After marching for what had felt like an entire day, the Remaining Podeshire and his guards finally caught sight of the military base in the distance, situated by the side of the street. The men continued their resolute stride, their heels thudding against the concrete ground. Curious passerby on the sidewalks paused in their tracks, observing the troops as they steadily made their way towards the base.

     Oliver and his troops press on, marching down the road. As they approach the entrance of their colossal base, they veer to the left, aligning themselves with the entrance gap. The massive double doors swing open, granting access to the men as they pass through the imposing doorway. Once all the guards have entered, the doors shut with a resounding thud, and the men and women who have momentarily halted on the sidewalks resume their strolls.

     Cal and his minions stand amidst the bustling crowd, their eyes fixed on the closing and slamming of the military base's entrance. Seamlessly blending into the ocean of bodies on the street, they cast a piercing glare at the door with their brows furrowed. They remain motionless like frozen statues, their presence undetectable amidst the vibrant activity surrounding them.

     The military base towers above, its structure limited to a single floor. Nevertheless, an underlying foundation masterfully deceives, conjuring the impression of multiple levels. Its formidable walls, crafted from greyish concrete, shed their glow while a staircase beckons visitors towards the entrance.

     Inside the military base, twenty guards, including the Remaining Podeshire, fill a room. They gather and converge around a long desk at the centre, bathed in the glow of lamp lights hanging from the ceiling. Candles flicker, casting dim light into every corner as Oliver takes charge, addressing the men with a deep and commanding voice.

"This concludes our daily patrol for today," Oliver declared. "I expect every junior guard present to obey the orders of your seniors. As for the senior guards, I command you to delegate your duties to your subordinates this afternoon. I now request that everyone proceed to their respective stations."

"Roger," a senior guard nodded while the others attentively listened.

"...Dismissed."

     The guards, both juniors and seniors, shift their attention towards the door. And, one by one, they squeeze through the exit, gradually emptying the room. The bustling atmosphere of men takes several moments to dissipate entirely. As the last guard departs, the doorway closes gently, leaving behind a lingering echo.

     Meanwhile, Oliver remains in the room, standing at the rear of the long table. His hands rest upon its surface, and his gaze remains fixed on the door. He closes his eyelids, taking a slow, relaxed breath through his nose before exhaling deeply through his mouth.

     Oliver pulls a nearby chair closer and settles into it. Sheets of paper of various sizes and colours lie across the table, scattered like grains of sand. He gathers a stack, arranging them into a neat cluster.

     Oliver then begins flipping through the sheets, absorbing the contents as his eyes scan the writings. His gaze gradually drops, engrossed in the review process. Suddenly, a gentle knocking on the door interrupts his quiet moment. He quickly glances at the doorway and lowers the paper from his face, expecting the arrival of someone. Slowly, he breathes in.

     The doorknob emits a creaking sound as the door opens gradually. A man enters the room, his face brightened with a warm smile directed at Oliver. But the sight of the man causes Oliver's eyes to widen with surprise.

     The man who steps inside possesses groomed, short hair as white as powder. His eyes glisten like a clean river under the sunlight, and his complexion resembles a soft pastel. Clad in a crimson uniform with golden epaulettes, reminiscent of Oliver's attire, the man's chest is embellished with numerous glowing medals and emblems, accentuated by a navy blue sash around his torso. His presence emanates a majestic atmosphere that elicits gasps, even from the Remaining Podeshire.

"General," Oliver gasped.

     Oliver uttered and promptly rose from his seat. He hurriedly set the paper back on the table and tidied his chest. He then positioned his right palm before his right eyebrow, executing a salute to his general.

"Sir, good afternoon, sir!"

"Corporal Podeshire," the general approached Oliver.

"Good day, general," Oliver greeted and asked with a polite smile. "What brings you here?"

"I have brought you good news," the general said.

"Oh?" Oliver's interest was piqued.

"You have successfully met all the requirements for promotion to the rank of sergeant," the general revealed with a smirk. "The army has recognized your dedication, good sir. Congratulations."

Oliver's smile, initially stretched across his face, gradually faded. "Oh, general, I am truly grateful. Words cannot express my joy. However, I must respectfully decline the promotion," he said hesitantly, "...again."

"Pardon me?" the general raised an eyebrow. "Why do you refuse the promotion? You cannot simply reject it, as it is mandatory in the army. Your lack of interest may be perceived as a lack of commitment."

"If I were to accept this promotion, I would acquire excessive power. Don't you think I already enjoy numerous privileges as the Remaining Podeshire and Defender of Asbranne?" Oliver explained. "There's even a religion out there about me."

The general furrowed his brows as he glanced at the ground. "...Are you certain you're unwilling to accept the promotion?" He then met Oliver's eyes.

"I am," Oliver replied firmly. "It seems that I must maintain humility by remaining in a lower rank within the military," he remarked.

     Oliver and the general fall silent, their words exhausted. Their eyes lock on each other, their gaze unbroken. An air of slight awkwardness fills the space as they communicate solely through their wordless exchange.

     Unexpectedly, the general raises his right palm and places it next to his right eyebrow, a gesture of respectful salutation to the Remaining Podeshire. Oliver reciprocates with a smile and mimics the general's salute. With a light smile, the general turns and departs through the door, closing it gently but leaving an echoing presence in the room.

     Oliver watched as the door closed, listening to the fading echo. He then turned his gaze to the right, fixing his eyes on the bustling street through a nearby window, his body still and unmoving. As his mind embarked on a journey of reflection and contemplation, thoughts raced through his consciousness, prompting him to close his eyes and release a heartfelt sigh.