Every muscle in my body seemed to weigh ten times more than it should. I stepped forward, finding myself stumbling, fearing falling on my face and breaking my nose, but Lariel helped me stay on my feet.

The battlefield grew silent. And not just because of the blur in my mind and my sudden weakness. There was a stillness to it all. Screams echoed no more in the field. The rhythm of sword and axe and shield, the curses, the agony, it all had begun to wane.

“Don’t worry,” Lariel said in my ear. “We’ll heal you, alright? That knife was dosed with poison from the South. We’ve got a cure for that. You’ll be sick for a few days, though.”

I nodded, feeling my tongue getting numb.

“Honeycake,” Lariel said gently, pulling my face toward her as if trying to wake me up from a stupor. “We won! We did it! Vanor just yielded. Don’t you see? They’re surrendering! Even Ingo’s men are dropping their weapons.”

I sighed, my head lurching forward. “Well, done,” I managed, the words barely audible.

I grunted; every inch of my body was in pain. Fortunately, I had Lariel and now Alynna and Camille to help me. Anxiety pressed at me. I saw hundreds of bodies littering the ground. I looked across the grid for fallen warriors on our side, fearing I’d lost them.

We reached the castle. Zyra stood at the gate, arms crossed and a smile on her lips.

“Tell me, Zyra…” I mumbled, head low with a knot in my stomach. “How many people are we going to mourn tonight?”

She sighed. “No. Kent’s forces suffered a few casualties, though. Knights, he’s lost three, and more than a dozen of his infantrymen. But thank Aria, we managed to hold on. One of our elves died bravely.”

Inside, the air was tense but calm, amid rubble and horrible sections still lined with bodies from our enemies, which soldiers were already moving out of the castle. It would take a while, but I had to move in. Deep inside, soldiers stood at attention, their armor dented and scratched, their faces marked with exhaustion. Yet, they moved aside as we approached the grand entrance.

They helped me through the palace. Kent had arranged his most loyal knights, the ones who were not wounded, in a sort of procession. Aside from the collapsed section of the front wall and the parapet near the entrance, the castle was intact. Our elven friends were there, some wounded and resting among the stones, but my heart leapt inside my chest once I saw most of them had survived. Nidar had been seriously wounded and had been carried into the chambers, attended by nurses. Ina would heal him once she awoke.

I heard of his bravery, of how he stood in the front lines, letting dozens of invaders charge at him to protect his friends. I was grateful he wouldn’t fall.

“Lord Tactician,” Kent approached me, going down on one knee in front of me. “Thank you for all your help! You did it, by the Goddess, you did it! You led us to victory! You have no idea the shame I feel for what I said at first. Hell. You’ll do it, man. You’ll beat Hath Aman!”

“You did it,” I said weakly. “You won the battle… I…”

Kent stood, his gaze lingering for a moment as if searching for reassurance, then stepped back. Another figure emerged from the crowd: Waldemar. He was tall and broad, his presence commanding without effort, but his expression was softer than I expected—measured, almost reverent.

“Lord Tactician,” said the man. “It’s an honor. It has been fantastic.”

“The honor is mine,” I mumbled, thinking of what we’d cooked up with Malor behind the scenes. I hadn’t had time to supervise it thoroughly and didn’t know exactly what had convinced me. “You’re the one who saved us… May I ask what made you turn?”

“His Majesty’s letter, of course. He grew up under my tutelage. His handwriting is unmistakable, and… well, we shared some memories, which we discussed in our letters. And by the ancestors, there’s no sorcery that could’ve come up with our memories. Therefore, I had to do it. I couldn’t betray my king.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“It’s I who owe you,” Waldemar said, straightening. “Though I hope you’ve got a plan now. The fight may be over, but there’s still much to rebuild.”

Kent glanced at me, and I saw the same weariness reflected in his eyes. “Tactician? You look terrible. Maybe you want to go to the healing chambers.”

I tried to raise my hand. Hell, I couldn’t talk. But I couldn’t miss this.

I decided to speak through Lariel. I used the group chat to tell her what to say. As long as I remained awake, though.

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“There’s a plan,” she said, “though it didn’t include this… not exactly.”

Waldemar raised a brow. “You didn’t expect an attack?”

“Not like this,” she admitted. “The castle is fortified enough for a siege, or so we—"

“Impressive. Simply impressive.”

A commotion stirred behind us—a sharp intake of breaths, whispers rising and falling like a ripple through the courtyard. I turned, every ache in my body momentarily forgotten.

From the inner staircase, a figure emerged.

Malor.

He looked like an entirely different man, the sunlight catching the purple locks on his hair. His clothes were simple, noble, yet plain, but he carried himself with a presence that silenced the crowd. A sword hung at his hip, I believed, from Kent’s personal armory. His gaze swept over us, steady and piercing, and the soldiers and knights around him fell to their knees as if moved by an unseen force.

I even saw disarmed city guards who’d capitulated bowing to the ground, their foreheads against the stone.

“Our king!” someone shouted.

“He lives!” another echoed, their voice breaking with emotion.

Malor’s face softened as he regarded the men and women who had fought for him. He raised a hand, and the murmurs stilled.

“Lord Waldemar,” he began, his voice clear and resonant. “Friends of Alabenia. You have brought me to this moment—not with words or promises, but with your courage and your sacrifice. I owe my life to you, and I will spend it repaying that debt. I stand here, not as a man who demands your loyalty, but as one who will earn it. Today, you fought not just for me but for our people, for truth, and for the hope of a united kingdom. You fought for the truth. I vow to be worthy of your sacrifice.”

“Long live the king!” shouted Waldemar, his voice a roar that cut through the courtyard. He thrust his fist high into the air.

At first, the crowd murmured, a low rumble of agreement, like the first drops of rain in a storm. Then, as if a dam had broken, voices rose in unison. “Long live the king!” they echoed, louder and louder, until the words seemed to shake the very stones of the castle walls.

And the king began to descend the stairs.

Then his gaze fell on me.

“Lord Tactician,” he said, his voice carrying warmth and gratitude. “You are the reason I am here. Your tactics, your courage, and your unwavering determination have brought us to this victory. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

I tried to straighten up, but my body betrayed me. “It wasn’t just me,” I rasped. “Everyone here fought for you, for the kingdom. But I will serve and protect you and your people with my very life.”

Malor smiled, standing in front of me. “Your leadership made a difference. Without you, we would still be scattered, leaderless, and lost.”

With a swift motion, Malor released the sword from his scabbard. No one flinched as he lowered the blade gently, touching it first to my right shoulder, then to my left. “By the power vested in me as King of Alabenia, and with the blessings of Aria, I name you Sir Connor, Knight of the Realm, Tactician of Alabenia.”

He turned to the assembled knights and soldiers. “He shall lead my armies, guide sit in my council, and hold the honor of restoring this kingdom to its former glory.”

A roar of approval rose from the crowd. Kent was grinning ear to ear, and Waldemar gave a solemn nod of respect.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lariel managed for me, bowing her head.

Malor raised his hand again, quieting the cheers. “There is still much to be done. This victory is but the first step in a long journey. Rebuilding Alabenia will take all of us, united in purpose. But tonight, we celebrate. And we send a message to Virna. We’re coming for our city. We’re coming for truth. And by our Goddess, I swear we will win.”

The crowd erupted once more, “long live the king and the tactician!”, and Malor’s gaze swept over them before turning back to me.

“Rest, my friend. You have earned it.”

Lariel squeezed my hand. “You heard the king. Rest. For once, listen to someone else.”

I smiled weakly, the tension in my chest loosening for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The pain in my body dulled slightly, not because it was gone, but because I had a grand purpose I would see fulfilled.

***

I slept for days.

Luckily, the celebrations, and the preparations for what was coming, lasted for a few more days.

A massive rift had gone through the kingdom. We’d gained dozens of allies among the noblemen, those who had been mostly loyal to Malor.

The city, however, was still held by Virna. Not for long, though, and the threat of Eastern forces actually coming by his invitation and occupying Alabenian territory was growing more credible.

So we’d have to plan. And we’d plan damn well this time.

The grand hall of the castle was alive with light and laughter. Soldiers and knights, nobles and commoners alike, gathered to feast and celebrate. Music filled the air, and the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine wafted through the room.

I suffered a fever, but it passed, although pain bristled sometimes, from my wound, radiating into my body.

Bad dreams had been accosting me. Voices in the night, more frightening every day since the battle. But even if they were omens or things that were happening somewhere else, I pushed them into the back of my mind. I had better things to worry about.

I sat near the head of the table, Lariel by my side. Alynna, still grinning wickedly, had her hand on my thigh. Camille sat across from me, quietly observing the revelry with a soft smile. Was I imagining things, or did her eyes seem glued on me during most of the night?

Malor stood, lifting a goblet high. “To those who fought bravely! To those we lost, who will forever be remembered! And to Sir Connor McKinnley, who led us to victory!”

The hall erupted in cheers and the clinking of goblets.

I raised my own, though my arm trembled with the effort. “To victory,” I said, my voice barely audible over the noise.

Lariel leaned close, her lips brushing my ear. “To you, Connor. Don’t forget to savor this. You deserve it.”