The initial frenzy after the message had been delivered gave way to a terse quiet. The Griffin Knights had not led an attack but still substantially increased their patrols and closed what little gaps the recon teams had found.
Oliver had even donned his armor several times in preparation for a confrontation, but the Air Force kept to the sky four times in a row, never getting low enough to engage.
The divination division also reassured them that while the King-Vasily Class Airship had been fitted out for combat, there were no indications that it would take off anytime soon.
Sir Leonard was so sure they would attack…It seems crazy that they would take the insult quietly, but they might have realized how outmatched they are. Or they could have a competent Captain who knows better than to sacrifice his men when waiting for a week or two will see them in a much better position, with Count Pollus closing in.
“Oi, Little Marshal, we are getting called up again. The chickens are flying.” Hector, one of the few people his age who didn’t seem intimidated by his relationship with Sir Leonard, called, and Oliver scrambled up to put his armor back on. He appreciated being treated normally but already knew that nickname would stick. He knew better than to fight it, however, or he’d never get rid of it.
It would be the second time this afternoon the Griffin Knights sortied close enough to warrant a response. While Oliver didn’t think of himself as prone to paranoia, it did seem like they were trying to get an idea of what opposition they might find in preparation for an attack.
“Coming! Just a second!” He yelled, struggling to put his helmet on. He’d have foregone it usually, more than protected enough by all the enchantments placed on his armor by Lady Jean, but the story of how a griffin had turned a wormole’s head to mist with its dive had stuck with him.
Outside his tent, Hector huffed impatiently. As soon as Oliver emerged, the short teenager started walking away, following the throngs of other soldiers.
“Is anything different from the last time?” Oliver asked, catching up with his longer legs. It was one of his favorite perks of his latest growth spurt. His ‘ma would struggle to recognize him these days, with how much muscle and inches he had put on.
“Not that I know. The Grand Marshal’s guards sent me to collect you, though, so it might be serious. He didn’t come out the previous times.” Hector answered, turning a questioning look his way. Oliver was the man’s squire, after all. It stood to reason he’d have a better idea of his motivations.
The redhead hummed, checking his straps one last time. He wouldn’t make the mistake of forgetting to tighten his sword more than once.
“Might be that they are attacking then. Sir Leonard doesn’t like to waste time unnecessarily.”
Soldiers bustled around them, preparing for all eventualities. An undercurrent of expectation and nervous energy ran through the camp as people checked and rechecked their equipment, shouldering rifles and donning armor. Everybody knew the coming fight wouldn’t directly involve them unless things went badly, but they were too well-trained to be sloppy.
As they reached the western end of the camp, where ranks of soldiers were forming up, Oliver felt a pang of nervous excitement. Today wouldn’t be the end of the campaign, not even the end of the struggle to take Treon, but a victory now would mean the most significant hurdle left would be gone.
It would also be proof of concept of General Gerard Dortmund’s doctrine, which now called for specific units to be formed in answer to current needs from bigger pools of trained soldiers rather than spending time and money they didn’t have to build up new Corps following the traditional understanding of war. That this could only apply to an army where Champions were as common as Experts in a small town meant no one had ever tested it before, but Oliver had faith it would work.
Of course, all that means is that Sir Leonard, Lady Franklin, and Lady Amelia will do the heavy lifting while the rest of the army watches them beat the Air Force. We’ll be the ones entering Treon, but it’s not as complicated as reading it in the white paper makes it sound.
“Try not to die, Little Marshal. I still haven’t made fun of you enough,” Hector said roughly, spinning around and marching to where his Captain was organizing the ranks.
Oliver shook his head in amusement and made his way to the head of the army, where Sir Leonard stood in his resplendent armor, quietly conversing with Lady Jean.
Tall and imposing, with his golden hair and confident demeanor, Sir Leonard exuded a calm authority that would have seemed at odds with the tense situation if he didn’t have the full trust of everyone around him. No one doubted he’d lead them to victory.
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Beside him, Lady Jean, the albino teenage girl with an aura of mystery and power, caught Oliver's eye. She greeted him with a kind smile, and he felt his cheeks flush under his helm. He quickly pushed the feeling down, reminding himself to think of Margaret instead. The youngest Archmage in Haylich’s history did not deserve to be on the end of a teenage crush, much less one coming from her friend’s squire.
Oliver thought he might die if his admiration ever got out.
"Oliver," Sir Leonard acknowledged him with a nod. “Good, you are here. The time is almost right.”
As if on cue, a runner from the divination division approached, panting slightly from his haste. "Grand Marshal, the wards around the Air Force field are up and running, obscuring our vision.”
Sir Leonard's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing with determination. "It seems they mean business this time.”
Oliver saw the soldier’s eyes cloud in confusion and fought the urge to smile. His mentor was a fantastic person and possibly the greatest fighter in the world. But occasionally, owing to his otherworldly origin, he’d use a term or idiom that made no sense in Haylich. It was a fun, harmless quirk that reminded him that even Sir Leonard was human.
“I suppose that means it won’t just be Griffin Knights this time, right?” Oliver asked, more to distract himself from the impending fight than out of genuine curiosity.
Sir Leonard made to answer but was preempted as Lady Jean launched into an enthusiastic explanation. “Yes, we are likely to finally see the King Vasily Class Airship in action. They are a marvel of magical engineering, you know? They operate on highly complex rune matrices, requiring a hundred high-quality mana stones for even a simple liftoff. I helped refine the matrix to be more efficient just a few months ago, but I doubt Treon's airship has been updated yet.”
Oliver listened, fascinated despite the gravity of the situation. Lady Jean's knowledge and passion for magic were always captivating, even if it did make him blush when she addressed him directly.
"Perhaps I should take it upon myself to disable the airship," she suggested, her eyes sparkling at the opportunity to be helpful.
But Sir Leonard shook his head, putting a stop to her bellicose plans. "No, Jean. I need you here to defend the army from stray shots. I will handle the airship.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Sir Leonard's resolve was clear. She nodded, albeit reluctantly, trusting in his judgment.
"Very well, Leo. But be careful. The King Vasily is no ordinary vessel.”
Leonard nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I will.”
Over the next hour, the Griffin Knights became more visible, increasing in numbers as they circled far above the army. Their mighty forms and wide wingspans cast shadows over the camp, making the soldiers shift uneasily. Allowing the enemy to set up went against every instinct that had been driven into them, but this wasn’t their fight. They were just there to witness.
Oliver counted up to two dozen, but Lady Jean, with her greater attunement to the currents of magic, corrected him.
"There are actually thirty of them," she murmured, scanning the sky. Eight are using concealment magic to hide, one of whom is a Master. Oh, that’s a pretty decent usage of [Environmental Mimicry]. They must have used Archmage Buross as an inspiration.”
Oliver just nodded dumbly.
Then, a vast object lifted off from Treon, and everyone held their breath.
The King Vasily Class Airship was an imposing sight—a colossal vessel suspended in the sky by powerful magic. Its hull gleamed with the metallic sheen of polished ironwood, carved with intricate runes that pulsed with arcane energy.
Cannons lined its sides, their barrels menacingly pointed toward the Revolutionary Army with enough firepower to turn Treon into dust. Dozens of protective wards layered the ship, creating a shimmering barrier that seemed to hum with latent power. Even from miles away, Oliver could feel the weight of its magical presence, a tangible pressure that settled over him like a heavy cloak and made breathing difficult.
This was the greatest magical achievement of Haylich’s mages. A flying behemoth so mighty that the mere threat of its presence was enough to pacify most of its borders.
Yes, it was hideously expensive to operate, and yes, it required so many Expert and Master craftsmen and mages to work together to beggar high nobles, but even knowing the people operating it wouldn’t hesitate to turn him into a smear, Oliver couldn’t help but find it majestic.
Sir Leonard broke the stillness by stepping away from the army and moving forward with deliberate calm. He drew his sword, Dyeus catching the sunlight and gleaming with Light.
And just like that, people were once again free to move, their fears fading with the wind.
Oliver remained close to Lady Jean, who began casting protective spells.
She extended her hands, and silver mana emanated from her palms. The first spell looked like a simple Barrier of Radiance—commonly used by Paladins to temporarily ward a campsite against monster attacks. And yet, something about it tickled Oliver funny.
A dome of pure, shimmering light formed above the army, its surface rippling like water. Wisps of different colors swirled through it, and Oliver’s knees buckled under the weight of its creation, the sheer force of Jean's magic pressing down on him. Beyond just the absurd scale, something about the spell told him it was much greater than its base component. Oliver wanted to ask, but he was taught better than to interrupt a mage at work, especially one charged with protecting his life.
Next, she cast the expected Aegis of Winds—the one spell everyone agreed was effective when facing airborne foes. A swirling vortex of air formed around the barrier, its currents creating an additional layer of defense. The winds howled and twisted, creating a buffer zone that would disrupt the trajectory of any dive the Griffin Knights might undertake. Again, its scale was far beyond anything he had ever seen a single person achieve before, but there was a reason Lady Jean was considered a prodigy without equal.
As the barriers settled, the flying beasts pulled back, not willing to test their chances, and settled into a formation around the approaching airship. They flew with mechanical precision, the griffins' wings beating in unison as they circled the ship like a living shield. The sight of the approaching vessel was enough to send a shiver of worry down Oliver’s back, but one look at his mentor made him breathe freely.
Sir Leonard stood alone, unworried, waiting for them. His stance was relaxed, his sword held loosely at his side. Despite what should have been overwhelming odds, he exuded a deep confidence that calmed all those behind him.
A low whine started, ramping up quickly until it felt it was coming from next to his ears.
No words were exchanged.
The airship’s cannons glowed like a dozen miniature suns, and after a moment, they fired.