Oliver sprinted through the chaos of Hassel's outer streets, leaving Leonard's group behind to draw the defenders' attention. His squad advanced in disciplined formation, clearing one street after another while guiding the few civilians who dared to show their faces away from potential flashpoints. Despite their youth, his soldiers had been forged in fire. He trusted them to maintain their composure in the fight, even when the harsh reality of war bared its fangs.

  Esmeria kept pace effortlessly at his side, her dark braid whipping around as she scanned the surroundings for any threats. From a side street, Hector joined them.

  "Clear!" He called, glaring at the shuttered windows and frightened eyes peeking through the cracks. "You'd think they'd cheer or something."

  Oliver raised an eyebrow. "What would you do in their place? They've spent the last few months being told we're monsters. That we'll tear their families apart and burn their homes."

  "Pollus's men must have made sure every family believed Leonard himself eats children for breakfast.” Esmeria snorted softly.

  Hector scowled but remained silent. The mood among the civilians was palpable. Doors were bolted, curtains drawn, and everyone they encountered looked at them with mistrust. Oliver couldn't blame them, even though the weight of their fearful stares felt uncomfortable. It wasn't their fault, but it still hurt to be seen as something to be feared instead of celebrated.

  They'll learn the truth soon enough. They've already been abandoned to their fates, after all.

  "Eyes forward," he said finally, deciding not to waste time on it. "We have a job to do."

  Esmeria tilted her head toward him, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Nervous?"

  "Focused," he replied curtly. But her teasing smile remained. It had lingered since that morning, which was why he had kept his distance from Lucy. He couldn’t afford to distract his squad with idle gossip.

  They wound their way through narrow streets and broad courtyards, facing little opposition despite the city’s labyrinthine planning. It made his teeth itch.

  Nonetheless, Oliver kept his squad moving west toward the Air Force staging ground. The Griffin Knights were among Hassel's most elite defenders, and their combination of aerial prowess and combat skills created a formidable obstacle. Leonard's trust in him to handle this mission was an honor. Other corps had been given equally valuable targets, but Oliver was by far the youngest leading his own.

  The streets widened into a more open district as they approached their destination. The staging ground loomed ahead, consisting of a sturdy complex of stone buildings and wide training fields. Yet, something felt off.

  Oliver raised his fist, signaling the squad to halt. They crouched instinctively, hiding in the shadows of a low wall as Esmeria moved beside him.

  "It's too quiet," she murmured, echoing his own unease.

  He nodded, suspecting an ambush. The area was supposed to be teeming with life—griffins roaring, knights preparing for sorties—but it was silent. No sounds of flapping wings, no clanging of weapons being readied. The main gates stood ajar, and the eerie silence gnawed at Oliver's instincts. He couldn’t sense any presence within, which only made him warier.

  "Be ready for anything," he murmured. "We're going in."

  They crept forward, weapons drawn. Oliver and Esmeria each led a squad, cautiously slipping through the open gates. The grounds resembled a ghost town. The stone courtyard stretched out before them, empty except for scattered loose equipment and overturned barrels. The barracks and training halls stood silent, their doors ajar, as if abandoned in haste.

  "Where the hell is everyone?" Hector muttered under his breath.

  Oliver raised a hand to quiet him. He gestured for Esmeria to take a few men to check the main barracks while he approached the stables. The heavy doors creaked as he pushed them open, and the smell of hay and leather mingled in the air. Rows of stalls stretched into the dim interior, but all were empty. No griffins, no handlers, and barely a stray feather.

  "They're gone," Esmeria said as she rejoined him, looking grim. "The barracks are empty, too. It's like they packed up and vanished."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The acrid taste of failure lingered on Oliver's tongue as he slammed his fist into the nearest wall. The impact was jarring but not enough to ease his frustration. The empty stables and vacant barracks—everything about this felt wrong. They were wasting time, chasing empty trails while the Griffin Knights regrouped behind stronger defenses in the citadel.

  "Damn it all," he growled, his breath coming in harsh bursts. This was his first official mission, and he had already failed. He wasn't too worried about the added defenses around the citadel—Leonard and Amelia had demonstrated just how little the Griffin Knights could do against the revolution—but capturing the beasts would have expedited the assault.

  Now we need to rethink our approach. Even if we manage to breach the citadel, we can't just let the men swarm in. They'd be sitting ducks for the Knights flying above. Additionally, having Amelia and Leonard draw them out would expose the infantry to any trap Pollus sets. Fuck, that must be his plan. The old bastard probably doesn't even care that Hassel will fall; he's trying to make it as painful as possible for us.

  Standing a step behind him, Esmeria crossed her arms. She didn't flinch at his outburst. Instead, she met his eyes, willing him to keep calm. "We knew this might happen, Oliver. The Griffin Knights retreating was always a factor. That's why the Grand Marshal sent us here—to confirm it and to deny the field to any remaining force. We've achieved that."

  He turned to face her, the tight set of his jaw betraying his barely restrained anger. "And what now? Just sit on our hands while they fortify? Every minute we spend here is another minute they're digging in."

  Esmeria stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "We finish what we came here to do: a complete sweep of the grounds. If they left something behind—anything at all—we'll find it. And if not, at least we'll know for sure."

  Oliver took a deep breath, forcing himself to let the tension drain from his shoulders. She was right. Rushing back to the front lines without completing their mission wouldn't help anyone. His men needed him focused.

  Yes, this isn't ideal, but I have to stay calm. I already messed up too badly once. I'm not going to lead my people into another massacre just because I was too angry to see it coming.

  "Fine," he said finally, his voice terse. "We'll sweep the area. But let's make it quick. I want us to start setting barricades around the fields as soon as possible."

  Esmeria nodded sharply and turned to relay the orders. The two squads were divided into smaller groups to search every building and corner. Oliver kept only Lucy and Hector with him, never releasing the hilt of his sword. The eerie silence of the place gnawed at him, setting his nerves on edge. The absence of enemies felt more oppressive than a battlefield filled with them.

  It wasn't long before one of his soldiers returned, deathly pale and hesitant. "Sir," the young man said, saluting sharply. "You'll want to see this. It's at the back of the arming field."

  Oliver exchanged a glance with Lucy. The soldier's shaken demeanor told him more than he wanted to know. Steeling himself, he signaled for the soldier to lead the way. They crossed the field in tense silence, the faint smell of iron growing stronger with every step.

  At the far edge of the grounds, tucked away behind a crumbling stone wall, they discovered the source of the smell: a squat, long building with heavy wooden doors hanging slightly ajar. The air around it was thick with the unmistakable stench of blood. Oliver's stomach twisted as he moved closer.

  "Stay back," he ordered the rest of the squad. Only Hector followed him as he stepped inside.

  The dim interior felt suffocating, and the odor overpowering. Oliver's boots squelched on the slick, bloodied floor. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the horrifying scene before him came into focus.

  Bodies. Dozens, maybe over a hundred, were sprawled across the room in macabre disarray. Every one of them bore the same grim mark: a clean, precise slash across the throat. Some of the corpses were still bound in chains, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Others had collapsed in heaps as if they'd tried to run but found no escape.

  For a moment, Oliver couldn't move. He stood frozen, his heart pounding against his ribs as he took in the full scale of the atrocity. The realization hit him like a blow: these were the servants, the slaves who tended to the Griffin Knights. Too inconvenient to bring along and too dangerous to leave behind, they had been executed without a second thought.

  Hector’s sharp intake of breath shattered the silence. "Light above…" he whispered in horror.

  Oliver swallowed hard, forcing himself to step further into the room. The metallic tang of blood was overwhelming, but he pushed it aside. He had to take action. He couldn't allow these deaths to be in vain.

  "We need to—" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "We need to make them as whole as we can. Get their bodies in order. Sir Leonard might—might be able to…"

  That was when Esmeria joined them in, gasping at the sight and gripping the nearby wall to hold herself up. It took her a moment to gather her wits, but she did and knelt beside one of the corpses. She placed a hand on its cold, stiff shoulder, her gaze distant. "They've been dead for hours, Oliver. Their souls may already be beyond reach."

  She would know, having been resurrected once.

  Her words were practical, not cruel, but they struck him like a knife to the gut. Failure, once again. It was becoming an all-too-common companion, and Oliver wasn't sure he could overcome it this time. He already bore the weight of having led his men to their deaths once, and it was only due to his mentor's intervention that he wasn't left broken by it.

  "We could've saved them," he said through gritted teeth. "If we'd been faster, if—"

  "Stop." Esmeria's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts like a knife. She rose to her feet and faced him with an unflinching gaze. "This wasn't your fault. Don't carry the blame for what our enemies did."

  Oliver locked eyes with her, his breathing heavy. For a moment, he wanted to argue, to rail against the injustice of it all. But he knew she was right. The guilt he felt wasn't productive. These people deserved more than his self-pity.

  "We'll do what we can," he said eventually, his voice low. "Gather the bodies and treat them with respect. If Leonard has time, he'll come. And if he doesn't..." His jaw tightened. "We'll honor them in another way."

  Esmeria nodded, her expression softening. "We'll set things right, Oliver. One way or another."

  Together, they stepped out of the building and issued grim orders to their squad. The soldiers were pale but set about the painstaking task of arranging the bodies. No one spoke. The weight of the moment felt too heavy for words.

  As the work progressed, Oliver stood at the edge of the field, his eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the citadel. The Griffin Knights were in there, along with Pollus and whatever defenses remained. The atrocities committed here were their doing—a final act of cruelty to deny the revolution even the smallest of victories.

  Oliver ground his teeth. The blood on his boots and the smell clinging to his clothes—he wouldn't forget them. He wouldn't let it go unanswered.

  "I'll make them pay," he vowed. "For every life they took. I'll make them pay."