Their footsteps echoed through the dimly lit halls, the rattle of armor bouncing off the cold stone surfaces and against the tarnished portraits of those who once led the Order. Their scratched-out nameplates, held in disgrace, struck a chord within Tucker's heart. The leaders of the Order were just like him, record holders of the scarlet seal. A dishonor that followed even after death.

Although their deeds only existed within the depths of the keep.

Traces of their achievements still lingered.

"We're here." The Everwatch Knight stood before the same steel doors that Tucker had seen long before. When he first met the Head Administrator with Alex.

Light pierced through the cracks as the doors swung open. The same simple decorations entered his view once more. Bookshelves that had aged with time remained, storing records of their organization that should have perished long ago, along with a single, fragile wooden desk placed in the center of the room.

Without wasting a second, Tucker entered the chamber where a single figure awaited him. The pillar of their organization that kept all the operations running in smooth order. The very man who, with a single word, could move the entire Watchmen Order.

Dale Eternus, the Head Administrator.

Tucker stood before the oak desk with his arms to the side. In an instant, he brought his left hand up to the side of his head before delivering a sharp salute.

"At ease." The man rose from his seat, revealing the large scar etched down his eye and across his forehead. His tanned skin blended with the shadows, and his eyes were as dark as the abyss. Yet, unlike before, Tucker remained unfazed. Even as the tremendous pressure, starving like a dying beast, slammed against his shoulders.

"It's been a while since I last saw you," Dale said. "I believe they call you the Storm of Stafford, or better yet… Stormbearer now."

"Those nicknames are far too flattering." Tucker lowered his hand, gazing at the map mounted on the wall behind his desk. "But I'm guessing you didn't call me here just for some small talk."

"Of course not; if times were kinder, then perhaps we could afford that luxury… but not right now. Not at this blood-soaked hour." Dale narrowed his eyes, his gaze deepening as he met Tucker's. "I only have one question for you."

He slowly leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands on the wooden table. "What… is your plan?"

Tucker's eyes shot towards the city of Alexandria marked on the map.

"Ha, smart lad," Dale muttered in amusement. "I take it Salamander was the one who led you in that direction?"

"I won't deny it."

"Good, at least you're honest. Most wouldn't give a straight answer."

"I suppose that's true, but… let's cut the bullshit." Tucker's expression shifted as a faint smirk formed as he met Dale's gaze. "You've already planned this out, haven't you? You saw—no, knew how far the Empire went in pursuit of its ideals. And like pawns on a board, you've been moving us according to your will."

The emotions in Dale's gaze swirled with bitterness and regret. For a moment, he couldn't help but chuckle, not with joy or relief but with a tragic sense of disappointment. "That's right; every move I've made has had some sort of desired outcome. One that would deliver results at a cost many wouldn't even dream of. Yet I did it. I did it all so that our nation would have a sliver of hope."

He focused on Tucker before turning to the map on the wall. "Every watchman I've dispatched had a purpose, a role to fulfill in this chaos known as war. Of the members I sent to the bastions, yours has proven the most capable. Though the idea didn't stem from me, it came from your mentor."

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"What…?"

"He was the one to suggest the idea. I merely use it as an opportunity to filter out those who could deliver results." Dale's sight lingered on the two bastions crossed out in crimson. "I'm sure you've noticed it. That every watchman sent to Stafford had some sort of flaw. A weakness that would hinder them in their missions."

His words sank into the back of Tucker's mind. Each one had a weakness. Pathfinder refused to kill those from the Empire; Eric lacked the iron resolve; Ray faltered with insubordination; Knight Slayer was shadowed by his failing memories; and finally, Luka… his best friend, bound by a trauma Tucker realized too late.

The head administrator held his tongue, recalling the sacrifices made with a trace of sadness. Then, he spoke in a voice filled with conviction. "I'm sure you've noticed how everyone has a role to fulfill. A purpose, a calling that dwells within their hearts. Eric and Pathfinder proved themselves as instructors who have paved a path for those to follow. A path of discipline resting atop thorns of doubt. The blood, sweat, and tears their men—no, your men—had exerted showed that even the weakest soldier was capable of the greatest feat when driven far enough."

Tucker listened, piecing together the information. "What's your point?"

Dale looked over his shoulder. "Even those abandoned by others found solace in their darkest moments, and the catalyst for that development was none other than you." He lifted a black pawn from his desk and held it in the palm of his hand. "You see, I won't pretend I had high hopes for you. You were by far the worst rookie we've taken in, joining the Order through means that were by no means conventional. Yet somehow, despite the odds stacked against you, you've proven yourself time and time again."

"Funny how things turned out, but by now I've met those requirements, haven't I?"

Dale's smile faintly entered Tucker's sight. "You have. You've far exceeded our expectations with your recent accomplishments in the bastion. The fact you're not chasing a vendetta only supports this."

"Then what's your play?" Tucker asked. "What do you want us to do in the city of Alexandria?"

Dale's answer was simple, as if he were making a transaction. "Crack open a weak point in the city's defenses so that our forces can enter. How you do it is your problem. I only care about the result."

"And what about support?"

"For equipment, whatever you need will be available. As for manpower, if you make it into the city, there will be watchmen to aid you in your endeavours."

"There are already watchmen in Alexandria?" Tucker stared at Dale with a trace of confusion. "If that's the case, why haven't they moved?"

"Our line of communication has been unstable recently. If they're still alive, then they'll be there to assist you."

Tucker fell silent. If their comrades were still in the coastal city, then their medallions would serve as identification. But their usefulness would vary. If their synergy was off, then the additional forces would be nothing more than a hindrance.

Dale gazed at Tucker before pulling out an envelope from his drawer. "They'll prove their worth. You don't need to worry about that."

Tucker stepped closer, holding the envelope within his fingertips for a moment before looking back at Dale. "How far have you planned for this war to go?"

"Not far enough," Dale replied. "The Empire's strategists are far more capable than they appear. Every move we make feels like we're dancing in the palm of their hands."

"Will this be enough to change the flow of the war?"

"That depends on your success," Dale said with a stern voice. "If there are no further questions, you are dismissed."

Tucker gave a curt nod before heading to the door. He could feel the weight of the contents of the envelope pulling his body down. The sheer responsibility that came from the head administrator's orders dug deep into his conscience. But as Tucker's hand reached for the handle, Dale's voice spoke out from behind him.

"Rumors have spread that metal wagons have arrived at the branch of the Emerald Tower," he said. "No one knows what they brought, but the last report I received from the watchmen in Alexandria claims they were taken to the depths of their tower."

Tucker glanced back at Dale, who was facing the map pinned on the wall. His eyes tracing the lines of battle marked in crimson. To areas where numerous crimson and azure flags were placed.

"I wish you the best of luck… Stormbearer."

He didn't turn or move. Yet in that stillness, Tucker saw something deeper in the man who led the Order. Without sparing another second, Tucker faced the door once more and muttered, "Thanks."

The hinges groaned as he pushed them open. With the echo of metal following him into the hall, Tucker was gone, leaving Dale alone with the flickering lamps and the map of a bleeding kingdom that was barely hanging on to its existence. He took a deep breath while staring at the current status of the war front. His eyes fell to Stafford, the bastion of the Kingdom, where his dear friend Benjamin went.

He saw the hardship that Tucker went through and the miracle they pulled. If every soldier fought with the same tenacity as they did, then maybe the outcome would have been different. With just seven hundred men, they killed thousands of soldiers from the Empire's forces, defeated the Empire's war machine, and clawed their victories from the jaws of defeat.

But there was no point in wishing for something that may never come. Now all they could do was show the world their might, their desperate attempt to rebel against the cruel fate that wished to drag them under—into the darkness known as the Empire.

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