act33side

See how the Soul Furnace brings light and heat to Kazdel, this city built on our pain, and you might see why we are so greedy in our desire for a peaceful tomorrow.

...I will.

Outskirts of an abandoned town, Kazdel

How are things in town, Odda?

We're still pursuing the remaining mercenaries! They have pretty much all holed up inside some abandoned buildings. I'm afraid it'll take a while to root them all out.

Don't be reckless. Pay attention to the time and don't forget what the Doctor said.

Our objective is to clear the flanks, then regroup on the battlefront ASAP.

I know. If not for the Doctor's contingency plan, we most likely would have been gotten by that ambush of theirs.

But... something's strange in this. It's clear that this town's right in the path of the Catastrophe, so why would this gang of mercs risk ambushing us here?

I'm still investigating that myself.

We just need to find their leader then, Ascalon, although I can't guarantee that they'll have answers we need.

I know. Stay safe.

A Catastrophe. Its brutal winds batter Ascalon.

Faint blasts from the horizon distract her, as though they are reminding her—

We are destined to walk along this path.

...It's you.

Long time no see.

You've grown, Ascalon. You really have toughened yourself up on the battlefield over the last few years.

I assumed you would have joined that man in huddling behind Londinium's walls like a coward.

Me? Follow the Regent? Haha, I'm afraid you've got that wrong, Ascalon.

Mercenaries never 'follow' anyone. All we care about is profit.

Here in Kazdel, the only thing that helps you earn that profit is violence. Lucky for us that we have the knack of sniffing it out.

Naturally, I am happy to help everyone see what prospects might show up on this list of jobs in a <i>suitable</i> manner. After all, the Scar Market never makes wrong investment decisions—

Ascalon's sleeve-blade stabs at the giant's back, only to find his hand blocking the attack.

It seems that his hand had been there all along. No movement is detected.

If he thought that you could stop us yourself, then I'm afraid that he's living in a fantasy.

Wrong again, Ascalon.

The mercenaries are here because of the Regent's commission. Yes. And it's none of my business. But have you ever wondered why I am here?

I'm here to see you, Ascalon. A completely unrelated matter.

*Bzzzzz*—Ugh—Ascalon, the town—

*Bzzzz*—Another ambush!

Odda? Odda!

I didn't say you could leave, Ascalon.

The moment those people stepped into that town, their fates were sealed. You can't save them.

Do you still remember the first time we met?

We're already at the confluence of fate.

Here, I see a rather abrupt ending.

I've always wondered, could I change that ending? Perhaps I could dredge up a stone from the rough rapids of destiny...

...And place it wherever I want, to see what ripples would arise that should not exist in the first place...

Could the Cyclopes control prophecy?

Get lost.

Or die.

I already told you, there's no need to try for any surprise attacks. I can 'see' them coming.

Theresis has taught me many things, but there is only one thing I remember clear as crystal.

The blade in my hand can solve most of my problems.

Scareye... Can you see nothingness?

A thick mist, mingled with dust, spreads across the area.

Everything is indistinct. The assassin's figure gradually becomes a blur in the fog.

Doesn't matter if it's fate or prophecy. I've had enough of your tricks.

You believe you can see beyond time—

You believe you can rely on fate to guide you to your profit—

But you're nothing more than an addict playing at fortune-teller in the end, Scareye.

Ascalon's voice fades away. The giant's ears only hear the wind. The giant's eyes only see the mist.

Strange. Even though he can see a hundred different ways of his own death whenever he wakes up, now...

He sees none—

Crack.

His mask shatters.

His eyes had been hidden beneath that mask for nearly a century. He doesn't need them to see reality. Too many people, too many things, all unworthy of his sight.

And as the evening light rushes into the cracks on his mask, seeping into his excited, dilated pupils—

Do you see your death now?

No. He sees a precipice.

The rapid waters of the confluence of fate are flowing over it.

Before we continue this fight, Ascalon, allow me to give you a prophecy, free of charge.

A story.

Someplace in the wilderness, Kazdel

...Hah.

Haha! Hahahaha!

Prophecy? As if this could be called prophecy! Ascalon did NOT kill me!

What has been spoken still requires discernment, what has been discerned can still be altered. The essence of prophetic Arts is merely conjecture and calculation. No wonder there is no destiny that can't be defied!

The Cyclops Court is nothing more than a big, sick joke!

*spit* That hurts.

I didn't die under Ascalon's blade. This isn't what I prophesized...

Then maybe she's the one who should've died.

She's bound to come confirm that I'm dead. When that happens, you lot can nail down her shadow and rip her to shreds.

She's wounded too. I didn't get all beaten up for nothing after all...

What are you guys doing?

You're aiming at me? Really?

Who bought you off?

Nobody, boss.

It's just a good opportunity to get a promotion.

An opportunity? I see. Babel's entered the city, and you could take my head to curry favor with them.

If Babel loses, you can always go back to the Scar Market. Nothing to lose.

Scareye silently looks at the soldiers he set up for the ambush himself.

The wind sweeps past, carrying the faint scent of his blood.

Heh.

It's a good plan, fellas.

Fate did not kill him. He made it. He had reversed a prophecy.

And then he died atop a stage of his own making.

Londinium, Victoria

The huge palace complex situated in the center of Londinium is always too quiet.

Theresis disdains the apathetic nobles who live within. He only respects those who put their lives on the line to fight a way out and come up to him.

Even if the swords that they raise are pointed at Theresis himself—

Showing mercy to your enemy will only result in your own death, Manfred. Do not repeat that mistake again.

Forgive me, General. I thought—

Focus on the enemy. It seems these traitors have been sharpening their blades for this ambush for a while now.

They have stirred the hearts of the Victorians. We are the only ones who can extinguish this rebellion now.

*Ancient Sarkaz Language*—

By the time he murmurs his covert orders, a group of silent figures are already appearing on the chaotic battlefield.

Like a passing gale rattling the raindrops in a storm.

Stand back.