"Captain Celt has now taken full command of the city's forces. Anyone who wishes to leave can follow Lord Kili, who has already departed. Those who choose to stay must follow Celt's orders and prepare to make a final stand against the invading army of the Nascent Duchy."
The matter was grave, and Old Jaque wasted no time sharing the intelligence he had gathered with John and Celia. They needed to prepare immediately—there was no time to delay.
Hearing this, John cast a meaningful glance at both Old Jaque and Celia.
"You don't have to worry about me, Old Jaque," he said casually. "But what about you? Are you planning to stay? Or will you leave as well? I mean, ten thousand troops—you could probably handle that, right?"
There was no fear in John's voice—just curiosity. He had never held any deep reverence for the Nascent Duchy, and with the boost granted by the system, he felt more emboldened than ever. In fact, he was more interested in what Old Jaque planned to do.
John knew full well that the old man was far from ordinary. A hidden master of the sword with a legendary blade—surely he could change the tide of battle. In this world ruled by Awakeners, a true powerhouse could turn a war upside down.
But Old Jaque's expression changed slightly at those words. He gave a bitter chuckle and shook his head.
"John, you give me too much credit," he said. "That's a hundred thousand soldiers we're talking about. Even if they were a hundred thousand pigs, hacking them down would dull your blade and drain your spirit."
"Besides, the Nascent Duchy has prepared thoroughly for this invasion. Charging headlong into their army is suicide."
John blinked, momentarily stunned. He had seen glimpses of Old Jaque's strength—unfathomable and dangerous. He hadn't expected the old man to hesitate.
"You're still hiding your strength, aren't you? This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make a name for yourself!" John said with a straight face, trying to motivate him.
Old Jaque gave him a tired look. "John, I think you're misunderstanding me. And, to be fair, I've misunderstood you in the past. But now isn't the time for jokes."
His gaze sharpened, and he met John's eyes without backing down.
"The Nascent Duchy's soldiers are not just brutes. They've been forged in fire and blood. Whether in single combat or coordinated assault, their strength is far beyond what most high-level Awakeners can deal with."
Celia nodded in agreement, stepping in to add context. "The Duchy's army has gathered forces from every region. Their numbers and discipline make them a nearly unstoppable force. Unless you've reached the level of the kings in the old legends, you won't survive against them alone."
Seeing both of them dead serious, John could only sigh in disappointment.
"If you've already decided to leave, then go. I won't stop you."
"You should come with us," Old Jaque urged. "Start packing now. If we wait until the army arrives, we'll lose our chance."
With that, he began gathering all the valuable items from the courtyard, storing them swiftly into his spatial ring.
John, however, didn't move. He stood still, a look of deep thought clouding his face.
Leaving Winterhold and exploring the wider world had always been one of his goals. But to flee like this—without resistance, without closure—it didn't sit right with him.
Not when his parents' ashes still lay buried in this city.
He had lived in Winterhold for over a decade. It wasn't just a location—it was home. To abandon it while knowing that the Nascent Duchy would ravage it in his absence… he couldn't do it.
Not long after, Old Jaque and Celia finished preparing and returned to the courtyard. They were ready to leave—but what they found surprised them.
John hadn't packed. He wasn't moving at all.
"What's going on?" Old Jaque asked. "I get that you have feelings for this place, but this is your life we're talking about."
"Exactly," Celia added. "You may be a Silver Rank Swordman now, but to a hundred-thousand-strong army, you're just an insect."
John gave them both a faint smile. "Go on without me. I have some unfinished business. I'll stay for now."
"John, don't be reckless," Old Jaque said, frowning. "Staying here won't change anything. You'll just throw your life away."
Celia stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "You've just become a Swordman. With your talent, you could thrive in any major faction. Why die here for nothing? Don't you want to see the world beyond this city? This is your chance."
John nodded slowly. "Thank you, both of you. I appreciate your concern. But I've made up my mind. If I really can't win, I'll find a way to escape."
Seeing the resolve in his eyes, Old Jaque didn't argue further. Instead, he took out a golden longsword and handed it to John.
"I can't do much more for you," he said solemnly. "But take this—the Divine Serpent Sword. Use it well. It might just help you survive."
"If you make it out alive, come find me in the imperial capital and return it."
"But if you never return… then whoever holds that sword — I will kill them."
As he spoke those final words, a terrifying aura burst from Old Jaque. It was as though a sleeping beast had awakened—a monstrous pressure that chilled the air around them. For a moment, John felt like his very soul was trembling.
He quickly steadied himself and took the sword with a smile.
"Don't worry, Old Jaque. Wait for me in the capital. I'll come find you."
Old Jaque gave a final nod, then turned and walked away.
After his departure, Celia looked at John with a serious expression.
"John… I don't know what you're planning, but staying alive is what matters most. Here—this is a healing potion I bought a while ago. I hope it helps."
She handed him a small glass vial. It was still warm from her touch, and faintly scented with her unique fragrance.
John took it gently. "Thank you. I'll definitely find you again."
He looked her in the eyes—not with romantic affection, but with the sincerity of a promise between comrades.
John had never had many friends. His talent had always been considered trash, and that isolated him from others.
But now, even in this dangerous moment, Celia was still willing to believe in him—still willing to help him.
In John's heart, she was already a true friend.
Perhaps… his only friend.
After all, Old Jaque was more like a father figure than a peer.