I stepped back, my heart invading my mouth. Why hadn’t I taken the time to learn to fight…? At least the basics! Moreover, why had I come to the front in the first place? Stupid!

Duke Kalvin’s firm hand on my arm halted me, and Hana and Shia arrived at my side, each giving me an affirming nod. What? Did they expect me to charge into battle?

My nerves calmed when a familiar face appeared at the head of the Riberan forces.

Captain Alus Maxwell nodded at me, placing a fist over his heart. From behind him, Cannara emerged, and the previous weight was replaced by a comforting lightness on my shoulders. Tight-lipped, she approached.

Then, she took a knee, and her grimace was all I needed to understand she positively hated it. She was doing it to legitimise me.

It seemed to work, too—those behind her relaxed, releasing held breaths and eyeing me with respect. Thanks to [Command Centre], I knew how she’d worked with these people, earning trust and authority through her actions.

Apparently, that transferred to me.

“Rise,” I said, smiling despite myself. She did so, brushing off her shoulders and piercing me with her gaze.

“What took you so long?” she said. My innards twisted; she’d also told me in detail about Aleister holing up in his manor and starving the city, but I hadn’t been able to do anything about it. Maybe if I’d planned better, and anticipated this obvious play, I could have organised aid.

Yet another mistake to add to the litany I’d already made.

“We came as quick as we could.” I sighed. “Obviously not quick enough.”

“Regardless,” she said, a smirk breaking out, “we’re ready.”

Dismounting, I patted Riterra on the neck and followed her toward the crowd. It contained an eclectic mix of individuals of all ages, gangly teenagers mixed with old folks with bowed backs, and differing builds and skin colours.

Fashion appeared nonexistent here, as those without military uniforms wore a combination of aged cotton and rags. A few clutched iron pendants hanging from their necks, which took the shape of eight-pointed stars.

Religious symbols, maybe?

In any case, it didn’t matter.

Captain Maxwell stepped up, saluting with a fist on his heart. “Sire.”

“Captain.” I gestured to the surrounding people. “Quite the revolution you’ve gathered so quickly.”

He shrugged. “The people were unhappy—they merely needed a push.”

“Excuse me.” A diminutive young man with dark brown skin and a vertical scar down his left eye emerged from behind Maxwell. He wore the two stripes of a Sergeant, his black hair cropped short, and carried himself with the practised rigour only found in soldiers.

His deep voice was instantly recognisable.

“Andus Kerryn, I’m guessing?” I tried to smile, but I was too tense, and probably just looked constipated.

“Correct, sire,” he said, offering the same salute as Maxwell had. “After witnessing your dedication to bloodless victory, I was convinced. Rather than face execution for defeat, I decided I would rather fight for my life.”

What an eloquent answer to a question I hadn’t asked. Still, he was obviously influential with his followers, so I tucked his motivations in a box labelled ‘might be useful’.

“Seemed like you were the only one driving them on, back then,” I said. “And then you changed your mind.”

“Of course,” he replied. “The honour and nobility Ribera speaks of? It’s nothing in the face of the ease with which your Arbiter cleaved through our ranks.

“As she said, to move forward, we must abandon the idea of conserving the current order and embrace progress. Even if that requires sacrifice.”

I nodded, still uneasy about the whole ‘sacrifice’ part. He was right, though—progress was key, and without change, people would remain trapped in their current throes, be that gilded happiness or unquestioning misery.

Surveying the two groups, I figured we probably had enough soldiers to lay a decent siege on Aleister’s manor. Personally, I’d rather just burst in and win quickly, but I had to mitigate losses too. Add in the civilians determined to do their part, and he had no chance either way.

“Keep the civilians at the back,” I said, and had Cannara clear a path for me. As I strode through, some people bowed, and some turned away, but the two ranks joined. Riberan and Larm colours mixed, and we entered the streets.

These had an orderly layout, almost like a wheel-and-spoke from the mountain, and a quick peep at Ruler View, short enough I could stay standing, confirmed our path—it was basically a straight line.

I took in the ramshackle wooden structures on the path’s edges, sighing. Construction quality was better than the slums in Larm, but not by much. It smelled dank and musty, despite the fact some buildings had burned down, leaving only embers.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Aleister’s men had clapped back.

I’d need to get Arter a team, maybe form another organisation to undertake mass redevelopment. That was beyond my expertise, but also what Specialists were for.

My throat constricted further while we marched, myself and my retinue at the head. Hana and Shia offered silent support, while Duke Kalvin and General Melric organised the ranks. Cannara had disappeared again; when I leaned on Hana and checked Ruler View, I found her moving through shadowy back alleys.

Kerryn and Maxwell organised soldiers around me, keeping the gawking citizens of Zarua from approaching.

One, however, made it through their net—a young boy, no older than five, sprinted at me with his face twisted in rage.

I halted, and the column behind mirrored me, a confused murmur running through them. The boy was skinny, with sallow cheeks and a tuft of green hair, and wore clothes in such disrepair they hung off his hips and shoulders.

He punched me.

Of course, his tiny fists didn’t do any damage, but it was the thought behind it. My mind emptied as he continued battering my legs, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Why?” he bawled. “Why’re you ‘ere? We was ‘appy, and now me fa’s dead a’cause o’ you!”

I could only gape. I’d known of the sacrifices—hell, I’d been beating myself up over them for the past week—but now, confronted directly by their consequences, my resolve almost shattered.

What was a better life if you couldn’t share it with the ones you loved?

At that moment, I accepted my naivety. Idealism could only get you so far, and right now, I was seeing its fruits. Soldiers were trained for battle, and did their job prepared to die. Instead of using them, I’d allowed civilians to pave the way, even at the cost of their lives.

I’d spent so long trying to do the right thing, but that didn’t exist here. There was only wrong and less wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I said, clenching my fist hard enough to draw blood.

He said nothing, only continuing his assault.

Hana reached out for the boy, but a gentle arm stopped her. A tall, bald man in white robes, with the same pendant I’d seen before, pulled the boy away.

“Bartra,” he said softly, “it is not his fault, nor was it of his design. As Ezraoui demands conflict, all men must one day face their makers in the Jewelled Halls. Your father was a good man; he feasts with the Pillars now.”

“I don’ care!” screamed the boy, struggling against the priest’s grip. “I jus’ wan’ him back!”

“He died fighting for a better life,” said the priest. “For you, and for me. That means something, I think. You could be a lot worse than a man like your father.”

With a shallow bow, the priest studied me. “I apologise for Bartra—he has lost much, recently. First his mother in the fields, and now his father on the walls.”

“I should be the one apologising,” I said, unable to meet his gaze.

He shook his head. “Long have we suffered in silence, but Captain Maxwell’s words struck me as divine providence. Your clear compassion is beholden in the tenets of Rhea.”

Wait… which one was that again? I made a mental note that if I was going to be talking to religious people, I should probably at least research which god was which.

“Would it bother you,” I said, “if I told you I didn’t believe in any gods?”

He smiled wryly. “Not at all. Because, even so, you believe in something, yes?”

I furrowed my brow, remembering the whirlwind that beset me when I arrived in this world, that still tossed me around like an egg in a tumble dryer. What did I believe in? What drove me forward, despite my doubts?

Hana caught my gaze, scouting the area for any threats. Shia tried not to look uncomfortable. Duke Kalvin was… probably complaining, now that I thought about it. He was a soldier too.

“I think so,” I said, nodding.

“Good.” Smiling, the priest placed a hand on my shoulder. “Because it is that belief, that faith, that drives us all. Be it in the Pillars, in others, or in yourself, it doesn’t matter. We have lost loved ones, yes, but we will join them in the Halls soon enough. There is no reason for you to apologise.

“We were all simply following our faith.”

Was that enough? I looked back at Bartra, who was struggling against the net of soldiers, his teary glare slicing through my neck. For the sake of my ideals, this boy had lost his father.

“Let him go,” I called, then faced him. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”

“What you want don’t change ‘e’s gone!” He stared hatefully at me one last time before running off.

Why had it come to this? If it was going to end in blood anyway, wouldn’t it have been better to begin that way? I’d tried so hard to minimise losses, but in the end, I’d only contributed to unavoidable ones.

Was that what my ideals were worth? The deaths of people I tried to inspire, who allowed themselves to hope they could build a better future?

The realisation knocked the wind out of me.

Ideals didn’t build a nation—people did. And those ideals didn’t come easily; rather, they were forged from dreams of escaping a hell drenched in fire and blood. They were the precursor to progress.

I wasn’t in this world to save people—just to help them save themselves. Death was inevitable. Pain was inevitable. Struggle was inevitable.

What mattered was how we let it shape us. Would I let it turn me away from what I thought was right?

I needed to have faith.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Reverend Rodger Salkutt.”

“Reverend Salkutt.” I clasped his hand, shaking it. “Thank you.”

Then, I had Duke Kalvin signal the advance, and he responded with relief. We marched onward, through the outer city and into an area less decrepit, with buildings seemingly carved directly from rock, and fewer citizens in the streets.

The silence was eerie. Black scorch marks adorned a lot of the structures, though most were concentrated on a pair of iron gates, which were set within gigantic stone walls that shone in the sunlight. These surrounded a huge, ostentatious manor.

As we reached the gates, I raised my fist into the air.

A hush fell over the masses behind me.

“Sire,” said Duke Kalvin, “should we prepare for a siege?”

The iron gates were locked, thick and solid with thirty foot stone walls either side. Atop these, archers nocked arrows, and a protective screen of troops immediately formed around me. Shia prepared defensive magic.

I smirked.

“Cannara! Shia!” There was no more room for hesitation. No more room for doubt. If I was doing this, it had to be now, while the hope was still fresh in their minds. While they still had faith.

“Break it down.”