High above Treon, close enough to the top of the wards that she could feel their power on her skin, Jean hovered in midair, her robes bellowing in the wind. Despite the thundering of her heart, she maintained an air of composed stillness, waiting for her moment.

Far below her, the battle between water elementals and Garva's mighty warships raged in the vast embrace of the Great Slitherer—a sight few mortals would ever see.

The massive forms of the greater elementals churned the river into a frothing fury. Entire columns of living water rose, crashing down upon decks and hulls, shattering planks with effortless force.

Jean could see attempts at resistance in the runic shields that sparked to life, the crackling discharge of protective wards, and the frantic scrambling of sailors as monstrous waves battered their vessels, but none were successful.

When the river itself seemed to turn against them, there was little humans could do.

Up to this moment, Treon had endured a suffocating blockade, and while she had no doubt they'd hold, it had become clear there would be a price to pay for their defiance, as the countryside was left open for plunder.

Now, in a single day's turn, the situation had changed drastically. "Poetic justice," Jean murmured to herself. She allowed herself a small, victorious smile at the memory of Charry's triumphant return.

Everyone, even the most humble soldier, can change the tide. That is the true power of the Revolution.

The men below her observed from the ramparts, cheering as waves rose high enough to smash entire galleons.

Several smaller ships, already weakened by sabotage or hammered by cannon fire, listed sideways, their wards flickering in vain, and were swallowed beneath the surging tide. The speed of destruction was incredible, as in mere minutes, the water swirled thick with broken masts, shattered hull fragments, and the occasional frantic rowboat.

Yet, it was not a one-sided engagement for long. The more cunning captains of Garva's fleet rallied, bringing their own artillery to bear after linking their wards to gain a stronger defensive position. The roar of cannons shook the air, and brilliant plumes of mana erupted, smashing through the bodies of lesser water elementals as they reared back for another strike.

Jean forced herself to remain still even as she watched the enemy rally. The spirits collapsed into formless puddles that sank back beneath the waves, leaving behind only faint ripples of mana. Enough of the elementals survived—particularly the massive leviathans—to hold the advantage, but every lost spirit weakened their collective might.

A hush of expectation rippled through the battlefield as the largest Garvan warship—an imposing galleon twice as long as the next, bristling with guns—finally drifted closer. Hidden behind its mighty wards, a powerful presence began to unfurl, spreading over the entire river and pushing back even some of the mightier elementals. Jean narrowed her eyes, scanning the deck for the person who commanded such a formidable aura.

She was spared a long search as a figure stepped off the ship's prow as though the air were solid ground. It seems like the Duke has finally decided to show up.

Even from this distance, his bearing was unmistakable: tall and broad-shouldered, with a cropped beard of iron gray and hair to match, each strand glinting with the same metallic sheen as his aura.

Even if he won't be able to save the fleet, he might make the victory a costly one. He's certainly used to grueling battles, being the commander of the Death Fort.

As though to confirm her thoughts, Duke Garva raised a hand, and a shimmering sword of silver power formed at his side. He held the hilt in a broad palm, flexing his fingers as if testing the blade's balance.

A moment later, an eruption of energy radiated from him, so powerful that Jean's hair was blown back from a mile away. Lesser elementals froze and wavered, then fled in swirling eddies of water, driven away by a wave of intangible fear.

Only the stronger spirits—those lofty behemoths that towered like living tidal waves—remained, stirred into action rather than scared off by his display of dominance. They roared, surging upward to meet the challenge.

Jean observed with narrowed eyes, carefully adjusting her preparations to what her sensory spells were feeding her. This whole operation was about giving her the necessary information, after all. If it had just been about smashing a few more ships, she'd have done it on her own.

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Garva soared across the river's surface, stepping onto invisible platforms of energy. The largest water elemental reared up, swirling like a living typhoon. Its wide arms extended, crashing forward in a surging wave, large enough to crush entire fleets in its path. Garva leaped into the wave, plunging his sword into it. Where the sword met the water, silver flashes tore through the elemental's form, shredding it apart.

He is very fast. If it wasn't for the suit of sensory spells I have running, I wouldn't be able to track what he's doing at all.

For a moment, it seemed the elemental might reform around him, an ocean swallowing a single man. But Garva's swordsmanship proved beyond ordinary mortal skill. A storm of silver flickered inside the wave, and pieces of liquid mass sheared away, dissolving into formless droplets that fell back to the river.

Jean had to remind herself to stay still, as he had yet to reveal what he was truly capable of. Duke Garva was, after all, a Champion Knight, rumored to be second only to the Grandmaster and the Hero in martial prowess.

He openly displayed that skill now, weaving in and out of the water elementals' attacks, spinning his sword in intricate patterns that cleaved through the watery limbs flailing at him. He left behind shimmering streaks in the air that crackled with incredible power.

Another monstrous wave loomed, a second behemoth elemental roaring with the force of a waterfall. Garva simply extended his free hand, unleashing a shockwave of raw power that ripped the creature's torso apart, forcing the water to reform chaotically. He seized that moment to dart upward, severing the elemental's head-like crest and scattering its essence into the air like a fine spray of mist.

His silver mana is dense enough to stop the elementals from reforming. Any damage he inflicts is on their true body, not just their physical form.

The Great Slitherer's surface churned with the violence of their struggle. Shattered timbers, upturned barges, and corpses floated or sank. The lesser elementals had been either destroyed or frightened off, and the handful of mightier ones left found themselves hard-pressed by Garva's savage skill. Slowly, inevitably, the momentum shifted. Even though half of Garva's warships lay in ruin or sinking fast, the man himself threatened to claim a victory, pyrrhic though it might be.

Jean's gaze flicked to the battered remains of the blockade. He's lost most of his navy already, but if he emerges victorious here, brandishing the defeat of the River itself, his legend will grow unstoppable. That's not something I can allow. There cannot be a rallying figure for the enemies of the Revolution.

She could sense the watchers on Treon's ramparts, most of them cheering for the water spirits and some awed by Garva's display of unstoppable might despite themselves. The entire confrontation was a spectacle that would be told and retold, and its outcome would shape the morale and reputation of whichever side prevailed.

For a moment, Jean entertained the idea that the Great Slitherer might intervene directly. An Ascended would certainly be more than enough to complete the enemy's defeat. But as the minutes ticked by, she sensed no greater presence stirring from below.

A new canal is enough to break the old treaty but not enough to get the damn snake to show its face. We should have demanded its intervention directly rather than implying it. Damn the subtleties.

Water exploded as Garva finished another elemental, driving his blade straight into its core. The creature gave a bubbling hiss before collapsing back into the churning waves.

It wasn't dead. Those things couldn't really die in the way humans understood them, but they wouldn't be capable of fighting for a long time.

Jean took a deep breath, letting her mana ripple outward. The wards surrounding Treon flared in response, as if questioning her intentions. With a mental command, she distanced herself from their protective boundary. The moment she did, the edge of her senses prickled sharply as Garva's aura locked onto her.

Like a hawk dropping onto prey, he shot toward her, silver blades swirling around him. He swung his arm, unleashing a wave of power that ripped aside the water elementals still trying to impede him, scattering them like startled fish. He accelerated, each step propelling him forward through the air at an alarming speed.

In response, Jean spread her arms. She did not rely on a single massive incantation, knowing that raw power wasn't the way to win this battle, but a multitude of smaller ones, each carefully attuned to what she'd learned.

One by one, magic circles materialized around her—initially a few dozen, then a few hundred, until it seemed as though the entire sky behind her was studded with glowing symbols. Runes of ancient origin and brand-new script floated in neat arrays, the fruit of her combined knowledge and relentless creativity.

She felt Garva's shock turn to fierce determination. Yes, come face me, Champion, she thought, the corners of her mouth twisting into a determined grin. Let everyone know that even the Kingdom's mightiest are nothing to us.

If he recognized her from the information circulated about the revolution's Archmage, then he knew this was no half-baked display.

He halted midair about a hundred yards off, as though assessing the threat. The water below raged with the remains of the spirits he had driven away, but no fresh wave rose to strike at him. All eyes—sailors, revolutionaries, and survivors of the chaos—now locked onto the two of them.

Jean let a million circles fully bloom into existence. They formed a dome of luminous geometry, swirling arcs of radiant lines bridging each circle. The sky glowed with the combined brilliance of her prepared spells, making it look like ten thousand new stars had been born.

"So you are the Archmage of the Revolution," Garva called over the gale, his voice reverberating with contempt and grudging respect. "I see a girl, but I know a great arcanist when I see one."

Jean's heartbeat thrummed in her ears as her mind expanded, using the latent power within the ambient mana to feed her spells. No banter, she told herself. I have what I need, I must not let him adapt to me.

She answered him with action. Her spell array converged, weaving filaments of light into spears, discs, and swirling runic glyphs designed to entrap, dispel, and annihilate. This was everything she could do against one who was her equal.

Where the Void mage had been incredibly dangerous if left unchecked but powerless when understood, as his power came from an external force, Duke Garva relied on nothing but his own might. He couldn't be tricked or depowered, and there was no secret to his defeat. Only overwhelming skill would do it.

The wave of her arm triggered an outpouring of magical missiles. Ribbons of shimmering force, crackling mana shaped into arrows of raw lightning, conjured gale winds compressed into explosive orbs—each soared at Garva in a dazzling barrage.

He roared, swinging his blade, and silver power burst forth to meet her attack. Kaleidoscopic light bloomed as the spells collided. The air crackled with furious energy, shockwaves rippling outward, sending eddies across the battered river surface below.

Jean narrowed her eyes, refusing to blink. She kept most of her spells in reserve, swirling around her in protective arcs. For a moment, the swirling blasts illuminated the sky like an angry sun, with each side testing the other's defenses.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she raised her arms again, magic thrumming through every nerve. Come to me. Let me show you what real power is like.

And then, with a wild gleam in his eyes, Duke Garva lunged forward, meeting her challenge head-on, and Jean's array of magic circles bloomed as she unleashed their power.

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