A corrupt King sits the throne. The last generation of heroes have gone extinct. The lands are as green and as promising as they ever were. The Gods watch with interest and they wait. As next the next uprising comes from the most unlikely of places. A slow burn novel.
The alchemist had managed to get his experiments done faster than Oliver could have anticipated. What he sacrificed in ingredients, he'd made up for in time. Oliver had given him all the Hobgoblin stock that he had, including the fingers and toes.
He expected to receive recompense for the fingers and toes at a later date, once Nebular practised a recipe involving them sufficiently enough, though the alchemist had warned that this one would likely take even more ingredients to learn.
But that was merely part of something grander. Money as money. Until a few days ago, Oliver had thought the money problem was largely sorted for him. Apparently, that wasn't the case, and he had had to address it as such. But that didn't stop the initial problems from being sorted. He still needed to raise an army to fight in the Games, and he still needed to practise with his Command enough that he'd finally get a General to teach him.