Глава 10

Hfff... *pant*...

Your energy is spent, Mandragora.

...Monsters.

You Sarkaz... all of you, monsters.

We're far from strangers to that sort of address.

When I hear it from an opponent crawling on the ground, I'm inclined to take it as a compliment.

*cough* *cough*...

*cough* *cough* *cough*.

Sarkaz, you're... just like those noble lot... disgusting.

That Arts...

It's all natural-born—I could never learn it in a lifetime...

You have the nerve...

To treat Oripathy as a blessing?

Countless Sarkaz are burdened by this curse from birth, of festering bodies, organs oozing—you see us only as pests spreading blight, drive us out from the cities.

How many Sarkaz each day become crystals scattering to the wind, cannot even be laid to rest in the soil of their home, simply because they wanted to see another sunrise?

Yet you tell me...

You envy this power? Is that your place to say, Victorian?

You're calling me a Victorian. You really know the best way to insult me, devil.

Do you know... why I avoid Oripathy?

The Sarkaz in the barrens... at least, before they die... they get to see the sun come up.

Us, we live in the cracks of the city, where a speck of black stone pokes out of your skin... and the very next day, you're food in the sewers for the metal crabs.

In Victorian eyes, we weak little Tarans... don't even amount to what Sarkaz do.

Only power...

Only power can let us survive!

The Sarkaz have never been interested in the resentment between you.

All I know is I've given you chances before. Multiple.

If you clean up your act and return to holing up in the north by the end of the day, I'm even willing to let all your petty acts here be water under the bridge.

Haha...

Bloody magnanimous of you. Should I be kneeling in thanks here, o kind 'General?'

You can dream on!

I've seen people like you... one too many times.

Let me guess, you like the idea... that we survive thanks to your charity?

I've had enough of it.

I've had enough of being a wager to you, a piece on the bloody board.

My fate, and the Tarans' fates... are ours to decide, no other way about it.

Yours to decide?

You think you've managed to decide anything? From the moment you came to Londinium, your fates were sealed.

You... shut well up! I've... I've had my fair share of failure, but...

So long as I kill you here, and take all the intel there is on Londinium, I can go back to The Leader head held high!

Kill me? With these grotesques of yours, barely able to lift themselves off the ground?

You know that even if the Gargoyles of the Royal Court stood here, they might not be victorious against me?

Don't you compare my Arts to your devil witchcraft—

Ten grotesques at once?

For not being an Infected Caster, you must have some natural gift.

Nevertheless, I don't even need to call upon the witchcraft you speak of to deal with these rugged little Arts animations.

Nngh... urgh!

I see your limits.

Have you noticed the split in your staff? Once your flashy little tool shatters, you'll find you suddenly have everything in common with the frail, ordinary Feline.

Ha... hahaha!

And what in the bloody hell...

Does that have to do with anything?

The stone staff emits a crack in response.

The ground beneath them trembles, the ruined grotesques all around standing up once again.

They stagger and charge at each other, binding to each other tight, and form into a singular great statue, close to five meters tall. With a great roar and a flap of its wings, it swoops in, bearing down on the Sarkaz.

Defend!

Yes, sir! General, you be on guard—

Take care of yourselves.

This counterfeit cannot harm me yet.

In testament to the Sarkaz's words, he uses no kind of Originium Arts.

The colossal grotesque turns to him with a howl, the wind from the beating of its wings blowing a torrent of bricks against him, its fangs almost touching his cheeks.

And yet he simply thrusts forward once.

The stone statue halts in midair, and seconds later, collapses into a sea of rubble.

There you are. No longer can you play about with those stones of yours.

Ha... devil...

Even now, you still act so... arrogant. All because of the damned... power... you were born with.

I'll kill you... I'll KILL YOU!

You think after killing me, you can scurry back to your Leader and reap your reward?

Even if you truly could pull it off... I invite you to wonder, would she welcome you back with open arms, or would she send you straight back to Londinium?

Relay to Count Mourning that The Leader assents to all handling of Dublinn forces within Londinium by the Sarkaz.

If necessary, apologize to that Sarkaz general—

—that Dublinn has no intent to ruin its peaceful relationship with the Regent of Kazdel.

It was never on the cards to work in true cooperation with him, given the Gaul at his side, but we're still in no rush to make ourselves enemies, are we?

As a token of goodwill, ask the Count to mediate, and have the other nobles' forces hand back the few Sarkaz Messengers they intercepted at the auxiliary plate close by.

Don't you worry. The Duke of Wellington will not forget the Count's efforts. The Leader and Dublinn, even less so.

Tell him he needn't panic. Once The Leader allays this current situation, we'll go meet up with him at Londinium.

...The Dublinn commander from before? You wonder how she's doing?

Mandragora... Mandragora.

I've been kind enough to her. I even went out of my way to plead The Leader for lenience. That's why Mandragora even went to Londinium. She barely scraped in that final chance.

You have to understand, The Leader's never been the least bit satisfied with what Mandragora and her cohort accomplished in County Hillock.

Why can't she just understand... that at this point, Dublinn no longer needs the title of the 'spectre force?'

Ultimately, we look to found a new nation for the Draco and Tarans—

And how can we hope to gain the masses' support, with nothing but wrath, animosity and their terror by intimidation alone?

If she could just comprehend The Leader's intent, learn to stay the flames in her own heart, withdraw safe and sound from Londinium... At least, when The Leader reads what a good job she did, there'd still be a place for her.

You know as well as I do, The Leader's... never forgotten her first Taran compatriots. After all, it was together they came out from the ashes.

I might be meeting a Messenger from the outside, come daytime.

They'll surely be here on some count or baron's bidding, but without a doubt, behind them will be that duke from the Taran region.

It may be they'll thank me, for I rid them of an unstable lunatic commander in their place, and established a better outset for them in their coming negotiations.

Sarkaz are always seen as useful tools. Yes, on that point, we and you are alike, loathing these arrogant nobles.

However... you'll have to call it here, Mandragora.

A dagger? You would sneak up on me with a dagger?

Hahaha...

*cough* *cough* *cough* *cough*...

And suppose...

I can pull it off?

Do your nerves grow through your heart? Did I skewer your brain too, in the process?

I've told you, you can't kill me.

Moreover, even if you did, it would have no meaning at all.

No... meaning?

If... everything... has to have meaning, well... there never was meaning in people like us living, was there?

I'll kill you. Not because anyone ordered me to...