887 VOLUME 2 END

"VICTORY!" Verdant declared, with blood on his spear.

Only then did Northman glance over his shoulder. His mouth fell agape at what he saw. "Holy shit! VICTORY! LORD IDRIS HAS CLAWED US VICTORY! FORWARD, MEN, LET'S PUT THIS TO REST!"

The Skullic men – or what was left of them – echoed the cry, seizing the ray of hope, as it beat past the dark cobwebs of desperation that had been clouding their vision for the longest time.

"Victory," Oliver said along with them, though far more quietly than they. His words were meant for only a single man – the Attacking General in front of him.

Finally, Talon's backward footsteps had stopped. He realized that retreat would bring him not to safety.

The man was quiet. His expression said more than his words ever could. Even now, he did not seem to understand what had happened. Oliver barely did. It went against all that one could expect in strategy. Volguard certainly would have scoffed.