Gerard stood still in the thick shadows of the cove, keenly watching the approaching boats. As Governor General of Treon, he really shouldn’t take part in such a dangerous operation, but he’d always thought that the man who ordered his men into battle should be just as willing to join them.

  And if I’m being completely honest, I’m bored to tears. This will be a good diversion from all the paperwork.

  Around him, his men settled into position, armed with the best weapons and wearing the finest equipment he could provide. Technically, the Security Forces fell under Lady Neer’s authority, but since they were the only military unit Damien could verify had not been infiltrated, they were the ones he brought along, and he’d be damned if he led them into battle with inferior gear.

  He could sense their tension, the coiled energy of warriors waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Although his own heartbeat was steady, the anticipation hummed beneath his skin like the taut string of a drawn bow. It’s been too long. A soldier shouldn’t go without a good battle for this long.

  The plan was simple. As soon as the boats drifted close enough to shore, his concealed mages, hidden in the waters and among the reeds, would raise temporary wards, sealing the area. No one would be allowed to escape, and no outsiders would notice. If everything went as expected, the enemy soldiers would walk right into his net, their fates already sealed before they even touched land.

  The wiser move would be to strike while the boats were still in the water. A decisive blast of magic and a coordinated attack from the shore would do the trick. But Gerard wasn’t prepared to risk his own men’s lives for the sake of expediency. No, he would let them land, let them believe their deception had worked, and only then would he close the trap.

  He had changed, and he knew it. Months ago, he would have never even considered the possibility, but he had to admit that he had wondered if it would be worth attacking while they were still far from the shore. But he hadn’t fallen into temptation, and that was what mattered.

  Damien, Lia, and even Amelia had made him into a different man. He wasn’t entirely sure if he resented them for it. He still thought back to his ‘talk’ with Amelia, the words she had forced him to consider, the truths he had been too rigid to acknowledge before. What was his role, truly?

  He once believed that his strength alone, his unwavering commitment to what was right, was all he should aim for. But he knew better now. Leonard respected him, yes, but not because of his power. That wasn’t why he had been entrusted with Treon—several people in the city right now were stronger than him, so if that had been the criteria, he would have never been picked.

  No, he was the Governor because Leonard thought he could grow into the role. And Gerard had no intention of squandering that opportunity.

  He was close now—so close. His fourth Blessing might come any day, he knew. It was a frustrating thing, hovering on the edge of his reach, just waiting for the final push. Perhaps tonight would be that push.

  A faint rustling behind him signaled movement. One of his lieutenants crept up beside him. “They’re getting close, sir,” the man whispered. “Everything is in place.”

  Gerard nodded. “Keep the men hidden until they are inside the area. No movements from the beach until the wards go up. We will strike when the last of them steps onto the shore.”

  The officer inclined his head and melted back into the shadows, relaying the orders through a series of silent gestures. Around the perimeter, Gerard’s soldiers adjusted their positions—some crouching lower in the underbrush, while others tightened their grips on bows or foci. The Mage Corps didn’t bother to acknowledge the minor changes.

  The boats drifted closer.

  Despite everything being planned meticulously, Gerard felt restless. He had positioned his men in layers, ensuring that no matter how many soldiers Garva sent, they would be funneled into a narrow kill zone. Once the wards were raised, there would be no retreat. His archers would unleash hell upon them from the high ground. His best fighters would close in from the sides. His mages would cast spells to prevent any counterattack from forming.

  It was perfect. Efficient. Ruthless.

  And yet… Something nagged at him. He was sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, but a last-second change was always possible in such operations.

  The water lapped against the hulls of the approaching boats. The soldiers aboard them sat in eerie silence, disciplined and expectant.

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  Gerard raised a hand, waiting for a beat. Once he was sure the boats had all passed through the invisible line, he gave the signal.

  Subtle magic surged through the air a moment later as the concealed mages cast their spells. The wards snapped into place like invisible chains, locking the area in a shimmering, unbreakable trap.

  The enemy was caught, though they didn’t know it yet.

  But Gerard wasn’t done. He stepped forward, drawing his sword, feeling something shift inside him. Power coiled beneath his skin, and an undeniable force pressed at the edges of his senses. Was this it? The final push he had been waiting for? He exhaled sharply, steadying himself as the first enemy soldier set foot on the sand.

  A cry of surprise went out before the first boat had even emptied, and Gerard muttered a curse. Whether they had someone who could cast sensory magic, they had simply seen a soldier hiding or something else, it didn’t matter. The enemy now knew they were under attack.

  As his men rushed forward, he had to admit that the Garvans’ discipline was undeniable. They did not falter or fall to panic, merely picking up their weapons and attacking those who led them into the trap.

  The first SF soldier disguised as a spy fell with a wet gurgle, as a black blade was driven straight through his throat before he could utter a single word of protest.

  The others barely had time to react before the enemy turned on them, attacking with the intent to kill.

  “Damn it,” Gerard muttered under his breath. The time for waiting was over.

  “Attack!” he roared. For whatever reason, Garva’s soldiers suspected treachery and were taking it out on the men they should have considered their allies. There will be time to ask why after we capture a few.

  Spells ignited the night, and streaks of fire and bolts of force rained down on the enemy. The air crackled with energy as the first wave of magic struck, knocking several soldiers off their feet and into the water. Archers released their arrows, the shafts whistling through the air before hitting their targets. The battlefield erupted into chaos.

  But further down the line of boats, things were looking grim. The disguised SF were fighting back, but they were outnumbered, and their disguises were useless now that swords had been drawn. The enemy was too disciplined, and too quick in their response. For every Garvan soldier that fell, another of the SF men was struck down in turn. They would not last long.

  Then, above the roar of battle, a voice rose in song.

  Sigurd’s voice rang clear over the river. It was a song of defiance, strength, and unyielding will. As he sang, his men stood taller, their weary bodies surging with renewed energy. Their strikes landed harder, and their movements became faster. The tide shifted ever so slightly in their favor, allowing them to hold on just a bit longer.

  Gerard wasted no time. He turned to his men at the shore. “Move the boats! Now!”

  They sprang into action, pushing one of the prepared skiffs into the water. Gerard leaped onto it, gripping the railing as the oarsmen rowed with all their might. The skiff cut through the dark waters as the cold spray bit at his face. Behind him, the mages continued their assault, sending explosions of fire and arcs of lightning crashing into the enemy ranks. They held back their full strength, careful not to hit their men, but it was enough to disrupt the massacre.

  The skiff closed the distance rapidly, but it wasn’t fast enough. Gerard’s eyes locked onto Sigurd and Eleanor, both of whom were locked in a desperate struggle against the enemy’s leader. The man was six and a half feet tall, but he moved as if he was half the size. It was even more surprising, given that he was wearing heavy armor.

  With a swipe of his greatsword, he smashed one of Eleanor’s daggers to pieces and sent her stumbling back, forcing Sigurd to intercept the next strike just in time.

  They would not hold out much longer. Gerard exhaled, and his body ignited with power.

  “[Warrior’s Courage].” A silver aura surged around him as his muscles tightened and his resolve hardened.

  “[Swift Steps].” The world slowed around him as his body accelerated faster than he could even think.

  With a mighty push, Gerard jumped from the skiff, barely touching the water with his boots before he launched himself forward again. Five great bounds carried him through the distance in mere seconds. The enemy leader barely had time to turn before Gerard crashed into him, sending them both skidding across the deck.

  The force of the impact stunned the enemy for a brief moment, and Gerard wasted no time. He was on him in an instant, pressing the advantage.

  The Garvan leader grinned, rolling to his feet with great speed. “The Governor of Treon himself,” he mused with ill-concealed hunger. “I caught a big fish tonight. We might not even need the whole siege.”

  Gerard wasn’t interested in banter. He lunged forward, aiming to decapitate the man and end the fight in one strike. The enemy barely managed to parry, buckling under the sheer force of the strike. But he recovered quickly, countering with a sharp thrust aimed at Gerard’s midsection.

  Gerard sidestepped, twisting his body just enough to let the blade pass harmlessly by. He retaliated with a vicious downward strike, making full use of his speed. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel, each impact ringing across the battlefield like a bell.

  The enemy was skilled, too skilled for a run-of-the-mill Captain. He matched Gerard blow for blow, and his technique was refined enough to force Gerard to pull all the stops. But he wasn’t just fighting for himself; he was fighting for his city, his men, and the future he refused to let slip away.

  He pressed harder, ignoring the dull ache in his limbs. Their battle moved across the deck, avoiding the nearby duels with ease and exchanging deadly attacks. At one point, Gerard’s blade carved into the enemy’s shoulder, drawing a grunt of pain. But the Garvan soldier refused to slow down.

  And then, out of the corner of his eye, Gerard saw a second enemy soldier, knife in hand, creeping up behind him. He had no time to react, so he prepared to tank the hit.

  But Eleanor was faster.

  Her last dagger flew through the air, embedding itself deep in the would-be assassin’s throat. The man collapsed with a gurgle, his blade slipping from his grasp. Gerard barely had time to nod in thanks before pain erupted in his chest.

  The enemy’s sword was sticking halfway through him.

  Gerard gasped, going rigid as the cold steel bit deep. He locked eyes with his opponent, who grinned triumphantly, pressing the blade deeper. Blood dripped from Gerard’s lips, but his grip on his sword remained firm.

  He pushed even more mana into his body with sheer willpower. His vision blurred, but his knees didn’t buckle.

  “Long live the Revolution.” He mouthed through bloodstained teeth and head-butted the bastard.

  The heavens blessed him for his devotion.

  In post-apocalyptic New York, a young man accepts the challenge of a lifetime, joining an elite team to fight the monsters threatening humanity’s future.

  Eleven years after the Mana Apocalypse, nineteen-year-old James Summers has more on his mind than just the flailing economy and a country full of monsters. Orphaned and living with his grandparents, he’s given up on college in favor of working at the Coney Island Home Depot while pining for Sally, his cool, beautiful colleague.

  But it’s hard to ignore the news of dungeons opening up all over the country, both in cities and across lonely stretches of rural land. Mutated rats, crocodiles, and spiders pour out of them to face off against mankind, and all that stands in their way is the Awakeners, people who, in moments of great stress, are able to tap into the mana that now pulsates throughout the world.

  When James receives the System message that he’ll join their ranks, naturally he’s thrilled. The Awakeners live like kings in powerful guilds and are solely responsible for humanity’s survival. Ever since his father—who worked for a mysterious agency—passed away, he’s wanted to follow in his footsteps to improve society. This is his chance to make that dream come true.

  But when James joins the Awakeners Association, it quickly becomes apparent that not all is as it seems. The bureaucratic institution is weakening, and fraud and corruption are rife, while a conspiracy sprawls through the most powerful guilds. Meanwhile, Sally’s ex, Callum, is hot on his tail. Oh, and a dungeon is opening under Manhattan. As James develops his skills, he’ll have to be quick—and smart—to stay alive.