Between a Rock and a Carapace

34. Reunion

Commander Titus was a stoic man with a reputation for an iron will and an unbreakable sense of duty. And it was true. He’d lived a hard life and had made hard choices without hesitation. Where others would shirk their responsibilities, Titus shouldered his burden with pride. For this, he was both loved and respected. The commander did his best to live up to his reputation. Square shoulders and a stern countenance were synonymous with Titus, as if his face and body had been carved from granite.

But if there was one thing that could push him to the edge of cracking, it was the person he saw coming toward him now.

The Legion had marched hard back to Rylleh as the wave waned and the shocking news of Garralosh’s demise spread. The Legionaries were in dire need of rest, but not all were able to receive it. The technical crews, smiths, and enchanters laboured long to repair worn weapons and armour, scouting parties had been dispatched to ascertain the environment within the Bulwark. Messages were sent to every outpost, and even ritual spells of communication were enacted to reach the wider Legion network. Now they awaited word from their superiors.

With the wreckage of their homes weighing on their minds, Titus and his troops had been unable to rest. After the centurions found the third party attempting to escape the barracks and venture to the surface, Titus considered relenting and allowing a team to establish an outpost. When the fourth escape party had contained a good number of centurions, Titus finally gave the order that he himself would lead a full column to the surface. All advanced gear was left behind, only leathers and basic weaponry allowed. The soldiers were eager to be away.

Despite their victory in the lines, the soldiers’ mood was grim. They knew roughly what awaited them above. A ruined city, a destroyed nation. How many of their loved ones had survived the slaughter? They pushed hard and Titus marched at their head, as relentless and unyielding as a stone. The Legionaries stuck to the main paths, as direct as they could be. What monsters they found were ruthlessly crushed.

On the fourth day, steadily climbing up the main tunnel, they’d heard footsteps coming down. Titus raised a fist, then pointed to his left and right. Archers moved to covered positions along the walls, and shield-bearing Legionaries formed up beside him. There they waited as the sounds of approach grew louder.

Humans, and a small group, ten or less.

Titus’ ears were far from normal. At his Level, with his Skills and class benefits, he was barely the same species as those who dwelt on the surface. He could clearly hear the footfalls of those approaching, though they were still two hundred metres away. The tone of their voices was clear, almost the words as well. Then a woman spoke, harsh and cutting, and the other voices grew quiet, their steps more careful.

Titus nearly dropped his axe. He knew that voice—would recognise that wasp tongue anywhere. It was all he could do not to break ranks and run up the path. To the soldiers around him, it merely appeared as if he grew as still as a winter pond.

Titus held himself back as the other group came into view, and his eyes narrowed. Farm boys and merchants’ daughters with shoddy gear, no Levels and little training. In normal times, he’d roll them up, smack their heads, and boot them out of his Dungeon, but these weren’t normal times, and the hard-faced woman in stout leathers leading them demanded his attention.

Her name was on his lips, but he dared not call it out, lest his will break and he ran to his daughter. He wouldn’t stand for such a break of decorum. Besides, if he tried, Morrelia might just punch him. She wasn’t one for public displays of affection.

“Is that Morr? Morrelia, hey! Long time no see!” a male voice called out.

CRACK!

The stone beneath Titus’ feet shattered into dust, sending a cloud of stone chips flying in all directions. Shouts of alarm and confusion arose, but Titus himself hadn’t moved, instead he remained at ease, his hands clasped behind his back and his axe strapped across his shoulders.

To one side, Donnelan cursed his own stupidity. How could he be so careless as to call out to Morrelia in front of the commander? It was well-known that the legendary commander of stone doted on his daughter, even if he never let it show. Ice cold sweat rolled down the young mage’s back—he may as well have been grasped in a giant fist. He prayed that his voice hadn’t stood out too much and wasn’t recognised, otherwise death might come for him!

Indeed, Titus had recognised Donnelan, and his mind seethed with the torturous drills he would put the Legionary through the moment they got back.

As she approached the Legion force, Morrelia couldn’t help but sigh. She’d hoped to run into her father and her former comrades here, but it was awkward. And she knew exactly what Titus was thinking at this very moment. Some things never changed.

The Legionaries waited patiently. When the smaller villager force drew close enough, Morrelia stepped forward as the representative and moved to greet the Legionaries. The villagers themselves were quite overawed. The legendary Abyssal Legion lived up to its reputation. To these people’s eyes, despite the glorious victory they’d achieved, these soldiers were true heroes, returning to the surface after defeating who knows what horrors in the deep.

“Commander Titus,” Morrelia greeted her father.

“Daughter,” he returned, rejecting the formal tone she attempted to set.

His daughter’s eyes narrowed at that, and Titus’ heart swelled with pride. She was as stubborn as he was, a trait she had inherited from both her parents. It was a curse and blessing.