The rain was ending now.
Only silent splatters disturbed the silence of the night.
Percival was on his Skeleton Steed, his hood raised over his head as he looked down at the Wounded Peaks, the lost battlefield where he had resurrected Mercius.
Then, he cast a final glance over his shoulder toward the city gate.
Ostuary.
He wouldn't forget this city. Not for a long time.
The blood he had spilled, the souls he refused to raise—they would follow him for the rest of his journey, haunting him.
But he would carry their burden willingly. He had the Strength and the Constitution.
Whatever it took to ensure security. Whatever it took to be untouchable.
Moments earlier, Mercius had left for the city's Fort where the Goldtowers lived.
The Knight had left Alenya in their care after sharing a final kiss with the old noblewoman.
Percival could only imagine what their shock had looked like, seeing the Blade of Brackenbridge who had died decades ago stride through their gates.
