Archeologist Warlord: A Dungeon Core Epic

by E. M. Hardy

  He had expected the swarm of walkers to overwhelm the defenses despite horrible losses. Maybe he would have reached the crystals to strike them down, or cut a line that fed them power, or break through to the next room where he could switch off the crystals. Maybe he could find some weapon or some ledge, or some sturdy cover off in the side where he could get a better look at what he would have to face. Perhaps an artifact of some sort that was watched over by the crystals, or functioning archives like the ones he had found in the swamp pyramid and the hidden valley.

  What he did not expect was to lose 80% of his attacking force—2,878 walkers—before the 17 crystals in the room burnt out.

  Martin’s walkers were made up of heat-absorbing ceramic, and it took too much energy for the lasers to break them down. They simply could not sustain their fire, and they had broken down before Martin could run out of walkers—all in the space of nearly 30 minutes. It had been a close call, to be honest. If Martin had pulled back, those crystals would have cooled down enough, and his lost walkers would all have been for nothing.

  Except all his efforts would end up that way: all for nothing.

  While Martin was busy sending his walkers into a suicidal charge into the kill room, his dolls were just as busy clearing out the blocked tunnels. He had hoped to uncover other archives, maybe find out what was preventing him from taking control of the facilities in these ruins. One of the doll teams in the deeper parts of the ruins was breaking down the larger blocks of debris into smaller, more manageable chunks that they could suck up and deposit into the back of a nearby cow-box. That doll turned around, and promptly tossed a pebble at other dolls that were playing hopscotch, calling them back to work. Its teammates properly chastised, it aimed its drill-arm at a piece of debris when something seemed to knock back in response. The doll halted its drill and peered curiously at the wall of rubble in front of it, surprised at the motion it encountered. The stone chunk vibrated once more, followed by loud knocks from behind the debris. That sound was soon replaced by scratching noises that grew in intensity with each passing second.

  And that’s when the first clawed leg poked through a hole in the collapsed tunnel.

  Surprised, the doll ‘called out’ to its team, and they all turned their attention to the small hole in the collapsed wall that was growing at an alarming pace. Martin’s attention was also called to the event, but it was too late: the scarabs had broken through. The doll, its team, and the cow-box escorting it were drowned in a tide of claws that poured out of the tunnel in the thousands.

  Where Martin had been on the verge of celebrating a win in the kill room, he was now frantically diverting his remaining walkers to stem the flow of the scarabs. The 700-odd walkers were racing through the tunnels, heading straight for the source of the scarabs to cut them off at a choke point, when a second collapsed tunnel opened up to reveal another horde of scarabs clawing their way into the tunnel complex. Martin had ceased his tunnel-clearing operations and pulled his dolls out at this point, but one of the teams had cleared out enough rubble to allow the previously-barricaded scarabs to burrow out on their own. That, and it looked like the scarabs were also clearing out the tunnels on their end.

  Martin wanted to scream out in frustration. He was so close to unlocking the secrets of the kill room, to finding out what lay behind the locked door the crystals were guarding, when the scarabs broke through the rubble. Now he found himself fighting a losing battle as the scarabs converged on his walkers, pressing them down with sheer numbers.

  Yes, the walkers were stronger and were fighting in an enclosed space where their shields were put to good use. However, the same principle that he had used in the kill room—burying the defenders in numbers—now worked against him. The scarabs simply bore down on the walkers, scratching away their shields to pieces while climbing upon the rubble of their fallen brethren to jump into the middle of the walkers. In the next few hours, the scarabs would systematically hunt down every single construct that was not able to escape the underground facility before the scarabs blocked the exit.

  The battle for the Bashri Desert Ruins was lost, and so was Martin’s hope for finding a secret weapon to help him defeat the Renese soldiers threatening the Leizhu Swamp Pyramid.

  Chapter 24

  Martin sagged in his mind-space, the utter defeat weighing heavily on his consciousness. He chided himself, about how he should have been more careful while excavating the ruins, or how he should have held off on rushing the kill room until he had fully secured the ruins. Maybe he should have simply sent all his walkers to the Leizhu Swamp, or sent them to help with the construction efforts toward extending his reach into Ma’an. Anything would have been better than losing all of his constructs in those ruins.

  He shook his regrets off. He had made a choice when he decided to commit his walkers into the kill room, and he simply had to live with the consequences. Whatever was within the Bashri Desert ruins would have to stay there for the time being. He would simply have to make do with what he had at the moment, focusing his attention on the tasks that needed doing.

  And right now, he needed to deal with Shen Feng’s troops.

  After a day of holding off their attacks, Martin was able to manufacture an additional 660 walkers to help defend the Leizhu Swamp Pyramid. That brought his local defenders up to a total of 1,109, which brought him closer to numerical parity against Shen Feng’s troops. Martin’s walkers had nowhere near the strength of the general’s well-trained, well-equipped, Chi-enforced soldiers, but those constructs were hiding behind a well-fortified position. At the rate that Shen Feng’s backup was marching, the first group of 500 would arrive within a week with others following in the coming days.

  Unfortunately, that well-fortified position was slowly being turned into a not-so-well-fortified position.

  The entrance of the pyramid was blown to bits by now, and Martin’s dolls were frantically throwing up as much paste as they could to cover the damage. Catapults were turning their attention to other parts of the pyramid, concentrating their fire to bash down the granite blocks to create another opening. The ballistae were brought closer to the entrance, throwing their Chi-enforced bolts into the softer paste barricades to break them down. The martial artists were slower at dealing with the reinforced granite blocks, but they were nonetheless making steady progress.

  Martin sorely wished the pyramid had some sort of parapet or arrow slits where he could fire from. Martin didn’t have any bows and arrows, though it would not have done him any good since he didn’t know how to fire a bow and arrow in the first place. He did, however, have a close equivalent: javelins. His walkers were already setting up barricades at the expected breach points, and he armed them not only with shields and spears but with hundreds of javelins, with more being shaped by the dolls locked inside the pyramid with the walkers.

  Martin’s clay reserves within the pyramid were running dangerously low, since he had been busy flooding the nearby tunnels with paste to slow down the progress of Shen Feng’s troops. This was why he stopped filling out tunnels and focused instead on producing walkers and weapons. It galled him how there was so much usable clay around the pyramid and he couldn’t even access it because Shen Feng’s troops guarded the entrance. If he could somehow squeeze his dolls out, harvest some clay, he could just keep plugging up the tunnels until his own reinforcements arrived. Maybe that would give him enough time for the Empress to reach Shen Feng and stop all this nonsense.

  Speaking of the Empress, she had successfully regained control of the capital after the failed coup and was already on the way to the Leizhu Swamp. Apparently, the orders Shen Feng had received were drafted using what she called a “See No Evil, Hear No Evil” cipher—one of the highest-level orders that the Four Great Generals could receive. Only the Empress could seal those orders with her stamp of office, her Chi signature, and her blood wax. From the way things went down at the Red Court, Martin guessed that those security measures had been
compromised by the former Three Sages.

  The only two ways Shen Feng would be freed from such an order was to personally hear the annulment order from the Empress herself. Anything else, he would ignore—even another order written under the same cipher. The other way? That would be his death as well as the death of all the forces under his command, which covered the more-than 20,000 troops within the western region of the Ren Empire.

  Yes, it was a good thing indeed that the Empress survived and came out on top. She was already on her way and traveling as fast as her retinue could move. She even had Yao Xiu and Prince Suhaib rushing along with her. Even then, Martin still had to hold out long enough for the Empress and her entourage to get to the pyramid. Estimated time of arrival: one week.

  One whole week… Martin was not sure the Leizhu Pyramid would last that long. Shen Feng’s troops were on the verge of breaching Martin’s defenses within the day, and he could only count on the walkers to fend them off.

  The ballistae were the first to pierce a hole through Martin’s defenses. Shen Feng’s troops gave a hearty cheer when they saw the Chi-infused bolts blast a hole through the paste that the dolls had filled the entrance with. Soon enough, they closed ranks and began advancing into the breach created by the ballistae. Dozens of men with interlocking shields advanced, their swords and spears ready to force their way in. Martin, on the other hand, had walkers armed with spears and javelins guarding blockades that were set up along the main entrance. He also had walkers standing guard in connecting rooms, ready to harass any attacking force from the side.

  The first clash was less frantic than expected. The advancing soldiers did not rush in like a mob of crazed fanatics, and they did not scream out bloody murder while charging head-long into the spears. No, their steps were slow and measured. They marched to the steady beat of the drums, shields up and determined to press onward.

  The first engagement was just as slow and methodical as the approach. The troops hunkered down behind their shields and pressed down upon Martin’s walkers, trading thrusts as they pushed on. The spears of the soldiers slid harmlessly across the tough ceramic bodies of the walkers, and they could not close in to bash the walkers in with swords because of the barricades and spears jutting out. The spears of the walkers clashed against shields, and any that managed to get through was deflected by the tough armor and protective Chi of the soldiers.

  It was a stalemate—and one that the soldiers intended to break when the first rush was called.

  Shouting to bolster themselves, the soldiers held their shields up and began pressing forward into the spears and fortifications of the walkers. One shout, one step forward. Martin’s spears were being pushed aside by the tightly interlocked shields, with some soldiers outright grabbing them by the handles in an attempt to pull some walkers into their midst. Martin’s passive approach to defense would not hold. He had to force them back somehow.

  It was a javelin that scored the first human kill of the battle for the Leizhu Swamp Pyramid.

  The walkers behind the frontline defenders unleashed their deadly payloads, which flew with deadly precision toward their targets. This was due to Martin practicing his javelin tosses with the walkers in the Bashri Desert. He remembered every mistake, every success, of the 2,000 walkers escorting the dolls and cow-boxes building roads toward Ma’an. Those same walkers had been training spear thrusts, javelin tosses, shield blocks, and mace swings even while the battles for the Bashri Desert Ruins and Leizhu Swamp Pyramid were going on. And even then, the battle with the soldiers began teaching Martin many useful tips about fighting against people.

  One walker taught him not to thrust with his arms, but with his legs and abdomen. Another walker taught him not to hold the shaft of the spear too far back, for the weight of the spear would make it difficult to control. Yet another walker taught him the folly of standing straight with a shield, while another taught him that leaning into the shield with the legs extended helped improve stability. One near-breach at the front lines taught Martin that well-timed spear thrusts could disrupt a solid push to throw the attackers off balance.

  Long story short, the battles Martin had been involved in were leaving behind a torrent of lessons that he easily absorbed with each failed swing and successful thrust. And in this battle, Martin had learned that a well-timed wave of javelins could catch an unprepared enemy.

  He had no time to regret the loss of life he inflicted. Yes, they were fighting under false orders, but he could not afford to lose the pyramid. He ignored the wet, gurgling cries of those struck in the neck or lungs. He tuned out the cries of pain that broke loose from the injured, as well as the cries of outrage from those who saw their friends and siblings-in-arms fall to Martin’s javelins. Despite the casualties though, Shen Feng’s troops swelled to the point that they threatened to overwhelm the defending walkers.

  He needed to stop them before they broke through, which was why there was no time for Martin to be squeamish about what he needed to do. He began absorbing the souls of the fallen soldiers as soon as they fell. The rush of power invigorated Martin, sharpening his focus as well as improving the capabilities of his walkers. They struck just a little bit harder, moved just a little bit faster, and were able to better resist the damage that they were receiving as Shen Feng’s soldiers pushed on.

  More importantly, the angry voices returned—and they began inhabiting the soulless bodies that Martin left behind.

  The only problem was that the Renese soldiers were ready for the shayateen. As soon as their comrades fell, they began pulling out the dead and injured, setting up a perimeter around them. Healers worked quickly, channeling Chi to seal wounds and mend injuries. Those who didn’t die right away stood a good chance of surviving the battle, though they were weak from their ordeal of healing and had to be pulled out. This worked fine for Martin, which was why he tried to injure rather than kill.

  But that’s not how the human brain is wired to fight, is it?

  There was a very big difference between brawling on the street with a few puffed-up posers and trading blows with a mob of armed and armored people intent on ending your existence. Try as he might, Martin found it impossible to control his thrusts, swings, and throws in the face of the angry mob before him. The sensible part of his mind knew that he wouldn’t really die, that each falling walker was just a thing that crumbled into debris. The animal part of his mind, however, fought tooth and nail to preserve whatever kind of existence he found himself in.

  The pace of battle eventually overpowered that sensible part of his mind—especially when it was fueled by the raw rush of power that each fallen soldier bolstered him with. Their comrades stuck their flailing bodies down with spears the moment they began to rise before eventually decapitating the unfortunate man or woman. It was a hard thing to do, having to mutilate the bodies of your own people, but the grim determination on their faces told Martin all he needed to know about their resolve. Martin cursed as he realized Shen Feng had properly briefed his men on Martin’s capabilities. This was not the first time he had tasted betrayal from people pretending to be his friends, but it nonetheless stung—especially since he didn’t want to punish Shen Feng or his troops in the first place.

  While the shayateen were not able to inflict as much damage as Martin hoped, they still helped tie up the general’s forces. Unlike in regular battles where the Renese could just leave their dead and injured, they had to pull them back lest they risk undead ravaging their ranks from within. At the same time, the ranks had to close in and hold their shields closed tightly above their heads to prevent the javelins from sliding through and catching an unfortunate soul. These two factors had all but stalled the once-vigorous assault, which worked fine for Martin since he wanted to slow them down, not kill them all.

  Things were not going so well at the other breach, though.

  The catapults and ballistae were done now, having broken down the gates and opened up a way for the troops. They were t
hen shifted around to target the weakened section that was previously being focused down by the martial artists. In less than an hour, the siege weapons had done their work and created a breach in the reinforced granite blocks. Another wall of hardened paste greeted the invaders, but this was where the difference between martial artists and regular troops became obvious.

  The martial artists were far better capable of projecting Chi into their bodies and weapons, and they made surprisingly quick work of the relatively-fragile paste that blocked their way. Their hammers, axes, and gauntleted fists were weaker than the focused blasts of the siege weapons, but the martial artists were able to work at a much faster pace than their mechanical counterparts.

  Soon enough, the martial artists finished blasting out a second breach connecting to the halls of Martin’s pyramid. Shen Feng’s troops cheered lustily, and the soldiers waiting outside the pyramid followed the martial artists as they entered the gap, engaging the walkers at their barricades. Unlike the regular troops, the martial artists were far better at protecting themselves and demolishing the walkers before them. Some leapt high in the air, bouncing off the tunnel walls, and swung their weapons with abandon while dodging blows left and right. Others were hardier, well-armored artists who would only flinch as the javelins struck them squarely in their breastplates right before they went back to bashing down barricades. Some of them even grinned as they fought on, with one woman having the audacity to laugh as she landed light-footed on one of the spears thrusting out before decapitating the walker holding it with her sword—ceramic bodies notwithstanding. Martin cursed and sent more walkers, fighting far more conservatively just to keep the martial artists at bay, all while the rank and file soldiers began flooding in behind their wake.