CHAPTER 186: REFORGED IN SHADOW

The subterranean armory beneath the Black Granite Citadel rang with the deafening, rhythmic thud of steam hammers and the roar of the arachne weaversmiths' forges. Smoke smelling of molten iron and burnt sulfur drifted through the wide vaulted halls, where hundreds of dark elf craftsmen and arachne weaversmiths worked alongside heavy-bodied spider constructs.

Old Bones stood atop a high metal gantry, his hollow eyes surveying the massive assembly floor below.

Before him stood the full strength of Caius's expanding military machine, the Obsidian Legion, now completely restored to its full capacity of thirteen thousand heavy infantry and vanguard troops. The previous brutal engagement had reduced their numbers down to eight thousand, but from the surviving orcs, five thousand of the strongest warriors had been inducted, marked with binding runes, and integrated directly into the legion. Another five thousand orcs remained secured in the subterranean reserves. Standing alongside the heavy infantry were the agile, deadly shadowblades of the Quick Reaction Legion, numbering five thousand strong.

Until now, the fresh recruits and older ranks had fought in mismatched, salvaged iron plates and heavy hides, while the dark elf striking forces relied on thin leather and light mithril. But the spoils of the Solarian host had changed everything.

"Bring out the reforged plate!" Old Bones's raspy voice bellowed over the metallic din, amplified by the subterranean chamber acoustics.

Down on the assembly floor, dozens of heavy Arachne carriers lugged massive iron racks lined with newly retrofitted armor. The brilliant, sun-gilded filigree of the Solarian Sentinels had been thoroughly stripped away, melted down, or painted over in matte, light-absorbing obsidian enamel. High elven runes of light had been scraped clean and replaced with dark kinetic wards and Arachne chitin reinforcing seals.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

A towering vanguard commander stepped forward, rolling his heavy shoulders as four dark elf armorers strapped a massive breastplate onto his chest. What was once the shining plate of a high elven officer had been widened, reinforced with dark steel plates, and fitted to accommodate the heavy frame of the veteran soldier.

The commander flexed his arms, testing the weight. The enchanted plate, originally designed to grant the high elves rapid maneuverability, now made the massive line of troops move with terrifying, fluid speed.

"The light-affinity enchantments have been inverted," Old Bones called down, leaning over the brass railing. "The weaversmith has bound dark-mana matrices into the steel. When you march, the armor dampens your footsteps and absorbs physical kinetic shock. You are the newly completed Obsidian Legion!"

Beside the heavy infantry, the dark elves of the Quick Reaction Legion were receiving their upgraded armaments.

Rather than heavy plate, the shadowblades were equipped with light, blackened chainmail woven directly into spider-silk undersuits. Their former weapons were swapped for captured high elven composite recurve bows, strung with manticore sinew and capable of punching through heavy steel at three hundred paces, alongside dual-bladed broadswords infused with high-density wind and dark crystals.

Old Bones stepped down from the gantry, his clawed hand resting on a stack of unsealed crates filled with four hundred and fifty white-wood spell-caster staves.

"The human kingdom brought raw numbers, and the high elves brought perfection," Old Bones sneered softly, looking over the thirteen thousand fully armored, silent troops standing in perfect formation. "Our Sovereign took both, stripped away their pride, and forged them into a force that will tear down their borders."

A dark elf captain stepped out of formation, bowing low before Old Bones. "Lord Old Bones, the legions are fully retrofitted, filled to capacity, and armed. The supply wagons have been restocked with captured rations and alchemical salves. What are our orders?"

Old Bones turned his gaze toward the grand stone staircase leading up to the Citadel's high battlements, where Caius's presence loomed like an unyielding shadow over the entire valley.

"Form up by legions," Old Bones commanded, his eyes gleaming with cold anticipation. "The Sovereign moves first to subjugate the human Duchy of Alban. Today, the steel of their fallen allies’ marches to claim their lands."