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*Did I do that?* Szeth asks, looking around the ruined hall as Rit's body vanishes to smoke and the burning air goes still. The mural is gone, the floor has dropped tens of feet, sixty columns rise like sinew to the ceiling. He picks up Talmut's Honorblade: the recovered Blade is finally accounted for after years of confusion about its swap. He cuts free gemstones from the wall cages — a blasphemy his spren does not stop, since the monastery is ruined anyway — and Kaladin does the same.

Pushed for an explanation, Szeth tells Kaladin and Syl what Rit called a *pilgrimage of Truth*: a young Shin who would become an Honorbearer trained with each Blade at each monastery, then chose one, fought its Honorbearer for it without powers, and went with that Blade to face each of the other seven. Pass, and you joined the eight. One try only. He took Yesoran's Blade this way as a young man and brought it to face his teachers — and was *exiled* instead, the Blade following him out. Rit's claim now is that he must repeat the pilgrimage to cleanse the sin of losing it. He met Ishu — *Ishar* — a week earlier; Ishu told him *he killed his father*, said he had *saved* the Shin from the Unmade, and now Ishar has told Kaladin he will speak with him after the pilgrimage is done. The Herald is unreliable. They will retrace Szeth's old route to the next monastery — Willshaper.

Down at the encampment thousands of unwashed villagers have come into the sunlight, blinking; some weeping, others fallen to their knees and staring at the sky. They cluster around Szeth in awe at the Honorblade, thanking him. Szeth panics — *I kill, I subtract, I am to be reviled* — and Kaladin talks him through it: *This is what we fight for. Those eyes. Those tears. That joy. Our duty has a cost — but if there's a difference between us, it's this: I know the why.* Syl points out the local leader is the new Farmer, the son of the man Szeth once knew, and he is bowing to Szeth. He bears it. He wipes his eyes. The Wind, silent since they reached the ridge, blows across Kaladin and whispers *we need you*. Not as important as the battle his friends are in, Kaladin tells her — *no*, the Wind answers, *far more important*. For the first time since Dalinar gave him the order, Kaladin feels invested. They go for the Willshaper monastery. *The end of Day Three.*

Adolin leaves the dome with an excited leap, holds his helm and Blade high, and lets out a triumphal shout that his men return; gloryspren explode around them. Colot reports six wounded, none dead. None. Adolin goes among them and lets them bang fists on his Plate — a thing his father's rules officially do not permit — because morale lives in soldiers knowing personally that their commander is proud. Maya asks to join; Adolin hands her, dulled, to the Thaylen volunteer from the duel — Hmask, he'll learn — to be passed reverently around. *Get him a uniform; formally induct him into the Cobalt Guard.*

Adolin joins the emperor on his portable throne, where Kushkam kneels with one penitent hand outstretched, shamespren raining around it. Adolin interrupts with a public commendation of the Commandant: *any plan can fall apart on any battlefield. The hallmark of a disciplined army is a well-executed pivot*, and Kushkam delivered one. A lone sincerityspren opens beside him like blue fronds, testifying he believes it. Kushkam climbs to his feet. Adolin then invites Yanagawn to camp beside him on the square — bivouac, in the military — over Noura's objections that an Azish emperor's role is to inspire from the throne, not to learn Plate and towers. The boy emperor accepts, eyes alight. Noura sighs.

Walking away with Kushkam, the Commandant asks what he did wrong. Adolin explains: forming tight around the control room let the enemy leverage only their best against an Azish line that has never charged singers. The right answer is what the Azish fell into — wider pike walls, archer support, Shardbearers mobile against concentrations. They learn that the enemy took the imperial Soulcaster, towed away by a flying Fused during the regroup. Both apologise — Adolin for cornering Kushkam publicly with his counter-plan. *They said you'd win me over*, Kushkam says; *I said you were a fop more interested in clothing than warfare.* *I think you were both right*, Adolin replies; *I'd much rather be choosing tomorrow's wardrobe than be here killing.* They shake on it. *I'm Zarb, Adolin.* Kushkam declines the offer of overall command; Adolin declines it for him — *you live here when this is over* — and accepts dinner with his command staff.

Back on the square he watches his men holding Maya in reverence and thinks ahead to the days of grinding pike-wall attrition coming. He needs an edge. He remembers the honorspren objectors who left Lasting Integrity with them — the ones who took up the call *Honor is not dead*. Maya grows excited: she can move with the beads, persuade them, bring them. Adolin tells her *I support whatever decision you make*; she warns him not to summon her unless in dire need, and the Blade in May Aladar's hands vanishes of its own accord. He thinks, complicated: *all of the Radiants did it once. And there was one other. My father.* He goes to win over Kushkam's officers — and to miss Shallan.