level_st_10-02

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...

Just because...

It's what I want to do.

Truly... a lunatic.

A lunatic... me? You look at that face of yours, always so confident and cool...

Right, you'd be clueless...

Because you always get what you want done, so, so easy.

Once the one you most care about... dies by your side...

Once the one you most trust... casts you away...

Pins you to the ground with your own sword, even...

Maybe then you'll understand.

Is this your final defiance on the brink of death? These curses of yours can't sway me one iota.

Kheh... heh...

Then why don't you hurry up and kill me?

You don't even need me to do anything.

You're already dead, Taran.

Taran... You're calling me a Taran.

Sarkaz...

Laid on the ground, she raggedly forces a breath.

The floor is cooling, chilling, and she gradually loses sense of her own arms and legs. Were they broken at some point? Or have they numbed in fleeing for her life?

Do you want to live, Taran?

Who is it... calling to her?

The sewers are right beside you. Climb down there, and those disgusting nobles won't ever catch you again.

Yes, climb down.

The sewers give off the intense stench of rust and grease. Parts ripped from abandoned machines and cold scraps from a noble's dining table mix together.

She's starving, yet she revolts at this hunger.

Rust, grease, but she can smell another scent.

She knows it. The odor of death.

The sewers are a tomb for the insects living in nomadic cities.

The wealthy construct cemeteries inside the cities where land comes at a premium, and the commoners, with little to their name, have no choice but to cast ashes out beyond the city orbits.

And the insects? They die without a word in the cracks between the plates. They die where the sun will never shine upon them.

Do you dare walk to your death? Should you have the courage to die, that is all you need to be granted a new life.

Leader...

She just needs to crawl to her left, scant inches, and she'll clamber into the sewers... like back then.

And there on her right... just on her right.

Her Taran compatriot stares with eyes wide open, gazing silently upon her.

Sorry, Leader.

This time...

It's me... who doesn't need you.

She uses the last of her strength to push her right hand out. Her touch alights on her old friend, changed beyond recognition.

No one's... after us now. Let's go home.

Even though your meeting's end will be in death?

Someone stands before her. No firelight by his feet, pitch black reflected from his dagger.

Mandragora grins.

In her mind, she has met the true Death.

There's an entrance right below that abandoned factory. Push that crane out of the way and that'll do.

Alright, thank you for showing the way, Mr. Feist.

We'll be going along here. Everyone not wounded, please lend a hand to who are—

Bleeding hell. Doctor, we've got pursuers again!

How are they doing it?

Ever since leaving the kohl factory, we always get found no matter how many waves of enemies we repel.

We can discuss that in a moment.;Let's handle these ones first.

Right, this is our last chance to retreat underground.

We can't let the enemy follow us under at any cost. The Self-Salvation Corps has all their operations set up here, and the Sarkaz don't know which entrance is the correct one to these underground tunnels.

On the off-chance a Sarkaz finds this one, the Self-Salvation Corps' and the Sudean borough's efforts will all be laid waste to, just like that.

Closure, ready the explosives.

On it... uhh, what?

Doctor, you want me prepare to blow up this entranceway?

That definitely works as a form of insurance.

Are the Self-Salvation Corps gonna like that...?

Clovisia gave command authority to the Doctor. What the Doctor says, goes.

Amiya, we'll intercept the Sarkaz in the estate behind. Wait on my signal. If we fail to head them off, I want you to set off the bombs before it's too late.

They're over there!

Quit gawking around. Your opponent's right here.

Ugh––!

One team of ten Sarkaz. We can hold them down.

These few, but even once we do...

You... None of you are getting away.

The Sanguinarch can smell it... he'll find you one by one... tear your bodies open, cut your throats apart...

Who's this Sanguinarch?

Could it be... the one who just raided another unit of Self-Salvation Corps soldiers?

Raided? You Victorian Felines wouldn't be worth his... raiding.

He's simply... hunting prey. As the Prince of Blood's quarry, you wouldn't even register in his gaze.

No need to listen to their nasty comments.

Indra, do you remember that run-in with the Self-Salvation soldiers?

Burned into my eyes. What a bloody scene.

I've seen plenty of people die, but just smeared all over the ground like that... barely even looked human anymore.

Dagda, what are you doing? There's still some of 'em over there, we can't waste—

Siege, I beseech you. Let us get out of here.

Do you hear yourself? You're the one who wanted to fight the Sarkaz, now you're the one getting cold feet about it...

I've suffered the humiliation of turning tail once before. I can cope with it again.

So long as we can escort Siege safely out of this area, I'm willing to come back and wage war to the bloody end with these Sarkaz at any time.

Fine.

Siege, have you finally made your decision?

Perhaps I have.

Dagda, I've already seen your choice.

My... choice?

Go.

Vina?

Hold on...

I...

Go and find the one you need.

Don't let these Sarkaz stand in your way.

Are all of us down now?

All surviving Self-Salvation soldiers are here.

It's all thanks to you that we could even make it here.

What about Vina?;We're still missing four.

We're here.

Three returning for the Siege Group.

Um, what about Miss Dagda?

Is... Is she alright?

Don't mention that bloody arsehole to me!

She's not going to feel it no matter how hard you pound the walls, love.

Er...

Dagda has her own things she needs to do. Amiya, I apologize to you and the Doctor for her departure.

No, no need to apologize. I sympathize, these are special circumstances. I can understand Miss Dagda's decision.

If we're sure we don't have to wait for her—

Closure.

Y—You got it!

That's that blown, then, eh...?

If Dagda wants to come back, maybe she'll... have issues finding the way...

She won't.

Vina, what's 'she won't?' She won't find her way to us, or she won't come back?!

Leave Vina alone. We've still got a ways forward to go.

Right. Forward we go. The Self-Salvation's soldiers are still waiting for us.