Oliver sheathed his sword with trembling hands, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He searched Leonard's face for proof that he misunderstood his words. Instead, his mentor clapped slowly.

  "Well done," Leonard rumbled warmly. There was no hint of deceit in his expression.

  Oliver blinked, caught off guard. "Thank you, sir," he managed, unsure how to respond. Unsure of what was about to happen.

  Leonard strode toward him, unsheathing his sword, appearing to his eyes as if in slow motion. Dyeus shimmered faintly, reflecting a golden hue Oliver had come to know intimately. His breath hitched as realization dawned.

  Before he could fully process what was happening, Leonard stopped before him, holding the sword upright. "Oliver." His voice was imbued with something deeper, heavier. "Kneel."

  Oliver's heart thundered in his chest as he dropped to his knees, feeling disconnected from his body. The ground beneath him was hard and cold, but he barely noticed. A rush of emotion surged through him—a mix of disbelief, joy, and profound relief.

  I did it. I finally did it, Dad. Mom, I'm a Knight.

  In the quiet that followed, he felt an immense weight lifting from his shoulders. He hadn't realized how deeply the memory of his failure in the forest had scarred him, how much he'd carried the burden of that mistake. The pain of having led his friends to their deaths had hidden his disappointment in his lack of a promotion, but it had lingered like a shadow at the edge of his mind.

  Leonard raised the sword, holding it aloft as if calling upon some unseen force. "Squire, do you swear to uphold justice? To wield your strength for those who cannot? To walk always in the Light and to honor its teachings?"

  Oliver swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I swear," he said steadily, not betraying the storm raging inside him.

  The sword descended, tapping lightly against his right shoulder. A warmth spread through him, almost tangible, as if the Light he swore to serve was acknowledging his oath.

  Leonard's voice deepened, reverberating in the cavern like a bell. "Do you swear to lead with courage, to temper strength with wisdom, and to remain steadfast in the face of darkness?"

  "I swear," Oliver said firmly.

  The blade touched his left shoulder, and the warmth grew, wrapping around him like a cloak.

  "Then rise, Sir Oliver the Bold," Leonard declared. "And carry this honor with pride, for it is well earned."

  For a moment, Oliver couldn't move. He stared at the ground, his vision blurred by unshed tears. His chest felt tight, but not with pain—it was the overwhelming sense of release, the knowledge that he'd redeemed himself in the eyes of his mentor and his comrades.

  Slowly, he rose to his feet and met Leonard's gaze, whose expression was one of pride and whose eyes were soft with approval.

  "Thank you, sir," Oliver said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  "You've earned it," Leonard replied. "Now stand proudly and show the world what you're capable of."

  A cheer broke out behind them, shattering the solemnity of the moment. Oliver turned to find the rest of the group clapping in joyous celebration.

  Lucy rushed to his side, and in a fit of emotion, he swept her up in his arms and kissed her deeply. She reciprocated with enthusiasm, and for a moment, everything faded away, leaving only the two of them.

  Unfortunately, reality quickly caught up to them, and the two separated in a hurry to the tune of wolf whistles.

  Despite himself, Oliver felt his cheeks flush. He wasn't accustomed to being the center of attention, but their enthusiasm was infectious. He managed a smile, nodding in thanks as they called out his name.

  His focus quickly returned to Leonard when he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Remember," he murmured, meant just for Oliver. "This isn't just a title. It's a responsibility. Carry it well."

  "I will," Oliver promised.

  "I know."

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  The moment passed, and the group returned to their tasks, clearing the remnants of the moleworm attack and ensuring the path would be stable despite the fight. But something had changed. Oliver could feel how his comrades glanced at him now—with a respect that hadn't been there before.

  As he stood beside Leonard, the weight of his sword at his hip and the memory of the oath still fresh in his mind, he felt a quiet confidence settle within him.

  Sir Oliver the Bold.

  The name felt strange yet right, like a cloak he was still learning to wear. He had earned this, and he would prove, time and again, that the faith placed in him was not misplaced.

  Predictably, that was when the shadow that had accompanied them wavered, flickering like a candle in a strong wind. It solidified briefly, and its voice came as a strained whisper. "My Mistress… she uses all her strength. You must hurry."

  That snapped Oliver into action, "We need to move faster then. Earth mages, cast [Earth Passage]. Conservation of energy is no longer a priority."

  The mages agreed and began preparing the intricate spell. The ground beneath them churned and smoothed into a glass-like surface, extending as far as the eyes could see. With a collective push, the group began rushing over the enchanted pathway.

  [Earth Passage] was a very valuable spell in that it allowed people to basically skate across any solid surface without any finicky manipulation, albeit at the cost of a significantly increased mana expenditure. It wasn't something mages usually cast on large groups, not unless escaping was of the utmost necessity, and even then, they rarely did so on anyone else.

  The Revolution's mages were proficient enough in its use to cast it on the whole group with little notice, but they would be tapped out soon enough.

  Oliver glanced back, ensuring that Leonard didn't mind his orders, but got a nod in response, easing his mind. The shadow lingered near him, flickering more erratically.

  Considering how powerful he knew Lady Amelia to be, the fact that her spirit was in such distress could only mean the battle in the skies was going badly.

  "Keep pushing!" He yelled, urging his team onward. The mages' faces were taut with concentration, and he could spy their hands trembling as they maintained the spell. Yet they maintained the spell, not daring to complain, which allowed them to move far faster than their earlier pace.

  The faint tremors of combat above grew stronger as the earth shuddered under some distant force. Each rumble drove them harder, and they all knew that time was against them.

  When they finally emerged from the fissure, daylight struck them like a hammer. After so long underground, the brightness was disorienting, forcing Oliver and the others to shield their eyes.

  The scene before them was chaos and beauty intertwined. Three massive airships danced among clouds of Griffin Knights, their cannons booming and spells flashing in an intricate ballet of destruction.

  Oliver squinted, trying to make sense of the battle. "What's going on?" he asked with urgency.

  Leonard's eyes remained fixed on the skies, and against all sense, he seemed to relax. "Our surprise has arrived," he said.

  Sure enough, a crimson-and-gold airship appeared soon after, roaring with cannon fire as it pushed back Hassel's forces. Oliver felt his mouth hang in surprise and knew all the others were doing the same.

  No one had known they had something like that in reserve, not even him.

  His hope grew as the Revolution's secret weapon changed the tide of battle. While he had never doubted they would eventually win, he knew just how much pain and suffering the airship's arrival had spared.

  This is amazing, but it's still one airship against three. Sure, it caught them by surprise, but that doesn't mean it will be able to take all three.

  Almost immediately afterward, he had to swallow his words as one of the King-Vasily class behemoths fell from the sky, trailing smoke and fire.

  Before he could comprehend what had just happened, Leonard shifted into a stance, drawing his attention. His expression darkened, and his gaze swept over the battlefield and back to their surroundings.

  "Something's wrong," Leonard murmured.

  Oliver barely had time to register the words before a deafening screech of steel filled the air. A force like a hurricane slammed into them, scattering the group. He hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop with his ears ringing and his vision blurred. Shouts and groans filled the air as the others scrambled to their feet.

  When Oliver finally stood, shaking the dust from his cloak, his heart froze. Leonard was engaged in a ferocious battle with three masked figures. They moved with blinding speed, drawing his mentor's attention to each other whenever it looked like he might overwhelm one of them. It was all he could do not to lose sight of them, and he knew this was a fight far above his ability.

  They have to be Masters. But even then, they are fighting Leonard too well… Fuck, do they know him? Has the King finally lost his patience and sent the Elites at us?

  Oliver's gaze fell to the patch on one of the attackers' cloaks—a white sword draped in a black cape. His stomach twisted in recognition.

  "The Whiteguard," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  The Whiteguard was the greatest paladin order of the kingdom, known for their excellence in all fields and unwavering dedication to their mission. Leonard himself had once been among their ranks, the greatest of their prodigies. Now, they had come for him.

  Oliver's instincts screamed at him to intervene, but the sheer intensity of the fight held him frozen. Leonard deflected a flurry of strikes without effort, but the assassins pressed him relentlessly. They also made sure to remain close enough to the group that he couldn't unleash any truly powerful attack, lest he catch them too. They had come prepared to deal with him specifically.

  Leonard parried one blade, only to twist and dodge another before delivering a punishing strike. He moved like a force of nature, but even Oliver could see that he was being tested.

  It seemed the enemy thought so, too because one of the assassins broke away from the group and turned toward Oliver and the others. The masked figure raised a blade, and Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.

  Before he could take another step, Leonard bull-rushed through the gap and kicked the assassin in the chest, breaking several bones even through the enchanted armor.

  "Stay there!" Leonard barked in their direction, pushing another one away with enough force to crater the earth, while the second assassin was punished for his attempt at skewering his throat by getting slapped hard enough that several teeth went flying. "This is my fight."

  Oliver hesitated, his hands tightening on his sword. "But—"

  "No buts," Leonard snapped, leaving no room for argument. "Protect the others and form a perimeter. That's your duty now."

  Reluctantly, Oliver nodded, motioning for the group to fall back. He watched helplessly as Leonard held his ground against the Whiteguard, his golden aura blazing like a lighthouse in the storm.

  Again and again, he clashed with the assassins, and for a while, it looked like they had reached a balance. While Oliver wouldn’t say he was catching everything that happened, he could tell that they were falling into a rhythm. Indeed, the fight seemed almost choreographed, with the assassins moving in unison to keep Leonard from bringing his greater might to bear, and Leonard constantly pushing them to prevent anyone from escaping the fight.

  Light, they even use the same sword style. These must be some of the best fighters in the Order!

  And yet, slowly, inexorably, Leonard was gaining ground. The golden aura now wreathed him completely, and it was only when he finished his maneuver that Oliver realized he had managed to position himself in a way that allowed him to fight without fearing his group would be caught in the crossfire.