That victory had to wait, however, since the matter of the small armada of individuals indiscriminately pointing spears at him was the more urgent issue. “Fellas, don’t you know I am a friend of the queen?” The construct held up its hands.

  The hands visibly tensed and one couldn’t help but exclaim, “and that is why you must die…” As they began to thrust their weapons.

  Armand had read that thunder magic could be used to incapacitate opponents without lasting damage, so perhaps this would be the best approach. He activated one of the lighting magics engraved upon the suit of armor; it simply converted mana into electricity and then released lightning to anything within his radius.

  An immediate peaceful resolution that he had been hoping for was dashed as the thunder spell did exactly what was planned. The arcs struck all the individuals around him, but the expected immediate but relatively unharmed collapse did not come. The attackers who were once standing there were in a flash gone.

  All that remained was their smoking weapons and gear, their flesh instantly transformed into ash. The suit of armor would have winced if it could. “Too much power on that one; I’ll have to adjust the mana supply rate,” the construct mused.

  More importantly, why were there individuals hostile to the queen within palace walls? The whole situation got Armand worried as he began to survey his options.

  There were several entrances and exits; he just assumed the more luxurious the door, the quicker it would lead to the queen. So he chose a door that was intricately carved with gold and silver detailing.

  Locked, figures. I’ll have to apologize to Isolde and replace this after we are done, thought the construct as it slammed a fist in the knob of the door, swiftly shattering it and the hidden strengthening enchants in the blink of an eye.

  He proceeded into a large chamber, a throne room, much more luxuriant than his little hall. If not for the seriousness of the moment, he would have expressed jealousy. The construct's glowing eyes focused on the furnishing.

  One large throne decorated with ice decals and plated in silver, or perhaps it was just made of silver. With three chairs sitting to its sides. The throne was not empty, as upon it sat a gentleman with long golden hair.

  “You are not Isolde,” the construct’s words echoed through the room, causing the other individuals to look towards the intruder and the smashed door to the library.

  A large multitude of guards in similar garb to those who attacked him flanked the walls, while several elderly individuals stood agape, clearly having been interrupted in mid-conversation. Most damning of all, the construct finally spied some familiar figures.

  Isolde was within a large cage hanging from the ceiling; it was gold-gilded and carved with several intricate spells. Even with a brief glance, Armand could identify the purpose of each of these enchantments: durability, locking, and torture. If that wasn’t enough, he finally found sight of two others, Gideon and Jomead.

  The duo was unceremoniously stuck to the wall; the dwarf had lost an arm, and his beard and hair were singed to the very roots of his face. Gideon similarly was now lacking an eye and was also covered in lacerations. He could see that the two were barely clinging to life.

  Large golden nails pierced both of Gideon's hands and held him firmly upon the place wall; Jomead, being one hand short, was unceremoniously hung sideways by a hand and a foot.

  “The legendary keeper of the library of the gods has finally decided to grace my throne room.” Spoke the figure upon the throne. The person looked up, revealing his face, handsome and hairless, but the eyes revealed the truth: they were like that of a goat. The usurper pushed some hair from his face, unintentionally revealing the stubs of pale white horns pushing up from his skull. “Now we can clear up loose…”

  The man was going to taunt but what was going to come out of his mouth was swiftly replaced by a horrid scream because before he could do anything, faster than anyone could see. Armand had withdrawn his bladestaff and threw it with such force that it sunk through the horned man’s chest and pinned him to the throne.

  A testament to the workmanship of the throne was that it did not shatter upon such a forceful assault. The guards did not waste time as they leapt into action; the situation was not one of negotiation.

  The first guard, whether brave or just stupid, went in alone. Armand sidestepped the strike and grasped the guard’s head in his hand and swiftly clenched it, condensing the head into practically a pebble.

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  When he released his grip, the pressured viscera practically vaporized in the rapid expansion. The simple act of brutality caused a falter in the swarming guards, one that Armand took full advantage of as the lightning runes upon his armor shone once again; however, instead of an area of effect attack, he chose something more directional this time.

  Shooting forth a bolt of lightning from his pointed fingertips, accurately striking the nearby guards, who disintegrated from the excessive energy. Those behind were not spared as the flashes of light arced from guard to guard. The potency reduced with every jump, but nonetheless none survived.

  The hall was littered with piles of ash, half-charred corpses, and individuals who were long dead despite their spasming upon the floor. The suit of armor redirected its attention to the golden-haired man sitting upon his stolen throne. If the suit of armor could have squinted, he would have.

  While his ability to control souls was less effective out here than in the dungeon, his capability to see them was still at full strength. The golden-haired man’s soul was a dark red, clearly destined for hell’s depths. However, upon the sole was almost a tumorous mass of pure crimson.

  The aura was familiar, painfully so. The golden-haired man in his weakened state didn’t even get a chance to speak before the crimson mass seemingly tightened its grip and the goat eyes illuminated with a hellish fire. “We meet again dungeon master…” The painfully familiar voice uttered from the impaled man.

  “Why must it always be you, Mammon?” Armand was tempted to rub his temples in annoyance but remained guarded.

  “The most ambitious always conflict with one another…” The puppet of the demon stated, the flames seemingly spreading within the body of the horned man. “To meet under such circumstances is infuriating.” His tone shifting as flames began to leak from the man’s throat as it and the rest of his body began to melt under the increasing heat.

  The construct finally realized the demon’s intentions. He quickly activated several runes, erecting large stone walls before Gideon, Theoden, and Isolde. Disappointment filled what was left of the possessed man’s eyes.

  “Such a shame…” The guttural voice that came out of what was left of the golden-haired man’s vocal cords chilled the construct. “Nonetheless, another soul for my collection is more than enough.”

  With those parting words, the man finally exploded, blood-red flames billowing in all directions. Armand activated more enchantments, summoning chilling waves of water that bashed into the rapidly expanding flames.

  The battle between hellfire and water lasted longer than Armand had hoped and consumed much of the passive mana in the area, practically to the point of suffocation. Only then did the flames die down and the construct mimed a sigh of relief, while the main body actually did so. Having regained consciousness and sat helplessly watching the whole scenario.

  The suit quickly dismantled the earthen barriers with a punch and approached his friends. While he was tempted to go to Isolde first, her eyes told him to check the others first. Seeing that she was pretty much intact, he did so swiftly, approaching the two pinned to the wall.

  They were still bleeding; their healthily tanned skin had gone ashen white; the blood loss was significant. The construct’s hand then began to glow a heated red. He methodically and carefully touched each of the bleeding wounds; the smell of seared flesh and hair filled the air.

  A testament to the severity of the duo’s wounds was their lack of flinching to the meticulous scaldings. Once the bleeding was brought to an end, he took the spikes out of their hands and foot, careful to seal the wounds shut in the process. Once freed, they remained limp; only an imperceptible shallow breath indicated they were still alive.

  The construct carefully slung the two over his shoulder and headed towards the dungeon entrance. He didn’t want to but he couldn’t risk undoing the years of hard work so he threw the two gentlemen through the doorway.

  Luckily, sentinels were waiting on the other side and deftly caught the two and quickly relocated them to awaiting bedrooms before their conditions could worsen.

  The immediate threat dealt with, the construct returned to Isolde, who, despite her tattered state, waited patiently for Armand to return. The cold, cautious gaze continued to survey the room, awaiting any changes. The goblin looked over the gilded cage and, after seeing no mechanisms for self-destruction, acted, first grabbing the gate and simply tearing it from its hinges.

  Only after that did Isolde’s eyes finally soften for the first time as she leapt with as much strength as she could muster into the construct’s arms. Tears leaked from her eyes but that final effort finally sent her drifting into turbulent dreams.

  The construct cradled her as if holding a precious treasure, running his hands through her hair. Even if he couldn’t feel it, the action calmed him. Even in the battle, he was unsure if she would make it out alive and by the grace of the gods, she did.

  He quickly brought her to the dungeon entrance and similarly threw her into the waiting arms of his sentinels. The mana in the air was thin and it was getting difficult to control the construct. The goblin decided to focus more on the problem before him so he sent the construct clone into a sort of sleep mode where the mana consumption would be minimal.

  Once done with that, he needed to focus on the recovery of his friends, now turned patients, as he began to raid his stockpiles. Only after feeding them all enough tonics to cause the healthy glow of life to return to them did he also join them in healing slumber.