“Keep moving! We don’t want to linger here! Move people, move!” the soldier shouted over his shoulder.

The soldier was a young gnoll, barely into his adult years. His armor was loose fitting, and his fur was matted with dried blood from the earlier fights with the Marquis forces. He was armed with a shortsword and a lantern and trying his best to be the bravest one in the group.

Behind him, followed Professor Rechts, the artificary and engineering students, a cluster of minor nobles, and the Automata maid, Priss. Commander Rook only spared the single soldier to guide the civilian group out of the palace through the secret exit. Not that I didn’t have faith in the single young soldier to see them safely back to the AutoForge, but the minibot team would at least provide them with some extra eyes.

I regretted not sending Cyclone with them but I wanted them to move quickly and quietly and Cyc simply wasn’t built for that. Stealth aside, he was too big to squeeze through the escape tunnel. The largest students, a minotauress named Calesta and a draken named Heilong’er, were both around the seven foot mark but they were, at least, squishy in places. Though, the draken’s wings did make it hard for her in the cramped space. There was also a viscount troll that was approaching spherical in shape, who was clearly having a terrible time but I assumed it beat staying in the dungeon.

KickBack rode the gnoll’s shoulder, keeping a watchful eye out for anything that could be lurking up ahead in the absolute darkness. Shrapnel had hitched a ride on the back of Zooty, a bipedal corgi doggess that had reverted to walking on all fours through the tunnel. BombShell took the rear watch with Priss to guard against anything coming behind them.

Since the Automata could see perfectly fine in the dark with their infrared and ultraviolet overlays, they were fine. Unfortunately for the others, the only light in the narrow tunnel came from the Gnoll’s lantern. Once they had gotten through the tiny entrance, the tunnel had opened up a bit to allow most folk to walk by twos. Several times, the tunnel would split in different directions and the soldier would have to pull out a crude map and directions given to him by Rook.

The passageway seemed to terminate in a large, open room, lined with shelves cut into the rock wall. Each shelf had the remains of some long dead person, wrapped in dusty cloth. In the middle of the room were three stone sarcophagi. Each one had relief carvings depicting the life and adventures of, KickBack assumed, the occupant.

“Well? What now boy?” the Viscount demanded.

“Uh... one second my Lord... Let me check the Commander’s notes...” the soldier mumbled, setting the lantern onto a tomb and pulling out the hastily scrawled map. “Um... this can’t be right... did we take a wrong turn?”

“Let me see that!” the troll barked, snatching at the paper. “Take the stairs down,” he read. “What stairs? There’s no stairs here, you’ve clearly led us in the wrong direction you idiot!”

The Viscount snorted in derision and grabbed the lantern off the tomb of an ancient queen and headed back into the tunnels.

“I’ll get us out of here,” he announced. “I’m the most important person here, and therefore the smartest. We’ll be out of this horrible maze in no time!”

“My Lord, this is where Commander Rook's map leads us, I’m sure of it!” The soldier tried to convince the troll, but to no avail.

The troll ignored the soldier and marched on, taking the light with him. The nobles gave the soldier looks of disgust and pity, before following after their leader. The soldier looked conflicted between sticking to his convictions and following after the nobles.

Professor Rechts put a hand on the young gnoll’s shoulder.

“They have the smartest and most important person in the group, right? They’ll be fine lad. I think this is the right way too. They’ll be back.”

“Professor! The light!” Nur, a human girl, warned, as the light bearing troll slipped further into the tunnels.

“Ah. Right...” the Professor mumbled, tapping his sharp dinosaur teeth with a claw.

Shrapnel hopped off of Zooty’s back and converted into beetle mode. His wing covers snapped open and he took to the air, the drone of his wings beating sounding like the distant growl of a heavy touring motorcycle.

“Gaah! Whatisthat??” Nur shrieked as Shrapnel flew past her in the dark.

Her scream, triggered the screams of several other students as well, some even started crying about the dark or yelling that they should have followed after the nobles; at least then they’d have some light.

“It’s fine, it’s fine... don’t worry,” a voice called out in the inky blackness. “I can see some torches mounted on the walls, we just need to light them.”

“Not all of us can see in the dark, Meleek!” another voice barked back.

“[Oxygen and light, gather unto me your spark, ignite my passion],” Heilong’er chanted. “[Fire Orb].”

A baseball sized ball of fire lit in the palm of the drakeness, expelling the darkness and casting flickering shadows on the walls.

“Hey, Long’er, can’t you breathe fire? Why bother with the spell?” a pink haired elf, named Gary, teased.

She gave him a withering look.

“Of course, but I can’t exactly sustain it for long, can I?” she snapped.

“Now now,” Nur soothed, stroking Long’er’s glistening black scales, “at least we can see each other again. Should I cast [Flare] too?”

“No need, child,” Rechts said dismissively. “I don’t know about you but I don’t plan on staying in this tomb. Once you cast [Flare], it goes up and stays there. We need something we can take with us.”

“Ah. Of course, sorry Professor,” Nur said, sheepishly.

Shrapnel converted back to bot mode, clinging to one of the wall mounted torches and lit it with his welding attachment.

“There we are, that’s what we need. Heilong’er, if you would be so kind as to light the others,” the Professor coaxed.

Long’er snuffed the fireball in her fist and thudded around the room, spitting little globs of fire onto the remaining torches to light them. The students grabbed the torches and Shrapnel returned to Zooty’s back. He didn’t know how she felt about being his mount, but she wasn’t complaining about it.

“Yeah? So? Where do we go now?” a mantid girl named Trish huffed.

Trish folded her exoskeletal mid arms and leaned back against the wall, looking annoyed. Her upper set of arms lacked hands and had the mantid trademark toothed blades instead. Mostly, she kept them out of the way but they always looked like they were on a hair trigger and ready to lash out at prey.

“Hmm...” the Professor pondered, tapping a tooth again. “You there, soldier.”

“Me? Um, Roger. Private First Class Roger of the Interior Division, 4th platoon,” Private Roger said, pointing at himself.

“Yes, Roger. The notes that Commander Rook gave you, from this room it said to go down stairs, yes?”

“That’s right sir, I’m sure of it. Though maybe the Commander wrote it down wrong.”

“I’m not so sure of that. Alright class, tell me: Who is entombed here?”

Those with torches moved over to the three sarcophagi arranged in the center of the round room as the others crowded around them. The students bickered and debated who might be buried in each one, based on the glyphs and imagery that had been carved into them. The debate really heated up when Long’er started spitting flames as she passionately explained exactly what each relief carving symbolized and why others were so clearly wrong.

If dragons were known for hoarding treasures, I supposed that this “dragon girl” was a hoarder of trivia and knowledge. She was basically a walking wikipedia and never hesitated to flex it. Granted, what was the point in hoarding a treasure if no one knew about it. If only she wore glasses that she could push up with a single finger to reflect the light, she’d fit the archetype for the classic know-it-all. Well, aside from the dragon bits and her refusal to wear the school uniform, settling on a string bikini under her academy robe, that is... and general delinquent-like behavior.

Eventually the kids settled on the enshrined remains belonging to the first Demon Lord, or ruler of Fangwell before it was an empire; her king or consort; and a soldier.

“The first rulers I can understand,” Professor Rechts coaxed, “but why the soldier? It doesn’t appear to be a general or a great warrior either.”

“Oh!” Moshi, a soft and fluffy horned rabbit person, shouted, slapping a tiny fist into her palm. “The soldier is here to guard or protect something!”

“Calesta! Give me a hand with this!” Long’er said excitedly.

“What? Um, yes? Okay,” the minotauress responded, uncertainly.

The two of them, the largest and likely strongest in the class, grabbed the ends of the stone slab that covered the remains. Whatever soldier had laid to rest here was a big boy indeed. The stone was easily the size of a king sized bed and twice as thick.

They each grabbed an end of the slab, gripping the edges, trying to find purchase. The shoulders, chest, and arms of both women rippled as skin pulled taut and veins bulged. Sweet and shy Calesta huffed and snorted like a bull eyeing a flapping red cape as literal wisps of flame danced in and out of Long’er’s mouth as she breathed.

With bellow and roar, the two hefted the stone slab up enough to slide it to the side. Sweat poured off of Calesta as Long’er’s scales began to smoke. Kiyohime, a rather bookish oni, threw off his Engineer’s robe and tripled in size, his once dainty horns projected nearly a foot out and his fangs grew into tusks. His gangly teenager body ballooned like the Hulk as his muscles exploded out of the confines of his uniform shirt and pants, using his Oni [Growth] skill. He grabbed the slab, shoulder to shoulder with Calesta, adding his brawn to the task.

“[Laws of attraction, Forces that bind us down, Reject this my aim],” the blue feathered harpy, Skipaki, began chanting.

He closed his eyes and reached out a claw tip as the spell took effect, gently providing added lift to the slab.

Others began adding their muscle or spells until the massive stone was finally pushed out of the way. Instead of finding the bones of a long dead soldier, a dark passage leading down ancient stairs led into the unknown.

“Stairs! There’s nobody buried here, there’s stairs!” Meleek shouted.

“Nice job there Commander Evident, move,” Long’er said, bodily picking Meleek up with a single hand and setting him down two meters out of the way. She took a deep breath, snorting in through her nose, and spat a fireball down the passage. The ball hit the steps and bounced around leaving little flaming patches wherever it touched. The stairs wound around out of view, obstructing any means of determining how far down they went.

Long’er slumped with her back against the tomb, breathing heavily.

“Just... give me a moment’s rest,” she sighed, closing her eyes over.

“I gotta say, for a clan princess, your manners and etiquette are...” Meleek started, thoughtfully tugging at one of his facial tentacles.

“My manners and etiquette are... what?” Long’er responded, glaring at him, eyes lighting up with the promise of violence.

“Are.... exemplary? As expected of the noble dragon tribes?” Meleek tried.

“Long chan... if you plan on making some roasted squid... I’d be happy to take knife duties if I can have half,” Trish teased, putting two razor sharp, bladed appendages gently over Meleek’s shoulders.

“You couldn’t handle half of me. My flavor’s too rich for a single meeting,” Meleek chuckled, gently pushing the blades away.

“You wish! No one would want to eat you anyway, I bet you’re all gross and chewy,” Trish repulsed, pulling away.

“No need to bite my head off, it’s just a joke,” Meleek grumbled and flailed his facial tentacles indignantly.

“I have no desire whatsoever to take you as a lover, I’m too young to think about mating anyway,” the mantid said flatly.

“Eh?”

“What?”

“Is this flirting? I can’t tell anymore...” Meleek questioned, rubbing the side of his head with a tentacle.

“Idiot!” she barked and moved to find somewhere else to sulk.

Long’er laughed at the both of them, making, what Shrapnel assumed, were rude gestures given Meleek’s embarrassed and possibly angry response.

BombShell fluttered down from Priss’s shoulder and pulled a clean rag from their shared [Inventory] and held it out to Calesta. The minotaur looked exhausted, drenched in sweat, and breathing heavily as she sat on the ground leaning back against the stone slab.

“Oh, thank you miss... um... I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. You’re one of Master Prime’s helpers, right?”, Calesta said, gratefully taking the offered rag and wiping her face and neck.

BombShell nodded and gave a respectful bow.

“You’re like the other little one and can’t talk, huh?”

Again, BombShell nodded.

“Calesta all wet and shiny. Shiny muscles, pretty,” Kiyohime said, sleepily, with a dumb grin on his face as he unabashedly stared at her chest.

Calesta’s eyes grew large and threatened to bulge out of her skull. She looked down at her exposed, and sweaty cleavage before shrieking and turning away to bury her face in the rag. Kiyohime shrank back to his usual skinny, nerdy self. As he did so, his face changed from one of thoughtless satisfaction to one of abject horror.

“Oh... Oh forces that be! Calesta! I’m so sorry!!” he squealed in a panic.

Gary squatted down in front of Kiyohime and draped the former’s class robe around his shoulders.

“While I support your love and wish you success, maybe a love hotel would be a better place to compliment a young lady’s... muscles... while you’re naked,” he said in possibly mock sympathy, giving Kiyohime a wink.

Kiyohime looked down at himself and instantly curled inward trying to make himself into as small a package as possible. BombShell could just barely hear a low mumbling chant coming from the bundle along the lines of “oh gods why must I get so stupid when I get bigger please someone kill me I just want to die”.

“Okay, that’s enough of a rest, class,” the Professor said, rubbing his claws together, betraying his excitement. “Kiyo-boy, stay behind and get changed into a fresh uniform from your [Storage] pocket, the rest of you, onward to adventure!”