(continuing right after last chapter's ending)
The wind carried the smell of burnt oil and scorched stone.
Aurelius lowered his Guardian Spear, the darkened edge still faintly humming with Armament Haki. The canyon was silent except for the slow settling of rubble where the last enemy gun emplacement had been torn down.
The Imperial Guard detachment he had been assigned to — the 33rd Orestian Rifles — moved cautiously forward. They had expected to lose half their number in this push; instead, the line had held without a single breakthrough.
Aurelius said nothing as the medicae teams swept in. He stood at the ridge, eyes on the far horizon. His Observation Haki extended outward like a net, brushing over the land, feeling for hostility. All he sensed now was exhaustion — from both sides.
One of the younger Guardsmen, barely past his first campaign, came to stand beside him. "Sir… they said we wouldn't be able to stop them here. That they'd take the pass before nightfall."
Aurelius glanced at him, a flicker of a smile in his eyes rather than on his lips.
"They misjudged the will of men who refuse to yield."
The soldier swallowed, then nodded sharply. "Yes, sir."
When darkness fell, they lit no fires. The enemy had pulled back, but Aurelius knew better than to believe in retreat.
In the stillness, his thoughts wandered — not to strategy or supply lines, but to the sensation of the day's combat.
For a moment during the clash, time had felt… different.
Future Sight, perhaps — only a few heartbeats ahead, but enough to feel the pull of intent before a blow landed. It had been unsteady, draining, but it had been there.
He closed his eyes, letting the night wind trace the gold of his armor.
The Gift — as others named it — was no divine boon. It was will, honed and sharpened. And it could be honed further.
At dawn, scouts returned.
"Movement, sir. Small force. Not the main enemy host. They're bypassing us through the east ravine."
Aurelius turned, his mind already drawing the terrain in perfect detail. The ravine led to the civilian evacuation route. If those troops got through, they would butcher the noncombatants before the Guard could reposition.
"Leave this position in the hands of your captain," Aurelius ordered. "I will handle the ravine."
The sergeant hesitated — it was nearly ten kilometers over rough ground.
Aurelius was already moving.
He reached the ravine before the enemy emerged.
Kneeling at the edge, he felt the hum of intent through Observation Haki. The enemy squad was methodical, disciplined, unaware they had been marked.
He rose, stepping into their path as they rounded the bend.
Ten Chaos-aligned mercenaries froze at the sight of him — not because they knew his name, but because the weight of his presence pressed on them like deep water.
"You will go no further."
They broke first, rushing him with blades and shotguns. His Armament flared, coating the gauntlets and the haft of his spear in blackened sheen.
Every strike he met, he ended. One disarmed, one thrown into the ravine wall hard enough to break armor. The last three tried to flee — and collapsed mid-step as his Conqueror's Haki pulsed outward, cutting their will clean away.
When the Guard finally reached him, the bodies were already cooling.
By the time he returned to the pass, the captain gave a simple nod.
The soldiers said nothing. They didn't need to.
For the first time since arriving on this front, Aurelius allowed himself the faintest thought: They are beginning to understand what must be done.