Paragon of Destruction

Arran followed the short woman as she led him back inside the prison building, a long line of escaped prisoners trailing behind them.

Some of the prisoners looked unhappy with the sudden change in plans, and Arran couldn’t blame them — after the conditions they had to endure within the walls of this building, it was only natural that they had little interest in going back.

A handful of them actually didn’t follow the group back inside, instead running out of the gate and leaving the walled area behind.

Their screams only lasted some moments, but that was enough to tell the other prisoners what was waiting for them outside the walls. No others left after that.

Understanding that beyond the courtyard lay only death and that the courtyard itself offered little protection, the remaining prisoners hurried back inside.

With a thought, Arran directed the bushy-bearded mage from the lowest level of the prison — the one he had slapped for trying to command him — to take a handful of prisoners and cover the exit.

"The moment anyone enters the courtyard, attack them with all you have," Arran ordered the mage.

If his instincts were right, it wouldn’t be long before the first Academy mages made their way into the courtyard. Once they did, some fierce attacks might see them off until more help arrived.

It wouldn’t buy them much time, but hopefully, they wouldn’t need much.

"This way," the short woman said, motioning for Arran to follow her.

She led Arran to a small office located on the side of the main hall. When they entered it, Arran saw only the door through which they had come in, and he shot the woman a questioning look.

"Help me move this aside," she said, pointing toward a massive wooden bookcase that covered half the wall and reached all the way to the ceiling.

Arram helped move the bookcase, and he was surprised to find that it slid to the side easily.

With the bookcase out of the way, a small stone chamber was revealed, empty but for a single spiral staircase leading down beneath the floor.

"How did you know about this?" Arran asked the woman, suddenly suspicious.

That she was familiar with most of the general details of the stronghold wasn’t too strange — it made sense for at least some of the prisoners to be familiar with the prison and the stronghold that housed it.

Yet her familiarity with the stronghold’s secrets was a different matter. There was no way some random prisoner would know about that.

"I used to be a member of the Academy," she replied. "A captain at the stronghold. They imprisoned me after I refused to lock up a—"

Her next words were drowned out by a barrage of thunderous noises, and Arran could suddenly sense a great amount of Essence being used. He understood that the mages guarding the courtyard had just spotted enemies and attacked them, and he knew that even if these were scared off, it would not be long before more arrived.

He took a quick look around the chamber, then spotted Windsong.

"Windsong," he said. "Tell the men guarding the courtyard to join us the moment everyone’s inside. And close that door behind us when you follow."

Arran had little doubt that the Academy mages would find them even if the exit were hidden, but every second they spent searching would give Arran and the prisoners a better chance of making it to the main prison.

Of course, what would happen once they arrived was a different matter entirely.

"Let’s go," Arran said, motioning for the others to join him. "If you see any Academy mages, don’t hesitate in attacking."

Without waiting, he set off, heading down the staircase.

Arran soon discovered that it led to a dark and narrow underground passage. Little more than a tunnel, it was only barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, and in places the ceiling was just a single hand removed from his head.

He illuminated the way with an orb of Fire, and he could see that the passage was dusty and filled with cobwebs. From the look of things, it hadn’t been used in years.

As they headed deeper into the passage — Arran in the lead with the short woman next to him, and hundreds of mages following behind them — he could not help but feel a sudden wave of anxiety.

If they were betrayed, a single blast of Essence would be enough to collapse the ceiling and bury all of them. And if there were enemies waiting at the end of the passage, Arran and all those behind him would be slaughtered with ease.

Arran cast a nervous look at the short woman next to him, suddenly suspicious of her explanation for the knowledge she had of the stronghold.

Despite Arran’s misgivings, they arrived unharmed at the end of the passage not much later, with another spiral staircase leading out of the underground passage.

"Wait," the woman said, just as Arran was about to head up the stairs. "The chamber upstairs leads directly to the guards’ quarters. The moment we come out, there will be battle."

"Do you know where the other prisoners are?" Arran asked.

The woman nodded. "There are two main areas where they—"

"Then you will lead a group to free them," Arran interrupted her. "I and the others will try to keep the Academy busy as long as possible."

The woman hesitated, but only for a moment. "Be careful. Most of the guards are weak, but among their commanders will be Masters and Grandmasters," she warned.

Arran nodded. "Wait here for a short while after we attack," he said. "I’ll try to draw away as many of them as I can." A moment later, he added, "And collapse the ceiling of the passage behind us after we attack, so we don’t get attacked from behind."

Already, an idea had formed in his head. If one group could attack with enough force to shock and distract the enemy, the other group could use the confusion to release the prisoners. And once the prisoners were free, the tide of the battle would turn their way.

It was simple, barely enough to be called a plan. But then, the situation wasn’t one that allowed for complex planning.

Just organizing this plan took more time than Arran would have liked, but eventually, they managed to split the prisoners into two groups.

The first group, the larger one, would be led by Arran and Windsong, and they would focus on doing as much damage as possible as quickly as possible, while clearing the way to the dungeons for the second group.

The second group would be led by the short woman and the bearded man. Arran was fairly certain that both were Grandmasters, and as long as his group cleared the way, they should be able to break out the prisoners without too much trouble.

The plan wasn’t bad, but the raw Essence from the Realm Opening Pills that Arran had used to escape was now close to running out. Once it was gone, Arran would have a hard time fighting even a Master, much less a Grandmaster.

And that was where Windsong came in.

Arran looked at the man as they both stood in front of the exit, then gave him a nod. Windsong nodded in return and took a deep breath.

A moment later, the wall in front of them was blown to pieces by a massive gust of Wind, revealing a white-robed man sitting behind a desk, with a stunned expression on his face.

Immediately, Arran rushed forward, throwing a Battering Force spell at the man with his left hand while raising his starmetal sword in the other. The spell caught the man head-on just as he got up, and he staggered several paces backward. Before he could recover, Arran’s sword hit him at full force — once, twice, thrice, the sword struck, delivering grievous wounds to the man.

The mere fact that he wasn’t killed outright suggested that he was extremely powerful, but it was no use. Just as he regained his footing and turned toward Arran, he was struck from behind by a devastating attack from Windsong.

Even in the middle of battle, Arran could not help but feel awe at seeing the Windblade spell used by a Grandmaster who specialized in using Wind.

The attack was only barely perceptible, and it struck more like a razor than a greatsword. The white-robed mage who was turning to attack Arran only had time to widen his eyes as a thin line of blood appeared across his neck. A moment later, his head toppled to the ground, and his body collapsed.

The exchange was over in a second or two, and Arran did not pause as it ended. Instead, he immediately rushed through the door, out of the office and into the hall that lay beyond it.

The numerous white-robed guards in the hall did not surprise Arran, exactly, but he still had to suppress a gasp when he saw their numbers. There were several hundreds, at the least, and it looked as if they had just gathered here only moments ago, probably about to set off in pursuit of the escaped prisoners.

Yet right now, their numbers did not help them.

Unlike Arran, the guards did not expect the confrontation. Although some of them had turned toward the office after the sudden noise, the emergence of Arran still took them completely by surprise.

When Arran’s sword cut down five of them in as many breaths, surprise turned into terror, and they scattered in all directions, desperately trying to get away from the sword even as they stumbled over each other.

Given a few moments to recover they might have done so, but Windsong entered the hall only seconds after Arran. Immediately, he sent dozens of Windblades cutting through the crowd, further fueling the panic.

The guards’ situation only worsened from there, because behind Windsong followed the other prisoners — first a handful, then dozens, then hundreds, all of them attacking the moment they laid eyes on the white uniforms in front of them.

In moments, the hall was transformed into a chaotic battlefield. Yet even amid the chaos, it was clear that the guards were on the losing side of the exchange — the attack had just been too sudden, too unexpected, and too violent.

As the prisoners unleashed their rage at the Academy on the guards, Arran and Windsong sought out the enemy commanders among the crowd.

The tactic they used was simple but effective: using the physical advantage Body Refinement gave him, Arran attacked the enemy commanders up close. The weaker ones among them simply fell to his sword, while the stronger ones were opened up to Windblade’s magic attacks, who struck them down with cold efficiency.

Just a few minutes later, the last of the guards fell, his white uniform dyed deep red by the blood of a dozen mortal wounds.

Seeing the massacre, Arran took a deep breath.

The first confrontation had gone better than expected, but there was no time to celebrate. At least some of the guards would have escaped to warn the others, and if those that remained in the rest of the prison could reorganize, the battle might yet be turned around.

Arran would not allow that to happen.

Barely even pausing to catch his breath after this first victory, he moved onward, intent on using the momentum of this first strike to defeat the enemy completely.