The color of the runes is pale gold, slowly circulating in the dim space, each flicker accompanied by a slight spatial fluctuation, like something repeatedly confirming whether the coordinates here are safe.
There are no windows around the hall, only a heavy metal door, also engraved with runes, with several fist-sized crystal stones embedded at the edges. The stones rotate slowly, emitting a pale blue light.
This is the safe house for the teleportation array. Every teleportation array leading to the Wizard Plane is built in such reinforced underground rooms.
Not just to protect the safety of the users, but to protect the teleportation array itself.
If the enemy somehow reverse-tracks the coordinates of the teleportation array, the multiple defenses of this room will immediately sever the connection between the teleportation array and the Wizard Plane and instantly trigger the self-destruct of the magic array, leaving no usable information for the enemy.
In the hall, a few staff wearing council uniforms are either recording data, checking the operation of runes, or transporting materials.
They glanced at Duke and his companions but didn’t greet them, continuing their own work.
There are hundreds to thousands of wizards transported here every day; they are already used to it.
A staff member walked over, verified Duke’s and his companions’ identity information, then pointed to the metal door.
"Go up, someone will take you to the camp above." He said and turned around.
Duke and the others pushed the door open, revealing a stone staircase going up, with eternal lamps embedded on the walls on both sides of the stairs, casting a dim light.
He walked up the stairs, the sound of footsteps echoing in the narrow space. After about a hundred steps, a half-open wooden door appeared ahead.
Opening the door, the light suddenly brightened, and hot air rushed forward.
The camp was built on the ground and was much larger than Duke had anticipated.
The tents were not ordinary ones; they were made of special fireproof materials, with runes printed on the gray-white canvas, showing no deformation in the high temperature.
The layout of the camp was as orderly as a chessboard, with straight paths dividing the camp into dozens of equally sized areas, each with its own function—some were barracks, some warehouses, some medical tents, and others command posts.
Outside the camp was a pale blue energy barrier, isolating the high temperature from the outside, with stone towers every few dozen meters along the barrier, guarded by wizards.
In the distance, several giant Furnace Castle outlines could be seen.
They stood on the horizon like colossal sculptures cast at random—distorted, grotesque, and filled with a sense of power.
Some fortresses were still spewing smoke, with black smoke rolling in the air, staining the sky dark gray; these were cities of the Fire Spirit that had been captured.
The camp was very busy, with wizards in various magic robes hurrying about, some transporting materials, some checking equipment, others gathering to speak in low voices.
Slave creatures passed through the camp in groups, escorted towards the front line.
They varied in shape, some humanoid, some beast-like, some covered entirely in scale armor, and others with multiple arms.
Most of their eyes were vacant—not exhausted, but rather their will had been worn away by contracts, leaving only obedience.
Occasionally, a wizard would ride a flying mount across the sky above the camp, stirring a whirlwind, causing the tents to flap loudly.
In the distance, flashes from magic explosions erupted at the front line, the muffled sounds repeating every few breaths, and the earth subtly trembled.
A young wizard in a dark blue uniform approached, a badge from the staff department pinned on his chest, his appearance ordinary, eyes not particularly kind but at least without malice.
He confirmed Duke’s and his companions’ identities, then led them through the camp, heading to the command post.
"The legion commander wants to see you." He said while walking briskly. "This is routine; the legion commander remembers each of his subordinates."
The command post was at the center of the camp, a three-story stone building larger and more robust than the surrounding tents, with runes engraved on its outer walls.
The young wizard stopped at the door, gesturing for them to enter by themselves.
The first floor was a spacious hall with several long tables joined together, covered with maps and documents.
A few staff officers were gathered around the table, discussing in low voices. Seeing Duke and his companions enter, they glanced up, then continued their discussion.
At the hall’s end was a spiral staircase, which Duke ascended to the third floor.
The door on the third floor was half-open, light streaming through the door gap, Duke knocked on the door.
"Come in." The voice was low, carrying a metallic cold quality.
Duke pushed the door open; the room was small, arranged simply with a desk, a chair, and one wall hung with a military map of Ashfire Continent.
The map was densely marked with the positions of the battle lines, enemy deployments, and allied strongholds.
Ares sat behind the desk, not looking at the map or the documents, his hands crossed resting on the desk, gaze fixed on the doorway.
His features were sharply defined, as if carved by a knife, his skin a bronze hue, his hair gray-white and cut very short.
Ares wore a dark gray military outfit, without any insignia, but the aura he emanated needed no badge to prove it.
Level 4 Knight, a Level 4 Life with condensed Divine Status.
Ares’ eyes were light gray, gaze calm, yet Duke could feel the pressure, not intentionally released, but simply existing.
Like a massive stone standing before you, you could avoid looking at him, but you couldn’t ignore his presence.
"You are assigned to the Twenty-Third Battle Group, the group leader is Rex, a Level 3 Mage, East Coast People." He paused, "Any thoughts?"
Naturally, Duke and his companions had no objections, expressing their acceptance of the arrangement.
Ares nodded.
"That’s it, Rex is waiting for you outside." He lowered his head, returning his gaze to the documents on the desk, paying them no further attention.
Duke had heard of Ares before; he had appeared in the Elf Plane during his time there, though Duke had not seen him personally.
However, during his escape in the underground tunnels, he had felt Ares’s terrifying aura and despair-inducing pressure.
The Seville Empire seemed to have contributed significantly to this operation, but Raphael was originally a member of the Wizard Council, so his affiliated force presence here was normal.
After Duke and his companions saluted, they turned to leave the room.
A tall figure stood at the entrance to the second floor, wearing a deep blue military uniform, a battle group leader badge pinned on his chest, his physique large and square, skin dark like it had been scorched by the sun for years.
His hair was cut extremely short, nearly bald, brows thick, eyes small but shining brightly.
This was Rex.
He looked at Duke and his companions briefly, without exchanging pleasantries or introducing himself, just nodded and then turned to walk downstairs.
"Follow me."
The group followed behind him, passing through the command post, through the central path of the camp, to a region in the southeast corner.
The tents here were smaller than in the central area but more numerous, arranged more densely.
There were stacks of supply crates and weapon racks beside the pathways between the tents. Occasionally, wizards passing by would slightly move aside upon seeing Rex.
Rex stopped in front of a tent, pointing to that tent and several others beside it.
"You live here, collect materials from the warehouse, tasks are published at the battle group department entrance every morning. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be assigned specific tasks."
He looked at Duke and his companions.
"I’ve reviewed your files, new promising young mages of the Six-Ring Tower. But here is a battlefield not an exam hall. Survival here is what you should prioritize."
After speaking, he turned and left, quickly walking away, the sound of footsteps soon vanishing at the end of the pathway.
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