Marcus stood near the front with his sword already stained dark and his breathing measured despite everything around him. Garron was a few steps to his right, broad as a wall and just as hard to move, while Laziel held the other side with the tense focus of someone who looked more fragile than he really was. The three of them had ended up there naturally, not because anyone needed to tell them where to stand, but because that part of the battlefield demanded people who could keep standing when the pressure became ugly.
And Marcus could do that now. That thought would have sounded arrogant to an earlier version of himself, but today it felt simple. True. He had grown a lot in recent months. While Noel had thrown himself into that insane training in the mountains, Marcus had trained too. Harder than before. Longer than before. He had pushed his body, his mana, and his spells until improvement stopped feeling exciting and started feeling necessary.
