Preparation |A TBATE What-If?|

Chapter 8 - Negotiations

? Pov

Besting a general in the enemy's army was nothing short of impressive, no matter how expected the outcome had been. Upon his report, I couldn't help but be enthralled by the interesting affinity the girl had. Not at all unique among her kind, but still intriguing nonetheless. The apparent techniques used—by way of the boy's words—were not something I would have expected from a lesser.

Even despite this life-or-death conflict, I find it increasingly hard to suppress my intrinsic urges. Mana arts are fascinating. Is it so wrong to be fascinated by them?

~~~

Arthur Leywin

Heavy footsteps brought Arthur away from all the alcohol-infused festivities of the night atop the floating castle, the scent of liquor wafted through the air. He hadn't partaken in the act of drinking. Now alone with his thoughts—as alone as one could be with a bond and a talking weapon—he strode through the winding corridors.

Sylvie was near. He had been talking to her, but she'd gone quiet as Arthur made his way outside. He was tired of frivolous formalities—he wanted some fresh air.

It had been nearly half a year since he had single-handedly felled a Scythe of the Alacryan army. No major battles had required Arthur's participation since then. Though Commander Virion was progressive with his use of the Lances in conflict, that leniency did not extend to Arthur who stood at the apex of Dicathen's generals. He was too valuable. To lose such a powerful tool early on would be detrimental to the war effort.

Though he wasn't the only one to fight one—Lance Mica had narrowly escaped from what she called: An angry black-haired boy—Arthur was still the only mage who had ever killed a Scythe. On Dicathen at least.

Following said deed, the name: Arthur Leywin had rang throughout the streets for weeks. Dinner conversation, public announcements—there wasn't a man, woman, or child who didn't know his name. He was Lance Godspell, a supersoldier and the strongest man alive—or so they said. Arthur found it all tacky. The public perception of him was exaggerated. He wasn't this asura-like being everyone claimed he was. He was just...Arthur.

He had been a kid once. An orphan even. He had been an adventurer and a student at Xyrus Academy...he wasn't some mythical figure for the public to dote over. He didn't enjoy being a tool for propaganda.

"The thought of you makes everyone feel safer, Arthur," Sylvie said. She was reading his string of thoughts—not that he had been trying to hide them. Perhaps he wanted her to tell him he was being ridiculous. Did she know that he needed her? "You should take pride in that."

"It's hard to have pride when I hardly even know who I am anymore," he said. So many years of monotonous training, with little in the way of interaction. It'd been decades. It felt like Arthur Leywin and even Grey were slipping through his grasp.

Grey might've been someone he wanted to forget. He was a tyrant—at least, near the end of his being. But Arthur Leywin...

Arthur Leywin was the man he had constructed to do better...to be better. A persona, but not Entirely. Arthur Leywin had been him.  Arthur Leywin was the better side of Grey...they were two sides of the same person, he thought. Two, wildly different sides—but the same at the core.

Arthur and Grey were like fire and ice. Black and white. But now, Arthur didn't feel like either of them. He felt...empty.

"Even Tessia didn't recognize me."

"What are you talking about?" Sylvie's confusion bled into my own emotions.

He sighed. "She recognized my face. My hair and my eyes and my face were all familiar to her...but she didn't recognize me." Sylvie finally caught up to Arthur. That same—almost pitying look was in her eyes. Ever present. "She didn't recognize the man under the familiar features of her best friend."