Leonard let out a slow breath, shifting his posture as he squared off against the assassins. They circled slowly, keeping their white swords pointed at him. His face was unreadable, but inside, a storm raged.

  They are from the Whiteguard’s Anathema Division. Only they can get access to Silverite Blessed Swords. They aren’t even trying to hide it.

  Deep down, he had known that his decision to rebel would bring him conflict with those he considered allies, but betrayal wasn’t easily forgiven. To see the order he had once called family, the institution that had taken him in when he was first summoned to this world, turn against him so fully? It cut deeper than any blade could.

  Leonard ducked under a vicious slash, pivoting sharply to parry a thrust aimed at his ribs. His movements were almost mechanical as he pushed one assassin back with a burst of Light and sidestepped the combined strike of the other two. He knew what they would do just as well as they knew what he would. They had come prepared for this, as shown by the subtle feints and calculated maneuvers designed to exploit the known weaknesses of his style.

  It just so happened that he was also acquainted with the martial art they practiced, the Blade of Severance. Nothing was kept from the holy Hero, after all. At least as long as it was the old man who ran things.

  They must have prepared to fight me for a while, probably against the Grandmaster. Few other people could have served as my stand-in, and they wouldn’t have bothered sending assassins.

  But of course, they had. He wasn’t just any traitor to them; he was the greatest prodigy the Whiteguard had ever seen. His betrayal was personal to them, and the fact that three Master assassins at the top of their rank had been sent confirmed it. The new Grandmaster himself had to have approved this mission.

  Leonard ducked under a decapitating blow and increased the rhythm again, intensifying his golden aura as he struck out in a flurry of blows. His blade clashed against theirs, straining the lesser swords and forcing them never to engage for too long. Nonetheless, the assassins adjusted with perfect coordination.

  A crack appeared on his third attempt to damage their blades, ruining the Silverite beyond repair, yet they took it in stride without flinching. Another point to show that this was a death squad meant to take him out. The waste of wealth, done with such carelessness, confirmed his suspicions that the Grandmaster had sent them. They had prepared to lose swords worth more than a mansion in Mellassoria.

  Now that I think about it, the fact that I wield Dyeus and that it still works for me must be a source of great shame for them since they have decided to stand with Vasily. Their sacred relic is in the hands of the rebel leader. Of course, they would send an elite team to recover it.

  The thought stung more than it should have. He had hoped against reason that the Whiteguard would see through the kingdom’s corruption, that they might question their orders. But now he realized how naive he had been.

  Leonard feinted left, forcing one assassin into a misstep, and delivered a punishing kick to his side. He heard the satisfying crunch of ribs breaking, but the man barely staggered, quickly regrouping with the others.

  The Whiteguard did not falter. The old adage seemed to be true even now.

  “Do you still think you can win?” He asked with steel in his voice. “Do you think this ends with anything but your death?”

  The assassins didn’t respond. They never did. Their silence was a blade of its own, cutting through his lingering sentimentality.

  With a sharp exhale, Leonard shifted his stance, raising his sword with both hands. The golden light around him flared, expanding outward in a radiant halo. He didn’t have time for restraint anymore. He had a responsibility to his people, and however much he would have liked his old comrades to have at least refrained from taking the field against him, he had to deal with reality.

  He attacked faster than before, each swing carrying arcs of Light that tore through their formation. The assassins reacted as they could, scattering to avoid the destructive blasts, but they had to sacrifice their offensive.

  The field around him erupted with bursts of golden energy as his attacks landed, tearing gouges into the ground and forcing his opponents to constantly reposition. Their previously tight formation began to fray under the assault, and their teamwork unraveled as Leonard pressed harder.

  But the assassins were Masters for a reason. They adjusted and, soon enough, tried to counterattack. The air filled with streaks of blinding Light as they called upon their divine connection, imbuing their strikes with the same holy energy Leonard wielded.

  For a brief moment, it seemed like the balance would be restored.

  Leonard smiled grimly.

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  They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. Had it been different, they would have never tried to face him.

  The constraints of humanity no longer bound him. Where they drew upon the Light’s power like soldiers rationing supplies, Leonard wielded it like a sovereign.

  “What foolishness,” he said with sad finality. “To call upon the Light to battle its Chosen.” That blasphemy would have seen him excommunicated, yet he could prove his claim.

  He raised his sword, and the golden aura around him surged outward, washing over the broken ground like a tidal wave. The assassins’ Light dimmed and then vanished entirely. Their swords faltered mid-swing, the holy energy dissipating as Leonard’s power smothered theirs.

  For the first time, they hesitated.

  Leonard didn’t.

  With a shout in a language mortal ears couldn’t comprehend, a golden sigil appeared in the air above them. Before their brains could dribble out of their ears as they tried to comprehend the Heavenly Truth, a surge of light exploded outward, overwhelming their senses and driving them to their knees.

  They didn’t scream. Leonard hadn’t expected them to. Their minds were strong and their resolve unyielding, but even the greatest warrior couldn’t stand against an assault on their very connection to the divine.

  One by one, they slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  Leonard stood over them, frowning despite himself as the golden aura began to fade. He stared at the three fallen figures for a moment, trying to decide what to do with them.

  I should kill them. It is the smart thing to do. And yet, I’m staying my blade.

  He was sure that once he took their masks away, he’d recognize them—there was no one within the Whiteguard he hadn’t trained with and fought beside.

  Sighing, he sheathed his blade and stared at their prone forms. He couldn’t afford sentimentality, but neither could he bring himself to end them. His hesitation was uncharacteristic, but this wasn’t like other battles.

  Leonard knelt, pressing his hand into the dirt. With a muttered invocation, golden tendrils of light spiraled outward, forming intricate patterns around the fallen assassins. The chains shimmered as they solidified, glowing faintly like sunlight filtered through stained glass.

  [Confinement of the Unjust] was a spell he had learned only in theory during his time with the Whiteguard, meant to be a mark of shame—a punishment reserved for those deemed unworthy of the Light’s blessings so that they could reflect on what they took for granted. It severed its victims’ connection to the divine, preventing them from channeling holy power. It was not something he cast lightly, knowing full well the weight it carried.

  The kingdom had attempted something similar with him when they branded him a traitor, trying to humiliate him with a slave collar imbued with the very magic that prevented him from saving Belinda. Leonard’s hand twitched at the memory, but he pushed it aside.

  This isn’t the same. This is temporary. Necessary.

  He stood, dusting his hands off as the glow faded, locking the assassins in a metaphysical cage. They wouldn’t be able to draw upon the Light nor escape its binding, not without his dispelling it—or their deaths.

  “Why didn’t you kill them?”

  Leonard turned to see Oliver watching him with his brow furrowed. The younger knight’s hand still gripped the hilt of his sword, and tension was evident in his stance.

  Leonard’s expression remained neutral. “Because I need information.”

  Oliver frowned. “Information?”

  “The Whiteguard doesn’t send assassins lightly, especially not of this caliber. Their orders must have come directly from the Grandmaster, which means they know more about the kingdom’s movements than we do.”

  Oliver nodded slowly, relaxing. He had seen Leonard’s ruthlessness in battle and knew he would have done the deed if necessary.

  “And because they were my comrades,” Leonard admitted quietly, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of battle. “Once.”

  Oliver didn’t press further. It seemed he understood that there were greater priorities at the moment.

  Leonard turned to the rest of the strike team to find their expressions ranging from wary to outright shocked. They had seen his power before, but the sight of three Master-ranked Whiteguard assassins subdued so decisively had clearly shaken them. It helped that their connection to the Light was far lesser than the assassins, so they couldn’t understand what had just happened. Their weakness protected them from the Truth.

  “Gather the prisoners,” Leonard ordered, shaking them out of their funk. “They won’t be able to fight back but keep a close watch on them. We’ll interrogate them once the battle is over.”

  One of the soldiers hesitated. “What if they—”

  “They won’t,” Leonard interrupted. “The spell binds their abilities entirely. They’re not a threat.”

  The man nodded, moving quickly to secure the unconscious assassins. Leonard turned to Oliver.

  “Take the others and guide them back to camp,” he instructed. “Join the other commanders and follow Neer’s orders to prepare for a possible counterattack.”

  Oliver hesitated for a moment before saluting sharply. “Yes, Grand Marshal.”

  Leonard watched as his student rallied the group. A small flicker of pride stirred in his chest, but the reality of their situation quickly overshadowed it.

  His gaze shifted upward to the skies above. The aerial battle raged on, with the revolution’s airship maneuvering ably to fend off the two loyalist vessels. Flashes of light and bursts of flame illuminated the sky, painting the clouds in fiery hues.

  Leonard’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Amelia darting through the chaos. She was currently hammering the lowest airship, forcing it to abandon its position lest it get caught between the two rebel forces. Even from this distance, he could sense her strain.

  “She’s still holding them off,” he murmured to himself. “But I doubt she’ll last for much longer.”

  Their airship tilted sharply, narrowly avoiding a barrage of cannon fire, which ended up exploding in the distance. It was frustrating to see how much damage the aerial battle was causing to the surrounding nature, but it was better the shots went wide than hammering the army’s shields. Though Leonard trusted his men to do their parts, it wasn’t reasonable to believe even a few hundred mages could hold off an aerial bombardment of that scale for long.

  Golden light flared around him once more, lifting him into the air. He rose steadily, and his soldiers below paused to watch. Their awe was palpable even as they moved to follow his orders.

  Crossing the distance was simply a matter of flexing his will. Now that he didn’t need to worry about vaporizing his people with his mere presence, Leonard allowed his power to unfurl.

  To the naked eye, the golden corona that surrounded him grew brighter. To those who could see more, he had become a supernova, altering the fabric of reality with his mere presence.

  Amelia turned into a streak of darkness and rushed to his side, immediately knowing it could only be him. Four miles of distance were crossed in a mere second, and Leonard allowed her to bask in his presence and regain some strength. After all, shadows could not exist without light.

  The airship did its job. Pollus must know now that he cannot hold the main wards for long if I give it free rein, and the loss of his ships will weaken his position. He’ll have to retreat to the citadel soon.

  “You’ve done well.” He murmured, “Now let me put an end to this.”

  He had a city to conquer.