Jean soared over Treon, the wind whipping through her hair as she flew. Below her, the city continued its preparations, more determined than ever to show the would-be invaders what it was made of. The streets bustled with activity as soldiers took their positions, mages reinforced critical spell matrices, and civilians sought shelter deep within the fortress city. This was not the first time Treon had faced a siege, but it had never encountered an enemy so resolute in its intent to destroy it.

She touched down atop the battlements, landing lightly beside the assembled battlemages of the Mage Corps. Their robes billowed in the ocean wind, and to her eyes, they looked tense but determined. That was good; she hated idiots who thought they were safe just because of the wards.

"Archmage," one of the senior mages greeted her, bowing slightly. "We're completing the preparations to engage."

Jean gave a curt nod. "I'll take over reinforcing the projectile enchantments; concentrate on the heat sinks. We need every cannon to last as long as possible if the siege is to last as long as I think it will."

She lifted her hands, and the air around them pulsed with raw mana. The cannons lining the walls of Treon were already formidable, but with the right spells, their range would stretch farther, their impact would be more devastating, and their trajectory would adjust mid-flight. She moved methodically, touching each artillery piece with a whisper of power, guiding the mages to weave in their own enhancements.

When a low murmur spread through the ranks, she knew that the Garvan fleet had arrived in full force.

A city's worth of eyes turned toward the sea, and what they beheld would have shaken any ordinary warrior. Hundreds of mighty and sleek ships stretched across the waters like an unbreakable tide. The Garvan navy had ruled the Serpent Sea for decades, keeping even the Hammerfest Empire in check with its relentless strategies and unparalleled seamanship. And now, all of that power had come to bear down upon Treon.

It was not the entirety of the Southern Navy Group, as some ships had to stay behind to protect the otherwise vulnerable cities. It was also smaller in number than it might have been without the reckless success of a few rebel sailors. Still, it was a formidable force.

Jean did not blink. She did not waver. Fear was a weapon she would never hand to her enemies.

"They're about to test us," she said, watching as the nearest ships adjusted position. "Brace."

The bombardment began.

Thunder echoed across the city as the Garvan cannons roared. The first wave struck the shimmering wards she had cast only minutes before. The impact rattled the walls, and a few younger mages flinched, their instincts screaming at them to duck or flee. But the wards held.

No crack opened, and no breach appeared for them to take advantage of.

After a few minutes, the shelling slowed, and Jean allowed herself a small smile. The opening volley had been a test, and given its complete failure, they would need to rethink their approach. Good. That gives us an opening.

Jean turned to the gunners below. "Return fire."

A second later, Treon answered the attack in kind.

The alchemically treated rounds glowed faintly through the sky, and hundreds of projectiles hurtled toward the Garvan fleet.

Of course, the ships had defenses of their own. The larger vessels had powerful warding sigils and skilled mages aboard who sought to counteract the attacks. Some of the shots struck shimmering shields, deflecting harmlessly into the sea.

But not all of them.

Jean watched with satisfaction as a dozen ships—those closest to the city—shuddered under the impact. Their wards, having been sabotaged before the battle even began, collapsed like shattered glass. Cannonballs punched through hulls, igniting alchemical fires that spread rapidly across their decks. Masts toppled, explosions rocked the water, and in the span of mere moments, they were sinking beneath the waves.

A cheer rose from the Revolution's forces. The city's defenders roared in triumph, their spirits bolstered. The navy of Treon was outmatched in numbers, but with the advantage of preparation, superior tactics, and sheer will, they had struck the first true blow.

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Jean allowed herself a single exhale of relief. Morale would hold now, for a time.

But her work was not yet done.

She took to the skies once more, effortlessly lifting into the air and surveying the battlefield below. From her vantage point, she could see the shifting formations of the Garvan fleet as they adjusted to the new reality. The remaining ships pulled into tighter lines, angling for a more sustained bombardment. The real battle was only beginning.

Jean felt the pull of magic, the temptation to break from the safety of the wards and rain destruction upon the enemy fleet herself. She could do it. She had spells capable of ripping through entire decks, of calling lightning down with pinpoint accuracy. She could obliterate a dozen ships before they could even react.

But she didn't.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned her attention inward. Somewhere, hidden within the city, was a greater threat. A Champion-tier mage.

Amelia had warned her. The one who had fled from Hassel was likely to come here, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike. If she left the city's wards and exposed herself, she would be giving him the opportunity he sought.

No. Jean had a different hunt to attend to.

She cast one last glance at the battle below, the flames licking the water, the cries of wounded sailors, and the joy of her men at the minor victory.

Then, she put it all out of her mind. It was time to flush out the rat.

Jean hovered silently over Treon, stretching her senses to their limits as she meticulously scanned every corner of the city below. Her usual tactic—a sensory spell designed to locate large mana signatures—would likely prove ineffective here. Any mage capable of reaching Champion status knew how to contain and conceal their power expertly. This adversary would not reveal himself so easily.

She floated gently above the cityscape, narrowing her eyes in deep contemplation. The wards she had constructed hummed softly in the back of her awareness, reassuring, though she knew they were not infallible. This opponent was cunning and resourceful. If conventional methods of detection wouldn't work, she would need to rely on something entirely unexpected—something even another Champion would fail to anticipate.

Deciding quickly, Jean turned sharply toward the naval barracks. She streaked through the air, her robes whipping in the wind behind her. She kept low, almost skimming the roofs, not wanting to give her enemy notice that she was still looking for him.

Soon, the chaotic bustle of the Navy district came into view. Men shouted orders and moved swiftly, hauling crates of munitions and repairing damaged equipment from earlier skirmishes. The energy here was frantic yet disciplined. They've been doing good work. They had to make it up as they went since they didn't have any real structure to base themselves upon as the Army did. The results are very promising.

Jean landed in the middle of the bustle with practiced grace, her feet barely touching the cobblestone streets before she strode forward purposefully. Soldiers and sailors scurried around her, widening their eyes in recognition, though none dared interrupt her path. She nodded approvingly, glad that discipline was holding strong.

She walked deeper into the barracks until she reached a cluster of sailors gathered around an open space. Ignoring the startled murmurs at her sudden arrival, Jean's gaze pierced through the group, locking onto the young face she sought.

"I need Longs," she stated simply.

A startled yelp sounded from within the crowd, followed by a ripple of whispers as the young sailor turned sharply, wide-eyed and pale. David Longs, barely twenty and already famed—or perhaps cursed—for his uncanny talent for glimpsing the future. Jean's lips curled slightly, her smile widening at the obvious dread spreading over his face. She had worked the young man to the bone a few months before to build the Divination Division, and he likely had some traumatic memories of her.

"Now," she added firmly. No matter what he would have liked, the Revolution came first.

A minute later, she had commandeered a small room, sparse and dimly lit. Jean stood confidently in its center, hands folded calmly as David shifted uneasily near the door. Beside him stood Captain Charry, who had insisted on accompanying his young subordinate, clearly protective and wary.

"What exactly do you need from him, Archmage?" Charry asked bluntly, his eyes narrowed.

Jean studied the young seer quietly. David Longs was sweating, pale as a ghost. It was clear he had little desire to be in her presence, let alone involved in her affairs. She sighed, making her tone soft and reassuring. "Relax, Longs. I don't need you to see anything yourself. I merely wish to borrow your unique mana channels to cycle my power through you."

David swallowed audibly, clearly uncertain. "But why—?"

"Because," Jean explained patiently, "I'm seeking an enemy that can conceal mana, hide his presence, shield his spells. But you, David, perceive possibilities and futures—a dimension far more elusive to conventional magic. If I cycle my mana through you, it might allow me to catch glimpses through your ability."

Charry crossed his arms, still cautious. "Will it harm him?"

Jean shook her head sincerely. If she had been a lesser mage or hadn't spent months studying him, then maybe, but that wasn't the case. "No harm will come to him. I swear it."

David glanced hesitantly to his captain, who finally relented with a nod. The young seer inhaled deeply and nodded in resignation. "All right. But…please be careful."

"I always am," Jean grumbled.

Stepping forward, she reached out her hand, fingers glowing softly as she placed them on David's arm. Her mana entered him cautiously, slowly intertwining with his natural flow, creating a delicate harmony. Jean was careful and meticulous, like threading a fine needle through the tapestry of possibility.

Her senses expanded dramatically. Paths branched and splintered around her, infinite outcomes blooming into countless futures. It was dizzying, even for a mage of her caliber, but she pressed on, maintaining control as she focused her intent.

Show me what I seek, she demanded silently.

Reality twisted and unraveled before her mind's eye, scenes flickering and shifting rapidly. She saw flashes of battles, figures darting through shadows, and suddenly—a sharp clarity. The old Adventurers' Guild. The structure was mostly abandoned after their rebellion and was an ideal place to hide, perfect for laying traps and defenses.

Jean tightened her grip slightly, solidifying the vision.

Inside the Guild, a figure stood cloaked in shadows, emanating dark confidence. He turned, his hooded face just barely visible in flickering torchlight. Though she couldn't make out his features clearly, she felt the unmistakable pressure of his mana signature. This was the Champion mage Amelia had warned her about—the infiltrator from Hassel.

Her focus snapped back to the present. Releasing David's arm gently, she let her mana recede carefully, leaving the young seer unharmed but breathless.

"Did you get what you needed?" Charry asked.

Jean nodded curtly, her eyes already distant, locked onto the mental image of her prey. "I have found him."

Charry's expression hardened. "Will you confront him alone?"

Jean met his eyes. "I must. A Champion-tier mage duel is no place for ordinary soldiers." She turned towards David, her voice gentler. "You did well, Longs. Rest now. You've earned it."

Without waiting for further response, she approached the open window and leapt out into the open sky, leaving the barracks and the two sailors behind in stunned silence. She soared high, adrenaline surging through her veins, the anticipation of battle sharpening every nerve.

The city flashed below as she sped towards the old Adventurers' Guild. Jean knew this fight would define everything. Her heart raced—not with fear, but exhilaration. It had been far too long since she'd faced an opponent who could truly challenge her abilities. The enemy mage thought he had chosen the perfect battleground, but Jean was ready.

Treon was hers to protect. And no Champion, no matter how powerful, would bring it harm.

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