The differences between the first and second floor of the dungeon are numerous. One is a dense jungle while the other is an underground cave. The same comparison can be made between the third floor and the previous ones. It is vastly different from the first or second floor with its massive grasslands, ponds, mountains and forests. But still the majority of the floor consists of a seemingly endless ocean of grass. The best way one could describe the third floor would be to say it is a pocket world filled with various biomes.

However, the biggest difference between the floors is their size. The third floor is over thirty times larger than the second.

It’s so large that it would take a human about a month to travel the distance between the entrance and the exit.

It takes the average centaur less than a week.

But that is only as long as they aren't assaulted by the various monsters that roam the plains.

Monsters which are currently non-existent near the city of Tradefoot. All this is due to the army running at full gallop towards the city.

“Well, this was unexpected,” Doreson voices as he stands atop the battlements, watching the enemy army charging towards the gates. They’re wooden gates, but they still form a strong obstacle of thirty feet high.

One important piece of information that he can glean from the current situation is that the opposing army is completely lacking in any proper leadership. Charging with such a large mass of people towards a very defensible position containing over two hundred [Archers] is outright suicide. Well, normally it wouldn't be too bad of a plan considering the size of their army. [Archers] can only shoot a limited amount of arrows per minute after all.

But [Captains], and especially an [Archer Captain], can increase that number significantly.

Doreson looks to the [Archer Captain] and slowly nods. The [Archer Captain] nods back before starting to give orders.

“Nock your arrows on my signal!” he yells, causing the [Archers] to nock their bows.

“[Captains], activate your skills!” he yells again.

And then it starts, skills upon skills being activated in quick succession.

[Volley Formation], [Accuracy Stance], [Vision Formation], [Speed Draw Stance], [Grounded Formation], [Reactive Formation] and many more skills are activated by the captains, each increasing the strength of the [Archers] several fold.

But these are only [Captain] skills. Powerful, but nothing compared to what a tier two [Archer Captain] is able to use.

Doreson watches the [Archer Captain] as he draws his own bow with over twenty arrows on the string.

And then activates his skill.

“[Skill Allocation];[Arrow Barrage]”

Every [Archer] moves their hands in sync, grabbing several arrows and drawing them to their bows. All of them activate the [Archer Captains] skill, mimicking his movements.

A moment passes. The enemy army gets into range, charging towards the [Soldiers] waiting at the gates. All of them are running towards the enemy for various reasons. Glory, money, power, and many others. But they run, they charge in such a tightly compressed mob that they wouldn't even be able to stop their forward motion unless they are willing to risk being trampled to death.

Unfortunately, it was those willing to take that risk that had the highest chance of survival.

_______________________________________________

It first started with skills like [Danger Sense] or [Imminent Threat] activating, warning individuals that something was wrong. They would look around for the cause of the danger, but find nothing but other charging centaurs. Clearly, there was a threat to their life, but where or what it was remained a mystery.

At least until a shadow descended on the charging centaurs, causing all eyes to look up. Some started screaming, others activated defensive skills, but most just kept staring up, eyes wide from shock.

And then several thousand arrows struck the army at once, landing with such speed and ferocity that they rended flesh and bone.

Armor was ripped apart, centaurs fell, the screams of pain from the wounded were deafening. Those in the front of the charge fell from arrows, those behind them tripped on their fallen bodies or smashed into the ones who had abruptly stopped in their tracks. In the first ten seconds since the arrows struck, over a fifth of the charging army had instantly died. Over a thousand casualties, they died from arrow wounds and being trampled to death by their allies. About another thousand are so injured that they are no longer able to continue fighting.

But that was only in the first ten seconds. Centaurs who had escaped the first volley of arrows are still charging forwards. They find themselves tripping over the corpses and wounded bodies of those ahead of them. And even if they manage to make it past those obstacles, then the following volleys which continue to rain down from atop the wall would end their life.

After about a minute passed a horn is blown signaling the retreat, and the charging army slows down before turning around and running away.

After this initial exchange, less than half of the enemy army is still combat capable. The rest are either dead, dying, or too wounded to fight. It was a massacre. The [Soldiers] guarding the gate didn't even need to lift a hoof.

_______________________________________

Doreson looks to his veterans. None of them are cheering. They understand that they had won, but it had come at a cost. So many lives wasted, all because of one fatal mistake: they had been ignorant.

“Greta, how are the [Herdmasters] reacting?” He asks his [Watch Captain].

“They appear to be in shock. They saw what happened and seem to be unable to comprehend the situation.” Greta answers.

“Oh, it looks like they are now yelling at each other,” she quickly adds.

Doreson squints, barely even being able to see where the [Herdmasters] are, “Mhmmm, that is good. They are most likely blaming each other, which means that this war is more than likely over. At least for today.”

He looks down, finding the [Soldiers] in front of the gates standing ready, awaiting further orders.

“Greta, send a representative to the enemy. Inform them that we will not assault them if they want to retrieve their wounded.”

Greta nods before sprinting down to relay his orders.

Watching her leave down the battlements, Doreson turns and gazes at the enemy army. He primarily focuses his gaze on the colorful specks which represent the well dressed [Herdmasters].

************************************************************************

“How were they able to shoot so many arrows in so little time? This doesn't make sense, do they have that many upgraded classes?” Gordon, the rather cocky and boastful [Herdmaster] states out loud towards the group.

A group which now consists of twelve [Herdmasters] who represent a much diminished army. Eight [Herdmasters] have left the coalition, stating that this battle is too costly. A sentiment which most others can’t help but agree with.. Luckily, the ones that left were also those whose soldiers had been in the front of the first charge.

“Indeed, such power, were we that unprepared? Are they really that strong?” Ferran adds his own voice to the circle of [Herdmasters], “Was it a mistake to hold back our elites then?”

Immediately, the [Herdmasters] start to bicker among themselves again. Yelling, talking over each other.

“Silence!”

Like a impending storm, a [Herdmaster], one of the initial three which had spoken to the enemy leaders, yells aloud, his voice traveling with intent and skill.

An [Herdmaster] exceeding level ninety. A centaur by the name of Heliotrope.

All the other [Herdmasters] have gone silent, none say a word or make a noise.

“It is clear that we have made a grave mistake with our assumption that numbers alone will be enough to win us this war,” Heliotrope states aloud.

“No shit!” Gordon grumbles. “We had our hoofs handed to us with ease and we don't even know why.”

Heliotrope nods before raising his hand and gesturing towards a centaur which had been waiting outside the circle. The centaur trudges closer, towards the central bonfire. A young centaur of what seems like he belongs to a minor herd considering the emblem he wears on his side.

“This is Arron, a child of a veteran who had fought during the Herd Wars.” Heliotrope introduces to the [Herdmasters], each eyeing the young man confused. It is clear that the young man doesn't belong to any of the [Herdmasters] present.

“Arron, please tell them what you told me. They need to hear this.”

Arron looks at the Herdmasters, each staring at him, analyzing. He gulps.

“M-my dad was a [Tactician] directly under [General] Cornelius. He explained a lot of things to me about armies and classes… and war.” Arron says, gulping again at the glare he is getting from some of the [Herdmasters].

“So what! You think you fucking know why we lost?” Gordon voices loudly and quite angrily. So very bitter about his defeat. Granted, he had put a great many of his own herd in the front charge, hoping for them to earn him glory. All of them are dead now. He will have hell to pay when he returns home.

“Come now Gordon, if the young man has an explanation, we should hear him out,” Ferran states soundly. As one of the three largest and most powerful herds, he has a huge say in what goes and what doesn't.

Gordon snorts but stays silent.

“Arron, continue please,” Ferran says with a smile and nod while activating his skill [Soothing Voice] which quickly relaxes the gathering, to an extent. But more so for the nervous young man.

“Well, um, what makes an army different than a large armed group is rank organization and classes which enforce it,” Arron says, finding that the [Herdmasters] staring at him are confused. The kid continues after finding that all are keeping silent.

“I-I will start from the beginning.” Arron stutters and takes a deep breath, wishing he had his father's scrolls on hand. It would have been so much easier to just read it out loud.

“The class ranking in an army are [Soldiers] and [Archers], [Lieutenants], [Captains], and then finally [General]. There are unique classes filled in like [Spearsoldier] or [Swordsoldier] but those are just specialized [Soldiers]. What really matters are the other classes.” Arron explains, starting to relax as he continues to talk.

“The class of [Lieutenants] can only be obtained by a [Soldier] which is at least level twenty and is in charge of at least a group of ten. They will then obtain skills which increase their capability and the ability of about ten people. The [Captain] class, on the other hoof, is formed by having a [Lieutenant] be in charge of over a hundred people and be at least level fifty.”

“And [General]?” one of the usually silent [Herdmasters] asks.

“We don't know. Only Cornelius obtained the [General] Class. So we aren't sure what the requirements are. But he was able to use skills which affected the entire army unlike a [Captain] which can affect a couple hundred at most.”

Gordon grumbles, “So kid, I know about military classes, but you still haven't explained how an army five times their size was so badly taken down.”

Arron blushes and scratches the side of his left horn, “Well, I am a level 37 [Tactician] and one of the skills I have is [Detect Skill]. It lets me feel when skills are activated, and if they are large enough, I can even pinpoint their source.”

“And, um, I sensed over sixty skills activated right before the arrows were released.”

“Sixty?”

“That's madness-”

“And the skill's effect over a hundred-”

“This can't be-”

“Why would the-”

Like a faucet had been opened, every [Herdmasters] starts to speak, talking over each other. Some yelling, others panicking. It was clear that specific knowledge of the Herd Wars was lost. Information about heroes and sacrifices were remembered, but nothing of the tactics, classes, and other important details were necessarily passed down. After all, such information is only good in times of war and large scale battle. Few found history truly intriguing.

“Silence”

Again Heliotropes voice descends and silences everyone. His skill strong enough to penetrate the defenses of the other [Herdmasters]. Clearly, his levels and skills exceed the other [Herdmasters] by a sizable amount.

“Good. Now then, one thing Arron here failed to mention is that [Captain] rank skills tend to require at least a day before they can be used again. It is quite clear that they had used all if not most of their skills on that first strike.”

“So you want us to attack now? Are you mad?” Gordon voices, pointing towards the sky and the diminishing light of the crystal. The night is a dangerous time for a centaur, especially considering that if you were to trip and fall, breaking a leg is very likely.

“Gordon is correct here. Attacking now is much too dangerous, especially since there are so many bodies. Heck, our [Healers] can't even keep up with the wounded coming in. And you want to risk an attack, at night?” Ferran voices, rather upset. Already, his [Healers] are complaining to him about the sheer quantity of injured which are being taken to them. They are upset and angry, asking why he would allow so many people to die. They are asking him, and now, Ferran is not sure on how to answer them.

“Ferran, you are a good soul and only joined us to keep the number of dead and injured down. But I fear that if we wait now, then, even more, will die. We have several more [Herdmasters] leading a large force to our location to join us. They will be here within a couple of days. And I fear that the same number of wounded and dead will repeat themselves.”

“There are more? It isn't just us?” Ferran asks, wide-eyed.

Heliotrope nods, “Indeed, many [Herdmasters] are coming with their combatants to join ours. Several thousand in fact. It seems that not all [Herdmasters] are willing to wait for the [Speaker] to create a meeting.”

“I… I see,” Ferran voices, resigned. “If we must attack now to save lives, then I will agree.”

“I still don't like the fact that we have to attack at night. I fucking hate the night.” Gordon exclaims, pawing the ground in annoyance, “Can we not wait till the morning. With light?”

“There archers cant hit us that well during the night.”

All eyes quickly turn to the speaker. To Arron.

“Um, hitting a moving target during the night,especially if they aren't grouped up, is very difficult to do for the average [Archer]. We should be able to decrease losses by a significant number this way.”

Silence quickly passes as they stare at the young man. At Arran, who fidgets at there gaze.

“Fine, if we need to fucking attack now, then I will join,” Gordon exclaims, seething with annoyance and anger.”

“I will join as well.”

“Same here”

And like that, the [Herdmasters] go one by one, agreeing to the assault.

Heliotrope claps his hands together after the last [Herdmaster] has agreed.

“Then it is settled, we will be charging towards their gates within the hour. Prepare your troops, and this time do not keep your elites back. We are going to need them.” Heliotrope exclaims.

The [Herdmasters] nod and disperse to give orders to their herds. They run to there specific camp, yelling orders. Telling them to arm themselves. The usual.

Heliotrope turns and looks to Arron.

“Arron.”

The boy fidgets, scared, and then turns around, his eyes, fearfully staring at Heliotrope.

The centaur smiles.

“You did a great job there kid. It is thanks to you that so many more lives will be saved and this treachery of Dragkenoss’s will come to light.”

Arron frowns, “Um, are you sure? What if it is true? That he had found the kitsune Patriarch?” he asks, remembering the letters sent out, asking for an army and informing that the fated Kitsune patriarch would show up.

Heliotrope rolls his eyes. “Clearly lies. Remember that letter he sent. He also stated that over a hundred centaurs had died, supposedly fighting the dungeon boss. It is clearly a lie. Dragkenoss made a mistake, got so many killed, and is now trying to make up some complicated excuse. It is a lie and you shouldn't listen to it.”

“I-i see. Thank you for that.” Arron voices, his expression calming, ”I wasn't sure, but it makes so much sense now.”

Heliotrope nods.

“Always remember to never believe what you are told. Lies are prevalent and can be very deadly. Especially this one. All those men in the city,” he shakes his head, “are going to die over that man's lies. I just hope enough surrender before too many are killed.”

“Y-yeah. I hope so too.”

“Now then Arron, take a quick rest and join me later before the battle. Your ability to sense skills will hopefully help us reduce the number that gets killed.”

“I-I will. And thank you, for listening to me.”

“Anytime lad.”

Heliotrope turns and gallops towards his troops. Arron watches him leave for a couple of seconds before turning around and heading towards his tent.

“Heh, idiots, all of them.”

The young man's posture straightens, eyes become confident, fierce. A smile forms on his lips, teeth showing.

Lies he says. It's pretty clear to me that you don't actually care about the lives that will be lost. If my guess is right, which it probably is, then all he wants to do is get Dragkenoss’s position. He has been trying for the past decade anyhow.

Arron turns his head, gazing at the city of Tradefoot, calculating quickly.

Considering the skills used earlier and the fact that the leader is Doreson, a [Tactician Captain], it would make sense that those sixty-something skills used were only a fraction of what that force can muster.

Arron chuckles as he walks into the darkness of the night, hoping that he will level considering the manipulation he had pulled off. After all, he just tricked an entire army to commit suicide.

“Mmmm, I wonder what skill I will get if I hit level ninety.”