act22side

Heh. Much further, and she'll be in the heart of Duke Wellington's domain.

Once she's there, everything she does will be under Dublinn's thumb.

So the priority right now is... shall we say, <i>dealing</i> with everyone who knows too much.

In the unlikely event you live to send intel back, it won't be much more than what your death itself would've told them.

Selmon, slow down... I'm having trouble keeping up. Where are we?

Must've run about two hundred meters into the woods, from the camp. Hah. Gave that soldier a good drubbing, now none of them are hounding us.

Oof... We're safe here. I'll treat my injuries first, then I'll head back and tell everyone to come this way and meet up with you.

People with Fionn's naff skills shouldn't be sticking around so long on the battlefield. Ought to be fighters like me.

Tch. You're miles better at fighting than he is, too.

...Selmon, there's a huge din behind us. What happened?

All I can see is... a faint glow.

Hah, rotten shame you don't get to see proper. It's the fire from Reed's Arts, no doubt about it.

Is it a fine sight?

Mhm.

But, well, I've known all along she was capable of that.

...Was night always this cold, out in the wilds...?

Suppose you're willing to light your fire. Will that make it a little warmer... a little brighter?

I don't know why you're disappointed in Dublinn, or why they're disappointed in you. The Tarans want to survive. They should survive. It's the simplest logic. How can any of it be a lie?

Before you leave the group, I need to talk to you about the whole—'going to Dublinn' thing. You'd know the way, right?

Moran, we'll head forward a little more. It'll be safer that way. Don't be afraid. It's all muddy here. If those soldiers retreat, they won't be coming this way.

Besides, the sun should be almost up.

Their step finally slows. Moran no longer staggers trying to keep up.

Selmon, are we somewhere safe now?

I'm not afraid of bad news... Tell me.

They walk forward. Amongst the howl of the wind, distant explosions, and the cries, Moran tries her hardest to discern the sound of Selmon.

There should've been some forewarning, in that moment. Selmon should've stopped in her tracks, said something. At the very least, a scornful cackle at the fate of the Tarans.

But what Moran feels is simple; a step made, and the hand in hers falls, all of a sudden.

And she stoops, and cannot tell if what she feels is thick blood or wet mud.

Wait a moment, Harmonie.

Something is unusual about the amount of stationed troops ahead at the carriageway checkpoint.

You noticed? I had coincidentally asked them to look out... on the premise of possible incidents that might damage relationships between the Dukes.

Hence your rounding them up before they left County Trent territory, so that your backup plan would be at all effective.

Not a surprise, in whole.

Subordinate of Duke Wellington. Commanding officer of the Redsteel Guard. An identity that will cease to threaten you very soon, of course.

That said, you understand at the very least that any further pursuit would become a territorial dispute of Duke against Duke. Given Victoria's present situation, I can only say no one would want to see such a clash happen.

My, oh, my, why do you never leave me any room to choose?

Still, it's more than enough for me. My mission is complete as is.

You own these repercussions. Your blunder caused them. You have no need to keep your bluff up so dutifully, being the exposed spy you are.

Really? You know, I was hoping from my heart of hearts that we'd strive in common minds to work together someday—

Harmonie.

You've spoken enough.

Ahem...

All forces, pull back.

This was a losing battle to begin with. We'll let them go.

Unf...

I warned you, Fischer... Once your Oripathy progresses past a certain degree, the painkillers don't work anymore.

You're in this state because of your own extended use of Arts.

I am patently aware.

Alright... I apologize if I went too far.

No, I was just thinking...

I didn't expect the venerable Duke of Caster would send a 'Trilby Asher' here.

I haven't even a clue... at which point the Duke's emissary replaced my men.

Phew... haah... D-Did we make it out?

Yeah, I don't see anyone giving chase.

Let's stop here and check on everyone's injuries. Best to take care of them ASAP.

We lost... some of our companions.

We'll wait here a moment. Some of them got lost in the smoke. Maybe they're still hiding in the woods.

You told them you were headed in this direction. If they still remember, they'll come looking.

Mm. We'll only be stopped for a short while here. It'll be daybreak soon. I won't delay your travels.

You can all set your weapons down, and rest for the moment...

Bagpipe...?

'Reed.'

So <i>you</i> were that Caster in County Hillock.

You were the one controllin' that fire. I recognize your Arts. You turned an entire street to ashes.

You had Outcast sacrifice herself for you.

...You're 'The Leader' of Dublinn, aren't you?

Everyone looks at her, awaiting a response.

She's been asked this question many a time in the past. Each time, she has to try so, so hard, just to hold back the urge to shake her head.

But now she remembers the feel of the hay, and the taste of the evening breeze.

She remembers the campfire flickering in front of the tents, how it was all its own, nothing like the fire that danced at her spear's tip.

She remembers the thick smoke afar that has yet to clear, and the shouts and the cries unrelenting, almost still echoing.

Here, she no longer wants to shake her head.

I am.

In County Hillock, I hoped that through death, I'd forever escape my identity. That's why I didn't hide when the Originium bombs came falling.

Since being rescued by Rhodes Island, I've tried for the sake of my own fate to recover something. That's why I came on this journey—in an attempt to heal some of the scars left by the violence of Dublinn.

But—right this moment, this is my only answer to your question:

I am.

The people who died... who died because of Dublinn. The Tarans.

Didn't... Dublinn deceive them?

I would've... once said that their lives—were no more than fuel for Dublinn's fire.

That for the greater good—to rebel against the injustice all Tarans face—the fire must burn hot and bright.

But after... Outcast saved me—and I retraced the paths I walked... I haven't been able to say that anymore.

In reality—some of those deaths... had to have been avoidable.

I cannot say that every sacrifice—was a martyr for Dublinn's cause... The Tarans are all people, each of them living, each of them alive.

I remember the mistakes Dublinn's made... especially the ones by my own hands. I'll make no attempt to conceal these ugly scars.

There's also... the 'Redsteel Guard.'

The Dublinn soldiers tryin' to take you away here, they're the Duke of Wellington's men.

Are you just... the Duke's private army?

No. Dublinn is manipulated by no power... nor should we be.

If anything, it'll be... the Tarans, who want a peaceful home, a land they can walk freely, one and all.

But you're terrified of Dublinn.

If Dublinn truly is what you say, if it fights for the Tarans, then what is it you're scared of?

What am I... scared of?

Your imagination of Dublinn is all well and good, but fact is, it's filled to the brim with rioters, conspirators, people you can't hold control over. They even threw you of all people away for dead, didn't they?

I won't deny—that what many see in Dublinn's firelight is not a path for the Tarans, but their own future.

I'm sure... that as the Victorians laid each brick and stone to build their homeland, they wouldn't have thought it was for Victoria as a whole, either.

But in the end—the Victorians have a homeland. They can build and tend their lands in peace. Yet when the Tarans want to live, they bleed rivers for it.

I don't want to see anyone bleeding. Yes, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the bleeding. I'm afraid of death... That's why I always wanted to hide.

Unthinking, unfeeling, just like... a shadow.

But does that make things good enough? Why is blood still shed... where I cannot see?