The battlefield was quiet, but the aftermath spoke loudly.
Wounded fighters lay resting, mages tended injuries, and broken weapons were piled near the campfire. Ethan walked among them, offering water, helping where he could. Every grateful nod reminded him of the weight he now carried.
He was no longer just fighting for himself.
That night, the group gathered around a large fire. Faces were tired—but determined.
"We can't keep running," one mage said.
"And we can't face the Empire head-on forever," another added.
All eyes turned to Ethan.
He felt the pressure—but didn't turn away.
"We fight smart," Ethan said calmly. "We protect civilians. We avoid pointless bloodshed. And we never become what we're fighting against."
The group nodded.
Leadership wasn't about power—it was about trust.
Over the following days, Ethan trained with them, not above them. He shared strategies, listened to advice, and learned from veterans. His control over the Fate Mark improved—not through rage, but discipline.
Lyria watched him quietly.
"You've changed," she said one evening.
Ethan smiled faintly. "I had to."
She took his hand. "You're still you."
That night, scouts returned with urgent news.
The Imperial Emperor himself had taken notice.
Elite forces were being prepared.
Ethan looked toward the horizon, where storm clouds gathered.
The boy without mana was gone.
In his place stood a leader the world could no longer ignore.