Oliver stumbled out of the cage, and his feet touched the blessed carpeted ground. The burned souls of his feet were suddenly relieved. He sighed heavily from the small comfort. 

The woman from The Raven helped him to a chair, and using the learned skills from the battlefield, he deftly wrapped his burned feet and the wounds around his wrists and ankles. He considered wrapping his chest and back, but he didn't want to constrict his ribs. If he wrapped his chest with fractured ribs, he would suffer in the long run.

He struggled to stand again and clutched to the wrap that was barely hanging from his hips. The woman brought the spare clothes before turning around near the door.

He ripped off the shameful wrap Piers put on him and gingerly slipped into the black pants and shirt. It was loose on him, even a week had taken away some of his mass, but it was a comfort to be covered. His braids had been unraveled, and he was left with a tangled mess. He grabbed in of the bandages and used it to tie his hair back and out of his face; however, this only revealed his split lip and bruised face even more. The swelling under his eye had grown, but at least it hadn't closed his eye. 

He moved away from the window and slowly brought back the many memories from his previous life. He had studied this palace extensively and knew that there were many hidden pathways, especially in the royal chambers.

His eyes flashed toward the bookshelf, and he grinned. He moved to the neglected desk and found a heavy key with the Belelot sigil embossed in gold. He pocketed it and then made his way to the bookshelf. He studied a few books before pulling a random one down. The bookshelf rumbled, and then he heard a slight click. He took another book and pulled it, and the bookshelf opened into a small door. 

The woman was back by his side and peered into the dark tunnel. "Do you know where this will lead?"

Oliver grinned. "I do. This place is guarded too tightly today to sneak out through the window. This place should keep us safe for a while."

She shook her head. "You will be safe in there. I will stay behind."

Oliver gripped her arm. "That's too dangerous. You should come with me."

"Ella was right. You are too kind for your own good," she said with a laugh. "The guards will be checking for you in less than an hour. I will delay as much time as possible."

"The risk is too great."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't underestimate The Raven. You have your ways to survive, and I have mine. Besides, everyone who I would be wary of is too distracted today. Go and make your escape. I will delay the time from when they discover you are missing."

"But—"

"Go," she interrupted him. "Your husband will attend the coronation and eagerly awaits you."

Oliver sighed and gripped her forearm. "Once again, I owe you and The Raven. I will repay this debt."

She quickly waved her hand, ignoring his promise of repayment. "Before you go, I have a few pieces of information for you. First, your uncle is safe. He was retrieved from his prison two nights ago. We suspect the Tuahs had something to do with it."

Oliver trembled, and he felt a heavy weight lift off his shoulders. Thank the gods for Imran.

The woman continued. "The rest of your family is safe, though they have been forced to join the coronation. Your husband will take it upon himself to guard them personally when they arrive at the palace."

"All of them? Even Avery?" He asked, slightly panicked.

The woman hesitated for a moment. "That will bring me to my last piece of information... The Rucreans had tried to visit the Kardos estate the day after your capture. After they left, it was discovered that Avery had disappeared. Although your husband and the other Rucreans refused to admit it, we suspect they are protecting your brother."

Oliver leaned his head back and released a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a cry. Everyone he cared for was still alive. Avery had even found his way to Draco.

He silently sent a grateful prayer to the unknown gods.

He took a shuddering breath and calmed his emotions. "Can I request something?" Oliver asked.

"Anything, Lord Kardos."

"While the coronation is taking place, can you pass a message to my soldiers?"

"What is your message? I will deliver it personally." She bowed her head slightly.

"Liberate yourselves and wait to receive me near the Camwood Cavern."

She was surprised at first but then smiled. She bowed low. "I will deliver your words without fail. Shall I pass anything along to your Rucrean?"

Oliver shook his head. "I will give him my message myself." He sighed lightly. 

She pushed him toward the door and handed him the bag with the Taotie Orbs. "This helped you before, right?"

He nodded as he accepted the bag. "Thank you."

 She smiled brightly. "My family is from Wynter. They settled in a small village a short ride from the Kardos' estate... nearly a year ago, the village was attacked by Ravagers. The situation seemed desperate, but then you came and turned the tides.  You saved my family that day, Lord Kardos. Then you protected them through the harsh winters. Helping you today was only a small way I could repay that debt."

She fell to a knee, giving him a bow of fealty in the manner of a northern soldier. "Please live."

She pushed him through the door and shut it behind him. What she had planned to do was a mystery to him. He wanted to turn back and help her but had to trust that she knew what she was doing.

She was right... Draco was waiting for him.

He moved down the pitch black pathway. However, Oliver knew the schematics of the palace, so with a hand on the wall, he slowly walked in the silent darkness.

Despite the ominous atmosphere, Oliver was amused by the Belelot's greed.  It was because of this he could find a way to leave. 

However, the tunnels were winding, and the journey was slow. When he first entered the passageway, he was pumped with adrenaline. Now that it was fading, Oliver had to endure the pain that was starting to creep up on him. 

His steps slowed, and he had to stop to catch his breath. When he felt the passage abruptly end, he sighed with relief.  He leaned against the door and closed his eyes, hoping to stop the world from spinning. Before moving to the door, he took out one of the orbs and slowly replenished a little of his magic. It was painful as it moved back into his body, but he didn't stop. He had to grab whatever strength he could to increase his odds.

He was able to absorb a little more than before, but it still wasn't everything.  He sighed and put it away, turning his attention to the door.

Oliver's hand ran along the door until he felt the keyhole. He grabbed the key from his pocket and tried to fit it into the lock. His trembling hands had hindered him, but after a few attempts, he heard the click of the lock.

He entered the room, closed the door behind him, and locked it again. With a groan, he sunk to the ground and sat with his back against the wall. All he wanted to do was sleep. This past week, he only was able to get a few superficial minutes of sleep from time to time. His body was barely keeping upright now.

He just needed a little more time to rest. He knew there were another two passages into the treasury, but they were well hidden. No one should be entering. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

However, he tensed when he noticed that the treasury was starting to lighten up. He could see light dancing off a flame from the opposite side of the treasury. The gold, treasures, and armor reflected the warm light, causing an eerie glow.  Oliver stilled in his corner, hidden behind a table holding jewels.  He prayed that no one would notice him in the shadows.

The minutes drew on like hours. The light kept sweeping across the treasury wildly. Oliver listened closely and heard frustrated murmuring.

"Where the fuck would he put it?"

"I hate that murderous bastard."

"Who the hell needs all this fucking gold?"

Oliver wanted to laugh but stilled when the other person stepped into his view.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a good-looking face. He was older than Oliver was now and had a couple of scars touching his chin. 

He looked terribly like Piers but, at the same time, was significantly different.  Perhaps it was his wild-like demeanor—while Piers was sheltered in his palace with gold and silk, this man seemed to have experienced the world.

Oliver was more stunned by the fact that he knew this man, though it took him a moment to recognize him.  His mind raced to an old memory from his past life... of an old friend.

••••••

Oliver watched the group of recruits with a wary eye.  Bierze was slow to replenish his troops, and the men of Wynter were weary of the constant battles against Abrorg and Osmela. The last thing Oliver needed was criminals posing as soldiers.  They arrived to him in cages. Would they truly be trustworthy in his army?

He shook his head in a defeated manner. He couldn't risk his men's safety with another man's inexperience. He would have to start these recruits at the back of the army. This, however, meant that his battle-worn soldiers would continue to see the frontline with no hope to rest.

This war had been too unfair to them.

War had been too unfair to everyone.

He blew out a long breath and rubbed his temples. He didn't have time to waste on the criminals. Instead, he looked over a crude map drawn in the sand as he tried to mentally prepare for the next battle. However, his train of thought was broken when one of the criminals approached him. 

Oliver looked over the man, his wrists still red and raw from the shackles he was just freed from. His body was thin, exposing the fact that he was extremely malnourished. His hair was shaved, leaving him with a light-colored buzz cut but exposed grievous scars across his scalp. His skin was ashen, making the scars on his chin stand out. His nose was crooked, obviously broken multiple times. His blue eyes had dulled, and they held no joy or happiness.

This was a man whose soul had already passed on.

Oliver didn't know what was worse, a man who had no desire to live this life or a soldier who couldn't even pick up a sword.

This man was both... dead inside and physically weak. 

"You're the General?" He asked.

Oliver frowned. "I am." He usually addressed his men as 'soldier' but could not bring himself to call this criminal one.

He sighed. "How fucked up is Bierze's situation to send out forsaken prisoners like me?"

"It wasn't that dire." Oliver rubbed the bridge of his temples. "Sending you was just a way to fuck with me."

"What?"

Oliver shot him a stern look. "My men need rest, but instead of decent fighters to relieve them, I was sent the scum of the capital."

The man's blue eyes darkened with anger. "What the fuck did you say?"

Oliver looked him up and down. "Have you had formal training in fighting?"

"No."

"Studied formations or strategies?"

"No."

"Worked as a mercenary?"

"Kind of."

"Been in a fight?"

He grinned darkly. "Plenty of times."

Oliver shook his head. "So you're a street brawler—fighting for just yourself. Not only that, you're physically weak and starved. Now, I have to use my soldier's resources to feed you and then put them at risk while I train you.... so yes, I believe someone is fucking with me."

The man's face contorted. He was hanging on to the last piece of pride he could muster. "You know nothing about us. Yeah, I was a brawler. I fought the fucking bandit bastards that invaded my village. I fought because that's the world I had to live in. You're pissed that you have to feed me? Well, so am I!"

He stepped closer to Oliver, his small frame trying to challenge him as he continued. "Who would actually choose to fight in this fucked up war? But unfortunately, we are all you have right now! This is all you have to work with. Still, we are better than any of those well-trained aristocrats who are hiding away in their mansions! We may look like shit soldiers in your eyes, but we want to live. If you train us, we will fight like the devil."

He glowered at Oliver with no intention of backing down. "Or just cut us down here and now because I honestly don't know what's worse: rotting in that cell for another decade or fighting alongside a judgmental asshole like you."

Oliver's eyes widened. He had been fighting in the war for nine years, of which he was General for nearly half of that time. It had been years since someone had stood up to him and treated him as a man, not a General.

He was flippant, rude, and crude... but he was honest and prideful.

The surrounding soldiers started to circle the two of them, ready to arrest the loud-mouthed criminal. But to their surprise, their cold-faced General started to laugh.

He patted the man on the shoulder. "You got the bad end of the stick, soldier. Fighting alongside me is definitely worse."

"Fuck," the man groaned.

Oliver led him to the campfire with the other prisoners.  The soldiers had calmed down and started to relax around the new men. Still, the atmosphere was slightly awkward. No one knew how to interact with criminals.

"Why did a man like you have to arrive here in a cage?" Oliver finally asked, surprising the others with his blunt question.

"I was a lousy thief." He pulled out a worn-out ring that was tied around his neck. "I trusted an unverified source. They gave me an escape route, but little did I know that it led me straight into the barracks."

"Barracks?"

The man laughed heartily. "Yeah. I robbed King Piers' treasury."

The men fell silent for half a heartbeat but then erupted with laughter. Who didn't want to take away the riches of the king who shipped them off to war?

He rubbed the back of his neck but gave the ring a tender look. "This ring was originally my father's, so I was taking back what was mine. No one better fucking dare ask how I've kept it hidden for so long." 

There was more laughter from the soldiers.  The man then elbowed Oliver. "What about you, General? What crime got you sent here?"

Everyone knew that he was jesting, but Oliver wore a bitter smile.

"According to the report, I coveted the throne." He said with a heavy sigh.

The man's mouth fell open. "W...what?" Then he stood up and pointed towards him. "Fuck! Oliver Kardos! Former Royal Consort!"

Oliver grabbed his sleeve and forced him to sit down. He looked around at the other prisoners, who were still apprehensive.

"I was never the Royal Consort in the first place, so there is no need to call me that." He said once the man sat down.

"I thought you were dead. Although I went to jail right when that fucker, Piers, was crowned king, I still heard about you from the passing guards. When the war started, I stopped hearing your name."

Oliver nodded.  This timeline made sense. "I joined this war at its inception." He explained.

Many of the soldiers looked down or away in shame. They were all young soldiers. They only joined recently when they came of age. They hated that Oliver was only a few years older than them, but he had seen so much more in this war.

"How have you survived for so long?" The man asked, not afraid of trading blunt questions with his General.

"Luck. Blind luck." Oliver said so all could hear him. "Most men who joined the war with me have died, including my uncle. I used to be part of the vanguard, trying to kill as many enemies as possible. Now, I try to create as many safeguards as possible to protect my soldiers. While you fight against other men, I fight against our dwindling numbers."

Oliver sighed and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I obsess over protecting everyone I command. However, I neglected the fact that you are my soldiers as well. Forgive this foolish General."

Many of the prisoners' eyes reddened. Some even buried their head in their hands. They thought that they were leaving one hell to join another. However, this General had admitted his wrongs and acknowledged them. They had been treated as beasts for so long that this sincerity was novel.

Oliver took a flask of ale from a soldier and raised it in the air. "I welcome our new soldiers, brothers-in-arms, and friends of the battlefield."

Oliver drank from the flask heavily and handed it to the man.

The man chuckled and took the offered ale."Hells. I refuse to fight for that snake of a king, but I will fight for you, General. "

"I welcome your blade, soldier."

The man smiled, his scar stretching a little. "It's Quincey. Quincey Bell."

••••••

In Oliver's previous life, the bond between him and Quincey grew into an extraordinary friendship. This was the first batch of people that Oliver had to train amid battle, but the former prisoners were hungry to prove themselves. They took their training seriously and were soon integrated into the army. It wasn't long until most of the prisoners took on commander roles and helped train the later recruits.

They were good men who deserved more than the hells of war... they left their cells to be burned on the pyre of war. 

After a decade of fighting together, the only one left was Quincey.

Quincey had proved to be an asset on the frontlines and easily stepped into the second-in-command role. They had long walked side by side, sharing their fears and doubts.

He thought he had lost this friendship when he returned to the past.

But the man in the treasury, rummaging through the jewels, was Quincey. His Quincey. 

This was his second-in-command before imprisonment had altered and muted his looks.  His friend who had yet to experience the hauntings of war.

His Quincey... who looked so much like Piers... so much like a Belelot.