Battles, especially battles between two armies that couldn't maneuver too much, were slow things. Leonard knew this well by now, having participated in his fair share, but nothing prepared him for the sheer boredom of waiting while his men deployed across the field.

  He hadn't even gotten to cast his buffs. [Halo of the Righteous] scaled up with the individual target's strength, and using it now would likely lead to an immediate rout of the enemy. And while Leonard wanted to win, he had decided with Amelia long ago that he wouldn't put his weight on the scale unless it was absolutely necessary.

  It's not that essential by now. At the beginning, sure. That ragtag army couldn't have conquered Thelma without my help, much less Treon. But now we are a serious force, and the men need a victory they can call their own to start advancing to the upper ranks.

  It was a pity that he couldn't simply continue buffing his army as they collected victories and end up with ten thousand Masters, but that was the way things worked.

  Leonard watched the soldiers finish their preparations with a distant gaze, his thoughts drifting to the limitations he had imposed on himself. If he truly wanted to, he could unleash his power and turn the tide of battle in a single, overwhelming strike. But doing so would undermine everything he'd built so far.

  His presence on the battlefield had to be restrained and kept in check unless circumstances took a dire turn. Otherwise, his soldiers would forever remain reliant on his intervention, and the army would never become a force capable of surviving without him. Sometimes, he regretted having personally dealt with General Locke. The man would have been a menace if left unchecked, but he was confident his commanders could have found a way to deal with him, which would have allowed them to grow even more.

  Still, what was done was done. He just needed to prevent similar mistakes, as he wouldn't always have the luxury of sitting back. Once the kingdom's elite forces took the field, things would change.

  I'm still hoping that the Whiteguard remains neutral. Or at least that they only send a token force. It would be a shitty repayment to have to kill the people who helped me when I most needed it, even if I'd resurrect them after.

  The Revolutionary Army advanced steadily, a wave of bodies and steel crashing forward even as the first signs of resistance finally emerged. A series of sudden, thunderous explosions erupted across the front lines—conflagrations bursting up from the ground in a violent surge of fire and earth that obscured Pepperhof from sight.

  The defenders had used their time wisely, planting mines along their approach. Yet the damage was limited; shimmering shields sprang up just in time as the revolutionary mages once again anticipated the attempt. The barriers absorbed the worst of the blasts, leaving little more than scorch marks and scattered debris behind.

  The orcs, however, had raced ahead, eager to reach the fray. They bore the brunt of the explosions, suffering more casualties than the main force. But it was as though they didn't notice or simply didn't care. For every warrior that fell, another two rushed forward to take their place. Their ferocity carried them swiftly over the uneven terrain and through the fire, closing the distance with terrifying speed. They slammed into the southern flank of the Loyalist line like an avalanche, a mass of muscle and enchanted bone armor that shattered the first ranks and tore through the inexperienced soldiers with ruthless efficiency.

  The impact was brutal, and the Loyalists crumpled under the orcish onslaught. Still untested in battle, the fresh recruits broke almost immediately as the shock troops carved their way forward, axes and hammers rising and falling in gruesome rhythm. Even a good mile away, Leonard could see limbs and heads flying, blood splattering the earth in broad, wet arcs. The orcs' war cries drowned out the Loyalists' panicked shouts, their advance unrelenting as they drove deeper into the enemy's formation.

  Despite the macabrely captivating sight, Leonard kept his attention fixed on the battlefield as a whole, his mind automatically parsing the chaos into manageable segments. His mages were holding well under the fire, shielding the soldiers from the worst of the spells and cannon fire being flung their way, though the occasional hit managed to get through.

  The artillery had begun to respond in measured volleys, beams of explosive magic arcing through the sky and slamming into the Loyalist ranks with resounding force. They did not benefit from protective enchantments beyond what they could cast on their own, as most mages were clustered in the back, preparing something from the slowly increasing mana.

  Meanwhile, his officers moved to shore up the line wherever the pressure grew too intense, guiding the flow of the battle to prevent any one place from advancing excessively.

  Despite all the minor victories, the loyalists still maintained their lines, showing that they weren't all talk. With the greenhorns shuttled to the south to absorb the orcish advance, the veterans were able to fight on equal footing with the revolutionaries, even with their lack of successful magical barrages. All in all, it was a pretty standard battle, as far as Leonard could remember from his perusal of history books.

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  It might seem like a disappointment, but I'm actually quite happy. In less than six months, I built up an army capable of fighting with the veteran corps of the Southern Army.

  Amelia appeared at his side, watching the battle unfold. "Have you given any more thought to my proposal?" she eventually asked, smooth as always, though a hint of sharpness lingered beneath the surface from their previous argument. "If we strike now and take Pollus out of the equation, the rest of the army will crumble. It would be a swift victory, and we could surprise Hassel before they can turtle up for a siege. We wouldn’t need to hasten Oz’s work.”

  Leonard's gaze did not waver from the battlefield. "We've discussed this," he replied, his voice calm and measured. "Pollus might have tricks we haven't seen yet. He is a powerful fighter on his own, and he knows better than to be undefended during a battle this important. Besides, scattering the loyalist forces would slow us down more than it would help. We'd have to waste time chasing individual groups instead of focusing on a single target."

  Amelia's lips curved into a small, understanding smile, though Leonard could sense the dissatisfaction behind it. "Very well," she said gracefully. "We'll do it your way."

  She was always gracious in her acceptance, but Leonard knew she was only deferring because it was him—anyone else would have been convinced, whether by word or might. He could feel the weight of her gaze, assessing and searching for any sign that he might waver in his decision. But he stood firm. The army needed this. They needed to fight this battle on their own terms and win by their own strength without him tipping the scales. Only then would they complete their growth into the force he envisioned.

  His focus returned to the field as the battle reached a fever pitch. The orcs had punched through the southern flank, carving a wide gap in the enemy's defenses, and were now driving the recruits back toward the gates of Pepperhof. The central lines were holding, but just barely, as the pressure mounted and casualties rose while the revolutionaries seemed able to shrug off anything. Here and there, groups of more experienced loyalist soldiers rallied, forming tight defensive circles to fend off the rebel troops and earning small victories, but even those were beginning to falter as the orcs' momentum bled over into the rest of the battle.

  Amidst the chaos, Leonard's attention was drawn to a flash of bright blue steel cutting through the haze of dust and smoke. A tall, broad-shouldered knight in burnished armor rallied his troops and quickly gained momentum. Amelia's hum of surprise confirmed the man's identity even before she spoke.

  "Commander Fervent," she murmured. "I remember him cutting down a Scourge with his corp. I thought he had retired after the Incursion. He must be close to a hundred."

  As if stirred by the man's mere presence, the surrounding loyalists tightened their formation and followed his lead. He raised his sword, which caught the scattered sunlight, and drove it down in a sweeping arc, sending an arc of energy against the closest magical barrier, where it had cracked from a particularly effective cannon strike.

  The shield broke, and the group surged forward like a spear, piercing the heart of the rebel line. Fervent led the way, cutting a bloody swath through anyone who dared to stand before him. His sword danced and slashed, carving through flesh and armor. For a heartbeat, the battle shifted—the loyalists surged with him, and the rebel line wavered.

  This was the danger of any battle, where even a single man's valor could rally the hopeless. Fervent was turning the tide in his favor, albeit slowly, and the Revolutionary Army could not afford to lose its momentum here. Just as Leonard was about to signal a response to his reserves, a blur of movement caught his eye.

  Neer hurtled forward to meet the challenge head-on. Her hulking form crashed through the melee from where she had been fighting on the northern side, clearing a path to Fervent with raw, relentless force. Her cleaver swung in vicious arcs, crushing armor and bone alike, as she reached the tip of the wedge and brought her weapon down to meet the commander's blade.

  The clash resonated across the field, causing a shockwave and momentarily halting the advance. The battle seemed to contract around them, the chaos narrowing into a single, brutal contest.

  Their duel lasted no longer than a few minutes, but every second stretched out as though time itself was holding its breath. Neer swung with incredible power, showing an ever-increasing mastery of enhancement spells, her strikes seeking to break through the commander's guard in one blow, while Fervent moved with grace, parrying and countering without a wasted movement.

  Yet, the longer the duel continued, the more evident it became that Neer was driving the old commander back.

  With every thunderous strike, Fervent's defense weakened, and his movements slowed as exhaustion took its toll. Then, with an overhead blow, Neer's blood-red cleaver slammed down on Fervent's sword, snapping the blade in two as if it were made of glass.

  The old knight stumbled, his eyes widening in shock, but he had no time to react further. Neer's next strike swept across in a brutal arc, and Fervent’s head was severed from his shoulders. The body crumpled, lifeless, and for a heartbeat, the battlefield fell silent.

  Then, as if released from a spell, the rebels surged forward with a vengeance, collapsing on the loyalist wedge from all sides. Without their leader, the formation fell apart almost instantly, and the revolutionaries poured in, slaughtering the remaining soldiers who had followed Fervent's desperate charge. The gap that had momentarily threatened to turn the tide was sealed, and with it, any hope the loyalists had of mounting a breakthrough.

  Leonard allowed himself a smile, but the feeling was short-lived. There was a mounting pressure behind the gates of Pepperhof, a concentration of mana so intense it was almost visible to the naked eye. The mages were up to something—and then, like a thunderclap, it happened.

  A single, colossal spell took shape above the battlefield. Mana crackled and condensed, forming the shape of a serpentine beast, its scales shimmering like molten glass and its eyes burning with a searing inner light. Leonard recognized it all too well.

  [The Wyrm of Devastation] was a fifth-tier spell that was considered the Southern Army's trump card and that they used only in the most dire circumstances.

  The spectral wyrm roared, shaking the air, and began its descent. It tore through the sky with its maw open wide as it flew toward the rebel ranks. The mages' shields thickened in anticipation, bracing for the impact, but Leonard could sense the sheer force behind the wyrm's charge. The spell was potent enough to shatter even the most robust defenses they could manage.

  This was the kind of threat he had hoped to avoid, the kind that could turn a solid victory into a catastrophe. As the wyrm hurtled toward the shields, its form growing larger and more vivid with every second, Leonard's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

  “Allow me.” Amelia murmured.