The urgency in Captain Theron's voice was a drumbeat in Kaelen's ears, echoing the relentless, earth-shaking advance of the Wargolem. This wasn't just another mission; it was a race against time, a desperate gambit to prevent the fortress's walls from being crushed. Kaelen's mind, ever a crucible of cold logic, focused not on the impending doom, but on the singular opportunity this crisis presented: Master Alric, the reclusive alchemist, and the last replication token he possessed.
Kaelen moved quickly, assembling his hand-picked team. He chose two more battle-hardened veterans known for their stealth and discipline – Joric, a silent archer, and Elara, a quick-witted scout. Crucially, he also brought along his replicated Private Finn and replicated Sergeant Rhys. Their absolute loyalty and seamless coordination were invaluable, allowing Kaelen to issue commands with mere glances, forming a silent, efficient spearhead. The original Rhys was still overseeing training, and the original Finn was on his quiet interior watch.
"We need to be swift and silent," Kaelen briefed his team in a hushed tone near the ancient spiral staircase leading to the lower levels. "Master Alric's laboratory is deep within the fortress, in the old catacombs. It's said to be a maze, filled with forgotten passages and perhaps less-than-friendly denizens."
Joric nodded, his bow already strung. Elara checked the quivers at her hip, a grim determination on her face. Replicated Finn and Replicated Rhys stood ready, their eyes locked on Kaelen, awaiting their next unspoken directive.
The descent into the lower levels of Karshelm Fortress was like stepping into a forgotten world. The air grew heavier, cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth and ancient stone. The sounds of the war above faded, replaced by the echoing drip of water and the scuttling of unseen creatures. Kaelen led the way, his instincts guiding him through the labyrinthine passages. There were no maps for these depths, only whispered legends and faint, arcane symbols carved into the oldest walls.
As they ventured deeper, the passageways became narrower, illuminated only by their flickering oil lamps. Kaelen's enhanced senses, honed by his unique connection to his duplicated soldiers, felt the subtle shifts in the air, detected faint traces of old magic, and sensed the presence of small, scurrying things in the shadows. He moved with a confident stride, his team following closely.
After what felt like an eternity of winding tunnels, they arrived before a heavy, iron-bound door, intricately carved with arcane symbols that pulsed with a faint, residual energy. It was undoubtedly Master Alric's laboratory.
"He's reclusive for a reason," Elara whispered, attempting to force the door open, but it held firm. "Sealed by magic."
Kaelen stepped forward, examining the intricate carvings. His strategic mind, which had solved battlefield puzzles, now sought patterns in ancient runes. He felt a connection, not to the magic itself, but to the logic behind it. He pressed his palm against a central symbol, focusing his will. A soft hum resonated through the stone, and with a low groan, the massive door swung inward, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond.
The laboratory was a chaotic wonderland. Glass vials bubbled with strange, colorful liquids, ancient tomes lay open on cluttered tables, and the air was thick with the scent of herbs, ozone, and something metallic. In the center of the room, hunched over a workbench, was an elderly man with a wild shock of white hair and spectacles perched on the end of his nose. This was Master Alric.
He didn't look up as they entered, muttering to himself. "Yes, yes, a pinch of powdered dragon scale, a dash of midnight bloom… almost perfect…"
"Master Alric," Kaelen announced, his voice firm but respectful.
The old alchemist started, nearly toppling a precarious stack of scrolls. He blinked, his eyes, magnified by his spectacles, widening as he saw the armed soldiers. "Good heavens! Intruders! Have the Orcs finally breached the lower levels? My formulas! My life's work!" He clutched a scroll to his chest, looking like a startled owl.
"No, Master Alric," Kaelen reassured him, stepping forward calmly. "We are here on Captain Theron's orders. A Wargolem, a construct of dark magic, is attacking the fortress. Colonel Elias believes only your dampening rune can stop it."
Alric scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "A Wargolem? Nonsense! My current research is far more pressing. The theory of… inter-dimensional yeast fermentation! Crucial work, young man, crucial!"
Kaelen knew immediate persuasion wouldn't work. The old alchemist was brilliant but detached. He needed to make Alric understand the sheer scale of the threat, and the unique value of his contribution.
"Master Alric," Kaelen began, his voice taking on a gravitas that belied his apparent youth, "if the Wargolem breaks through, Karshelm Fortress falls. And with it, your laboratory, your research, and all your 'inter-dimensional yeast' will be lost forever. We need your genius. Now." He spoke with an unyielding conviction that cut through Alric's eccentricities.
Alric paused, the implication finally sinking in. He looked from Kaelen to his grim-faced soldiers, then to the faint vibrations that hummed through the ancient stone – the distant, heavy thud of the Wargolem. A flicker of fear, mixed with intellectual curiosity, crossed his face. "A Wargolem, you say? Hmm. Such constructs are rare. And their arcane cores are notoriously resilient. Yes, yes, a challenge indeed." He adjusted his spectacles, a flicker of his brilliance returning. "The dampening rune… yes, I have the components, though its activation requires precise application and a strong conduit."
This was his moment. Kaelen stepped closer, his last duplication token burning in his mental pocket. He observed Alric, the intricate network of knowledge, the years of arcane study. This was not just a soldier, but a living library of forbidden lore.
"Master Alric," Kaelen said, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone, "you are the only one who can forge this rune. We need you on the wall, leading this critical effort. I will ensure your safety, and the security of your knowledge."
[Replicate Master Alric? This will consume 1 Duplication Token.]
Confirm.
As Kaelen focused his intent, a soft, golden light enveloped the elderly alchemist, so subtle and brief that the other soldiers, preoccupied with securing the lab entrance, didn't notice. For a fleeting instant, the air in the chamber crackled with raw energy. Then, beside the original Alric, stood another, identical Master Alric, his eyes, though still magnified by spectacles, now possessing an unnerving, absolute loyalty to Kaelen.
Original Alric blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Good heavens, did a flask just explode? I saw… a shimmer." He looked around, bewildered. Then his gaze fell upon his duplicate. His jaw dropped. "Impossible! My… my exact likeness! Are you a reflection spell gone awry? Or perhaps… a very advanced illusion?" His scientific mind grappled with the impossible.
Kaelen stepped between them, his smile radiating calm assurance. "Master Alric, this is a… prodigy. A student, with an uncanny resemblance, eager to learn from the greatest alchemist in Karshelm. He has arrived to assist you with the Wargolem." He gestured to the Replicated Alric, who stood silently, his loyalty a palpable force. "He will be your shadow, your extra set of hands and eyes, ensuring the rune is applied perfectly."
Alric, though still perplexed, looked at his double with a mixture of scientific fascination and grudging acceptance. The dire threat of the Wargolem overshadowed the bizarre anomaly. "A student, you say? Hmm. Perhaps. Very well, 'student.' Don't touch anything until I tell you to!" he grumbled, already gathering his components.
With the crucial replication complete, Kaelen quickly organized their ascent. The distant tremors of the Wargolem were growing stronger, vibrating through the fortress's very foundations.
They emerged onto the battlements near the main gate to a scene of desperate chaos. Ballistas thudded uselessly against the approaching monstrous figure, a towering construct of jagged rock and pulsating dark energy. It moved with an unstoppable momentum, each heavy footfall shaking the ground, shedding chunks of stone as it shrugged off volleys of arrows.
"It's here!" Captain Theron bellowed, his voice strained. "Launch the reserves! Hold the line!"
Kaelen's mind went into overdrive. He deployed his team. Replicated Sergeant Rhys immediately took command of a section of archers, directing their fire to weak points Kaelen subtly indicated. Replicated Private Finn positioned himself near the main gate, ready to relay Kaelen's commands and spot weaknesses in the Wargolem's armor. Kaelen placed Joric and Elara strategically to provide cover.
"Master Alric, your 'student' here will provide the primary conduit," Kaelen instructed. "We need to get close, to its core." He pointed to the Wargolem's chest, where a faint, dark glow pulsed.
Replicated Master Alric, with the original Alric muttering instructions beside him, began to prepare the dampening rune. The duplicate moved with a chilling efficiency, his hands steady as he mixed volatile compounds, the knowledge flowing from the original Alric's frustrated instructions and his own replicated intellect.
Kaelen led the charge towards the main gate. They used the chaos as cover, Kaelen directing his men with precise, economical gestures. He moved with a chilling calm, a man utterly in his element. The Wargolem was a spectacle of raw power, but Kaelen saw only its vulnerabilities, its predictable lumbering movements.
"Now, Master Alric!" Kaelen shouted, indicating a brief lull in the Wargolem's assault as it smashed aside a section of the wall.
Replicated Alric, with the original Alric guiding him with sharp, rapid-fire commands, charged forward. He moved with a surprising agility for an old man, driven by Kaelen's silent, unyielding will. With a final, explosive surge, the dampening rune was hurled, sticking to the Wargolem's chest.
A searing, blinding light erupted from the rune. The Wargolem shuddered, a guttural groan ripping through the air. The dark energy within its core flickered, then dimmed. Cracks spiderwebbed across its rocky hide, and with a final, earth-shattering tremor, the massive construct crumbled, collapsing into a mountain of inert stone and dust.
A stunned silence fell over the battlefield, quickly replaced by a roar of triumph from the fortress defenders. They had won. The Wargolem was defeated.
Captain Theron rushed to Kaelen, his face a mix of exhaustion and profound relief. "Kaelen! You did it! By the Gods, you saved us! Your strategy, your courage… it was unparalleled!" He clapped Kaelen on the shoulder, a genuine, powerful gesture. "You are more than just a skilled soldier, lad. You're a leader. From this day forward, consider yourself promoted to Lieutenant Kaelen. And you will have command of the Northern Watch, a strategic position. We need your mind there."
Kaelen accepted the promotion with a respectful nod, his heart swelling with a quiet satisfaction. Lieutenant. Command of the Northern Watch. More territory, more resources, more men to observe. His influence was solidifying.
He glanced at Master Alric, who was now excitedly explaining the intricacies of the dampening rune to his baffled "student," completely oblivious to the nature of his duplicate. Kaelen felt a deep sense of power. He now had a loyal scout, a loyal sergeant, and a loyal alchemist—a specialist who could unlock arcane secrets. His initial core was complete.
The war raged on, but within Karshelm Fortress, a different kind of power was quietly blooming. Lieutenant Kaelen, the man with no past, was building his future, one loyal duplicate at a time. The Northern Watch, a crucial but isolated post, would be his next proving ground. And in its shadow, he would begin to truly cultivate his Legion, expanding his influence not just over the battlefield, but over the very fate of Karshelm itself. He knew exactly what kind of mission he would seek next. Something to gain more tokens, and perhaps, a soldier with political influence.