Thelma’s walls were not the impregnable ones of the Death Fort that guarded the Silent Corridor in Garva. They weren’t even Hassel’s mighty defenses that had stood against the tides of void for an entire year. But they were still stout walls.

Even with a skeleton crew, taking them would have been a bloody affair for the Revolutionary Army. Many soldiers had crossed into Journeyman tier, making them a reasonably powerful force, but they still would have died in droves assailing such a perfect defensive position.

Lady Amelia opening the town gates saved more lives than any single action that day, apart perhaps from Leonard destroying the wards.

But then again, we wouldn’t have charged if the wards were still working. Everyone knows that’s a quick way to join the Light.

Oliver slashed again, his sword parting a man from his right arm with the same ease he had killed a goblin. Before his opponent could do more than shout, his head was pierced by the following thrust.

He left the corpse behind without looking back, finding the next enemy to fight. The town guard desperately tried to stem the tide of soldiers pouring in from the gates, but it was futile.

A few mages had tried to put up a stronger resistance, casting [Fireballs] at the wall with the intent to collapse them and close the entrance, but the spells had fizzled out halfway to their target. Their second attempt was punished quickly, and the casters disappeared into a wave of shadow. Not even their clothes were left behind, making Oliver believe Lady Amelia might have simply overwhelmed them and transported them elsewhere.

Mages were an important resource, after all. Sir Leonard had declared that, if possible, they should be captured to be added to their forces, and if there was someone fastidious about following his orders, it was Lady Amelia.

Oliver moved through one of the empty side streets, keeping an eye on the mayor’s tower, which he could see standing out of the skyline. That was where he’d need to go to join Sir Leonard, but he first wanted to get some achievements of his own. Slipping away in the chaos hadn’t been his best idea, but he was committed now.

Thelma was similar in architecture to Alpar in that it was mostly cobbled stone and timber from the Darkwood. Differently from it, however, its streets were wider, as if to accommodate a larger population, and cleaner. Even now, with all the chaos of soldiers streaming in, the town had a sense of order much different than the messy slums of Alpar.

I wonder if that’s why they never accepted any refugees here. But then again, Alpar could have handled them much better with some quick action, according to Sir Leonard. The nobles just didn’t want to.

Once he turned a corner, he finally found people. A taller man decked in tabard and threateningly wielding a spear stepped away from the bleeding body of a slave and into his path, and Oliver left such considerations for later. Behind the man, he could see two more men bleeding out, weakly calling for help.

So there are some good fighters left. Well, Thelma is bigger than Alpar, so it was bound to happen.

Oliver brought his sword forward, taking up a stance. His opponent understood his intent and stepped away from the fallen slaves, mirroring him.

He held his spear firmly. Despite the weapon being made of stonewood, given its distinct pale color, and therefore quite heavy, he seemed to have no trouble wielding it.

He must be at least a Journeyman to have this much physical strength. No Apprentice could wield such a spear.

Oliver himself was at the top of the second tier, though he knew that size and experience could still prove a significant advantage to someone weaker than him.

He could feel the Light pooling inside him, observing his actions and waiting for the right moment. His third blessing could come with this victory if he were lucky, but Oliver restrained his enthusiasm. That, Leonard had taught him, was a quick way to lose his head.

His right arm shot forward, probing the man’s defenses. The white shaft met his sword, and he was forced to retreat lest he get caught in the following thrust.

He eyed the man warily and was satisfied that he was given the same regard. Oliver knew his blows were much heavier than anyone would expect from just looking at him. He had practiced for hundreds of hours on single attacks, mastering them until he was capable of executing them in his sleep.

Being under the Hero’s tutelage had allowed what little talent he might have had to bloom into something truly frightening, and Oliver took to it with glee.

Again, he brought his sword forward, and the man shifted slightly, moving to block the blow and to punish it. That was what he was looking for, however, and as soon as the spear shifted to the side, he pumped mana into his arm, granting it incredible strength.

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[Pierce] was a basic skill that still gave great results in close combat, and Oliver delivered a textbook example.

It was ironic that, at the same time, his opponent was preparing to use the same skill on him but was too slow.

The leather jerkin beneath the man’s tabard proved too weak to defend him. It had likely been treated with alchemy to make it tougher than mundane protections, but it could do nothing when faced with a silverite sword.

Oliver pulled back his sword, allowing blood to gush out of the hole he had carved in the man’s chest.

I still don’t know his name.

The thought felt almost alien. What did he care about his enemy’s name? Especially one that wouldn’t have shown him any mercy? And yet, it felt wrong to move on without learning it.

“What’s your name?” The question left his lips before he could realize it.

“Ulf.” Came the wheeze.

Ulf. Ulf. Ulf. I won’t forget that anytime soon.

Oliver gave the men the mercy of a quick death and was surprised at how much it felt like killing a goblin.

That done and pushing his bubbling emotions down for later perusal, he left the dying enemy behind, quickly reaching the two bleeding slaves.

Without bothering to explain what he was doing, he took a vial from his pouch and poured a couple of drops over their wounds, watching them close in real-time. They were too far gone for his meager healing skills to be of use, and he could already see the effects of losing so much blood setting in. The two would have died within a few minutes had he not intervened.

Instead, color returned to their faces, and strength filled their limbs until they could finally breathe easily.

The two men stood up, helping each other, and looked at Oliver like he was a Saint descended from the heavens.

Uncomfortable, he gave them a nod and moved away. His eyes flitted to the side, where he noticed figures watching the proceedings with grim looks from behind a curtain.

As soon as the people noticed him looking, they fell away from the window in a hurry, and he had little doubt they’d run to the cellar to hide.

Most of Thelma’s free population seemed to have done that, preferring to weather the storm rather than help in the defense or the slave rebellion. Not that they could have done anything to turn the tide, given that they likely all had civilian professions. Facing Journeyman or even just Apprentice soldiers, they would have been wheat against a scythe.

Oliver hurried forward, deciding that he had enough side adventures for the moment. The third blessing hadn’t come, and he knew better than to try and force it to happen. He would just have to wait to be graced by the Light’s presence like his mentor had told him in the first place.

Entering the main thoroughfare, he saw hundreds of soldiers stream by. They chased defenders, though they seemed mostly intentioned to get them away from the fortifications rather than to slaughter them to a man.

A few noticed him, but they didn’t stop, for which he was grateful. It would have been mortifying to receive a salute in the middle of a conquest.

Pushing some mana into his feet - enough to lend them swiftness but not to activate a skill, as he didn’t want to run dry so soon - Oliver rapidly made his way toward the town center, where he could hear the bulk of the fighting happening.

When he finally reached the street's end, it opened into a massive plaza at least twice Alpar’s. It was immediately evident that here, the main resistance was taking place.

Dozens of militiamen, alongside sailors, adventurers, and even the occasional knight, were doing their best to keep the advancing revolutionaries from gaining further ground.

It was a losing proposition, as at the center of it all, the Hero was handily beating the most well-equipped man - whom Oliver identified as the Captain of the town guard from the many briefings he participated in - and two other soldiers.

His feet brought him to the fight before he could stop himself, but at least he had the wherewithal to wait until Leonard had disarmed the man with a brutal combo of a deep thrust that pierced his thighs and a twirl of his arm that sent the Captain’s sword clattering away. Another soldier, with the trappings of a sergeant, got a boot to the face that sent him flying, and the last, a knight by the looks of it, threw his sword down.

Sir Leonard gestured with a hand, and all three were bound with ropes of Light before turning to give him a once-over. He smiled, seemingly pleased that he wasn’t horribly injured. “Had fun?”

“I didn’t get the third blessing.” Oliver blurted out. It wasn’t the thing that pressed into his mind the most - that was Ulf’s dead eyes staring back at him accusingly - but somehow, it was what came out.

Leonard chuckled, “You’ll have your chance. Forcing it just makes it harder to achieve.”

Oliver nodded, knowing it was the truth. It still annoyed him to be so close and yet be denied his prize, but he could be patient when needed.

All of a sudden, the air took a different feel. A weight seemed to settle on the plaza, and all fighting stopped.

“Kill them all!” A reedy voice shouted.

Out of the ragged group of defenders, a figure emerged.

Green-skinned and taller than any soldier around her, she was still obviously a woman, given her figure. She held a massive sword in her hands, and her eyes looked peaceful, almost meditative. And yet, Over’s gut told him she was the most dangerous person he had encountered so far, aside from his mentor and Lady Amelia.

“I am Neer, slave guard of Lord Mayor Dandelion De Hoop,” She announced, and Oliver could see it was the truth by the dark collar she wore.

Leonard stepped forth unbidden, and everyone moved away, creating a circle without being prompted.

“I am Leonard Weiss, Grand Marshal of the Revolution.”

That was enough of an introduction. The two combatants took on a stance and shot forward after a second of tense silence.

A massive wave of air slammed into an invisible shield five inches away from his face, and Oliver cried out in surprise, joined by many others. Next to him, Lady Amelia emerged from the shadows, and he knew the barrier was her doing.

Inside, the two warriors fought with incredible intensity. Neer repeatedly brought down her massive greatsword with enviable ease, destroying the plaza's pavement and causing the air to tremble.

Despite the force of her blows, Leonard effortlessly redirected them, wielding his sword like a conductor with a baton.

No spell left Neer’s lips. No great skill was invoked. No flashy elemental empowerment was cast. The half-orc only used her absolute strength and an ability refined with single-minded devotion to last as long as possible against the Hero.

She swung her greatsword in a cross blow with enough strength to rip a tree in half, yet it found an unyielding wall once more.

Sir Leonard even used his pauldrons to block the attacks. Their strength didn’t move him. Finally, it seemed he had seen enough because he started attacking.

From the moment he took his first step forward, Neer was forced to backpedal. Thick, dark mana coalesced around her sword as she pushed to her limits to hold back the divine sword. And yet, it chipped. Again and again, the massive weapon lost the duel, parting with more pieces of itself.

Until it could hold together no more and broke despite the empowerment coursing through it.

To her credit, the half-orc still tried to keep fighting. She moved with the fluidity of a seasoned veteran, aiming to grapple with Sir Leonard, not resigned to losing.

It seemed, however, that the Hero had seen enough because his arm blurred forward, and a flash of light blinded everyone, obscuring the end of the fight.