Three days passed in relative quiet.
The gate remained stable- occasional small groups of creatures emerging, easily handled by the defensive formations. The garrison was taking shape around it, fortifications expanding from temporary battlements to something more sustainable. Supply lines were established. Rotation schedules implemented. The machinery of long-term warfare settling into place.
On the morning of the fourth day, the king called court.
The command tent had been transformed into something approaching a throne room - banners hung, guards positioned, the king seated on a chair that wasn't quite a throne but carried the same weight of authority. Officers, mages, and nobles who'd survived the battle stood in attendance.
Leon stood with the senior mages, trying not to fidget with his robes.
"We have won a great victory," King Alderon said, his voice carrying through the tent. "The first clear is complete. The garrison is established. But a kingdom cannot function with its king absent from the throne."
Murmurs of agreement. No one looked surprised - this announcement had been expected.
"In three days, I will depart for the capital," the king continued. "Four hundred soldiers will accompany me as guard. The remaining forces will remain here under Lord Casimir's command, maintaining the garrison and defending against future incursions."
Casimir bowed in acknowledgment.
"Additionally," the king said, his gaze moving across the assembled mages, "those who wish to return to the capital may do so. However, sufficient numbers must remain to maintain the defensive formations that have proven so effective."
Nearly every mage in the tent straightened slightly, eyes darting toward Leon. He felt the weight of their attention and tried not to show his discomfort.
"High Archmage Leon," the king said, and Leon's attention snapped back. "Your contributions to this victory cannot be overstated. When we return to the capital, I will bestow upon you the title of knight, formally recognized before all the lords and ministers of the realm."
The tent erupted in applause. Leon stood frozen, processing.
Knight. He was going to be knighted.
Another role to play. Another expectation to meet. Another layer of fraud piled onto the foundation of lies.
Wasn't this pace too fast. In anime he would be in his adventuring arc now. Who set the genre to be like this.
"I am... honored, Your Majesty," Leon managed.
The king smiled. "The honor is ours. Your presence at the head of the royal caravan will inspire confidence in those we pass."
Leon bowed - a version he could pull off.
Later that afternoon, Leon found himself in the medical tent, a place he'd been avoiding for three days but could no longer put off.
"High Archmage!" Torren saw him first, attempting to stand before Leon waved him back down. "We heard! Knighthood! The whole camp is talking about it."
Marcus grinned from his cot, the bandage on his face now smaller. "Sir Leon of Pelenna... Has a nice ring to it."
"How are you both?" Leon asked, genuinely glad to see them alive and recovering.
"Better," Marcus said. "The healers say I'll be walking properly in another week. Torren's arm is coming along too."
"We'll be heading home soon," Torren added. "To tell our families about..." He paused, the smile fading. "About everything."
Leon had dreaded this moment. "Finn and Jace—"
"Are alive!" Marcus interrupted, his grin returning. "Finn turned up two days ago, half-dead and covered in blood, but alive. Jace too - he was trapped under debris from one of the towers. They found him the morning after the battle."
Relief flooded through Leon so intensely it made his knees weak. All four. All four of them had survived.
"They're both heading to the capital with the king's guard," Torren said. "Finn's injuries were minor enough that he was cleared for duty. Jace... well, he should probably rest, but he volunteered anyway."
"I need to see them," Leon said.
"They're at the training yard," Marcus supplied. "Preparing for the march."
Leon found them an hour later, Finn helping Jace through sword drills with the careful attention of someone who knew his friend wasn't fully recovered but was too stubborn to admit it.
"High Archmage!" Finn called out, and both of them stopped to bow.
"None of that," Leon said. "I'm just glad you're both alive."
"Takes more than a horde of monsters to kill us, sir," Finn said with a cocky grin that didn't quite hide the haunted look in his eyes. "Your blessings held."
They didn't, Leon thought. You survived through luck and skill and sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. But he didn't say that.
"You're both coming to the capital," Leon said instead.
Jace nodded. "Seemed like a better option than going home and having our mothers fuss over us for six months."
"Plus," Finn added, "we figured someone should keep an eye on you, High Archmage. Make sure the nobles treat you right."
Leon almost laughed.
"I appreciate that," he said. "The journey will be long."
"Two months on the road," Finn said. "But at least it's not two months of fighting."
That, at least, was true.
The next three days passed in a flurry of preparation. Leon tried to focus on designing additional formations for the permanent garrison, but his mind kept returning to one inescapable fact:
He had learned he was going to lead the caravan, on horseback. He was going to ride a horse. For two months.
He'd never ridden a horse. Ever. Not even in his original world, where horses were recreational novelties rather than primary transportation.
The closest he'd come was a pony ride at a festival when he was seven, and he'd fallen off within five minutes.
Of course he could have made an excuse, got to ride in one of the invitingly comfortable carriages. But the high archmage in him had got in the way again, choosing to accept the honor he was granted. Curse him
Leon stood in the paddock, staring at the horse that had been assigned to him. It was a large gray mare, supposedly "gentle and well-trained for long journeys."
It looked at him with an expression that suggested it knew exactly how incompetent he was.
"High Archmage," the stablemaster said, "would you like me to review the basics of—"
"No," Leon said quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, I'm sure I'll be fine. Just... need to get reacquainted. It's been a while."
The stablemaster looked skeptical but bowed and retreated.
Leon approached the horse slowly. It didn't move, which he took as a good sign.
"Okay," Leon said quietly. "We can do this. Two months. Just... don't let me die, and I won't let you die. Deal?"
The horse snorted.
Leon took that as agreement.
The morning of departure arrived with clear skies and a sense of nervous anticipation throughout the camp.
Four hundred soldiers in formation. Thirty mages wearing their various colored armbands. Supply wagons. The king's carriage - ornate, decorated, impossible to miss. And at the very front, two horses.
One ridden by the Sword Saint, already mounted, posture perfect, looking like she'd been born in the saddle.
One being led toward Leon, who was trying very hard to remember the mounting technique he'd watched the stable-hands demonstrate.
Left foot in stirrup. Swing right leg over. Don't fall. How hard could it be?
Leon approached the horse. It seemed taller now than it had in the paddock.
He grabbed the saddle, placed his left foot in the stirrup, and pulled himself up.
The horse shifted. Leon's grip slipped. For one horrifying moment he was suspended halfway, neither on the horse nor safely on the ground, legs flailing-
A strong hand steadied the saddle.
Leon looked down. The Sword Saint had moved her horse closer, one gauntleted hand on Leon's saddle, stabilizing it.
"Take your time, High Archmage," she said, her voice neutral. "The horse will wait."
Leon felt his face burning. She'd seen. Of course she'd seen. Everyone had probably seen.
He hauled himself into the saddle with as much dignity as he could salvage, which was approximately none.
"Thank you," he muttered.
She withdrew her hand and returned to her position ahead, giving no indication that anything unusual had happened.
Leon settled into the saddle, acutely aware that he had no idea what he was doing. The reins felt wrong in his hands. The stirrups were too short or too long or something. The horse was moving slightly beneath him, shifting its weight, and Leon had no idea if that was normal or a sign of imminent bucking.
"Forward!" Lord Casimir's voice called from behind.
The caravan began to move. The Sword Saint's horse walked forward with fluid grace.
Leon's horse followed, and Leon gripped the saddle horn like his life depended on it.
Which it probably did.
Two hours into the journey, Leon's entire body hurt.
His thighs were burning. His back ached. His hands were cramping from gripping the reins too tightly. The horse seemed perfectly content, walking at a steady pace that to Leon felt like riding a particularly uncomfortable earthquake.
Ahead, the Sword Saint rode with infuriating ease, her posture never varying, her movements in perfect sync with her mount.
Behind them, Leon could hear the mages talking among themselves. Occasionally catching fragments:
"- his horsemanship is more conservative than I expected-"
"- probably conserving energy for more important matters-"
"- notice how he keeps perfect formation despite -"
They were making excuses for him. Interpreting his obvious incompetence as some kind of strategic choice.
I'm going to die, Leon thought. Not from monsters or magic or war. From two months of saddle sores and embarrassment.
The Sword Saint glanced back at him. Just a brief turn of her helmeted head, unreadable, then forward again.
Leon wanted the earth to open up and swallow him.
They had two months of this. Two months of riding at the head of the caravan, on display, pretending he knew what he was doing while his body screamed in protest and his incompetence became increasingly obvious.
And the Sword Saint would be there the entire time. Watching. Witnessing his complete failure at yet another basic skill everyone in this world took for granted.
Somebody please kill me, Leon thought desperately, before I make an even bigger embarrassment of myself.
The horse walked on. The sun climbed higher. The capital was two months away.
Leon adjusted his grip on the reins and tried not to fall off.
It was going to be a very, very long journey.