Revised November 2023
***
He'd argue it was the best sleep in his new life. Instead of the Sistine Chapel or elaborate canopies and bed curtains looking down on him, it was just joists from a dead tree, planks, and a knight. Instead of the expansive space, it was snug, the size of a one-person dorm room with a bed in the corner.
It was simple. And it was enough.
"My Lord, it's time."
Erich huffed and sat up. How they broke into his room, his yawn ignored the pleasure of knowing. Sunlight still had to reach the window.
People often complain about the small things — get angry for something that doesn't suit their beliefs. Being open-minded had its benefits. But someday, you'll become certain and have less conviction when it comes to it. And without someone to shake it up, it'll just be stagnant water, left to breed whatever.
And, by the same token, those who do not change get swept in its unpredictable current; a rock cuts them from underneath, not knowing how to swim, but it's natural to survive. Ideas and the people who hold them are no different. You cling to it as you cling to life. It's just instincts.
You can ignore the nutrition fact labels, lose touch with the physical for convenience in the digital, and even have the decency to feign civility and intellect. It wasn't a perfect society, but it's progress, good or bad. You just need to have the will to change once everything goes kaput.
A bag descended on Erich's head, thin enough to breathe and see, and a waxy slightly green-tinged, spicy aroma surrounded him. Lilies, roses, whatever. An average person might not have the same mindset as a survivor or the experience of a knowledgeable person. They flail for help and somewhat find others to join together. They form a group, perceiving it as progress and nothing more.
The knights hoisted him and cuffed his hands behind his back. There will come a time when they realize the river is endless but only a product of their imagination. Some people tend to refuse the fact they're going to die, so they determine how it ends. No one knows what happens after death. So, the comforting feeling that all the pain would go away was reassuring. Should they survive, they call it grit, faith.
While both are acceptable reasons from an emotional standpoint, mathematics does not. Variables, factors, and equations exist to create formulas to deduce the reason and compute them into numbers to conclude. But the human mind is beyond rationality. The experience becomes warped into something inconclusive, such as faith and miracles. Emotions tend to trounce the rational mind for both good and bad.
It was not that Erich was against natural phenomena. It's how ethics, morals, and values form. But for the advancement of civilization, it does not. Emotion is the antithesis of itself. Yesterday's war won't win you tomorrow's. It's all about balance.
And so Erich boarded the prison carriage, his chains unlocked, but the knights offered him a clean junior officer's uniform.
"I said dirty and worn."
"His Majesty wants to remind the cadets that this can be them."
Erich snatched it from the knight's grasp and threw it to the floor, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.
"The nobility needs to be reminded of what they did to a Hero. Now, if you mind," the knights trampled on the snow-white tunic, making it darker with every step. "Tear the hem of the trousers apart, limit the knife to openings, and do the rest by hand. And spare me the boots. I'll go barefoot."
The knights followed suit, and Erich began buttoning up the shirt, only for buttons to scatter. Some might see a maniac, but Erich saw it. He saw the struggle it forced him to endure, the sweat and exhaustion. Soon, he will expose the hypocrisy hidden beneath the veils of the virtuous.
***
2 hours later
If the Royal Academy called the arena a stadium, Erich couldn't see it past one caging the cavemen cheering on the next Essen vs Dresden match. What was once a city of scholars by the banks of Lake Fenix and the waterfall Cascadia Steps had become a den of political intrigue. Its arches, columns, and canals had become artificial in its beauty.
Erich thought of cavemen through the subdued noise. But as the double doors opened, as the sunlight beamed into the passage and his eyes adjusted, the esteemed sons and daughters in red and the honorable ladies and gentlemen of the nobility in their colorful garments occupied the seats.
The knights dragged Erich to the light, and the seats lobbed stew upon stews of word vomit. At the center of the arena, he spun around, comprehending everyone's hate, feeling their rage, their reason to exclaim, and wondering if their anger was true.
The poster girl of the Royal Academy and the descended Hero about to bring justice, a perfect love story. Still, Erich never stated the Hero would do that; merely the announcement coincided with the trial. Sometimes, it's better to let the rest do the work. It gives them the pleasure of stimulating their minds.
A group waited for him before the best seat in the arena, before a platform connecting the grounds to the stands where important dignitaries observed and champions kneeled. Standing in front of the group, as though representing them, was a rotund man in his late thirties but appeared in his fifties flanked by a Lady and Marie.
There you are.
An attendant emerged from the passageways and spoke to the trumpet bearers flanking two doors. Their instruments resonated louder than they appeared, making the grand tune grander, emanating all the glory as their lungs could hold. Then a voice echoed.
"Presenting His Majesty, King Henry, with the Duke of Estrier and Headmaster of the Academy!"
Everyone rose. Columns of knights marched out of the two passages and formed a perimeter around the platform. Then King Henry and the aforementioned followed without much ceremony into their pace or article in their clothing, either out of shame or something.
The decoy followed, dressed in the precursor of the proud and few US marines' dress blues, the dunkelblau waffenrock. Erich's glad he still has the bag on. Nobody saw him smirk. The black pickelhaube with gold designs was just the cherry on top. But the knights yanked it off, and the boos and jeers came crashing down on him once more.
Duke John climbed down the steps and faced Erich. His fists were ready, but not his arms.
"Are you certain this is necessary?"
Erich spat short of the Duke's shoes; Even jumped forward for it, too, ceasing all hesitation as the next wave of jeers begged for retribution.
The Duke pursed his lips. "Forgive me."
Then the Duke twisted away from Erich, and a forearm came hurtling towards him. The strike resonated, sending Erich staggering backward, but the knights held him up. His chest throbbed from the chop, but it worked. A bit winded, but it worked. The crowd cheered over a basic wrestling chop and a bit of acting on Erich's part.
Still, good morning to you, too, Sleeping Beauty. When he left, Annalise was still asleep. She moved around and about earlier as Erich looked at the map, but did her father tell her to stay put? Even the stage was fine. Nevertheless, the red cape around her meant something. Even as they stood face to face, she was trying to tell him something. But it defeated the whole point.
There's only one way of getting out of it, and she knew. Erich made sure she knew. Her arm trembled as she raised it for a slap, and he squinted at the decoy. The disguised Paladin stepped down and grabbed her arm, something akin to "It's not worth it." The trial was about to start, and Annalise escaped the dilemma. One can only endure tragedy one at a time.
They returned to the platform, and King Henry rose from his seat, his voice echoing across the arena.
"It is unfortunate that such a crime has befell my dear goddaughter. But on this day, at this moment, we will make it right. Bring the accused forward. Lord Blaire, your testimony."
"Yes, Your Majesty," a mage amplified his voice.
They positioned Count Blaire center-facing the stage, away from the group, alone — vulnerable while the knights stopped Erich at defendant-length.
The Lord Mayor reached for his teal coat and unfurled a roll of paper.
"Written on this paper represents the entire families of those affected. We, the parents and guardians, express great distraught following the news about the incident. However, as much as we detest putting our daughters in a position to recollect it in detail, they will be the ones to speak."
Erich's eyes rolled. Despite women having the magic to make up for their biological differences in strength, the commoners didn't enjoy the same rights as the nobles. However, people view all of them as the former instinctively. It'll become a shitty precedent if they win.
The lackeys spoke one by one, fumbling their words, pausing their words; They even shot a glance at Erich. Some were good; some just said their scripts to the point. The kangaroo court kept getting surreal. But then came the last girl, the same one he knocked out.
She followed the same playbook — violated, fear upon waking up, and nightmares. She had to focus on the tone, trying to reach out to everyone's emotions. And she was good at it.
If she grows up, she'll be a manipulative mistress. With those cheekbones, he could see her thirty years from now with a folding fan. But what crossed his threshold was the crocodile tears. It was pure and innocent; nobody would suspect her to be a deceitful woman.
At her closing statement, the two locked eyes, and she winced with an "Eep!" as Erich narrowed his brows. He sighed. Their shamelessness was almost dizzying.
"Shameless brute!"
"Execute him!"
He couldn't take irony seriously. Another round of insults muffled the girl's speech after seeing that exchange.
People began raising their fists. "Kill that disgrace!"
Erich's eye twitched. He found his hands formed into a fist as he listened to their chants. Over and over again, various jeers echoed across the arena until, ultimately, the words "Kill him," plain and simple, overpowered the rest. He could sense its savage nature, a growl when uttered.
He took a deep breath, finding comfort in the truth. The power of the masses frightened him, and rightfully so when it was the delirium of the society that formed the intelligentsia. His ideology shifted communism by ten percent.
Conscious as he was to the realities of the world, it begged to wonder why. Ten percent was no small amount, but correcting the decrepit system of fools who think of themselves as God's anointed and breaking the illusion of their privilege as their birthright did feel satisfying. Or who knows? Maybe half of it was spite.
The rest had to share the same sentiments, right? All the nobles heard was Hero, and they all went to Loopy Land, becoming blind men making fanfics of an elephant. If it continues, Cascadia will become more of a laughingstock than they can handle, and Erich will have to pay for it. Then it dropped by five percent. Not bad, but not enough.
What to do?
Erich scanned for that smoking gun — that reinforced sentimentality. The King, Duke, and Headmaster knew how to put up their poker face; the decoy's pickelhaube drooped down at a bearskin angle, hiding his eyes. But Annalise's wide eyes fell to the floor, clutching her hands beneath her cape.
Erich could picture her trembling and ready to burst into tears. But they were near the signal! The way the knights' hands shifted hinted at their readiness. He shot a scowl, and Annalise averted her gaze. King Henry must've noticed it, too.
Then, the chart went all gray. It was odd. Curious, even. Annalise's supposed to be the best of them, and still. Was it a wrong assessment? Her hands reached to her chest, her face contorting to its aching. But the analysis of her expression was only a gut feeling; Nothing too big, just an assumption.
Erich felt a pang in his heart. The scars may heal, but they'll remain. People like the girl are just tools, assumptions are dangerous, and pitiful are the true victims, for they suffered the most; Values tailored for him to live.
Erich felt inexplicable exhaustion weighing him down for the day, but another one of his headaches forced him up, and his heart beat a little bit faster. It was sharp, just as he wanted. He knows why it happens, and Erich can't waste a precious day dwelling on the past.
The King raised his hand, and the arena fell silent once more. "The Hero will now personally carry out the execution."
Everyone watched in bated breaths for the story's climax, and the world slowed. It seemed like a hallucination, but Erich could hear his heartbeat. The magic chains cuffing clicked, and he moved his right hand, but it got caught in the chains.
He could see the Count's wrinkles bending and the knights flying less than a quarter of Erich's comprehension. His arm pointed at the man faster than them, and a piece of metal appeared like a bubble, taking the shape of the sidearm of democracy, the M1911.
Its rear and front sights aligned, hammer down, and his finger in the trigger guard, Erich pulled the trigger. Horatio Blaire disappeared from the muzzle flash. The world has gotten too slow for him to appreciate the spark ejecting from the barrel.
What did that girl do to me?
Erich blinked, and the Count reappeared, clutching his chest. Then cries came.
"Father!"
"Dear!"
The two Blaire women dropped to their knees and tended to their father/husband.
"Please! Send a healer!" Lady Blaire looked around, restless. But it all fell on deaf ears.
All that mattered was the lone .45 Automatic Colt Pistol round flying toward Lord Mayor Count Horatio Blaire struck true.
"On the ground, scums!" the knights kicked the back of the nobles' knees and held them at swordpoint.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
But like the Blaire ladies, their words were nothing more than wind.
"Present arms!"
The Paladins straightened themselves, paving Erich's path toward the father-daughter masterminds. That's right. Erich gave the confused crowd courtesy as his clothes transitioned to a simple suit. It took a while to speak with the fancy clothing than it was to fire a large caliber pistol, but practice makes perfect. After all, he only needed one good shot, and the Count staggers to the ground.
The mother-daughter pair glared at him, but under the watchful eye of the sword, there was little they could do but cry for help in vain for the man they called husband and father. And yet, how many people has he endangered? How many lives were and will be lost because of him? How much damage has he caused with his information network? Erich might never know the answer, but that doesn't excuse his wife and daughter's grief.
Do they pity Cascadia as she cries for them? Erich raised the M1911, and the Count's roving head jolted to the ground. If a hunter's prey resists death from a well-placed shot, mercy first; damn the meat. And that's enough mercy he'll get from him.
That was it. Erich killed someone. And for once, he got to do it with his own hands. Such a trap had no elegance. Regardless of how sophisticated the spring of a mousetrap was and how intricate the carvings on the base were, it served the same bloody purpose.
Though, it should've happened back home, not in another world. But Erich's glad the traitor was dead. That's all that matters, nothing else.
"Hero Erich Kasper."
Erich marched before the King as his voice echoed with fifty shades of horror amongst the crowd and dropped to one knee.
"You have accomplished a great feat by not only luring the traitor into the light but also delivering my brother's daughter from her torment. Praise alone cannot reward your efforts. As godfather to my niece and King of Cascadia, I grant you the right to reward yourself with whatever you desire. Money, land, title; Let your voice be heard, and give me your answer."
A reward ceremony a second after executing someone and having family mourn them. What a show. The King waved his scepter, and a sound-amplifying spell wrapped around him. There's no need to guess.
"Then I would like to revoke my title as Hero."
If he put it that way, forget the pleasantries. He's on a schedule. The whole arena gasped at his declaration, but not the King.
"I would like to hear your reasoning, Sir Erich."
"I'm sure His Majesty is well aware of my capabilities. My strength lies not in the traditional conception of strength in magic or the sword. Thus, I would like to extend my expertise through a ministry of my own."
"And what is the scope of this ministry?"
"An answer to the Internal Security Problem. With the existence of a national law enforcement, security, and intelligence department, our armies and landed nobles will no longer be squeezed from its heavy burdens, and therefore reallocate their resources to become formidable forces designed for war and nation-building."
"A compelling offer, but how can you guarantee such an ambitious goal?"
"One month. Grant me one month, and I will not disappoint Your Majesty."
"And if you fail?"
"I won't."
A pause followed, giving time for reflection, opinions forming, and bearing witness to the Hero's audacity. Then the King snickered. It was spine-chilling not because of his authority and consecrated image but because he found it amusing.
"I see. Then we shall see, in one month, if your vision bears fruit. However, I recognize that the demands for your plans to be realized require the coordination of the Kingdom's civil and military institutions. Therefore, I will appoint my daughter, Princess Aurelia, as the Crown Liasion Officer. Her will is to be treated my will, the military's voice will be her voice, and her judgment will reflect the judgment of the ministries. I trust you do not refuse?"
"By your will."
Erich liked imagining the contents of their whispers, the sleepless nights ahead of them. They did not hide whether this was a performance, the first act of a play; the nobility was not blind to the indirect lip service. If the Hero masquerades as a criminal to eliminate a traitor, think about what would happen if he stayed quiet for a week. A spiteful enemy is a pest, a complying enemy becomes a vassal, but a fearful enemy becomes a puppet.
"However, the total abolition of your title as Hero is disheartening. The Kingdom cannot see it as our form of gratitude."
"Then, with my authority as Hero, I hereby declare a new title and would like to offer Cascadia the opportunity to be the first to recognize it."
"What may that be?"
"A National Hero — One who serves not through the sword, but by the pen. Heroes are made on the battlefield, but National Heroes are those who shaped their homeland to become something worth fighting for. They are the philosophers of wisdom, people who instill unity through their dedication, passion, and work within the functions of the country. They are the silent and easily forgotten. Those who retire and live in obscurity. They are the everyday work that makes a State function!"
His voice rang. Erich was sure the Paladin who amplified it increased the volume a little for dramatic effect.
It was not an abolition but an evolution. Erich will never lose the status of its traditional origins. However, how everyone must act in their roles was true. To continue feeding people, they must not neglect the farmers. To build homes, they must not neglect the builders. Civilization never really grew away from tribal society. They just made it bigger and more complicated.
"Step forward, Hero Erich."
The King stepped down from the platform and approached with a smile, seemingly touched. He already had a lot of problems, so acting as the standard on how everyone should work was more than he asked for. In everyone's eyes, it was the solemn interaction of two men who accepted their flaws with pride. For a moment, the King canceled his sound-amplifying magic.
"That speech will probably lessen my workload. I will have to thank you and apologize for forcing the woman who harmed you into your sphere and observing you. But as her father, at least answer her feelings of guilt."
Erich could only nod, the magic still on him. He took a knee, and the King dubbed his scepter on both shoulders.
"On this day, Cascadia mourns. To unravel the conspiracies lurking within our esteemed institutions and leaders, the Hero endured the unadulterated shame of Cascadia! This shame will be forever etched into Cascadia's soul for many generations! However, today, Cascadia rejoices, for a new Hero rises! A National Hero!"
And Erich rose, a National Hero.
"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
The arena that cried for his execution cheered him. He'll have to act busy to ignore all the apology letters later.
"Then I will leave you to your ministerial affairs," he glanced at the implicated families. "Serve Cascadia well."
Erich nodded and turned to the group of criminals.
"Many of you are probably wondering: Why did the Hero fall victim to such false accusations? How is the Count a traitor? My answer is simple," he stopped at Marie Blaire, scoffing at her glare. "I've come to learn that the only thing that exists between Cascadia and Salais is hate. Count Horatio Blaire has joined the enemy. Recognize him as such and those who breathed the same air as him."
A bold declaration filled with the acceptable amount of vagueness for a political threat. Those who even met the Count were suspect. Fear will keep the nobility in line and further strengthen his influence. That fear will turn the true culprits and their remaining cronies desperate. A desperate adversary, dangerous they may become, will be sloppy in return.
"As for these girls."
He gestured for the knights to round up the school bullies. It'll be the only school shooting for the greater good.
"It's rather difficult to say, not that it is, but it would take us all day to list all their crimes. Deprived of death from a thousand cuts and broken bones, I'd even argue almost ripping her scalp apart and flaying the skin. With Lady Annalise's abilities, it might as well be a given nobody discovered it. Some might notice her complexion paler and sickly, but there's no need for the true victim to recollect years of memories. You just have to know how more of a Hero the Heiress of Estrier is to be the center of their insecurities to prevent information of all the Kingdom's assets and military secrets from reaching enemy hands. She's suffered enough, and that ends today."
How the crowd reacted, he didn't care. What he cared about was their usefulness, and they'll be plenty useful later if everything goes as he expected. The girls squirmed as the barrel swerved across them and stopped at Marie. While Erich can sympathize with her life story, he looks at Marie in the eyes one last time to see that bit of regret. But no. There was none because she had none.
"Gather the lords."
"What is the meaning of this?!" one of the girls cried.
The knights then dragged and pushed the lords to him.
"Get your hands off me!"
"Ah, dear!"
"Gentlemen, sit in front of your daughters. Sit, sit," the lords did so, some with the knights' help. "I'm sure you're all aware that crimes committed by noble children are treated as adults. It's only natural for the future pillars of the Kingdom to be held to a higher standard than normal delinquents. It's no longer a matter of what the individual has committed but what their families omitted. You know the punishment for that, don't you?"
At worst, death.
"However, we cannot try you with the same weight as the Blaire House's crimes. That's why I'll let you choose who to kill."
"Huh?!"
"Sir Erich, a word if you please."
Since Annalise sounded determined, he'll lend an ear. Erich glanced at the decoy, and the Paladin stripped the sound-amplifying magic from him. Then suddenly, Annalise tugged his arm.
"You better have a good reason to boast, Miss Annalise."
"You don't have to spill more blood on your hands for my sake."
"It's because we had breakfast that I want to spill more blood for your sake."
"Then let me do it for yours."
Erich glared. "You are prepared to live with it for the rest of your life?"
"I do."
"To harbor the pain and guilt it brings you after believing carrying out justice for their crimes would liberate you from the suffering you have experienced in their hands?"
"I do."
"Can you say that as you look them in the eye as they cling to the life you deprive them of in front of their families in the name of justice?"
"...I do."
"Then are you prepared for the nightmares, answering their manifestations and the cries of their families created by your mind through your self-doubts, to absolve yourself from guilt for what has become of them as someone you've played, cried, and grown together?"
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
"I cannot find myself to trust any of you. But I still owe you for risking your life to save me. If you do not want to, then don't."
"Marie was my responsibility. I can never call myself the Heiress of Estrier if I run away. Everyone will lose faith in me."
"They can try not to."
"Then I will lose faith in myself in garnering theirs," her grip tightened. "You owe me your debt of gratitude, and I am here to collect it."
"What if I don't?"
"Then I will embrace you. I will run my hands around your back, and I will press myself against you. My breaths will tickle your neck, and I will overpower your hands and force them onto my body. But I don't want that. I want something beyond that."
"And what's that?"
"Your trust."
Erich gulped.
"If you cannot find to trust me, then at least find comfort in the fact that I will be a broken woman having a taste of what it's like to prove herself."
She's going mad. If Erich says yes, they'll hold him responsible the next time she snaps. What does her father have to say about it? The King? The Headmaster? Are they willing to turn her into a broken doll and have Miss Princess Knight keep an eye out?
"Are you sure about this?"
Annalise smiled. "There was a moment where I wished you'd die. It was the time when you were summoned. All the mages and sisters rushed to pour you with mana to heal you while I just watched. I told them where I stood. I believe that we, ourselves, could solve the world's problems. Whether we rise or fall, if we have to start over in the ashes of our hubris, we will rebuild. That's why I plead you not to pity me."
He'll start pitying her for different reasons if she drags on.
"I have discarded my duty as Prioress Superior and failed my service to the Hero. I have brought great shame to my family, my blood, and to my Kingdom. My judgment is death, but to you who have spared me, I can only repay by forfeiting my freedom and, forevermore, be yours to command."
Her father nodded to himself. It was his daughter's wish, a Prioress Superior's covenant, whose bloodline relates the greatest to the inheritors of the instruments of summoning, to the Hero. But what difference does it make? She has cast them aside, and there was no method for repentance other than the maniacal fervor of replicating it. Among the arguments and romanticization, the languages and euphemism, there's not another word more fitting for her case — a slave.
Erich pried her hands off. She latched on but made no resistance. Even in her plight, apprehension lingered. But which of the two choices offered the least pain? The least effort to maintain her sanity? Erich sighed and summoned a pistol.
"This is the Model 1900 pistol. Self-loading, you have eight shots before reloading."
He displayed loading the magazine and cocked it.
"Treat this firearm with respect — finger off the trigger. Assume it is loaded, and never point it at anyone unless you want to shoot them. Keep these rules sacred as your vow. The lever on the left is the safety. It locks the trigger and prevents the weapon from firing on accident. Up means safe; Down means you're ready to fire. Hand."
Erich grabbed her right hand and opened her palm, but Annalise squeezed his. He positioned himself to her side and controlled her hand.
"Wrap your hand like this. This gun is a machine. Understand that it is the user that makes it dangerous, experienced or inexperienced, good or evil. It is a privilege to carry one, therefore, submit to the responsibilities."
Then Erich clutched her hand and called for her non-dominant.
"Dominant hand, stiff; arm, stiff, and secure it with your non-dominant hand. But for this one, you can send a message with one."
"Why?"
"Two Hands is a doctrine. One hand is a message," Annalise gulped. Erich continued. "The bullet is weak compared to the rest, but it will still kill. This is an execution, not hunting. A shot to the heart or lungs will give the condemned time to suffer, but a shot to the head, and they are dead before they hit the ground. Know this when you begin. If you choose to let them suffer long enough, my grandfather once taught me: Don't look your prey in the eye. You'll get attached to it. But in this case, don't talk to them."
"The girls I knew in the past are dead."
"Do you really believe that?"
Annalise said nothing.
"Anna," and she looked at him, heartfelt than before. "I won't try to force my thinking on you, but you need to be strong. Their death is just a prequel to the beginning of madness that will sweep all over the world. Killing someone is easy, but living with it is hard."
Annalise forced a laugh. "You say as if you've done it before."
With her eyes downcast, she returned his hold with a firm grip on his hands and looked at him, then stunned. Did it show on his face? Erich could tell his lips curved up, recalling the past as he looked over Annalise's last bits of fleeting innocence.
"You..." she stopped.
"Yeah. And they called me a Hero for it."
Annalise was always sensitive about the insensitive, but he owed her an answer. Being friends with her might not be bad after all.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head. This wasn't about him.
"This gun is not your friend. It is a tool. It will kick back. Make sure the front and rear sights are leveled horizontally and centered. That's where the bullet hits. The bulge on the grip is called the Grip Safety, one for extra security. I picked this because this model requires a tight squeeze to fire. If you falter, it won't fire. I want you to remember that feeling as you take someone's life. Now come. Sir Lewerja, my voice, please."
The decoy enchanted Erich with the sound-amplification spell.
"There has been a change of plans. You may no longer choose which one dies because Lady Annalise will do it herself."
Erich motioned for the spell off, and Annalise veered away from the backs of the girls. "Take them away," she gestured to the knights, and they dragged the lords away.
"No! My daughter! Please, My Lady, have mercy!"
"Shut them up."
"No. Let them scream. I want everyone to see an inkling of what I had to endure."
She stopped in front of Marie, head hung, accepting her fate. They say the difference between reality and fiction is that fiction has to make sense. But this was reality. This was a product of the Count's decisions, a glutton in both mind and body who discovered and waved the Kingdom's dirt on an Heiress to do their bidding. They sealed their fate before Erich's descent. All he did was expedite it.
He looked away, and a thunderclap deafened his ears. A woman's cry resonated the grounds, Lady Blaire's. There were no words, only cries in its rawest, and the rest of the girls joined.
Annalise stared at her deed, Marie's lifeless body embracing the earth with blood flowing beneath her. Annalise stepped in front of the next girl, panting as her figure towered over her with the barrel of a gun moving to position. She screamed, and a bang cut her off. The ground behind her erupted, and the girl fell on her back.
"Beatrice! Unhand me, you cur! My daughter!"
The lull in between their deaths seemed like the victim relishing justice served, but Annalise didn't show it. She moved to the next, and one by one, the cries grew, and her expression detached. It was like looking at a machine that knows only how to kill.
When he first saw her, he thought of a pitiful sacrificial pawn. But for the last two days, he loathed her. To consider the gravity of the word cannot fall under the generalized term of hate.
He loathed her for enduring herself until now; he loathed her view on the years of suffering as a sacrifice. Moreover, he loathed her kindness, her honesty, and her empathy. He loathed her cries for others.
He hated her for being true to her beliefs.
As the last girl fell, Annalise lost all strength but her body, standing frozen. He went to her side and commandeered the pistol, and he saw himself.
He saw his naivete. He saw his virtuous self. He saw his innocence, ignorant of the world's sadistic reality, and that glimmering hope that everything would be better crumbling before him, and he embraced it. He latched to what was left because, what he saw, he could never seize. What was broken can never go unbroken. And what was once himself can never go unchanged.
And so he clung to it, clasping to it on its deathbed, feeling withering warmth, and she returned it.
***
Free Royal City of Blaire, Duchy of Estrier
Same time
The carriage rattled, and Princess Aurelia was glad. It hid her trembling. Then the reins snapped, and she and the knights grabbed hold as the carriage sped. The carriage slowed, and gunshots erupted.
Aurelia broke out of the covers and twisted her legs toward the front. Paladins and the Hero's agents rushed out of the two carriages ahead and dragged the gate guards. A giant paladin disguised as a passerby snapped the locks open with a wall-breaking kick.
The House's bells tolled, and guards emerged from the main door. The agents formed a line and presented their rifles between the Paladins. The familiar bang echoed across the city. One, two, three, four, five; each pull of the bolt, their bullets tore through shield and armor.
Aurelia stepped up. "His Majesty's Paladins! Surrender your weapons!"
Against the destruction of evidence, they ran the risk of traitors taking the initiative on a public declaration. This was the best they could do, and they could only hope the crests on their distinct armor deterred them.
"Hands in the air!"
"Don't try it! Helmet and armor off!"
The Hero's agents rushed the main entrance and windows in two-man groups, one carrying the crude sticks they brought. They looked like a Giant's toothbrush without the metal cylinder and wooden brush tied with a bundle of thread, separated and connected by a wire. Their companions smashed and cleared the glass and began tossing them in.
They ducked their heads to the dirt, and Aurelia and the knights flinched as billowing smoke roared out of the door and windows.
These were your door knockers?
The agents broke into the foyer, their weapons rattling. They were showing off. It was a mystery Agent Schmidt refrained from elaborating on their functions. Other than being a stopgap solution, it finally made sense what they're trying to supplement — grenades. But the world already had them. Why the secrecy?
Aurelia and the paladins entered the foyer, now under the agents' complete control and ready for the next push deeper into the residence.
"Brunhild is interior."
"Unknowns ahead. Hands! Show me your hands!"
A servant appeared from the hallway, helping another with a bleeding thigh. The Kingdom of Cascadia owed itself to its unique peerage system due to the small land. Only a few lords ruled territories under the Monarch's name; the rest subdivided into cities, towns, and their administrative branches. They knew better than to assume all nobles working inside were innocent.
She nodded the knights to move. If they don't act now, the agents will leave them behind. Agent Schmidt and Instructor Gerhard spoke to one another in a language they could understand. They parted, and the Lead Agent and his team climbed the twin staircases.
"Yeah, let's get moving!"
"Captain Pintarsen."
Aurelia grabbed her pistol and pulled back the round knobs, cocking it. The type of wood for the grip seemed symbolic and fragile in front of the agents' rugged weapons.
"Yes, Your Highness. Please stay close behind me."
And they followed. Death no longer fazed Aurelia. However, the bodies she crossed had no chance to retaliate. It'd be no different if it were the paladins on the opposite side.
"Civilians coming out!"
The agents pushed servants and maids towards them. Their eyes widened at Aurelia's distinct white hair as if she was better than some unknown invaders. Their orders to surrender fell on deaf ears as gunfire echoed across the manor's several halls, but what could she do? The evidence has to be damning as the show back at the Royal Academy will be spectacular.
The agents disappeared into each door they passed, some bellowing, the other following up with a pained scream. Agent Schmidt joined Aurelia on her side, his bayonet dripping with flesh blood. It was a purge. The Ducal Knights raided suspected offices. As the minds of the operation, Aurelia expected a chief spy as Schmidt in a tent with his advisors rather than have the glory-seeking general's foolishness stepping on battlefield mud.
"Make a left, stop two doors down."
Captain Pintarsen hastened to the corner, and a Lord Mayor's guard tackled him with a desperate war cry. The agent expunged the man over the Captain, and Aurelia hugged the corner wall, then a blade plummeted. She deflected its path over her head and struck the guard's knee with the barrel of her gun.
Her pistol clapped. The guard stumbled, keeping upright with his working leg and the wall, and Aurelia let the blade slide her forearm, set hers to his neck, and swiped his head from the body.
"Expedite!" the agent moved ahead. "Fireteam 2, screen Brunhild!"
"Paladins, with him!"
"Your Highness, are you okay?!"
"You know me, Captain. It happens. I either die or not."
"Double doors, this must be it. Sir Knight, if you will."
With a kick, the locks snapped, and the paladins and agents flooded the room without steel clanging or gunshots.
"Clear! This is it!"
Cabinets slid open, and papers crunched. Agents unfurled their bags and stuck every document they found like a paper famine. One slammed a crowbar into the desk for any false compartments, gutting every frame and anything it could jam. And it proved worth their while. Schmidt took out a pile of documents and read them one by one.
"Anything, agent?"
"I'm looking at numbers, some companies; my best bet is Salaian fronts funneling payment through taxes that he had to make a document just to keep track of it."
Aurelia frowned. "An utter nuisance."
"I got names of Houses; Coralis, Libengun, Hentworth... What's a Japanese doing here? Yamasashi."
Huh?
Captain Pintarsen showered Aurelia with a concerned look. The name was common knowledge within the Royal Knights, one Aurelia will never forget. Agent Schmidt continued skimming through the paper, ignorant of the sharp dagger in her heart from the utterance of that name.
"Your Highness..."
"I'm fine, Captain."
She breathed, wrapping her hand on her head as dizziness floated around her. A noble's greed and selfishness was common occurrence she had the pleasure of purging. For the Kingdom, for her family, for Luke... If she were to be the Hero's sword, she would slay everyone in her path. However, her heart wasn't ready for this.
She cannot bring herself to do it. Her sensei must be on to something. He was not a traitor. He can never be a traitor.
He can't be.