Reaper's Crown

Ch. 112

"He and a Tributal? That doesn't make sense." Rowan shook their head. "We don't have genders."

"It's what he wished to be called." Alfredo inched closer. "But I realised he might've been just as insane as me on that day. Venturing out, I found him in Gambino, with that strange mark on his hand you saw on the sheets. He spouted nonsense about making a pact with a demon that would finally let him breathe again but needed support for his spine. He couldn't move by himself and only crawled as miserably as any pitiful creature would look down upon him."

"I wasn't sure if I was still looking at a Tributal, or, perhaps, at the world's biggest mistake. Then, it hit me. Maybe this was this oddity we talked about. Singing songs in reverse, doing everything that would oppose reaching perfection might've just been the answer."

Alfredo clenched his fist. "I reminded myself. Love requires sacrifice. I wasn't the one fighting for that perfect vessel, but him." he raised his half-visible eyebrows. "I tried my best to cure his wounds. Magic, incantations that were written down, trusting Dakarai's words... I found myself going back to only one solution."

"Do you have anyone you can sacrifice?" Alfredo asked.

The Tributal turned, eyes half-open with pain. "I do," they answered, muttering a name.

"So I vowed to listen." Alfredo continued. "He told me of a story where he was sure he died, but miraculously survived, only to be left by his loved ones. That, in turn, gave him a reason to struggle, even if only one of his hands worked. He thought he was destined to live a great life. If he wasn't meant to die and leave Legion flowers behind, then the sun would shine once again, perhaps elsewhere." Alfredo closed his eyes. "Fifteen years of crawling away with just one working hand finally led him to Gambino, and although he was blind, he swore he heard a distant voice, which talked about a blessing. It reminded me of Swannes."

"Perfection could be synonymous with a blessing, then, what about being cursed, would that make you any less?"

"To me, his life was a curse in itself. I would've given but he held on, claiming it's a blessing to live. So he lived, and continued living, and I wanted to make sure that he could live that perfect life." Alfredo muttered.

Rowan gulped.

"That blessing was later raised up into view and light with something he found in his other hand. A grim compass, opposing the one you held."

Rowan took a look at their compass. Its arrows rested calmly, but the words which kept echoing into their mind were anything but that. What Tributal could've possibly been here?

"He... told me. To make life worth living." the Tributal muttered. "All those years ago."

"Who did?" Alfredo asked.

"I don't know. But he saved me." he continued.

"Holding that grim compass, he vowed the man tasked him to become the new definition of Tributals. Perhaps there you'll find the answer to your question about gender. In his words, a perfect Tributal is simply a divine being that doesn't have to worry about any of the world's rules. If he was already blessed from the moment he didn't die, why would I want to convince myself otherwise? Maybe that Tributal could've saved the beastmen from oppression, maybe it could finally return them to normal. The demon which gave him that Grim Compass must've shared a similar worldview."

"Love requires sacrifice," Rowan repeated, perhaps slightly annoyed. They thought of everything these words imposed. Their entire life, the death of Ennyou, their parents, the burning down of Fort Apharel, the passing of Ace, Kukhi and Damien, and then, the disappearance of Ambrosia. It seems that the arrows started leading them somewhere, but they were just back into self-doubt.