[Oliver’s PoV]

  They were gone.

  The world soon reassembled around him. The pressure of the teleportation faded, replaced by the cool bite of open air.

  When the distortion cleared, Oliver found himself standing on a vast expanse of grass, the wind brushing against his armor. The air was clean, and the faint scent of salt told him they were near the ocean.

  The horizon stretched in every direction. In the distance, rows of trees swayed under the breeze. Ahead stood something far less natural, a metal barracks, small and cylindrical. Its green paint peels in long flakes, revealing the dull steel beneath.

  He squinted, reading the faded lettering stenciled across the front.

  “B BATTALION.”

  The place was silent. No voices, no footsteps. The training fields were empty, the watchtowers unmanned.

  “They must’ve evacuated,” Oliver muttered under his breath.

  But he doubted they’d left the island undefended.

  There’ll still be soldiers, he thought. Maybe not here, but guarding the other compounds, the towers, the teleportation relays.

  He turned, scanning the area.

  Beside him, a low groan broke the quiet.

  Adrian.

  He lay crumpled on the grass, still bound, his body trembling from the strain of the teleportation. The metal cuffs around his wrists glinted in the sunlight, the skin beneath them raw and bruised.

  Oliver stepped toward him.

  Adrian tried to lift his head but failed, collapsing again with a pained grunt.

  “Where… are we?” he rasped, his voice weak.

  Oliver didn’t answer immediately. He crouched beside Adrian. Without a word, he grabbed the chains binding Adrian’s wrists and pulled him upright.

  The man stumbled, his legs barely holding him, the weight of exhaustion dragging at every movement.

  Oliver steadied him with one hand, his grip firm but not cruel.

  “Somewhere safe enough for now,” he said. His eyes flicked toward the barracks again. “But not for long.”

  Adrian’s breathing was harsh, shallow. The teleportation had taken more out of him than Oliver expected. Without a gauntlet, without armor, he was just a man. One who’d been broken and beaten for too long.

  “You said the Emperor’s on one of the islands,” Oliver said, his tone controlled, deliberate. “Which one?”

  Adrian looked up, his swollen face twisting into something between a grimace and a smirk.

  “Even if I told you,” he said, his voice hoarse, “you’d never make it there alive.”

  “You’ve got nowhere to run,” Adrian said, his voice dry and brittle. “They’ll find me.”

  “I know,” Oliver answered, his grip tightening on the chain that bound the man’s wrists. “I just want to find them first.”

  He tugged, forcing Adrian to move. The younger man stumbled, trying to match Oliver’s pace.

  Oliver focused on the route ahead, on the terrain he already knew by heart. A dirt road cutting through the green expanse toward the Academy. The place where his life as a soldier had begun.

  Adrian looked around, disoriented. “Where are we going?”

  “You didn’t talk this much when I was wearing the Atlas mask,” Oliver answered.

  Adrian’s head snapped up, confusion flashing across his bruised face. “Y-you’re Atlas?” His voice cracked, disbelief coloring every word. “Wait, hold on, I think I’ve seen you before.”

  Oliver’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Oliver. Nameless,” he said, pulling Adrian forward again.

  Recognition dawned in Adrian’s eyes. “The Nameless who scored eighty percent… I remember you! You—” His voice faltered, the realization hitting him like a blow. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Oliver glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “If it were up to your father and uncle, maybe I would be.”

  Adrian blinked, the words hanging between them like static. “They’d never do that! You must have done something, some crime!”

  Oliver stopped.

  He turned, his eyes hard.

  “A crime?” His voice was low, sharp as a blade. “You mean like selling out humanity? Like turning the Empire into a machine for the Sovereign? Tell me, Adrian. Do you really think your precious Emperor wouldn’t kill a Ranger the moment he stopped being useful?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Adrian’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His expression twisted. Anger, confusion, and denial were all fighting for control. He stammered something, but it dissolved into silence.

  Oliver watched him for a moment, then shook his head.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said.

  He turned away, pulling Adrian forward.

  The road stretched ahead, winding between the training fields.

  Oliver knew this path like the back of his hand.

  Every step, every bend, every scar on the cracked pavement. It was the same route he’d marched countless times during his days at the Academy. The path that led recruits from the training fields to the teleportation facility.

  All he had to do was reach the center of the island, then follow the southern route. That would take him straight to the hub, the only place he knew with a functioning military teleporter.

  However, before he even reached the midpoint, the first alarm blared. Then another joined it, and another, until the entire island was alive with the sound of siren wails.

  “They know you’re here,” Adrian said.

  Oliver shot him a sidelong glance. “If you hadn’t said anything, I might not have noticed,” he replied dryly.

  Adrian scowled and looked away.

  It didn’t take long for the soldiers to arrive.

  The first squad came from the east. Then more appeared from the west, spreading out along the road in a widening semicircle.

  Within moments, Oliver was surrounded.

  “We found the fugitive!” a voice shouted over the comms.

  “He’s got the hostage!” another barked.

  “Hold your fire! Don’t shoot!”

  The soldiers began to form a cordon.

  Oliver stopped walking.

  He shifted his grip on Adrian’s arm, forcing him forward another step, and raised his left hand. The Energy Pistol materialized, its barrel glowing with compressed Energy.

  He aimed it at the nearest soldier.

  “Stay back.”

  The words were calm. The soldiers hesitated, their formation faltering for a moment.

  Oliver’s eyes swept over them—young faces behind visors, disciplined but uncertain. They didn’t know who they were dealing with.

  He took a step forward, dragging Adrian with him.

  “I said, stay back.”

  Still, the soldiers edged closer, their rifles raised but fingers hovering over the triggers.

  Oliver’s tone hardened.

  “Anyone who comes closer loses a leg.”

  The threat wasn’t shouted—it didn’t need to be. The cold certainty in his voice was enough.

  But they didn’t stop.

  One soldier, braver—or more foolish—than the rest, took another step forward.

  Oliver didn’t hesitate.

  The pistol barked once, a sharp crack of light and sound. A bolt of concentrated Energy slammed into the man’s thigh, the impact detonating with surgical precision. The soldier screamed as he collapsed.

  The others froze.

  “I told you,” Oliver said quietly. “Stay. Back.”

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  Even the alarms seemed distant now, muffled against the weight of the moment.

  Adrian looked at him, his expression a mix of shock and fear.

  Oliver didn’t meet his gaze.

  He was already calculating his next move.

  Oliver fired three quick shots into the ground ahead, the Energy blasts detonating in a flash of blinding light and concussive force. The shockwave tore through the dirt and debris, scattering the soldiers closing in on his flank.

  The explosions gave him the opening he needed.

  Smoke and dust rose behind him as he sprinted forward, dragging Adrian along by the chain still clamped to his wrists.

  Through the haze, he saw it.

  The Teleportation Center.

  But between him and that salvation stood a wall of soldiers and Rangers.

  Yet, five of them stood before everyone.

  Oliver recognized them instantly.

  “Scipio!” Adrian’s voice cracked.

  The man stood confidently at the center of the formation, his armor gleaming red. Scipio Sforza. Heir to one of the Great Imperial Houses. A loyalist. A zealot.

  Beside him stood Zip Echo, the heiress of the Echo lineage—another Imperialist, with her blue armor.

  But it was the other three that made Oliver’s chest tighten.

  Demi Demeter. Triz Arcantus. Damian Nemo.

  All three were Militarists.

  Of course, Damian would be here.

  He stood apart from the others; his red armor was less polished, his stance looser, almost weary. The proud, arrogant heir Oliver remembered was gone, replaced by someone who looked… tired.

  “You’re not the only one who trained here,” Damian said.

  Oliver stopped, his weapon raised but steady. “Apparently not.” He tilted his head, his tone sharp but calm. “You still haven’t given up trying to stop me, have you?”

  Damian gave a hollow smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I have, actually. This time, I’ll let them handle it. I didn’t even want to be here.”

  “Traitor!” Adrian shouted, his voice hoarse.

  Damian didn’t flinch. “Maybe. But imagine watching a ghost rise from the grave to fight again.” He shrugged, his voice quiet, almost resigned. “I can’t help but bet this won’t end well for any of us.”

  “You’ve done your part, Damian,” Scipio said sharply, cutting through the exchange. The Imperialist commander raised his weapon, a gleaming Energy spear, and took a step forward.

  Oliver’s response was immediate.

  He yanked Adrian closer, pressing the muzzle of his Ranger Pistol against the young man’s temple.

  “I still have the Emperor’s heir,” Oliver said. “Move aside, or your precious leader will be short one son.”

  The soldiers tensed.

  But none of them moved.

  Scipio’s visor reflected the glow of Oliver’s weapon as he spoke. “You wouldn’t shoot him. If you were going to, you’d have done it already.”

  Adrian may be a jerk, but he doesn't deserve to die.

  Still, Oliver was careful not to let his thoughts be read on his face.

  Scipio continued, his tone cold and measured. “And even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. The Emperor would be furious, yes—but we’d still have you. The prize.”

  Oliver’s lips curled into a bitter half-smile.

  “Seems you’re not worth much to your friends or your father,” he said to Adrian, whose face had gone pale.

  The young noble swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling.

  “Are we going to stand here all day?”

  The voice came from the left. Demi, her tone sharp and impatient. She stepped forward, raising her arm. The ground beneath her boots began to tremble, cracks snaking through the dirt.

  “I’ll make this quick.”

  Two massive roots erupted from the ground, tearing through the earth like serpents. They shot toward Oliver, twisting and snapping as they closed the distance.

  At the same time, the other three heirs moved.

  https://discord.gg/dnPYbzN974.

  https://www.patreon.com/c/GCLopes.