“This is Leon Ursus, the Thunder Knight! The White Griffin!” Roland shouted to the guards, and immediately, nearly all of their expressions turned to surprise and almost panicked regret.

Leon, however, was so stunned at what Roland had just said that he reeled back a bit as if he had just been struck across the face.

“W-What… the… did you just…?” he sputtered, looking at Roland as if he were a two-headed dog that learned to talk.

[Oh… by all the Gods and Devils… that is just the greatest thing I’ve heard all week!] Xaphan gleefully whispered from Leon’s soul realm, though Leon was a bit too distracted to hear him.

Ignoring Leon for the moment, Roland repeated to the guards, “Get back to your posts! These are allies!”

As Leon pulled his shocked mind back together, he could sense Marcus’ judging eyes upon his back. Glancing backward, he saw that Marcus was actually watching the guards head back to their posts, but Leon knew that Marcus was barely holding in the laughter at the ridiculous things that Roland had just said. Alcander, however, was still retching into the grass and barely seemed to know where he was.

Making things worse, Leon could hear some of the men and women of the guard detail chatting amongst themselves as they followed Roland’s order.

“… was Sir Leon? I thought all barbarians were bearded…”

“I know, he was so cute…”

“… honestly expecting someone a bit more… I don’t know, wilder?”

“… heard he has a thousand giants with him, and that they’ve already killed fifty thousand of Octavius’ nutlickers!”

“… knew I’d seen that griffin before…”

‘Maybe they’re not all that bad…’ Leon thought to himself, but once they had gone a respectful distance, he turned his attention back to Roland coincidentally as Roland did likewise.

“So,” Roland said, “Sir Leon—eh!”

Leon interrupted the Paladin by uncharacteristically throwing his arm over Roland’s shoulders and pulling him close as if he were an old friend.

But he wasn’t an old friend.

“If you ever call me those things again,” Leon whispered into Roland’s ear, emitting a few strands of killing intent that had Roland’s hair standing on end, “I will end you. I will fuckin’ end you. Got it?”

With a quick flash of light, Roland slipped out of Leon’s grip and stood a few feet away, a bemused smile on his face.

“I suppose I can refrain from such titles in the future, but I can’t say the same for the rest of the army,” he said in a smugly matter-of-fact tone.

“What does that mean?” Leon demanded, his heart dropping into his stomach in panic.

“You… haven’t spent much time with the rank-and-file in your time, have you?” Roland asked, cocking his head, and narrowing his eyes in inquisitiveness.

“… No…?” Leon replied, thinking back to all of his time in the Legions. Barring the few weeks he’d spent at Fort 127, nearly all of his time in the Bull Kingdom had been spent in the company of knights and nobles.

“I wouldn’t sweat it,” Roland said with a laugh and a shrug. “The troops have a tendency to assign nicknames. The Brimstone and Bronze Paladins were both named by their troops, you know.”

“No matter who it comes from, I don’t appreciate the nicknames,” Leon replied without a shred of amusement.

“Unfortunately, you don’t have much choice in the matter,” Roland said. “They’ll call you what they will, and you can either live with it or fight against it. If you fight against it, then you’ll likely only earn yourself something… a bit less flattering.”

Leon scowled, his golden eyes glaring in the direction of the largest group of guards as they disappeared into their quarters.

“Well,” Roland said a bit awkwardly as Marcus helped Alcander to his feet, “as much as I would love to stick around here and chat, we should probably have you report in with His Highness. Come with me.”

Roland then led them to the largest of the stone barracks, being about four stories tall and dense with offices on the first three. Anzu had to wait outside, though, much to his consternation, but accepted it when Leon rubbed his head and made sure the griffin knew he was coming back soon.

As they went inside, Leon asked Roland, “There aren’t that many guards, I’ve noticed. What’s with that? Isn’t this the nerve center for the entire camp?”

“It is,” Roland replied, waving them past the guards and handful of secretaries still working this late. “Most of the guards stay inside at night since there isn’t much point in having them wait outside this far inside the camp. If someone was capable of penetrating this far into the camp without raising any alarms, having the guards standing watch outside wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway.”

“Understandable, I guess,” Leon replied, taking note of all the empty desks and offices they passed as Roland led them to the central stairway.

“By the way, who are your companions?” Roland asked.

“Sirs Marcus Aeneas and Alcander…” Leon quickly replied before pausing for an embarrassingly long moment as he realized that he didn’t actually know Alcander’s family name.

“I got it,” Roland replied, covering for Leon a bit. Fortunately for Leon, Alcander was still feeling too queasy to notice. “A pleasure to meet you, Sir Aeneas, Sir Laronius. Your parents will be beyond pleased to see you two alive and well.”

“You too, Sir Magnus,” Marcus replied with almost excessive formality while Alcander focused on remaining upright.

A few seconds later, Roland was showing them into August’s office where he quickly introduced them. August himself was clearly tired, though Leon could understand that given the time of day and the weeks of siege; the Prince sported large bags under his eyes and a lethargy to his movements that Leon hadn’t seen before the Prince awakened his blood.

August repeated Roland’s pleasantries, while Marcus and Alcander did their best to present themselves to the Prince with as much ceremony as they could, bowing and professing how much of an honor it was to meet August.

Noticing that Alcander had started to sway despite having a knee on the floor and Marcus stifling a yawn of fatigue, August quickly said, “Please, rise and take a seat. It’s late, we could all stand to be a little less formal, no?”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Marcus replied while Leon and Alcander took the offered seats without a word—though, in Alcander’s case, he more or less fell into the chair rather than sat down.

“Roland, please inform Marquis Aeneas that his son has arrived,” August said, to which Roland nodded and left. “Now,” August continued, turning his attention to Leon, “tell me what all has happened to you over the past few weeks. No need to get too detailed since I’m sure you’ll have to repeat yourself once everyone else is here, but I would like to hear the basic rundown, please.”

Leon nodded, acquiescing to August’s request-like order.

“Hmm, we were wondering what prompted so many of their warriors to suddenly leave like that,” August said once Leon had finished his brief explanation. “Our scouts estimate that you killed eight thousand of their people at least, so I have to offer you my congratulations.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Leon replied, though the thought of how many losses his side took relative to their total weighed down the pride he would’ve otherwise taken in such a victory.

Just then, Roland led Marquis Aeneas into the office. The Marquis appeared grumpy and barely dressed, but as soon as his eyes landed upon Marcus, all irritability and vexation in his demeanor vanished.

“Son!” he loudly exclaimed, rushing forward to pull Marcus out of his seat and into his arms.

“Ah! Uh, good to see you, too, Father,” Marcus sputteringly replied, taken aback as he was with his father’s decidedly un-noble outburst.

Quickly regaining his poise, the Marquis released his son, but Leon could see a few unshed tears in the elder noble’s eyes.

“It’s good to see you, my boy,” Aeneas growled as he straightened his clothes. He then turned to August whom he had practically ignored, bowed his head, and said, “I apologize, Your Highness. I forgot myself for a moment.”

“Don’t worry about it, My Lord,” August replied, mustering up all the cheer he could to smile at the family reunion. “Sir Leon was just telling me about his exploits…”

Like that, Roland and Aeneas pulled up a pair of chairs as Leon made a more thorough report of his mission and the actions he had taken upon his return.

“That was reckless, you’re lucky you didn’t lead your entire unit to their deaths,” Aeneas chided, though Leon couldn’t help but notice that his tone lacked the harder edge that he had come to expect when speaking with the Marquis, and once he noticed that, he also happened to see that the Marquis’ gaze seemed a bit softer than it was, too.

“I trusted my people to accomplish their task,” Leon replied, his tone a mix of matter-of-fact confidence and confusion.

“I hope you trust them to continue to do so,” Aeneas continued.

“You don’t think I ought to try and get them here?”

“No, it’s far too useful having a force outside their siege lines, even if it’s small.”

“I agree,” Marcus added. “I would like to join you, if possible.”

Aeneas’ head whipped around to stare at his son in astonishment. “That’s…”

“I would join… you too,” Alcander interjected, though he still seemed about ready to melt before their eyes.

Ignoring Aeneas’ rapidly escalating panic, Leon said, “I don’t have a lot to work with, so I’d be happy to have you both come back with me.”

“Marcus!” Aeneas loudly protested.

“Father, I am close to the fourth-tier,” Marcus calmly replied, to the amusement of the watching August and Roland. “Some combat experience will be good for me. I can’t pass this opportunity up.”

“It would be safer for you to remain here!”

“Safer, sure. But better? I would disagree.”

Sensing a familial fight was brewing from the way Aeneas’ expression was slowly turning angrier, August interrupted, saying, “Sir Marcus is a grown man and a knight without a commander. I, personally, couldn’t imagine a better person for him to follow than Sir Leon, at least until this war is over.”

Aeneas glared at August for the briefest of moments before getting his face back under control. “… Very well,” he growled. “If that is where Your Highness stands, then I will not stand in the way.”

August gratefully nodded while giving the Marquis a sympathetic look. “So, moving on,” he said, “let’s get down to business here. Sir Leon is outside their lines with two thousand warriors and a hundred giants. The Duke of Lentia has offered to join our cause. We’re stuck here unless we can manage to break out, and given the way our last attempts went, I would hesitate to order another try at that.”

“Are there any other ways to escape?” Leon asked. “Your messenger managed to reach us, though I don’t know if he managed to return…”

“None of the messengers we sent out have come back,” Roland said with a mix of sorrow and fury. “That one managed to reach you is a miracle unto itself. But none have returned.”

“Our paths through the mountains are too rough for large numbers of people to escape through,” August explained. “And, at this point, most of them have been blocked off by small but powerful groups of Duke Duronius’ soldiers. We’re effectively stuck unless we were to make a costly assault, and we’re not at that point yet.”

“Aren’t you, though?” Leon asked. “Seems to me like none of us have many options. We’re still outnumbered almost two to one, and unless we take drastic action, we’ll run out of food before anything happens. How’s the supply situation?”

“We have enough for about three weeks,” Roland answered.

“Three weeks of food and ‘we’re not at that point yet’?” Leon asked August, his tone disbelieving.

“You weren’t here when we tried to break out, we took serious casualties,” August shot back a little testily. “That we managed to hold this hill long enough to fortify it is the only reason we’re still around. If we abandon these walls, then we’re done for.”

“We’re done for if we stay, too. I’d rather take the chance of breaking out than the certainty of starvation.”

“I’m… with Sir Leon on this one, Your Highness,” Marcus said somewhat nervously as August’s eyes flitted over to him. He’d never spoken one-on-one with Royalty before. “A defensive attitude is only viable when we have something to defend. This hill isn’t worth it, and if we stay here… we’ll lose.”

“We have plenty worth defending,” August quietly replied. “There are a hundred and fifteen thousand people in this army. That means we have a hundred and fifteen thousand reasons not to attack…”

Leon quietly sighed and glanced over at Roland, who looked back at him apologetically. It seemed to Leon that seeing how many people had died in their previous battle had affected August more than either had thought at the time.

“People are going to die no matter what,” Aeneas said, his head still occasionally turning from August to his son. “If Octavius wins, then all of this is meaningless, Prince Trajan’s murder will go unavenged, and Your Highness will be executed. All of us would likely be executed for treason as well.”

August nodded in a way that Leon knew meant that he, Aeneas, and Roland had all had this argument many times in the past couple weeks. That they were still hunkered down on the hill simply meant August hadn’t yet decided what to do and was hesitating now that he had been confronted with what the cost might be following the previous battle.

“People die,” Leon whispered, drawing August’s attention. “No matter what, people are going to die. We’re past the point of no return. Starvation, battle, or the headsman. That’s the choice we all have. I would choose to risk my life in battle rather than the other two, as I’m sure most people in the army would agree. Prince August, if you stay this passive and defensive, we’ll lose.”

It took almost an entire minute of sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Leon, Marcus, Alcander, Aeneas, and Roland all staring at August, exerting pressure by making their expectations known before August relented.

“Fine,” he murmured, his eyes closing and a strained look pulling the skin of his face taught. He said no more, but he didn’t need to, his agreement was all that Aeneas needed.

“Good! Sir Leon, Marcus, Sir Roland, we have plans to make! Come, we have an army to destroy!”

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