“We’ve come to pledge our loyalty to your cause, Hero!” The hobgoblin warrior shouted, holding a fist over his heart.

It was the fourth such instance only this day. Small warbands of four or five emerged from the swamp or even the Darkwood. Intel characterized them as likely remnants of those who had lost their homes to the Incursion and decided to fight rather than flee.

Leonard had initially been surprised that it took so long for them to come out, but on second thought, he realized why. These were people who had deliberately chosen to stay away from civilization for months after the end of the war. They likely had a terrible image of the government and royal army, seeing as they didn’t join up even when things were most dire. It wasn’t a stretch they’d be cautious of the revolution too.

Standing tall in his official vest as the Grand Marshal of the Revolution, Leonard observed the hobgoblin warband before him. It was larger than the others, with twelve members.

Their leader, a stout, if short, figure with scars crisscrossing his face, had just finished his pledge of loyalty. Leonard nodded solemnly as he stepped forward to accept their allegiance.

“We welcome you to our cause,” he said, his voice carrying an enhanced weight that never failed to make people stand up and take notice. “Your bravery and determination in fighting against the Void give you honor among my ranks, and they will serve us well in the battles to come against the yoke of tyranny.”

For a moment, the hobgoblins seemed stunned that he knew about their past, as if a little deduction was beyond him, but they immediately exploded in cheers and nods of approval, clearly relieved to be accepted. Leonard then gestured to his officers to integrate the new arrivals, ensuring they were assessed, equipped and briefed. As he watched them blend into the ranks, he couldn’t help but mull over how much things had changed.

With the arrival of the Revolutionary Army at the Battle of the Goat Path and his defeat of General Locke, the local army had broken and fled, seeking refuge within the walls of Treon. Those who were not quick enough were run down and captured. After some convincing—which boiled down to being treated like actual human beings and offered a decent salary and training, which apparently had been lacking in Treon’s forces— many of these captured soldiers had been incorporated into Leonard’s growing force. The once formidable royalist army was now a fractured shadow of its former self.

Few people had managed to flee far enough to make it not worth it chasing them, and even if letting them go meant the city would know of their arrival, Leonard sincerely doubted they weren’t already on high alert after losing contact with the General.

With that decisive victory, the path to Treon had become clear, and Leonard’s army marched rapidly. Small villages along the way were taken with little resistance, and the locals often joined the revolutionary cause—awed at the gleaming armor and weapons the elite corps leading the charge wielded, or simply knowing better than to refuse the new power in the region— and swelled their ranks further.

After months of campaigning, Gerard developed a very efficient training regime for these recruits and churned out Apprentices on the verge of becoming Journeymen in little more than three weeks. It was an almost autonomous process, with seasoned veterans too old to wield their blades in combat enthusiastically taking charge while under Neer’s able eye.

The half-orc in question had taken to her role as General of the Security Forces like a fish to water and required almost no oversight, organizing newly conquered territories into peaceful and productive communities, using her experience following a noble around as guide, and her instincts where that failed. All in all, Leonard could honestly say he was satisfied with how things were going.

After the formalities with the latest warband, he retreated to his tent, accompanied by Oliver. The young man, ever diligent, helped him remove the stifling fabric of his official uniform—something his War Council had firmly insisted upon, pointing out that it was a historically understood effect that the more visible and recognizable the commander was, the higher the troops’ morale— the familiarity of the routine bringing a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of war.

Oliver had also recently returned from a mission to capture the easternmost village on their route to Treon, which gave them the chance to debrief privately. Despite his time being much more in demand than ever before, Leonard still made sure to have some time set aside for one-on-ones with his squire. Not that the boy would remain so much longer, with how quickly he was racking up achievements, but for now, it would do.

Carefully removing the golden ornaments from the vest, the redhead began, “One thing I’ve noticed is that the locals are always surprised to see us. I expected the panic that follows—seeing forty mounted men ride hard toward you can send the toughest men into blind fear— but it seems they knew nothing about how much we have advanced. It’s like they’ve never imagined we could be here.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Leonard nodded thoughtfully as he sat down, accepting a cup of water from Oliver. “The royalist propaganda has been thorough,” he replied. “They’ve painted a picture of invincibility around Locke and his forces. To the common folk who have only been told what monsters we are and how brave and valorous the nobles defending them are, the idea of us winning, let alone being this close, is unthinkable.”

He took a sip, the cool water soothing his parched throat. He had come to enjoy speaking publicly and knew how important it was to personally welcome the new arrivals to cement their loyalty, but taking for so long always made him thirsty, “It’s a tactic as old as war itself. Convince the people that their leaders are undefeatable, and you instill fear and compliance. But now, with Locke defeated and our forces pressing forward, that illusion is shattered.”

“So they never even considered the possibility of defeat. To them, the world probably ends beyond their village’s walls, and they only know what is brought to their ears by outsiders—it certainly was what happened with my family. And the merchant traffic has significantly diminished because of the Incursion first and now us.” Oliver said with a tone of realization.

Leonard smiled, nodding. After being summoned, it had been tough for him to realize just how slowly news traveled in this land. Communication stones were the privilege of the nobles or the wealthiest merchants, and even they couldn’t abuse them for frivolities. It was why he had pushed Jean to work on a better model, even if she had surprised him with how much she achieved in so little time. Progressively, he was achieving things he had once thought impossible, and he would drag Haylich into modernity, kicking and screaming if he had to.

“Exactly,” Leonard said, leaning back in his chair. “And now, seeing us here, they’re forced to face a new reality. It will take some time for them to understand we aren’t the monsters we are painted as, which is why I insisted on regular food shipments to the communities. Some might see it as a waste since we are running a campaign, but our accounts are well above water, and the supply flow isn’t in danger at the moment. We can afford to be generous with more perishable food and will reap great rewards for our generosity. True loyalty is worth so much more than fear-based acquiescence.”

It was the same concept that led him to resurrect so many of the enemy soldiers. It sounded counterintuitive to many, but it was an act often reserved only for the highest social classes—and even then sporadically. For a common soldier to be plucked back from oblivion meant much more than nebulous duty to a faceless noble.

Oliver seemed to follow his train of thought easily because he asked, brow furrowed. “Will this method of earning loyalty work with the recently defeated local army? I mean, we were pretty brutal in defeating them, especially since you killed Locke and didn’t resurrect him,”

Leonard paused, considering how to answer the question. Before he could speak, however, his attention was drawn to a shadow pooling deeper within the tent. He smiled, recognizing the familiar presence. He had sensed an increasing activity among the spirits lately but hadn’t expected her to return for a couple of days yet. Her little surprise must have gone quite well, then.

From the dark emerged Amelia, wearing a stunning black dress adorned with purple feathers, as ethereal and commanding as always.

“Leonard straddles the line between scaring people off and being too permissive,” she smoothly interjected, startling Oliver, who had yet to refine his senses enough. “His method of resurrecting the common soldiers while only sparing a limited few of the commanders demonstrates a limit to his mercy, solidifying his role as an invincible warrior.”

Leonard stood and gently embraced his friend, smiling in agreement. “Exactly. It’s about balance. By bringing back the common soldiers, I show them that I value their lives and that they are not just cannon fodder to me, something even the greatest nobles cannot claim. This builds a sense of loyalty and gratitude. However, by only resurrecting a few commanders, I also make it clear that there are consequences for opposing us too fiercely.”

Amelia stepped back, letting a hand linger on his arm as a private show of affection. “It’s a careful dance. Show too much mercy, and they may see you as weak. Show too much strength; they’ll fear you but never truly trust you, simply thinking of the Revolution as another bully taking power. Leonard’s approach ensures they respect and revere him, seeing him as a genuine leader who is just but not to be trifled with.”

Oliver looked between the two, absorbing their words. “I saw that in the men, but I didn’t think it was that deliberate. It seemed pretty organic to me.”

Leonard sighed, sitting back down, “I don’t particularly enjoy having people treat me as a heavenly savior, but I have learned in my tenure as the Hero that titles don’t mean much in the face of greed and fear. I will not allow the revolution to fail simply because I was too uncomfortable with the trappings of power.”

Amelia walked around him, gently grabbing Oliver’s face and staring deep into his eyes. After a moment of silence, she let him go, seemingly satisfied, “You are very close to your next Blessing. It’s good to see you haven’t wasted your time.”

Oliver sputtered, much to Leonard’s amusement.

“You’ve done well in navigating this delicate balance. The army grows not just in numbers but in spirit and unity. This will be our strength when we take Treon and face Pollus. I have walked through the camp, invisible, and observed the men. Their loyalty is truer than I’ve seen before.”

Leonard smiled, thanking her for the acknowledgment. Then, he turned to Oliver, sensing he had one last question.

“I see that too. But one thing I don’t understand is why go through all that effort with Smith, who is an Expert, and not recruit Locke. He obviously wouldn’t have been easy to convince, but he had to be very frustrated with how Luster-Treon forced his hand. And he was a Master. Having him join us would have unified the people much more than showing the limits to your mercy. Everyone already saw his bisected corpse.”

Leonard extended a hand, softly calling upon the Light, which answered eagerly. He made a grabbing motion, only for the energy to disperse. Amelia’s eyes widened in realization, while Oliver only tilted his head in confusion.

“Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to resurrect him. His soul disappeared as soon as he died. He had nothing tying him to the mortal plane.” Leonard answered lowly. “And even if what you said is true, that his presence in this camp would have been a powerful signal, it would have also undermined the cause we fight for. Locke wasn’t distinctly evil like many others, but he was complicit in the system of suffering. He was the guard dog of the old regime. We are not that. Never that.”