Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Inside the Temple of True Equilibrium, the silence was almost tangible. As soon as the light of the Plateau vanished behind the knights' backs, they were engulfed by a semi-darkness, broken only by the dim glow of moss on the walls and rare crystals embedded in the vaults. The corridor along which the detachment moved was astonishing in its scale: it was so wide that three carts could easily pass side-by-side, and the ceiling was lost in the heights, where among the shadows, one could discern the interweaving of geometric patterns.
The Temple's architecture had nothing in common with the buildings familiar to the knights. The walls were made of even blocks of dark-grey obsidian, polished to a mirror shine, along which snaked thin channels, apparently intended for conducting flows of power in antiquity. The air here was still and saturated with the smell of old dust and cold stone.
"Look at the columns," Elwin said quietly, pointing ahead.
Along the corridor stood pillars resembling twisted ropes of black stone. They didn't just support the vault, but seemed to screw into it, creating a feeling of eternal tension. On each column were carved scenes whose meaning eluded understanding—strange creatures bowing before floating spheres, and symbols resembling star charts.
Grak the Axe walked at the head of the detachment, his heavy steps echoing hollowly, disappearing deep into the halls. "Don't be distracted by the carvings," he boomed. "We're not here for history."
Suddenly, Iskon, walking ahead of everyone, sharply raised his hand, ordering a halt. His Scaling Spirit responded with a slight vibration, distorting the air around his shield.
"Ambush. Above and around the bend," he tossed out laconically.
From the darkness of the upper galleries that encircled the corridor, shadows began to rain down. These were mercenaries—a motley crew armed with short swords and crossbows. From their chaotic movements and unstable inner background, it was clear that most were Initiates, and only a few leaders had reached the Warrior rank.
"Seventh Detachment, to battle!" Grak commanded, not even slowing his pace. The commander didn't intend to intervene; for his elite fighters, this skirmish was no more than a warm-up before the real trials.
The bandits' attack was fierce but chaotic. One of the mercenary-Warriors jumped directly onto Kaedan, swinging a heavy axe. Six months ago, such a blow would have forced the young man to exert all his strength, but now the situation was different.
Kaedan didn't even raise his sword. His Unbreakable Armor materialized instantly, responding to a mental impulse. The stone pauldrons and cuirass took the axe blow. A dry ringing sound, the steel slid helplessly over the basalt surface, not even leaving a scratch. The young man felt only a slight push. His inner power was so dense that the blow of an ordinary Warrior simply found no purchase in his defense.
With a short, economical movement, Kaedan seized the attacker's arm and simply squeezed. A crunch of breaking bones was heard. As the mercenary cried out in pain, Kaedan struck a second opponent, trying to flank him, with the shield of his forearm. The blow was so powerful that the bandit flew several meters, slamming into the obsidian wall.
Liana and Elwin acted no less effectively. Liana turned into a blurred streak of light, her thin blade finding gaps in the enemies' armor before they could even raise their weapons. Three Initiate-bandits fell one after another, never understanding when death overtook them. Elwin, using his Spirit, anticipated the trajectories of crossbow bolts and simply shifted out of the line of fire, delivering precise, surgical counter-strikes.
Iskon, however, was the embodiment of cold death. He wasted no energy on blocking. His Scaling Spirit allowed him to lengthen his sword blade at the most unexpected moment for the enemy. Five attackers were dispatched by him in seconds—the young man simply passed through their formation, leaving only silence in his wake.
The entire battle took no more than a minute. The bandits, expecting easy pickings in the ancient ruins, had encountered a professional detachment whose level of training and personal energy was an order of magnitude higher. Of the forty attackers, not one remained alive.
Kaedan lowered his hand, allowing the stone parts of his Armor to dissolve. He looked at his palms, then at the enemy corpses. "They were too weak," he said, and there was no boasting in his voice, only a statement of fact.
"No," Grak the Axe responded, approaching one of the bodies. "It's not that they were weak. It's that you have become strong. Your energy over these six months has acquired a quality inaccessible to ordinary rabble. You are no longer just recruits. You are Knights of Order in full strength."
Grak pointed ahead, deeper into the corridor. "But don't relax. Those who have gone deeper will be worth a hundred of these vagrants. We need to move. I feel the air density changing ahead. We may be approaching the central hall."
The detachment reformed. Kaedan walked in the center, feeling his Vessel quickly replenish the tiny expenditures of power used for his Armor. The skirmish had only whetted his appetite. Ahead lay the darkness of the Temple and the legendary Relic, but now the young man knew for sure: the Seventh Detachment was ready to face any threat, be it men or the ancient shadows of the past.
Their path continued. The steps of the Knights of Order sounded ever more confidently under the vaults of the Temple of True Equilibrium, and in the air, the energy of this forgotten place, stagnant for centuries, vibrated ever stronger.