Pain seared through Gerard’s body, raw and impossible to escape from, as his opponent wrenched his sword free. The sharp steel sent another gush of blood spurting as it tore its way out, and he let out a deep, guttural moan, staggering slightly as warmth spilled down his torso. His vision blurred as the gravity of his injuries dragged him downward.

  Then, the world exploded into light.

  A magnificent column of radiance descended from the heavens, surrounding him in golden flames. It was blinding, searing, and divine. The battlefield fell silent as the immense presence of the Light sent ripples through the waters, pushing the enemy back and making him stumble. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still.

  Then, the transformation began.

  The Light flooded him with power, weaving through Gerard’s broken flesh and sealing the wound shut as if it had never existed. Strength filled his body, burning away fatigue and weakness, and replacing it with something beyond what he had been. His muscles tightened, his senses sharpened to an unimaginable degree, and mana surged through him in waves, expanding his reserves several times what they were before.

  Through it all, his thoughts crystallized into a single certainty.

  He had been chosen for his role to serve as the bulwark of the Revolution.

  Leonard had entrusted him with Treon not because of what he was but because of what he needed to become. The city could not fall. The Revolution could not fail. He had been chosen to hold the line, to be the immovable wall upon which the enemy’s tide would break.

  And he would not fail the man whom the Light loved so clearly.

  Gerard exhaled as the last rays of golden light faded, his breath coming in steady gasps. His hands clenched, and he felt the raw power rushing through his veins. He was stronger, more powerful. Better.

  Meanwhile, the Blessing’s arrival had changed the battlefield.

  He turned to face his enemy, who stood frozen, his eyes wide with something Gerard had not seen in them before.

  He is afraid. He knows his end is near.

  Gerard straightened, standing taller than he ever had. His voice was like thunder, shaking the air with his belief. “There will be no mercy for the enemies of the Revolution.”

  Before the man could react, Gerard was upon him.

  The distance between them vanished in a blink. His first strike smashed into the man’s side with bone-crushing force, sending him skidding across the boat's deck. The impact cracked wood beneath them, and the sheer power behind the blow nearly knocked him overboard.

  Gerard advanced, relentlessly pursuing the destruction of anyone who would stand against the Revolution.

  The enemy recovered quickly, raising his sword defensively. He was strong— a Master as well, given how easily he’d been winning earlier— but not strong enough. He relied on his enchanted armor and blade to keep up now, but Gerard could see that he was being pushed back, his defense cracking under the sheer force of his fury.

  Blow after blow, strike after strike, Gerard gained ground, overwhelming the enemy through sheer power. It wasn’t his usual style, as he much preferred defeating his enemies through his skill alone, but the more time he spent fighting this cur, the more his men suffered.

  Each step sent shockwaves across the wooden deck, shaking the boat as the river frothed with the rhythm of their battle.

  The enemy gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep up. His strikes were precise and well-practiced, but they lacked the raw power behind Gerard’s new strength, who parried effortlessly as his new excess mana flowed through him like second nature.

  This is taking too long. I need to end it.

  If even the boost of power from becoming a Master wasn’t enough, then maybe he needed to use a skill he had long kept buried.

  [Last Stand] It is, then.

  A skill known exclusively to the Hetnia Royal Corps, intended for the final moments of a knight’s life when all else had failed, and sacrifice was the only answer. It consumed the user’s very life force, trading vitality for unmatched power. It had always been too dangerous, too reckless, even during the Incursion.

  But now, it felt right. It was as if something within him told him he didn’t need to fear its drain. Normally, he would have suppressed such a voice as foolishness, but tonight had already been absurd enough. What is one more sacrifice when the Light is behind me?

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  Gerard activated it, feeling the skill awaken within him. But unlike when he had been taught it, he felt much more control over the drain. It was only a matter of flexing his will to prevent it from consuming him completely. He managed the flow, skimming just enough of his own life to fuel the fire of his strength without letting it claim him.

  His aura ignited like a bonfire. His speed doubled, his power surged, and in that moment, he became an unstoppable force.

  The enemy barely had time to react as Gerard’s sword blurred through the air, cutting through his enchanted armor as though it were paper. The blade slashed through his shoulder, sending blood spraying into the dark waters below. The man staggered, eyes wide in disbelief. Red pooled at his feet in dark rivulets, and yet even that wasn’t enough.

  Gerard could see in his eyes that this man was willing to sacrifice anything to win, and so he pulled even more off his life force, swinging with all his power and not even slowing when his blade shattered his opponent’s.

  The enemy gasped, staring at the broken remnants of his weapon. Then, Gerard’s blade met his neck, sending his head flying in the air, until it dropped to his feet.

  The battle was over. But Gerard was not done.

  He turned, his eyes blazing, and leapt from one boat to the next. The tide turned instantly on each boat he landed on. The enemy soldiers, seeing their leader defeated, faltered. Fear spread like wildfire among them.

  His men, emboldened by his newfound power, rallied behind him. What had been a desperate struggle moments ago became a rout. The enemy’s formations collapsed, and one by one, they threw down their weapons.

  Surrender came in droves.

  By the time Gerard stood atop the final boat, surveying the battlefield, it was over. The waters of the Great Slitherer, dark with blood, slowly stilled. The remnants of the enemy force knelt in surrender in the sand, their heads bowed, weapons cast aside.

  Gerard exhaled, feeling the adrenaline slowly begin to fade.

  He had won. Treon had won.

  Gerard strode through the castle halls as exhaustion weighed on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. His muscles ached since his body was still adjusting to the power coursing through him. No one ever mentions how tiring a Blessing can be. Though to be fair, it might be [Last Stand] that’s making me feel so miserable… Yeah, that might be it.

  The battle was won, the enemy soldiers turned over to the Security Forces for processing, and now all he desired was a bath and some sleep.

  Yet, something pricked at the edges of his awareness.

  A presence. A shadow moving where none should be.

  He did not falter in his steps, nor did he show any sign of noticing. Instead, he adjusted his course, walking down a slightly different path that would take him through an inner courtyard surrounded on all sides by tall stone walls. It was a dead end for anyone lacking a strong escape skill.

  He stepped into the open space, making it look like he was observing how the moonlight casts pale silver over the quiet garden. Suddenly, he turned sharply, drawing his sword and pointing it toward where he knew the stalker was. “Show yourself.”

  A beat, then a chuckle echoed from the shadows. “Very good, Governor.”

  From the gloom of a pillar, Damien, the Vicar, emerged with an easy smile. His hands were loosely folded behind his back, and his fox-like eyes gleamed under the moonlight. He tilted his head slightly, as though appraising Gerard in a way that made his skin prickle.

  “Congratulations on your Blessing,” Damien said smoothly. “That was quite the display. It did force us to readjust some plans, but then again, we are mere servants of the Light. We cannot predict who it will deem worthy.”

  Gerard exhaled through his nose, relaxing his stance slightly. “You followed me all this way just to say that?”

  Damien smirked. “No, but it was also nice to see that I could still do it without you noticing until now.”

  Gerard rolled his eyes, too tired to entertain the priest’s endless games, and didn’t bother to correct him. “If you have something important to say, do it now. Otherwise, I’ll hear you out in the morning. We have a meeting scheduled, if I remember correctly.”

  Damien didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied Gerard, his expression unreadable. For the briefest moment, he seemed genuinely dangerous—his normally friendly demeanor shifting into something sharper and predatory.

  Gerard’s hand twitched toward his sword.

  Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Damien’s grin returned, and he spread his hands as if in surrender. “Relax, Governor. I just wanted to make sure you were healthy and uninjured. Nothing more.”

  Gerard sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’m fine. And I’ll be better after I sleep.” He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Damien chuckling softly in the shadows.

  The following morning, Gerard made his way to the War Council chamber, his mind still clouded with thoughts of his newfound power. His ascension to Master tier was a monumental step, yet the world had not paused to acknowledge it. He had not been given time to revel in it. The city still needed him, and the enemy still approached.

  As he stepped inside, his momentary sense of self-importance faded.

  Lia stood near the long table, murmuring quietly to her apprentice, Margaret, who nodded attentively. Damien leaned lazily against a pillar, speaking with Sigurd and Eleanor. Jean, as usual, was slouched in her seat, arms crossed, watching the room with half-lidded eyes.

  They were all powerful. All exceptional in their own ways.

  Gerard had climbed the mountain and found himself merely standing among equals. Still lower, in the case of some.

  Pushing that thought aside, he took his seat as the meeting began.

  Sigurd spoke first, recounting the events of the previous night’s operation. His account was clear and precise, detailing their infiltration, the unexpected hostility of the enemy soldiers, and the battle that had ensued. His voice held no embellishment, no unnecessary dramatics. Just facts.

  For a Bard of his experience to limit himself so made it clear how serious the situation was.

  When he finished, Damien took over. “The Security Forces managed to extract quite a bit from the prisoners,” he said, idly tapping on the wooden table. “Apparently, there was a hidden signal the disguised spies were meant to give the soldiers when they made contact. When that didn’t happen, the soldiers assumed something had gone wrong, and when they first noticed signs of an ambush, they immediately began attacking.”

  Gerard frowned. That meant that Garva’s forces were meticulous, and prepared for betrayal. They weren’t just sending soldiers blindly into the city; they were embedding them with well-crafted plans, that left little room for failure.

  “And what about the siege?” Jean asked, bored.

  Damien sighed, shaking his head. “The soldiers we captured didn’t know anything specific. But,” he continued, his golden eyes sharpening, “based on the way they were speaking, I’d say the Garvan navy will move within a day or two. At most.”

  As if on cue, the doors to the chamber burst open.

  A runner rushed inside, breathless and wide-eyed. “Governor! The enemy ships have been spotted on the horizon!”

  A heavy silence settled over the room.

  Gerard clenched his jaw, his fingers pressing against the table. So it had begun.

  He rose to his feet, his exhaustion forgotten, replaced by the cold steel of command. “Sound the bells,” he ordered. “Ready the defenses.”

  The Battle of Treon was upon them.