The howling blizzard of the Frost-Grip Spires battered the iron-reinforced hull of the experimental supply wagon, but inside the cavernous mouth of the Class-S dungeon, the air was dead silent—right up until the moment the slaughter began.
"Form the perimeter! Vanguard formation three!" Leo's voice rang out through the crystalline cavern, amplified by the silver-alloy gauntlets of his midnight-black combat tunic. He didn't look like an underclassman anymore; he moved with the grim, calculated precision Cassian had beaten into him during their midnight training sessions.
"Suppress the flanks! Don't let the frost-beasts gather their mana to recover!"
Forty junior prodigies moved as a single, lethal entity just like Cassian had taught them. The Crimson Vanguard operated like a modern corporate security unit, systematically dissecting waves of high-tier ice-gargoyles and crystalline drakes. Whenever a beast attempted to cast a wide-area freezing spell, a synchronized volley of compressed fire-magic from the rear line shattered the casting circle before it could form.
Cassian watched the live-fire exercise from a raised frozen ledge, his arms crossed over his chest, his gray silk cloak blowing faintly in the cavern's draft.
"They are moving faster than they did on Tuesday,"
Lucien observed, stepping up exactly three paces behind Cassian's left shoulder. His ice-blue eyes scanned the battlefield with the critical gaze of a Knight Commander. "Their spatial awareness has improved. They no longer waste movement trying to look heroic. They kill efficiently."
"They have to," Cassian drawled, his crimson eyes tracking Leo as the boy cleanly decapitated a frost-drake.
"Heroism is a luxury for the dead. Efficiency is what keeps my investments profitable. What about the barbarian?"
From the bottom of the cavern, a thunderous, ferally delighted roar answered him. Thoris was currently living up to his title as a hound of the vanguards, ripping through the dungeon's alpha monsters with pure, unadulterated brutality. His jagged greatsword hummed with tundra-mana, shattering giant ice-golems into harmless snowballs. He wasn't just clearing the path; he was actively showing off, glancing up at Cassian's ledge every three seconds to ensure his "promised groom" was watching the spectacle.
"He is an undisciplined animal,"
Lucien deadpanned, his gloved hand twitching on his holy broadsword.
"He leaves his rear entirely exposed."
"And yet, you are covering his rear anyway," Cassian noted smoothly, a faint, mocking smile touching his lips.
Lucien stiffened, his jaw tightening.
"Only because his demise would cause a diplomatic delay that would disrupt Your Highness's schedule. Nothing more."
"Naturally," Cassian murmured, thoroughly enjoying the flawless execution of his strategy.
'Let them compete; it only makes the perimeter safer.'
Down in the deepest chamber of the ruins, beneath the frozen bones of ancient, prehistoric beasts, the Crimson Vanguard finally hit their primary objective. Surrounded by a decaying containment field of First Age magic sat a pulsating, geometrically impossible sphere of pure celestial mana.
"Lord Cassian!"
Honda called out, stepping back from the containment console as she carefully recorded the magical frequencies in her ledger.
"The energy readings are stable. It matches the ancient archives perfectly."
Leo approached the altar, using his insulated silver-alloy gauntlets to slowly, reverently lift the pulsing sphere. The moment his fingers closed around it, a shockwave of golden, starlit mana rippled across the cavern, melting the surrounding permafrost in a five-meter radius.
"We found it,"
Leo breathed, turning back to face the ledge with absolute, fierce loyalty in his eyes.
"The Core Artifact of the Cosmos."
Cassian descended the stone steps, his white gloves pristine as he took the golden sphere from Leo's hands. He felt the immense, raw dimensional energy humming against his palms. It was a massive victory—but his internal thoughts immediately began calculating the remaining deficit. This was the foundation, but it was still far from over. There were three more core artifacts missing across the continent before he could completely rebuild the dimensional array.
"Excellent work, Leo, Honda and the brave Vanguard"
Cassian said, his voice calm but commanding.
"Secure the artifact in the lead-lined vault. Elias, prepare the extraction protocols."
"By your command, My Prince," Elias replied with a crisp bow.
The acquisition of the Core of the Cosmos was only half of Cassian's true agenda for the northern expedition. While the Crimson Vanguard was safely concluding the dungeon extraction under Thoris's chaotic supervision, Cassian had a much more delicate, highly illegal corporate heist to perform.
*****
An hour later, disguised by a high-tier dark-element stealth glamour, Cassian seamlessly infiltrated the heavily fortified Northern Border Military Headquarters.
To a former syndicate boss, imperial security was a joke of bureaucratic predictable patterns, unoptimized guard shifts, and lazy patrols.
He slipped into the Master Archivist's private sanctuary like a passing shadow. The room was choked with the smell of old parchment and enchanted ink. Operating with absolute, silent speed, Cassian approached the central secure vault, his white-gloved fingers dancing across the intricate runic locks with practiced ease.
*Click. Click. Whir.*
The vault hissed open. Cassian reached inside and pulled out a heavy, iron-bound ledger containing the restricted imperial mapping surveys of the northern hemisphere. He flipped through the pages until his eyes locked onto a hidden, encrypted section of long-range magical frequencies.
There they were.
'The missing dimensional rift coordinates.'
These specific coordinates were the exact data points that had been corrupted and missing from the dimensional artifact he kept hidden back at his Academy residence. Without them, the Core of the Cosmos was just an expensive paperweight. With them, he now had the exact star-map of the continent's unstable spatial tears.
Cassian pulled a blank piece of enchanted parchment from his coat, pressed his palm against the ledger, and used a minor sensory-copy spell to mirror the coordinates onto his own page. Within ten seconds, the ink transferred flawlessly. He closed the imperial ledger, reset the runic locks to their exact original positions, and vanished from the headquarters before the guards outside even finished their breath.
By the time the armored supply wagon began its smooth, enchanted journey back toward the Edrath Academy, the atmosphere inside the command cabin was entirely different.
The expedition had been a flawless, roaring success. The Crimson Vanguard sat in the secondary bunks, exhausted but buzzing with the intoxicating high of a successful Class-S raid. They had survived, they had grown stronger, and most importantly, they had secured a legendary artifact for their prince.
Lucien stood near the map table, unrolling an official, heavy parchment stamped with the silver crest of the Imperial Vanguard. He dipped a quill into black ink, his expression rigid but entirely respectful as he began drafting his official military report.
"The underclassmen militia performed above standard,"
Lucien spoke aloud, his freezing baritone carrying a rare note of genuine, professional acknowledgment as he wrote.
"They maintained tactical cohesion under extreme environmental stress, successfully neutralized multiple Class-S threats without a single casualty, and successfully recovered a classified First Age relic. I, Sir Lucien Arden, Knight Commander of the Vanguard, sign my name as an official eye-witness to their merit."
Thoris let out a low, satisfied chuckle from his corner, his fingers idly tracing the jagged edge of his greatsword.
"See? Even the silver lapdog has to admit your little birds have teeth, Cassian. They fought well. Almost as well as a northern warrior."
Cassian sat back against the velvet cushions, his hand safely resting over the coat pocket where the copied dimensional coordinates and the Core of the Cosmos were stored. His crimson eyes looked out the window as the northern spires faded into the distance, a dark, thoroughly satisfied smile playing on his lips.
The underclassmen had gained massive institutional merit. The hounds were perfectly trained as well. And the coordinates were secured. The pieces of his grand corporate chessboard were finally moving exactly where he wanted them—and next week's Academy Championship was about to become an absolute slaughter.
'I will make sure of it.'
"Now shall we go back to celebrate our successful expendition alongside my brother's birthday huh?, I'm certain he'd be happy to have us around."
*****