Keeps was a fairly long game, especially when played as seriously as Leon and Gaius were playing. Hours passed as they slowly whittled each other’s pieces down until, not long after the sun set and the sky grew dark, both had less than a dozen pieces remaining. Neither were anywhere close to taking the other’s keep, so it seemed they were going to have go for a complete kill—taking all of their opponent’s pieces.

During the game, Leon occasionally contemplated checking in on Valeria. Every time, though, he refrained, choosing to continue trusting her. Each time he agonized over the choice more and more—it was so simple, he just had to project his magic senses and check in on her. But every time, he didn’t.

If Gaius noticed Leon occasionally checking out of the game, he didn’t say anything. In fact, neither of them said a word for the entirety of the game, simply making their moves in complete silence. This made it abundantly clear to Leon that when Gaius had said that he was nothing more than a figurehead for the Lentian forces, he wasn’t being modest. Even with a large battle kicking off in only a few hours, not a single knight came in to interrupt their game until it was dark. In that respect, Leon could relate, for he no longer had a unit of his own and any practical authority he had was gone with it.

The knight that did interrupt them only did so to inform them that the armies were just about ready to get moving and that Roland needed both Gaius and Leon ready as well.

“So,” Gaius said after the knight left, “how should we decide this?” It was the first thing he’d said to Leon since the game began, but Leon didn’t mind.

On the board, Gaius had three more pieces than Leon, though Leon’s pieces were stronger and more valuable overall. It was clear to both that they would probably need at least another hour or so to properly finish the game at the rate they’d been going.

“As much as it pains me to say this, how about we consider this one a draw?” Leon said, a look of bitter reluctance that slowly turned into something that seemed more congratulatory.

“I can live with that,” Gaius replied, a similar look passing over his classically handsome features. It wasn’t the win he wanted, but it was leagues better than the losses he’d sustained at Leon’s hands in the past. “I suppose I’ll see you on the battlefield, Sir Leon.”

“I suppose so,” Leon said as he stood up. “Don’t die out there, Sir Gaius. I had fun with this game, and I hope we have another chance to play. And actually finish.”

“As do I,” Gaius quietly responded.

—

That night, the combined army almost sixty thousand strong ventured out back into the forests. Their destination was the northern flank of the Octavian forces besieging August’s fortified camp. Roland had managed to get in contact with August and Marquis Aeneas to coordinate with them, though they had to keep their plans simple due to time constraints and communication difficulties.

It was decided that Leon and his few followers would fight alongside Roland during the battle. Without a unit of their own, Leon and his tiny retinue had nowhere else to be.

And so, Leon, mounted on Anzu, found himself riding at Roland’s side, with Marcus beside him in turn, and Alcander, Alix, and Valeria following not far behind with Roland’s knights.

“… can’t believe that you never told me you play keeps!” Marcus complained to Leon after the latter finished explaining to him where he’d been following the meeting with the rest of the higher-ups. “I love keeps! We should play sometime!”

“I could probably find some time for that,” Leon said noncommittally.

“I’m going to need a firmer answer, Sir Leon,” Marcus replied. “I’m being serious, here. Keeps is my game! I’ve already played so many people—”

“Perhaps we ought to quiet things down, Sir Aeneas,” Roland gently interrupted. “We’re closing on our enemies, it’s best if we kept our focus on the task at hand.”

“Of course, Sir Magnus,” Marcus responded, though he shot Leon a challenging look as he did so.

Leon turned his attention to the forest in front of him. Much like the rest of the Southern Territories, it was damp and heavily wooded, though less so than the areas he’d been fighting in for the past few days. It was at a higher elevation, keeping things drier, though not as dry as Leon would’ve liked.

Further out, Leon could see with his magic senses the beginnings of the Octavian lines. It was preceded by hundreds of feet of cleared land, in which had been constructed numerous defenses on top of what had already been there when Leon had led his unit to bait out an attack. Now, instead of only pits and trenches, there were spikes, low walls, and archer platforms. None of it was too impressive given how it had only been a few days, but it was more than enough to make Leon grateful they were attacking so swiftly, for it was evidence that their enemy was trying to protect their position from attacks like the one Leon and Roland were about to make. If they had more time, they would’ve undoubtedly constructed more formidable defenses.

As it was, what they had wasn’t going to be enough. Leon was confident that they’d cut through them like a freshly sharpened blade through cheap paper—and that was assuming they wouldn’t be able to walk right past them, capitalizing on the belief that Duronius hadn’t had enough time to realize the defections of the contingents from Lentia and Vesontio.

It took a while, but everyone got into their positions before midnight.

“This is it,” Roland muttered in the last few moments before their charge. “Today, we end the campaign for the Southern Territories. We crush Duronius and those who follow him, and all of the south will fall to Prince August.”

Leon lightly frowned. He wasn’t so confident that all of the south would be so willing to roll over even if they won this fight. They still had the fleets in the Gulf of Discord to worry about, not to mention the nobles closer to the Western Territories who might find more cause to resist than others further east even if Duronius lost.

Regardless, he was going to fight to win. He had more than enough anger to spare, and all it took was thinking about Lapis to bring it all back. Augmenting that were thoughts of Artorias and Trajan. Much of Leon’s anger was directed toward himself and his tendency to stay out of the way and not engage with people, which he was at least somewhat aware had created many of the problems he was now dealing with, but a greater deal of that anger was aimed squarely at those who were responsible for his losses.

His hand practically shook with how much he wanted to drive his blade into Duronius, and to a greater extent, Octavius, Earthshaker, and any others who might stand between him and them. His eyes also strayed a bit further south, closer to the center of the Octavian camp where he knew Duronius’ command area was located thanks to Gaius and the Duchess of Vesontio.

It was one thing to trust Valeria, but these people he had little sympathy for. The faster he could cut them down the faster all of this would be over, and the faster all of the people they’d forced to fight could go home. The faster he did so, the more of them would still be alive to see their home again. But Leon pushed thoughts of the levies out of his mind. He could easily see himself paralyzed into indecision if he started empathizing with them too much in this situation. He pushed those feelings down far enough where they wouldn’t bother him for the foreseeable future and he could focus on the task at hand.

Rather than sounding off on horns to signal a charge, the Augustine line began advancing after using signal flags and runners. There’d be no horns to signal to the enemy that they were under attack. Instead, the attack would begin quietly, with as little warning as possible.

Like that, almost sixty thousand troops began marching out of the trees, the sigils of Lentia and Vesontio prominently displayed before them. The 2nd Legion, too, had their Bull Kingdom standards flapping in the breeze, though the near-midnight darkness dampened the combined effect.

Leon, Roland, and the rest of their group marched close to the center. They steadily advanced, crossing the first lines of trenches without difficulty.

As they closed to within a hundred feet of the first arrow towers, however, Leon began hearing somewhat panicked and confused shouting up and down the line as the Octavian guards tried to get the advancing Augustine forces to explain themselves, to stop and await further instructions, or to control and organize their advance—their wide line was the biggest indicator that something was wrong and it was making the guards nervous.

But the knights leading the noble troops and the Tribunes leading the 2nd Legion’s battalions either completely ignored these warnings and pressed on, or loudly and arrogantly dismissed these lower-ranked knights leading the guards.

They passed the archer towers without incident despite these tensions. Leon was a bit concerned at leaving them behind, but the line was thick enough that those guards would be easily dealt with by those in the rear, and from their exasperated grumblings that he could hear, they were angry at how they had been dismissed but weren’t going to resort to violence. Leon and the rest of the Augustine army were still in the clear.

Like this, they continued to advance, and the more they bypassed the Octavian defenses, the less they were bothered, as the guards further in were less likely to raise a fuss after they’d passed the outer guards.

All of that changed a few minutes later, as the front of the Augustine line finally passed the last few towers, trenches, and anti-cavalry spikes. They had a straight shot into the camp. No walls barred their way, no enchantments protected the camp’s occupants. Even the Octavian troops in the camp had started filing out of their tents to see what was going on, and barely any had their armor or weapons equipped.

The ruse had worked; the Octavian troops were sitting ducks.

Without warning, Leon, Roland, Valeria, and all those capable of elemental magic up and down the line let loose with a blistering salvo of deadly magic. The air was torn apart as just about every element fell upon the outer tents of the camp, ripping apart the unprepared and undefended Octavian warriors. Knights, men-at-arms, squires, levies, all were killed in the terrifying fusillade of magical power.

Behind them, the Legion archers that had been waiting in the wings let loose with a salvo of their own, targeting the archer platforms. Arrows fell upon the camp guards like rain, killing nearly all of them, and those who survived were swiftly dispatched by the rear contingents of the army.

“CHARGE!!!” Roland bellowed before the dust kicked up by their opening attack cleared.

Leon needed no further encouragement and neither did Anzu. The two erupted from the line like a white and black lightning bolt, plunging into the dark and eviscerated camp. Behind him, Valeria, Alix, Marcus, and Alcander did their best to keep up, while Roland and the rest made their own charge. The nature of the ground meant that Leon and Roland were separated almost immediately, but neither was too worried about that fact. They trusted each other not to die in this battle.

The opening salvo had been horrendously effective. Nothing greeted Leon and those behind him save for mangled corpses, craters, and the remains of elemental magic, whether that be sporadic fires, spikes of ice or earth, or deep gouges carved by blades of light or wind. But beyond, they could hear the panicked shouting of Octavian warriors, and even further they could hear the distant sounds of August and Marquis Aeneas almost simultaneously sallying out from their fortress and launching their assault on the northern flank.

Leon pushed through the dust, his magic senses projected out in front of him in search of Octavian warriors in his path. He found what he was looking for, and he directed Anzu in the right direction.

The duo burst out of the dark cloud directly in front of a group of stunned Octavian knights as well as one person well-dressed enough that Leon assumed she was noble. All were armed, but without armor their weapons did them no good as Leon let loose with a lightning bolt that exploded in the middle of their group, killing half of them and wounding the rest. Anzu cleaned up with a flap of his wings, ending the rest with a few well-placed wind blades. In the short few seconds it took Leon’s followers to come barreling out of the dust, the dozen or so knights and their commander were dead.

He avoided looking at their remains as much as he could. For all he knew, they were good people much like Valeria, and that he ended them wasn’t something he wanted to think about right now.

‘Ah, **…’ he thought to himself. ‘I’m going to need a good long look at myself when this is all over. Dad raised me to not falter in the face of death, I can’t throw all that away after only a few years!’

He directed a mildly irritated look Valeria’s way as she followed him out of the dust, but he meant nothing serious by it.

“By the Ancestors, Sir Leon, would it kill you to save some for the rest of us?!” Alcander frustratedly asked.

“Probably not,” Leon admitted, nothing in his demeanor giving away what was on his mind, “but it might kill you. These knights were all fourth or fifth-tier, and you’re still at the third.”

“No need to remind me…” Alcander murmured, shooting Valeria a jealous look.

He, Marcus, and Alix were all approaching the fourth-tier from what Leon could sense from their auras; in fact, they were all close enough that Leon wouldn’t be surprised if they ascended before the battle was over. It still paled in comparison to Valeria’s recent ascension, though.

From their south came the sound of horns and they could see numerous flares lighting up the night sky.

“Looks like we’ve lost the element of surprise,” Marcus observed.

“Not necessarily,” Leon replied. “Keep pushing, prevent them from organizing a defense for as long as possible!”

With that, Leon spurred Anzu further into the camp where he could sense Octavian warriors were hurriedly putting on armor and arming themselves. Valeria, Alix, Marcus, and Alcander swiftly followed, while all around them, their allies were wreaking havoc in the Octavian camp, tearing through their unprepared enemies and taking full advantage of whatever surprise remained in the wake of their attack.

—

Cold fury settled into the pit of Duronius’ stomach as he cast his gaze toward the north. He could see his armies up there being overrun by the strength and ferocity of the surprise assault, and he could see the banners of those who were leading it.

‘Vesontio… Lentia…’ he thought to himself in anger.

He was in the open area outside of his tent, fully armed and armored and astride his mount, a bull at least half again as large as an average specimen of its species. Normally, using a bovine as a mount was highly illegal in the Bull Kingdom, but Duronius had trained one years before in secret to satisfy his vanity. It was only after Octavius took control of the government that he was extended a formal exemption to use the beast outside of his territory.

All around him the Legions that he had were gathering and preparing their counterattack, while Duronius’ personal retinue of heavy cavalry mustered. Duronius himself was going to lead the charge, but it was taking much longer than he wanted for everyone to get ready. For an excruciatingly long time, all he was able to do was sit in his saddle and watch.

But that time spent observing gave him plenty of opportunities to see who was where, and where his charge ought to be focused. He saw three targets in particular.

The first was the Paladin Roland. His aura and skill with light magic were unmistakable.

The second was the Duchess of Vesontio, dressed in shining silver plate, golden lance in hand whose tip had been bloodied by at least a dozen Octavian knights.

The third was a warrior unknown to Duronius, but he could make a guess: Leon Ursus, dressed in black and wielding terrifying lightning magic. Additionally, Duronius’ eye kept being drawn to the blade in Ursus’ hand, though he was completely unable to understand why. It seemed familiar to him, but it was a simple thing, free of identifying adornment. Still, for some reason, Duronius’ subconscious was screaming at him that he was missing something about the savage, but for the life of him, he couldn’t make the connection.

After what felt like an eternity spent waiting, Duronius’ reinforcements finally finished assembling. His squire fell in beside him on a magnificent black charger, while Duronius’ highest-ranking knight appeared on the other side. Further to his right and left were the finest knights in all the land, covered in plate and mail, brilliant tabards proudly displaying their allegiance to House Duronius and the rightful monarch of the Kingdom—Duronius’ grandson. Past his mounted knights were Duronius’ vassal Lords, all leading their own cavalry units, though none were as spectacularly outfitted as Duronius’.

The Legions began their march through the camp to reinforce the nobles in the north and Duronius ordered his cavalry to advance, though the camp itself was going to prove difficult to charge though. As he rode, he managed to decide on who his first target would be: Leon Ursus.

The Duke was more than a little vexed that a barbarian had managed to affect so much in his short time in the Kingdom, and here was his chance to lay the savage low. On a more practical note, Ursus was also closer than the other two, and he had less magically powerful followers with him. That made him weak and vulnerable, even if he was personally powerful and fighting harder and more ferociously than Duronius had ever seen anyone fight.

But all that power and ferocity wouldn’t matter under several dozen tons of horse and blade.

—

Sliding his blade out of the neck of an Octavian knight, Leon felt some small sense of satisfaction. The knight had been a sixth-tier mage, and though he’d fought admirably—as the scratches and dents in Leon’s left gauntlet and pauldron could attest—he’d still fallen to Leon’s superior skill with the blade.

Leon glanced around, making sure that his people were still all right. Valeria was still close by, as was Anzu, who Leon had dismounted during the fight; both were fine. Alix was tending to a deep cut in the gap between her breastplate and her hips and Alcander was doing likewise for what seemed to be a couple of broken ribs—he’d taken a mace to the chest earlier. Neither was seriously injured, especially since they had some of Leon’s healing spells with them, but it would take a few moments to get back into fighting shape.

Marcus, meanwhile, was in no position to be injured, as he’d stayed back to fire his bow from horseback.

Leon’s core group were all relatively fine, though they’d picked up some other squads of Augustine knights and men-at-arms as their forces pushed deeper into the warrens of the camp. These troops fared a little worse than his group did, but since he, Valeria, and Anzu usually tied down the strongest fighters they encountered, casualties remained light.

A quick sigh of satisfaction later, Leon projected his magic senses to assess the situation and see where they had to go next. Roland, Vesontio, and Gaius had all pushed quite deep, with Roland even pushing deep enough to meet August’s troops on the other side of the northern flank. In fact, just about the entire northern Octavian flank had collapsed, with noble retinues being separated from each other, and many either surrendering or preparing for a last stand. August and Aeneas had likewise done their part to achieve this, and many of their nobles and Legions were already swinging south to—

Leon’s attention suddenly snapped away as he realized what they were turning around to face: the inevitable Octavian counterattack. Tens of thousands of Legion soldiers were bearing down upon them, along with a massive force of cavalry that Leon noticed was barreling through the camp straight toward him.

Leon’s group had pushed the furthest south, meaning they had little support on their flanks.

“Hold!” Leon shouted as everyone around him began readying their next push. “We have an incoming cavalry charge! Form up and brace!”

His power was felt by all, his aura weighing down upon their shoulders and forcing them to accept his authority; none of the knights or their subordinates who had followed his group argued, they simply obeyed, trusting in his word. He saw panic in many of their faces as they began noticing the rumbling earth, the dust cloud in the south, and the faint noise of hooves breaking through the distant sounds of battle, but with Leon and his ghostly white griffin with them, they swallowed their fear and quickly formed up into a rough line, broken up only by tents.

A mere few minutes later, the cavalry charge came into sight. It was a terrifying mass of armor shining in the moonlight, horses trampling tents beneath their hooves, and the glow of elemental magic as it was being prepared.

Leon wasted not a moment more and conjured a lightning bolt in his left hand, raised it high, and hurled it. Up and down his line, those few knights who could do likewise did so, including Valeria, who summoned small finger-sized icicles shaped like arrowheads and fired them into the charging horde.

This display of magic was answered in kind, and dozens died on both sides. Leon’s side, however, fared a little better, for they were still and had braced themselves. The Octavian cavalry wasn’t in such a good position, and as many in the front were killed, their corpses became obstacles that others behind them had to navigate.

But the cavalry charge as a whole continued unabated, and Leon finally got a good look at the man leading it. He was riding a massive fifth-tier bull decked out in some kind of plate made of light blue metal and trimmed with silver. The man himself was fully encased in enchanted steel, obscuring all features save for his powerful frame. He radiated sixth-tier strength, and he was on a collision course with Leon.

Leon smiled in eagerness. He was sure of this man’s identity, and he was ready. He had time for one last lightning bolt, and he didn’t hesitate. A moment later, the bolt exploded upon the bull’s armor, causing it to shriek in pain.

But it kept advancing.

There was no time for anything else. The Octavian cavalry began their charge in earnest, seeking to use their greater numbers to completely overwhelm Leon’s group. For most of the mages with Leon, there was no time to do anything except brace themselves as much as they could and use their weapons and spears to try and blunt the charge, but it was a different case for Leon himself. With lightning magic coursing through his body, he had just enough time to jump before the charge connected with his line, just barely enough time to leap over the horns of the bull before they came into contact with his armor.

Luckily, there wasn’t anyone behind Leon to take that hit instead, but it still left Leon in the air. He literally had no ground to stand upon, and Duronius—or the man Leon assumed to be the Duke—swept upward with his lance, catching Leon in the midsection. His armor held, but Leon was hurled several dozen feet and had all the air in his lungs forcibly expelled.

He hit the ground like a ragdoll, the pain intense but not debilitating—he probably had a fractured rib or two, and his desperate gasp of air felt like it sent waves of fire through his chest as his lungs tried to inflate. In just a single move, he’d been more gravely injured than he’d been in more than a year.

Leon clenched his jaw and forced himself back to his feet just in time to dodge out of the way as the bull charged again. Both were now behind the relatively thin battle lines but checking on his people was a luxury Leon couldn’t afford with the bull all over him.

The bull’s horns grazed Leon, scratching his cuirass but failing to injure him. Leon responded with a blast of lightning directed through his blade, the Adamant metal greatly facilitating his magic. The bull’s armor blackened from the heat of Leon’s magic, but the glowing runes didn’t dim, indicating the damage was superficial. But the bull was enraged, and it swung its head around trying to catch Leon with its horns.

Leon threw himself back, landing with enough poise to deflect a lance thrust from the bull’s rider. With the same motion, Leon let loose with a gout of fire from his off-hand, enveloping the bull’s head in flames.

Again, the runes on its armor flared, and the bull pushed through the fire none the worse for wear. It charged once more, but Leon dodged again, putting his back to the line and earning another scratch on his armor for his trouble.

Suddenly, a loud shriek pierced the air from behind Leon, and a white blur blasted past him. A powerful gust of wind hit the bull, knocking its rider from its saddle, while Anzu—for the white blur was, indeed, the griffin—slammed himself into the bull, his beak and claws ripping and tearing at the other beast.

The bull gave back as good as it was getting, but Leon could tell that Anzu wasn’t in any way inferior despite Anzu’s lack of armor, so he put his trust in his griffin and turned his attention to the rider, who was struggling to get back up after being so unceremoniously thrown off his war beast.

Honor as Leon understood it would dictate that he allow the man to get his feet back under him before continuing the fight. But Leon wasn’t an honorable man, at least not by those standards, and he charged Duronius, his body flickering with arcs of lightning. Duronius just barely managed to right himself and deflect the killing strike with his lance, causing Leon’s blade to glance off his helmet, leaving a deep gouge in the metal and the two fighting for leverage as they pushed against each other’s weapon.

“Filthy savage! TRAITOR!!” Duronius shouted, but Leon wasn’t going to give up the initiative so easily. He sent lightning through his legs to detonate at their feet, hurling both men back.

Leon remained upright, having properly prepared himself for the blast. Duronius, however, nearly lost his balance, and as he flailed about, Leon surged forward again, eager to exploit this moment of weakness.

Just before his blade bit into one of the few small gaps in Duronius’ armor, however, a wall of stone erupted from the ground between them, protecting the Duke from harm. Leon simply peeled off to the side, swinging around the edge of the wall to get another crack at the Duke.

But then, the wall exploded outward, catching Leon off-guard, throwing him back and showering him in stony shrapnel.

“Not good enough, you up-jumped barbarian,” Duronius said as he thrust again with his lance. “Let me show you just how worthless you are!”