. She couldn't sit for hours and draw like Misty. She had to be active.

The thought of going through a dungeon filled her with a sense of anxiety and elation. She knew if it was combat-oriented, she would crush it. Her external lava spells would decimate any combatant who was not completely inured to heat and flame. And even then, the bludgeoning force would severely injure if not outright crush them. I hope it's got a lot of monsters.

By the fourth day out of Lynhold, they came upon the Eastern slopes of the mountains. Lyn found the craggy cliffs that marked the entrance to the dungeon, and pushed aside the foliage that had grown over the entrance – the same plants she had created with an external flora spell. She pulled Cataclysm from its socket on her armor and let the mana flow through her into the blade. It ignited and the lava sheathed in wind provided light – not that she needed it with her Duskari eyes.

The crevice opened into a very small chamber, with a single archway, glowing with a purple light. Elenthir was written around the outside, and she read it aloud in Arinol for her allies' sake. "This door marks the dungeon of Markov, Mountain-Maker. Threats within – monsters. Reward – artifact and mana core." Lyn smiled. Perfect. I get to fuck something up, and a new artifact to empower Cataclysm further. Mountain-Maker implied that the Elenthian's mana core, if consumed, would give her the external spell-type of earth elementalism. I could fortify the Valley of the Volcano with that. Make the mountains impassable, sheer vertical cliffs for those trying to scale it. Fortify the Southern entrance. She stepped through the shimmering, purple film with her allies close behind, feeling the pounding of her heart as adrenaline surged through her.

The clack of booted feet resonated through the throne room as Cecily's Military Advisors approached and knelt, bowing their heads. "Your highness, we have the reports from the outlying villages."

Cecily sat atop her diamond-encrusted throne. She was the picture of regality; high cheekbones, stern, brown eyes, long, styled, raven-black hair. Luxury couldn't even begin to describe her attire, her dress adorned with gemstones whose value could buy entire villages. Her crown, bedecked with glittering green gems from the Emerald Isle off of the coast. "Report," she stated. Her voice was calm and measured, but the authority that came from the tone left no doubt that her word was absolute.

The man stood and unfurled a scroll, "A mountain of a man, wielding an enormous hammer, and shouting 'For Khrelardia' is responsible. Him and a group of individuals looted twelve towns. They did not harm any who capitulated, hid, or did not fight back. But all troops stationed in the nearby region were decimated."

Cecily tapped the armrest of her throne. She knew who the person plundering her lands was. Kory matched the description perfectly. I should have kept him on a shorter leash, she thought. The heroes had determined that Kory was best suited to finishing off the Demonic Dragon's forces and keeping people out of the Valley of the Volcano that marked his territory. He was all for the idea, but apparently the years had worn and grated at him. I should have sent an occupying force there. But she had not solidified her grasp on the kingdom, and couldn't risk a war with Khrelardia, Tresk, or the other smaller nations interspersed between the three major powers.

Now, however, her rule was absolute. The realm served her whims. Her every desire. And she would not allow another kingdom to plunder her lands. King Kristoph was not a dumb man. Young, yes, having only gained the throne at the age of twelve. But he had a group of Advisors that were quite experienced. And, he had James, the Paragon hero. Cecily's rival. She gestured for the men to all stand, and leaned forward, "We make preparations, but will not attack. Send an emissary to Kristoph, and see if the Berserker hero was acting on his orders. That will give us time."

The men bowed and went to their duties. Cecily looked at her Seneschal, "Anything further today?"

The elderly man bowed, "No, your grace."

Cecily nodded and stood. "Good. See that I am not disturbed until supper." She turned and left, dismissing her ladies-in-waiting as she walked down the corridors to the dungeon. The dimly lit passages of her palace reminded her of that boiling point, ten years ago.

"You can't just take over a kingdom!" James had yelled at her as they sat in conference at Fort Watch. "We were summoned here to help these people, to serve them. Not take over."

"I am the Ruler hero," she had replied. "It's literally in the description. I wouldn't expect you to understand. Go ahead, serve the child-king. Keep being the hero that everyone loves. Take the credit for landing the killing blow on the Demonic Dragon, if you want." She had stood up and let her mana flow through her mana channels, exerting a pressure upon the room as her presence seemingly suppressed all other's ability to speak. "We have done our part. And we were not returned home, as we were promised. I will take what I feel is owed to me. Henceforth, the kingdom of Shereld shall be known as Valagonia."

She had left that meeting, alone, and spent four years settling brutal civil wars as some opposed her rule. They had been crushed, all of them. Her pragmatism ensured that every move was calculated. Her Ruler core enabled her to command others with ease, and guided her towards the right decisions in the military campaign. Being the smartest hero pre-summon – maybe aside from Thomas – with the only 4.0 GPA in the class, she had knowledge and learning that enabled her to decimate those opposing her rule.

Her kingdom had become the pinnacle of civilization under her iron grip. Whilst the other kingdoms were still solidly in the middle-ages of technology, she was starting to set the groundwork for industrialization.

And some rebel leaders she kept around. Those who she had defeated, the leaders of the other faction. Killing them would have made them into martyrs. No, instead, they were captured and put on 'house arrest', as her propaganda campaign put it. In reality, they were put into her dungeons.

Cecily knew she didn't have the same PTSD and trauma the other heroes had. She barely adventured, instead politicking and making alliances, settling disputes, and growing her power through diplomacy and guile. She knew that Ben and Trisha coped by having kids and engaging in healthy therapy. She knew Kory fought, fucked, and drank to cope with his issues. James threw himself into his job as High-Lord, Thomas had his emotional support wyvern and whiskey flask, Volio his obsession, Brad his drugs, and Misty her mage school. All of them coped in various ways.

But Cecily never had to cope. She knew, as her mana core guided and shaped her personality shift, that all of her decisions were the right ones to make as a ruler.

Including the decisions she made every night, when she descended into the dungeons, put on the custom suit of leather armor that she had spent an unreasonable sum to have made. The shuddering fear of her captives, the panic in their voices as they begged for mercy, she relished in it. The sadistic pleasure of beating those who resisted her rule, of torturing them to the brink of insanity before treating them kindly and healing them…it felt good. They opposed my rule. This is just punishment.

Part of her knew it was fucked up. The old-her would never have done such a thing. But now? She was a monarch. Absolute. Undeniable. Her word was law, her actions were just. She could do whatever she wanted. And these rebels needed to be made examples of. Only when they were completely and utterly broken, enthralled to her will not by external spells, but by pain and suffering, would she release them from their confinement to spread word of her magnanimousness. Then, of course, she would look for the next threat to her rule. She would bring them back here in chains, break their will, and then set them free to sing her praises.

She gripped the whip in her hand and laughed maniacally. You will serve. All will serve.