On any ordinary day, the sight of a lowly porter issuing commands to the clan's elite would have been met with swift, brutal punishment. But this was no ordinary day.
The reality of the battlefield had stripped away the thin veneer of social hierarchy, leaving behind only the raw instinct for survival.
The elders and high-ranking spirit masters looked at the youths standing behind William—the very children they had dismissed as insignificant—and realised these youngsters had participated in a miracle. And every thread of that miracle led back to William.
At this singular moment, William held a level of prestige in their hearts that was bordering on the divine. It was a respect usually reserved for the clan's legendary ancestors or the most formidable patriarchs.
If William had pointed his finger toward a suicidal charge into the heart of the forest, many of these battle-hardened men would have complied without a second thought.
