He found himself on the battlefield, and once again, he found himself inspired. Their Commander in Vol had gone quieter than normal. His expression was dazed, and his eyes were glassy. It was hardly like he was there at all. But when he swung his hammer, and when he dodged slashes of the sword that Harland hadn't even seen, and he dismantled three strong men as easily as one man, Harland couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline.
That was perfection he was eyeing. It was one thing to see the Ogres trample the enemy ahead, but it was quite another thing to see Vol. He fought differently that day – differently to what Harland had ever seen from him. Perfection was the only word for it. Everything was crisp. He made his moves with his hammer look as slick as a nobleman's swordplay.
