The sudden silence jolted Oliver awake. He found the absence of the constant rumble of cannons more jarring than their sound, as they had fired uninterrupted throughout the night. For a moment, he remained still, his pulse thrumming in his ears. The faint glow of dawn seeped through the canvas of his tent, soft and pale. He was safe, and a warm body was pressed against him.

  Lucy stirred against him, arm draped over his chest, her breathing steady and soft. He glanced down at her—blonde hair cascaded across the pillow, and her face was relaxed in sleep. She finally looked serene, as if she had found a rock to hold onto.

  Having seen her evolution from a scared, abandoned teenage girl with only a few spells under her belt to a formidable mage, he understood just how much it meant for her to feel so at ease. Like everyone in his squad, her life story was not easy. Although he didn't know how this thing between them would end, he appreciated her presence more than he could put into words.

  Thoughts of Margaret and what could have been crossed his mind, as they often did, but he didn't linger on them. Today, he couldn't afford to be distracted.

  Oliver exhaled, allowing the quiet moment to stretch. For a fleeting second, he entertained the idea of staying there, of giving in to the weariness that clung to his bones. He felt both tired and energetic at the same time. He was stretched thin yet eager for more. Power thrummed under his skin, begging to be unleashed, yearning to be shaped into even a fraction of what he had witnessed.

  But reality hit him like a wave, pulling his thoughts back to the previous day.

  The expedition. The leyline and its destruction. The sudden attack that transformed an already complicated mission into chaos. His knighting—by Leonard, as he had always wanted. The assassins. The aerial battle that set the sky ablaze with flames and fury.

  It felt like a lifetime compressed into a single day. Twelve hours, and yet it could have easily been a month. The insight he gained from watching his mentor battle three Masters and then reveal his glorious form to everyone surpassed anything he had experienced, aside from a Blessing. It would take him a long time to fully grasp what he had witnessed, if he ever could, but he could already sense his connection to the Light growing.

  He whispered a silent prayer, his chest swelling with gratitude for Leonard and all that the man had done. He prayed for his continued safety, for the strength to carry the burden of his new position, and for the courage to face whatever lay ahead.

  "Stop thinking so loudly," Lucy mumbled, muffled by the pillow.

  Oliver blinked and looked down to find her squinting up at him, her green eyes still clouded with sleep. She groaned as he shifted, attempting to sit up.

  "Don't get up yet," she murmured, reaching for him. "We can stay here a little longer. We deserve it after yesterday."

  He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Maybe we do. But that's not the world we live in right now."

  Lucy groaned once more, pressing her face deeper into the pillow. "The world can wait," she mumbled, but he could sense her resolve weakening. She was acutely aware of how important today was.

  The artillery had stopped firing, which could only mean one thing.

  Hassel's wards are ready to fall. They must be strengthening the protections around the camp to endure the backlash.

  Oliver swung his legs over the side of the cot, feeling the morning air's chill prickling his skin as he stood. "The world doesn't wait for anyone, Lucy. And besides…" He began to dress, his voice growing firm. "This is when the real work begins."

  He wasn't going to be late on his first official day as a Captain, especially not on the day the Revolution entered Hetnia's capital.

  She sat up with a dramatic sigh, stretching her arms above her head before rubbing at her eyes. "You're annoyingly earnest in the morning."

  He grinned. "And you're annoyingly stubborn."

  "Someone has to be, or you'd end up old and wrinkled, and ruin your pretty face," she quipped, slipping out of bed to get dressed herself. Oliver peered into a nearby mirror—and hadn't his life changed that he could now afford to bring a mirror with his tent to camp?—to examine his features.

  "I'm manly, not pretty," he definitely didn't pout.

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  By the time he stepped out of the tent, fully armored and ready, the camp was already stirring. His squad was waiting for him, likely having been prodded by Esmeria, which showed that at least someone hadn't spent the night celebrating. The teasing smiles on some of their faces made him pause, but, mercifully, no one said a word.

  More than anything, that told him they grasped the seriousness of the moment.

  "Good morning, Sir Oliver," Hector said, a faint smirk dancing on his lips as he saluted.

  "Good morning," Oliver replied, unable to suppress a smile. "Report?"

  Hector nodded. "The call has gone out to assemble. The final assault is about to commence."

  He nodded. "Let's not keep them waiting."

  And just like that, Hetnia's campaign is nearing its end. Oh, I'm sure we'll spend days slogging through the city before we take it—it's simply too vast to fall all at once—but once we break through the wards, it will just be a matter of time.

  As the squad lined up behind him, Oliver glanced back at the tent. Lucy stepped out, fully dressed, her hair pulled back into a loose braid. She gave him a small, encouraging smile before joining the others in line. Technically, she should have been there before him, but he thought he could afford to give her some leeway this time. After all, she didn't have the advantage of an Expert's constitution.

  The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as they made their way to the assembly point. A faint hum of magic and the distant clatter of weapons being prepared filled the silence. Oliver could feel his hands tingling with the urge to do something, anything, but he remained still and impassive. Despite his nerves, he was confident that victory was theirs.

  The Light would guide them. It always had.

  The assembly stretched out in disciplined ranks, soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder in lines that seemed to vanish into the horizon. The crowd was behaving remarkably well, as it was the conclusion of a long campaign.

  I don't think anyone expected us to win this decisively. We all knew Leonard would lead us to victory, one way or another, but we’ve only ever faced minor setbacks. Beyond Woodsman's Town, we remain undefeated. That’s not supposed to happen in war.

  And suddenly, the priests' ramblings about this being a holy war with a predetermined end no longer seemed like foolishness. Even the most skeptical men had to acknowledge there was something divine in their success.

  Oliver stopped only when he arrived at the frontline, as befitted his new rank. Behind him, his nascent Corp arrayed themselves, proudly standing alongside veteran soldiers. Above them, the camp's protective shields thickened, transforming from a barely perceptible dome of light into a solid presence. It wasn't the kind of thing that could be sustained for long, which meant they were about to begin. The soldiers remained silent, their gazes fixed ahead, waiting.

  It didn't take long for the Grand Marshal to arrive.

  Leonard strode into view with the easy confidence of a man who carried the weight of a nation on his shoulders and bore it as lightly as a feather. His golden hair caught the light, and his armor, the majestically decorated official one, shone with inner brilliance. He moved with purpose, radiating calm authority.

  At his side, Amelia walked with equal poise. As always, she was striking in a way that commanded attention effortlessly. Her dark cloak flowed around her like living smoke, and her piercing purple gaze swept over the gathered forces with an almost predatory sharpness. Even in this solemn moment, her movements held a grace that could have belonged to a queen.

  The two ascended the wooden podium that had been erected just a few minutes earlier, boldly emblazoned with the Revolution's golden sword on a crimson field across its front. Leonard took his place at the center, and the murmurs of anticipation shifted into a reverent silence.

  Oliver watched as Leonard scanned the crowd, his presence magnetic. When he finally spoke, his voice resonated with power and a deep sense of conviction. "Soldiers of the Revolution, Brothers and Sisters, Freemen," Leonard began, audible all over the field through his presence alone. “We stand here today on the precipice of history."

  The crowd's silence deepened, the solemnity of his words drawing them in.

  "Our cause is that of freedom for all. It is just," he continued. "It is righteous. And because of that, it is inevitable."

  There was no arrogance in his tone, only an unshakable belief.

  "For too long, this land has been shackled by greed and corruption," Leonard said, his voice rising. "The privilege of a few has come at the expense of the many. But no more. Today, we fight not just for victory but for freedom—true freedom. For rights that are not only granted to the privileged but to all. For prosperity that belongs to everyone, not stolen by a select few."

  The soldiers began to shift as the words ignited something within them. Even Oliver felt the spark catch in his chest and grow into a steady flame.

  Leonard raised his hand, and golden light began to emanate from him, spreading outward like ripples in water. "The Heavens have witnessed our struggle, and they have blessed us. This cause is no longer solely one of mortal grievance; it is divine."

  As the ripples passed over the soldiers, they began to kneel one by one, their heads bowed as they softly started to glow. Leonard's radiance wasn't overwhelming but rather a subtle, profound Light that filled them with seemingly limitless strength.

  This is not the [Halo of the Righteous] I know. It's so much more.

  Before them, the city's artillery roared to life. Shells arced high into the sky in a desperate attempt to disrupt the moment. Yet, each shot disintegrated midair, dissolving into harmless motes before it could reach the gathered forces. The soldiers didn't flinch.

  Leonard's blessing reached its crescendo, and the golden light settled over the army like a protective mantle. He looked out over them, his expression gentle, like a father gazing at his son. "Stand tall, my brothers and sisters. The time for fear is over. The time for hesitation has passed. Today, we take the Light to Hassel."

  The soldiers rose to their feet, shouting in praise, holy fervor in their eyes. The atmosphere had shifted entirely—where there had been anticipation, there was now purpose.

  Leonard turned his gaze skyward. The massive silhouette of the revolutionary airship loomed above, its cannons gleaming in the sunlight. He raised his hand, and his voice echoed like a thunderclap.

  "Begin the bombardment!"

  The airship's engines roared as it shifted into position, and its guns swiveled toward the city. The first volley rang out, and a deafening barrage streaked through the air and slammed into Hassel's wards. The shimmering barriers flared under the assault, crackling as they struggled to hold.

  "Take down the wards. Leave no quarter.” Leonard ordered.

  The soldiers shouted in agreement, their voices rolling across the camp like a wave. Oliver cjoined them as the flame in his chest grew into a roaring inferno. The final assault had begun, and there was no turning back.

  As the airship's artillery fire intensified, Leonard stepped down from the podium, Amelia close behind him. For a brief moment, their eyes met Oliver's, and he felt a quiet reassurance pass between them.

  Today would not be easy, but with Leonard leading them, victory didn't just seem possible—it felt inevitable.