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The Military Commission promises you that as long as Babel concedes defeat and departs Kazdel, we will not exterminate those who desert or surrender.

But you know what you must do in return.

No... You can't...

Who would have thought that the evil spirit, who so roused the interest of the Nachzehrer King, would be such a coward?

You can't both let Theresa live and allow the Babel members to leave safely; it's a total contradiction.

Only with the destruction of Babel and the complete eradication of its members can Theresa leave for Londinium with me.

Otherwise, it would merely be a case of the Military Commission quashing and dispersing yet another group of civilians, migrants, and pacifists.

Even without my order, such things will happen naturally.

Perhaps you believe that Theresa would be willing to step back and watch it before her eyes? She will not. And so she will resist.

You know what I ask of you. If you truly wish to save the many who stand by your side, make them willingly admit defeat and surrender to me...

Then slay their king.

And then, I will allow Babel to leave. As it collapses, it will no longer be considered a Sarkaz endeavor, and it will grow weak, drifting to the edges of civilization.

'Destroy some things to create a ladder', {@nickname}.

You're right. There is nothing light about this.

In your opinion, what is the meaning behind this civil war? What meaning would her death hold?

Reclaiming our lands, rebuilding our homes, ending discrimination, and revitalizing our race. You will have heard these platitudes many times.

They are too complex, and yet too simple.

Merely a small and pitiful species trying to grasp their fate.

I see.

In that case, I will tip the scales of destiny.

Destroy Babel, divide them, weaken them. Allow them to return to their former lives, so that they can know a moment of peace in the final century.

That way... we don't have to kill Theresa. Or at the very least, we can minimize the loss of life.

Fretting over violence serves only to stifle you. You understand the Sarkaz better than most, but perhaps still not well enough.

I have a question myself, Dr. {@nickname}.

Evil spirit of a bygone age, you who call yourself a giant, a god, a supreme creator, one who can dictate the fate of the Sarkaz. Are you the only one of your kind?

...I am.

That is good to know. Go, now, without guilt, and do what you have decided to do.

If you worry there will be no one to tear you down from your lofty heights, or judge your sins. Don't. I will do it, evil spirit.

Until there are none left to toy with our fate.

The Doctor listens to the splashing of the puddles behind, the sound of footsteps fading into the distance.

Theresis is gone, wishing to stay not a moment longer.

Pale sunlight begins to seep through the gaps between the statues.

The Doctor cannot feel the slightest bit of warmth from it.

The heroes continue to gaze into the distance. They do not look beneath their feet.

There stands a figure who does not leave for a long, long time.

Early 1094

The nomadic city of Kazdel, Kazdel

Please wait, General!

You are too impatient.

But General! The Duke's envoy was almost ready to spit on—

Did we get what we wanted?

We got partial usage rights for the industrial area and the right to cross the border... but did it have to be so humiliating?

The Victorian dukes have you at their beck and call, treating us Sarkaz like tamed beasts. This is not what our soldiers redeployed from the civil war were promised, General!

Is this not all that we desired?

Perhaps you would prefer the Victorians treat the Sarkaz as their greatest enemy from the beginning, banding together to face us?

I understand. I know it's necessary for our enemies to think us weak, but this...

Many within our ranks feel this is terribly dishonorable—

Did I promise them honor?

Do the Sarkaz have honor in the eyes of the Victorians?

You have been far too impetuous lately, Manfred.

Dignity is of high import.

You fight for the rights of your men, and thus do people respect you. Were these ordinary times, perhaps I too would commend you.

But do you remember what we are here to do? We are preparing to steal the heart of a nation.

To bring the greatest empire on this great land to its knees.

Their prejudices have left them weak, and the Sarkaz are in hunger.

What we truly need is neither honor nor respect.

...I understand.

Are our men prepared?

Ready to depart at a moment's notice. Our people sent in advance to Londinium will support us.

The final deadline for our arrival as dictated by the Duke of Cavendish's request is fast approaching. We can set out at any time.

Good.

Then we march to destroy Victoria.

Have you been on duty this entire time?

Yes, sir.

Stand down for now. I wish to be alone for a while.

Of course, sir.

Once the guards leave, Manfred takes out a wine glass he had placed to the side.

Care for a drink?

You never drank before.

I still don't.

But the General has ordered me to learn Victorian 'etiquette', all preparation for our upcoming duty.

I have learnt rather recently that those nobles pair every meal with multiple kinds of wine, each requiring its own unique glass.

Remember when we were young and the General led us to an ancient battlefield for swordplay? The night was cold, and only after the General made some soup did we realize we had nothing to hold it in.

Thankfully, the battlefield was nothing short of spent shells, and you used those to fashion four cups.

You, me, the General, and Her Highness, carrying cups made out of shell casings while sitting in front of the fire.

I remember. It was a peaceful night.

Just like this one.

The frigid moonlight of late winter falls through the window. Manfred rests his hand upon his sword hilt that was equally as cold.

The air is still, and the two of them can hear the other's heartbeat.

You're going to Londinium tomorrow.

I know you wished to see the General.

And you couldn't. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come to see me.

I gave up.

I found that when I caught a glimpse of him from a distance, the first thought that came to my mind was that I should kill him, there and then.

Then you should applaud yourself for maintaining some reason.

And so you decided to come to me?

I heard you've improved your swordsmanship. Why don't we see for ourselves?

I've never been able to best you.

Don't beg for mercy before you've even fallen.

There was the one time we fought in Her Highness's study.

We knocked down an entire bookshelf, and the General took our weapons away and made us tidy up the room within thirty minutes.

I knew that you did it on purpose, wanting attention from Their Highnesses.

Is that so?

Ascalon hides herself away into the shadows in the blink of an eye.

Another blink, and Manfred feels a chill running across the side of his neck.

He didn't have the time to draw his sword and fight back. He didn't have the time to even think about fighting back.

Perhaps he was too tired?

If I cut your neck here, at least there will be no need for you to die in Londinium. I can just throw your corpse into the furnace.

It would spare many from dying on a distant battlefield in a foreign land.

If you've made your decision, then kill me here. It will be your final chance.