In my hands, I had a map.
And on it, it was possible to see various filaments — veins that came from distant points of the horizon and that, as they approached the wall, branched out more and more. The branchings were countless, and the vast majority seemed to be of small volume. But there were two tunnels in particular that were large — something between eight and ten meters, both in width and in height. And those were the tunnels we needed to dominate.
The truth is that nearly all the smaller veins branched out from those two main tunnels.
Which indicated, with good clarity, that it was from there that the enemy came. It was there that they moved most frequently. And it was there, too, that it would be easiest to prevent their advance to the key points of my kingdom. To dominate those two tunnels was to dominate the arteries of the very anthill that tangled throughout my kingdom.
"We're going to divide into two teams. The first, with Arachne and her children. The second, with the power that was lent to us."
The tactic I was assembling, unfortunately, required the separation of my forces.
And, honestly, I hated that. I would a thousand times rather fight with all my power concentrated in a single block — that was how all my experience told me to fight, that was how I had survived until then. Concentration of force was the most basic rule of any defense. But there was no choice. What I needed, above all, was to guarantee that nothing would happen to my kingdom without my being able to predict or control it. Besides, I was certain of one thing: the last thing the Tyrin would expect from prey was a direct attack.
"Do you think the lent army will manage to hold out against the Tyrin's advance?"
"No. And that's why we're going together."
✦ ✦ ✦
I trusted that the power I kept in my kingdom would be enough to hold out against the enemy's advance on the surface.
The magic towers and the archers would handle it. And I still had a hundred mages positioned along the wall, with a simple function: to prevent the Tyrin from climbing it. Not that that was easy for them — the height of the structure by itself was already a brutal obstacle. Either way, I had quite a bit of security that I would manage to hold out against an attack coming from above.
I also trusted Arachne.
I had equipped her daughters with the maximum protection possible, and she herself would supervise the defense of one of the two main tunnels. Honestly, I didn't want her there — she would be cramped in that hole, and the idea of my daughter trapped in a corridor of earth, surrounded, turned my stomach. But it was she who insisted. And the truth was that, with her daughters (who clearly had the power of level A creatures) and with her own, I doubted any enemy would manage to even scratch her, much less defeat her.
My problem was the other tunnel.
The same size as the first, but with many more branchings departing from it. It was, by far, the hardest to defend — and it was exactly for that reason that I myself would go through it. Not out of bravery, but out of cold logic: the most fragile point of the defense belonged to the most capable commander, and, whether I liked it or not, that was me. The lent army would be responsible for containment, while some units I would use to advance through the branchings and find vulnerabilities. It would be in that tunnel, specifically, that I would finally understand why the enemy was approaching the wall. And what, in the name of everything, they were searching for by branching out in so many directions.
Because that didn't make sense.
The most logical thing would be for them to simply dig downward, in cohesion, until passing beneath the wall and reaching the other side — which was, I suspected, their true objective. But no. They spread out, groped about, made the soil into a Swiss cheese — as though they were searching for something. It was strange. And, unfortunately, I would only find out what by going directly to them.
"We've already mapped the main tunnels. I'm going to use the Fairies and the Wolves to do the sweeps, while we hold the enemy line here."
On the map I had assembled, the two lines of defense emerged a little to the north of my kingdom.
It would be there that I would hold the enemies, while a few units eliminated those who fell behind — clearing the path so I could, then, begin the investigation. Fortunately, with the calculations from the rods, I managed to measure with good precision the location of the two main tunnels. Both were at the same depth: forty meters.
Of course, Livina still lost two Treebeards in the process of finding where the tunnel was.
It was the cost of being sure. On the third attempt, we finally managed to position the Treebeards inside one of the tunnels — and there was a fight. In a few minutes, we lost them. Which proved, even before we began, an uncomfortable truth: however strong the Treebeards were, the enemies down there weren't weak either. And each of those deaths, I knew, had passed through Livina like a blade — she just didn't show it, clutching her own arms and swallowing the moan before it came out.
✦ ✦ ✦
"We only have today to conquer the territory and assemble our defense."
The time for all the preparation had been too short.
There were only a few hours left before the protection dome ended. In all those days, I had slept an average of three, maybe four hours a night. My body screamed for rest — the heavy muscles, the burning eyes, that exhaustion that accumulates in the bones and doesn't go away with a single night of sleep. But I would need to hold out a little longer. It was still too early to lay down my head. After ending the meeting, I separated the units, and we began to prepare to descend.
"Papa… you're not coming with me?"
Arachne, already positioned alongside her children, seemed confused by the fact that I was in the other group.
"I'm not. You need to hold firm. I'll be right beside you — I already asked a scout to, as soon as we arrive, open a line of contact. We'll be separated by about two hundred meters, but anything happens, you call me, and I'll come running. We're going to hold the enemy as much as we can. Protect your children."
Arachne seemed sad that I wasn't going along.
But, at the same time, there was something happy in her — at the freedom I gave her to protect her own children without restraints. For a mother who had seen so many of her own decimated without being able to react, receiving the trust of an entire front for herself was more than a duty. It was a form of redemption. Honestly, I placed enormous trust in that group. Nearly forty Yokais. And Arachne.
"All right… you won't regret it."
She brought her enormous head close to me, seeming to smile, and I touched what must have been her cheek, saying goodbye.
It was strange how natural that gesture already seemed to me.
Months ago, I would have recoiled before a creature of that size — fangs, chelicerae, eight black eyes reflecting my own distorted image. Now, I saw only my daughter. And the farewell, however brief, carried the same weight as all the farewells that matter: the silent possibility of being the last.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Very well, Void. You stay up here. If anything happens, you warn us down below. You don't need to enter the battle."
I myself had made a point of giving the Aquamarine a name.
And, even being just a unit without a life of its own, it seemed as arrogant as a real Aquamarine — the chin raised, the look of contempt for everything around, as though transporting a human were far beneath its dignity. In response to my order, it just shook its head, and opened two gigantic portals before us. Two vertical wounds torn in the air, pulsing with a dark light, distorting reality around the edges.
"Very well, everyone. We've already studied what needs to be done. Let's go."
I had distributed each unit carefully.
The Urskra would stay behind, in my kingdom, focused on attacking any enemy that might appear from below — it was unlikely, I knew, but I didn't want to risk it. The griffins would also stay behind; I wanted to avoid any loss among them, they were too valuable to me. The Prince would serve as a notifier — he and the Void would be my only way to understand what was happening in the territory while I was beneath the earth. The owlbear preferred to stay resting, and I didn't force it: it had already done its part, providing the blood for my creatures. I wasn't going to demand more.
But one of the units seemed to not want, in any way, to stay behind.
"Let's go, Pegasus… and do me the favor of not getting in the way."
The cockatrice was already a relevant size.
It was clear the monotony of that territory irritated her. And I knew that, as a creature born for battle, staying behind simply wasn't an option for her. I wasn't worried about her safety — honestly, she was very capable. My only worry was that she would get in the way of the front line. But, by the way she stuck to my side, there was no argument that would make her change her mind. In the end, I yielded. Sometimes, keeping an ally motivated is worth more than keeping her in a perfectly safe place.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Morgana, Livina… get ready."
I knew that, the instant we crossed the portal, we would be in enemy territory.
And they knew, exactly, that we were coming. It would be a blind dive — because, if the enemy was indeed intelligent as I suspected, it would already be preparing an ambush for the exact moment we set foot in there. For that reason, each piece of my force had a clear purpose, rehearsed, fitted into the plan like a gear.
The Orghaal Shields, with their heavy shields, would form containment walls at the points where we would emerge.
The Fire Fairies, despite being weak, were great for illuminating the darkness and setting fire to narrow tunnels — they would bring light to an environment where the enemy had every advantage. The Lesser Wolves would serve as scouts, advancing through the branchings as soon as we established ourselves, sniffing out movement before it came close. The Birman Swords, disposable but strong, would be the first shock wave on the front line — we would use them to advance, gain space, and grind down the enemy.
And the fifty Brutal Birman — the true elite — I would save for the moment when everything, inevitably, went wrong.
The idea was to keep them in the rear, eliminating any enemy that escaped behind our lines or remnants from the veins, without our needing to worry. Eris's cavalry would be the main impact force — used to break barriers or defenses where the Birman Swords couldn't advance. Our objective was simple to say, and hard to do: establish a containment wing of at least fifty meters. A safe space where we could lodge for as long as necessary.
I went over the entire plan in my head one last time.
Each unit, each function, each contingency for when things went out of control — and they would, because they always do. It was the part of my brain that never rested, the one that had already saved me more times than my strength ever saved. On paper, the plan was solid. But I had learned, the worst way possible, that no plan survives first contact with the enemy. What separated the living from the dead wasn't having the perfect plan. It was knowing how to improvise when it crumbled.
I breathed deep, facing the pulsing darkness of the portal.
On the other side, the nightmare that had devoured all the protectors before me. The difference was that, this time, the nightmare wouldn't come to the door. We were the ones going to it.
I looked back, one last time.
At my lean kingdom, embedded in the base of the colossal wall. At the pale dome that still protected us, for however many hours it had left. At Arachne, already disappearing into the other portal with her children. All of that was what I had. All of that was what I needed to keep standing. And the only way to do that was by descending voluntarily into the place where no one, in any record, had ever gone.
I felt the weight of Morgana and Livina at my side, and the irritable heat of Pegasus growling low, anxious for the fight.
It wasn't confidence that I felt. Confidence would be arrogance, and arrogance, there, was the fastest way to die. It was something else. It was the coldness of someone who had done all the calculations he could do, assembled all the plans he could assemble, and knew that, from the first step on, nothing more would depend on plans. It would depend on me. On my girls. And on the luck of discovering that place's secret before it discovered us first.
"They dug up to us every night. Today, we're going to return the visit."
And, without waiting for a response, I took the first step through the veil.
The cold came first. Then, the smell — damp earth, rot, and something else, sour and organic, the stench of a living nest. The light of the Fire Fairies spread behind me, casting flickering shadows against walls of excavated earth. And then, from the depths of the darkness in front of us, came the sound. That same sound I had heard with my ear glued to the ground, days ago — only that, now, it was no longer muffled by forty meters of earth.
Now, it was right there. Waiting.