Глава 13

You want to laugh, don't you? But they have evidence. Leithanien may not be in league with the Sarkaz, but they undoubtedly caused this situation.

What? Leithanien?

The staff are cautious about accusing Leithanian nobles directly, but they have set their sights on the rebellions going on the provinces.

No one wants to come all this way to fight the Sarkaz, only to return and find the demesne they have defended for centuries has fallen under Leithanian control.

You're her daughter, Delphine. Your duty will come soon.

Now, let me rest... then we'll leave this place.

Leave? To where?

You should not be with these peasants.

Watch your words! Don't call them peasants!

Alright, Delphine, listen.

If you really care about them, really think that they're heroes, a part of Victoria...

...Think of how many people like them are there in your mother's demesne.

If you really want to protect these people, take my advice and seek aid from the Duke of Caster to return to your demesne and take charge.

Perhaps you will have to become a Caster vassal... but you'll be able to fulfill your duty.

I—

What are you balking at? Did you fall in love with them just because they fought alongside you? You've stopped loving your own subjects?

Accept it, Delphine... you and your mother have suffered enough.

Accept Duke Caster's proposal, and at least Windermere will be spared from devastation.

Why do you hesitate? Do you really want to be a vagabond forever, leaving your family, your bloodline and your duty behind?

...I understand.

I'm Mother's daughter. You're right, I have a responsibility, not just to my friends, but to the subjects of Windermere as well.

But...

Why did the Swordguards leave me behind, when I still had such a duty?

If this was a duty glorious beyond all doubt, why do you come to me in such a condition?

I...

You're right. If Windermere has fallen under the cloud of conspiracy, then I feel both the obligation and desire to do something about it.

But I...

We're with you, Delphine. Say what you want to say.

Sorry. I couldn't hold back anymore.

Do you know what we just went through, madam?

And you are...?

I'm not going with you.

You have a duty!

I'm my mother's daughter, comrade to these warriors, and nothing else.

Even if I once was... I don't believe it anymore.

I stood here for them, so that their lives would no longer be the playthings of people like you, and I'm not going anywhere until I've bled my last.

Leave.

I hope the Sarkaz don't take you.

The Viscount's face is a spectacle of color, but Delphine gives her no further chance to speak.

She leaves with her head bowed in the direction of Lieutenant Shearer.

Delphine's expression is calmer than I thought it would be. What she said... what she went through...

It made me think of an old friend.

Delphine did not make the same mistake. Tragedy will not strike again.

But what was the price?

The death of a loved one. A swift betrayal.

Apparently, I was rather concerned how Delphine would react to these things.

Delphine smiles at me. It seems she has settled down.

I'm fine. Let's go.

The same thing cannot happen again.

Head west once you leave the camp. If you're lucky enough, you should be able to reach the kind Duke of Caster.

Do you think you can survive without the Duke's protection?

We can, and we will.

Alright... I'm going to Duke Caster. I'll take a leisurely pace. This is your last chance.

Come with me, and we'll all live.

I won't stop you.

But the work of Delphine and her mother...

No, I'm not the one who's wrong... you're naive, stupid, foolishly believing that you're right.

So be it.

I see her off on a vehicle not meant for rough terrain, leaving under the cover of darkness with a small escort.

I turn around to look at our group.

Hundreds, thousands of eyes converge upon a single spot. Some are soldiers laughing with each other, others are civilians, celebrating.

The camp falls silent.

They are waiting for an answer.

Mine.

You heard her. It was undoubtedly an attractive proposal for many people.

We survived the worst of times together, Vina.

But what now? What happens when the morale and spirit that burns so brightly now is worn away by hardship and suffering?

Who will tell them where to go?

I do not answer, not yet.

...He's here.

A creature with golden mane walks amongst the crowd. He looks at me.

I wanted to see the answer in his eyes, hear a word of advice in these fleeting moments.

But he gives no answers. All he does is look at me, waiting for me to find the answer.

Yes. Perhaps he is not even there.

Lend me your ears.

If any among you still have faith in the proud dukes that are the faces of our Victoria, you should go with that woman now.

No one would fault your decision.

The crowd rustles, but no one leaves.

None among you?

Is it not our instinct to seek protection from the powerful? It's nothing to be ashamed of.

I would very much like to. Oh how I wish that this sorry sword I carry had the power to protect my friends, such that none among them would die.

She would very much like to. How many times has she cried when no one was watching? Wishing that someone could have saved her mother's life.

You would very much like to. Don't look away, I know you would. The Sarkaz wouldn't have butchered your brother so badly you couldn't even identify his corpse, if the troops that were supposed to escort you didn't flee.

But none among you have left.

You know that those nobles don't care about you in the slightest.

But do you really need to seek the strength and protection of another?

It's always been like that for us. We keep worshipping people and things that never really gave us anything, become their willing slaves.

Massacre, infection, besiegement. We survived all that, on our own strength!

We all want to go home. We all want this rotten war to end. But we can't win by hiding.

The fastest way is to give those warmongering bastards hiding in Londinium the old one-two in the face!

If the dukes won't do it, we will!

If no one will take us home, we'll walk home ourselves!

A gift fell into our laps, a unit ID that the dukes left behind in Gaul.

It was called the Exemplars. They were elites, the will of the nation, with a long list of accolades.

But now, they are nothing more than this little box in my hands.

It has no special powers. But we can take it back to Londinium—

Punch those warmongering bastards in the face, throw this in the faces of the dukes, and tell them—

This bloody land is OUR land!

I want to go home, to the gym where my friends were.

They want to go home, to the lives they once had.