Wednesday, September 4th, 996 ABE

When Ulfric opened his eyes, his head spun like a top. Memories flooded his mind like violent ghostly apparitions. He panicked, writhed around a bit, and ultimately slammed his hand into the bed to ground himself. He shot up, hyperventilating and looking around as if expecting an enemy to attack. He held his hands in front of his face, examining their many lines and ridges, as well as the calluses from continued swordplay. I’m alive, he thought, that’s a good start.

Ulfric Arrowheart started every day in a similar way, and that was assuming he managed to sleep through the night at all. It was in the dead of night and the silence that he was forced to confront thoughts he could usually avoid during the day. Ghosts of the past. Visions and hallucinations. Nightmares. Ulfric had experienced all of it. These were symptoms usually vibrant in war veterans or mercenaries. They called them ‘haunted ones’. But I’m not haunted. It keeps me on the ground.

Ulfric slid out of bed with his usual discipline. Whenever he woke up, that was it. Ulfric didn’t take naps, and he hardly slept at all. He kept himself in a perpetual state of restlessness, augmented only by the splash of water he gave himself from the sink each morning. As he did so, he regarded himself in the mirror and saw a shadow, slowly regressing away. He sighed, and exited the bathroom with haste, though only after he was done taking care of his hygiene.

All of this and he hadn’t bothered to check the time. He found himself dressed and ready to go, standing by the door. It was an important day, after all, especially seeing the pot he’d stirred the day before. No doubt that today would either be fruitful or disastrous for him. He took a glance at the tin of tea on the counter, considered it briefly, and decided against it. He didn’t drink tea all too often, it was just one of the many lies he’d told Cedrick Boneshaw.

Ulfric knocked on Kal’s door in the early morning, far before a guy like that could be bothered to wake up. He’d been having severe brain lag since the night before, and looked somehow even more dishevelled than usual. Ulfric’s body was even less used to channelling mana than the usual, so he ended up with a far more severe effect. He rubbed the bags under his eyes and haphazardly swiped his hair to the side so Kal wouldn’t laugh at him.

The door cracked open slowly. Kal leaned into the doorway shirtless, drool hanging from the corner of his lips. “Eh? Ulfric? It's too early for this shit, man.” He closed his eyes tight and rubbed them, clearly frustrated. “You’re knocking loud enough to wake the whole hallway.” He paused. “Your eye is healed…?

“Justice never sleeps,” Ulfric said with a weak grin.

“Sometimes it does,” Kal replied wryly. “Go away.” He attempted to close the door.

Ulfric caught it and held it open, willing to sacrifice the remainder of his strength to do so. “Kal. I’m not here for tea time. Let me in, and wake the fuck up,” he pleaded.

“Ulfric…” Kal growled angrily. “Fine. Alright.”

Ulfric was allowed inside of the dorm at last. He didn’t bother to take his shoes off or look around at all. He was familiar with Kal’s dorm. It was exactly like his own in shape and furnishings, only Kal didn’t bother to keep anything organised. Where Ulfric had clean tables, Kal had dishes from the last three meals. Where Ulfric had tightly packed bookshelves, Kal had books hanging lazily and stacked awkwardly like a toddler might do. Looking at it all made Ulfric stressed out.

He cleaned all of the dishes off of the kitchen table for the sake of dumping his own things. The fully collected bits of his enchanted blades. The repair, on paper, was quite easy, but it wasn’t something Ulfric could do on his own. Behind him, Kal eventually came back from his bedroom, buttoning the last few bits of his shirt and letting out a wild yawn before joining him at the table. He placed a hand on each hip, and then sighed.

“This is what you’re bothering me for at six in the morning?” He asked.

Ulfric turned to him with a blank expression. “Are you dull? Those are two enchanted arcanium blades. Do you know what it takes to break a sword like that?”

“Roxanna Adler, I presume?” Kal said. He lumbered over to the nearest chair and plopped down.

“A bit more to it. The Adlers are having an unknown party build mana weapons for them,” Ulfric explained.

“Ah,” Kal said. He couldn’t yet muster a sense of urgency. “I feel like I’m going to need some coffee before I can really understand this. Mind putting the kettle on?”

“Fine.” Ulfric filled the kettle and turned it on. Kal just smiled stupidly at the sight of it. He enjoyed ordering Ulfric around when he could.

“Mana weapons,” Kal said. He glanced down at the swords again. “You had a close encounter with one of them, I take it.”

“Gauntlets,” Ulfric said. “Massive. Multiply the size of your own hands by ten, and probably increase the strength by that much, too.”

Kal couldn’t believe his eyes as Ulfric explained. “Ulf– Are you… Scared?” He asked.

Ulfric hadn’t realised his hands were shaking. He steadied them, and shook his head. “No. Just excited.”

Ulfric made coffee, but only for Kal. He poured a single cup perfectly with all of the finesse of a Eulerian noble, leaving the rest of the jug out for later consumption. Kal found a steaming hot cup set in front of him, and he quickly began to blow on it. Ulfric smiled wryly watching the childish display, but Kal paid him no mind. He’d known Ulfric long enough to know when to ignore him.

“Not bad,” Kal said, sipping the coffee. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

“Where do you think?” Ulfric said. “My father always said I’d do better as a housewife than a warrior.” He envisioned the man’s face quite vividly as he said so, and frowned.

“And now you’ll probably be dead instead. That’ll show him,” Kal joked.

Ulfric surprisingly nodded. “It will.”

They both sat at the table. As the coffee entered Kal’s system, he slowly gained coherence. Ulfric explained the events of the previous night to him, from the very beginning to the activation of the mana gauntlets. Kal’s face grew gradually more concerned, suddenly awake enough to understand the gravity of the situation. Afterwards, Ulfric just nodded solemnly. Kal sipped his coffee and gave his head a few more minutes to process.

“So you want to find this lab?” Kal asked.

“Move the timeline up on the Adler Estate raid,” Ulfric replied. “Notify everyone. We move tomorrow. This weapon needs to either be in our hands, or out of commission.” Thoughts flashed across his eyes like shadows on the wall. Visions of death and destruction. In those weapons he saw nothing good. Nothing but death.

“Tomorrow?” Kal asked. Clearly, and rightfully so, he believed such a thing to be impossible. “That’s not my choice. The plan relies on Roy, and Roy will never go for it.”

“Every second we waste here is a second they have to build more of those weapons. Kal… The Southern front… If those soldiers get those weapons, Nespia, our home, will be destroyed.” Ulfric clenched his fist. The war Alterion fought against Nespia to the South had come to an impasse, but it wouldn’t last forever, not if they found themselves outgunned so severely. A weapon like that… No doubt its for military application.

“I never knew you to be sentimental,” Kal snorted. “Nespia isn’t home to us anymore, Ulfric. Remember what you went through just to get away?”

Ulfric nodded. “Aye. It's not about that. If Nespia falls, Eisendrache will be next. This whole continent will be run by that false Alterion king, Kal.”

“You’re right. Though, that’s only assuming these mana weapons are as extraordinary as you claim.”

“They are. They already are. And they will be.” Ulfric spoke with absolute certainty. If it could defeat him so easily, the average soldier would be no different. “So find Roy. Tell him we’re going tomorrow.”

Kal threw his hands up and sighed. “Fine. No promises his response is going to be the one you want.”

“I understand that.”

“What will you do in the meantime?”

Ulfric hesitated, but decided on it rather quickly. “Me time,” he said. “I… Think I need to prepare for this.” With that he stood up, barren and without his usual gear. Not even a sword. He felt naked. Wearing combat gear was far more natural than a noble’s clothes, at least to him. “Have the sword ready by that time,” he said, glancing at the broken pieces.

Kal scowled at the request. He was the only mage Ulfric knew that could perform the repair magic in question. To have those blades fixed, it was up to only Kal. “Fine,” he said. “What would our fearless leader do without me?”

Ulfric took a glance back at Kal and smiled weakly, but he said nothing. With that, he left.

* * *

The nobility were in an ‘unreasonable’ panic. To Ulfric, it seemed fairly reasonable. Roxanna Adler had gotten away. With her she’d brought a very important piece of information. Until that moment, the remaining nobility had believed Edwin Orion to be simply incompetent. They thought the Magekiller problem would sort itself out. They were wrong, of course. This, Roxanna knew. The Magekiller was powerful, maybe even an S-ranked warrior, usually defined as a person considered to be a threat to the very continent. The S-ranked warriors of history were the type of people who sliced mountains in half, or rained down magical bombs on whole cities. That is the only conclusion she could’ve made that would justify this response.

What Ulfric saw outside was amazing. Chaos of his own design. Cedrick was seemingly busy announcing that the bounty was cancelled, but many had already gotten the news. Students who’d spent their nights stalking the streets while Ulfric leapt overhead were hanging their heads. The chance had been taken away from the students after only three days, and the authority was handed back to the Dragon Guard. For the Guard, the term S-rank was something of a buzzword. Suddenly, a lot of the enforcers who were apparently unaccounted for found themselves on the way to Lancaster.

The Dragon Guard had some sort of transportation network of portals unavailable to the public. It had only taken a night for ten enforcers to be recalled into Lancaster. It would be a small effort at first, ten A-rank enforcers no more powerful than someone like Roxanna. Ten enforcers were not enough for a hypothetical S-rank, of course. The Dragon Guard knew this well. Ten A-ranks would be lucky to leave a dent on such a person. To Ulfric and his team, though, it was a major impediment.

Unlike the nobility, the Dragon Guard were clever, and especially so with their resource allocation. They knew that if an S-rank wished Lancaster harm, it would’ve been wiped off of the map long before an effective response could be made. All of the world’s (known) S-ranks were kept on a list and monitored more or less constantly for this very purpose. In other words, the response to the current situation told Ulfric a few things. One, there must’ve really been something important going on elsewhere for the Guard to not even spare a single S-rank with the response force. Two, they likely didn’t believe that there was an undocumented S-rank in Lancaster, and only responded to appease the nobility. This, at least, was good news.

The nobles and the Dragon Guard had already picked out potential suspects, and were busy wheeling them out into the streets to be executed. More than likely, all of the ‘suspects’ were magicless living in the slums of the valley, the type of people that the government didn’t care for. Ulfric stood in a corner of Lancaster’s grand square and watched in a crowd of thousands. After all, the executions were his fault. It was only right he bare witness to them, so that they would at least be remembered by the one they were dying for. He stood, rigid, arms crossed behind his back and posed like a statue. My people. The ones I work so hard for. Those are the ones dying today.

The method today was the blade. A simple, quick decapitation. Likely it was because Roxanna knew that to be the weapon the Magekiller used. Normally at executions there were more magical methods like death by magical flame or drowning as well. They’re mocking me, Ulfric thought, the sword is my weapon. It shouldn’t be used in this way, against a defenceless foe. Even so, he was powerless to do anything other than intervene and die in the process.

Above the square, the noble families watched, entertained. Winchester, Boneshaw, Adler, Titus, and Whiscourt. Orion, notably, was absent. On the balcony where they sat, Ulfric noticed a whole row of chairs empty, seats normally reserved for the Orions to watch the executions. He couldn’t help smiling at the sight of it. With such vibrant symbolism, Ulfric was sure the nobles were writhing wholeheartedly in that fear that he so desperately wished upon them.

He quickly took heads, noting who it was that was bothered to show up. Minerva was nowhere to be found, and Ulfric couldn’t even spot a seat reserved for her. Cedrick was absent, same with Garren Titus, Alleck Winchester, and Nina Adler. Unsurprising, seeing the duties of the student council. The younger and older siblings of the families were there, however, and Ulfric spotted a few familiar faces. Roxanna Adler, of course, wanted to witness the executions after the event that had apparently scared her so much. Darius Boneshaw sat not far away from her, looking uninterested and dejected, which was a stark contrast to the cocky and vibrant boy Ulfric had beaten the snot out of in the exam.

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The ‘criminals’ were marched onto the stage in the centre of the square. Everyone watched with bated breath. A row of five, normal looking citizens who probably couldn’t even use magic. It was rather unclear whether these people had been chosen for a specific purpose, or just gotten unlucky. The nobles had free reign to do that sort of thing under the new king. To kill twenty or thirty people simply as a warning, or a punishment to get on the psyche of one person. That person was Ulfric.

But Ulfric wouldn’t be affected. He watched with careless eyes as the first man was placed on his knees. He’d seen death before. He’d caused death the majority of the time. He’d taken plenty of lives, and surely a lot of them didn’t deserve it. Thirty more was nothing. To be affected was to let them win. To be affected was to make their deaths meaningless. All of the slaughter led to the moment before him. A challenge he wouldn’t lose.

The first man put his head down, looking terrified. His arms were chained behind his back. He couldn’t resist or move even if he wanted to. There were too many guards to allow for resistance. There, on that stage, he met his fate in front of thousands. The executioner stepped forward, a big and ugly smile on his face. The first head rolled with an unbelievably smooth cut. Ulfric clenched his fist, but forced himself not to look away.

But something broke through his calm exterior. The cheers. The crowds, the nobles, all hollering as the heads rolled. They celebrated the beheading of the supposed Magekiller. One of the people up on the stands could’ve been Ulfric, or his comrades, and they’d have cheered. Ulfric went bug-eyed. All of you… Could it be? You don’t know that your enemies are the ones sitting on that balcony? No. It's that the average citizen celebrates the death of the magicless… The citizens who lived in Lancaster’s slums, robbed of humanity’s greatest gift. To them, execution was a mercy.

Another head rolled. Ulfric locked eyes with Roxanna Adler on the balcony. The woman loomed over curiously, smiling as she recognized him. Her flared his resolve, eyes filled with flame. His look told her everything she needed to know. In the name of the people dying for my sake, I’ll kill you all. I’ll show the citizens of Lancaster freedom from the slavery they aren’t even aware of. You can’t stop this, Roxanna Adler.

For the first time, Ulfric became aware of the consequences of his actions. As the executions finished, he was left stunned. Those heads could’ve been anyone he knew. Kal. Roy. Drake. Mitchell. Maya. Minerva. He thought of their names and felt a greater responsibility to protect them. Even Minerva, the girl who’d joined the wrong side but had a heart in the right place. For all of them, he couldn’t quit. That was why he had to get his head on his shoulders properly.

In the crowd, Roxanna Adler locked eyes with the magicless reject she’d heard so much about. He lingered, staring at her intently. In his eyes she saw rage, a promise of destruction. Frankly, it scared her a little. She kept his gaze, as if to say I acknowledge you. Only a few moments later, a few civilians passed, obscuring him from few for a second or two. When the view was clear again, Ulfric was gone, vanished into the wind to make good on his mission.

* * *

In the cemetery, Ulfric saw ghosts. These ghosts were of a more personal nature, watching over his shoulder as he walked, mocking him. Faces of people he’d killed hovered ethereally in the air. His master sat smugly on a grave, polishing a nonexistent sword. This was the graveyard of Lancaster, but also of Ulfric’s personal grievances. He’d come for catharsis, but the time was not yet right. He was looking for the grave of a certain person.

The clear day had turned to rain. It often rained in Lancaster, but it seemed only right that it would happen during such a drab time. Ulfric’s boots sloshed through the dirt that quickly became waterlogged, his hair stuck to his forehead and clothes stuck to his back. A mage would’ve summoned a barrier above their head, but Ulfric didn’t care about a little rain. His task was too important to avoid because of the weather.

Lancaster’s cemetery was large beyond comparison. So big, in fact, that it wasn’t inside the city’s walls. As he crested a hill, he looked over the kilometre long fields of graves and felt sorrow. The graveyard was empty, and many souls were lacking company, the presence of which he felt bearing down on his back. The graveyards were magical places, heavily enchanted to prevent the formations of ghouls and other magical aberrations. As well, you could feel the remaining mana of the dead building around the gravestones like mementos calling for help.

He walked through the rows until he reached the fancier grave sites. These were reserved for Lancaster’s nobles, expensive and guarded with barrier magic to prevent graverobbing. It was there that he spotted the first visitor other than himself. He felt his heart drop. The person in question was standing over the grave he’d been trying to find. The resting place of the recently buried head of house Orion, Edwin.

Ulfric froze. He wondered who was even left alive that would visit such a person, and studied the man heavily. He wore the robes of a mage, with a comical hat towering off of his head. At his side was a staff that he leaned on lazily. He didn’t seem to be a noble. Had there been someone Ulfric had forgotten? He scanned his brain quickly for information. Gladius Orion, he realised. The son of Edwin, who’d disowned the house. Ulfric didn’t know much about him. Had he returned to Lancaster to pay his respects?

The man turned. He was hardly a man at all. At twenty three, Gladius Orion looked much younger than he was. Ulfric recognised him instantly. He smiled, and nodded to Ulfric, seemingly waiting for him to approach.

“Morning,” Ulfric said, closing the gap. They stood just a little bit away from each other, looking down on the lavishly decorated grave. A massive contributor to Lancaster’s government and Academy. Loving father. Loving husband. Edwin Orion.

“You’re here to visit my father?” Gladius asked. He tipped his dark blue hat up slightly, it matched his robes. Underneath was a youthful face, with remnants of blondish stubble that he hadn’t quite shaved off. His eyes were cheery and full of light as if seeing his father’s grave was the highlight of his day. “I didn’t think there was anyone alive who’d care to do that,” he snorted. With that, he produced a bottle of liquor from his robes and sipped on it with a mighty sigh. “I sense a lot of work in my future…”

“I didn’t expect to see anyone here either,” Ulfric said. “You must be the son, Gladius.”

Gladius raised a brow at that. “You’d be right. I wasn’t expecting to be recognised so soon, lad. Who are you, exactly?”

“Ulfric Arrowheart.”

“Ah. You’re that student. The magicless one.” Gladius nodded approvingly. Ulfric got the feeling that he was impressed by Ulfric’s feats, rather than angry or disappointed like most. “Good work you’re doing over there,” he clarified. “Though I imagine most wouldn’t say the same… I don’t suppose you and my father were close, at all?” He laughed. He knew it was a stupid question.

“No,” Ulfric said. “Actually… I suppose he was something of an enemy to me.”

“Hmm. I guess that makes two of us.” Gladius held his bottle of liquor out to Ulfric. “To one less rat-fucking noble in Lancaster, eh?”

Ulfric hesitated. Poison? Probably not. He took the bottle and swigged from it, wiping his lips before handing it back. “Here’s to that,” he said.

“Heh.” Gladius huffed out, the rain falling off of barrier magic above his head like an invisible umbrella. When he realised Ulfric was getting soaked, he waved a hand and wordlessly casted another barrier. “Must be a pain without magic,” he noted. “I never really realise how much of a crutch it is until I imagine living without it.”

“Life has never been any different for me,” Ulfric looked up, impressed at the barrier. “But I’ve never once wished I had it.”

“And you shouldn’t. It’s nothing but a curse. Magic makes bad people worse.” Gladius looked at his father’s grave, and then spat on it. “Power like that corrupts the minds of even the most righteous warriors. Not that my father was ever righteous… Or a warrior.”

Ulfric spat as well, but it quickly vanished in the rain. “So. What will you do now? Take his place?”

Gladius frowned. “I don’t know about that. It seems a little bit…”

“Daunting?” Ulfric asked.

“Daunting,” he agreed. “I don’t know how to run a house. It's not like I’d have any help either.”

“Why’d you come, then?” Ulfric wondered out loud.

Gladius shrugged. “To have the family fortune transferred into my pocket. And to give a nice backdrop to my internal debate.”

Ulfric laughed. “I wouldn’t be opposed to helping you out. After all, it would be nice to have someone up top in my corner.” Ulfric considered his next words carefully. “And… I happen to have a close relationship with the Princess.”

Gladius smiled. It was the smile of someone who couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Simply a proposition,” Ulfric replied. “Down the line, if Maya is restored to the throne… Your house would enter an unfathomable era of prosperity.”

“I do love money, Ulfric. But I’m not some power hungry noble,” Gladius noted. “If I were to take the seat of my house, I’d be doing it to spite the rest of this city’s nobles. Not for you. Not for status.” He sighed, and pressed a palm to his lips. “But, judging from the uproar… I would say that you are the best way to do just that, which retroactively makes your offer a good one. Intriguing. Are you, perhaps, reading my mind?”

Ulfric smiled. “I get that a lot, but no.” I’ve read the stories they tell about you, Gladius Orion. The mage of the legendary Farrion Company. The one who rejected the life of the nobility.

“I don’t believe you.”

“They usually don’t.”

Gladius furrowed his brow, and stuck a hand out. “Well, it was good to meet you, Ulfric Arrowheart. Keep on fighting the good fight.”

“You as well. For the sake of myself and Lancaster as a whole, I hope to see you take that seat.” Ulfric took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

Gladius disappeared into the rain and left Ulfric alone with the grave, soon after, Ulfric’s umbrella vanished and abandoned him to get pelted by the water once again. Ulfric couldn’t hide his smile, then. He looked up at the rainy sky and let it strike his face, then back down at the grave.

“Look at that, Edwin. Your only son just joined your murderer in spitting on your grave,” he snorted. He stepped forward and spun around to sit on top of the perfectly polished headstone, taking up a pensive pose. “I hope you don’t mind if I use this to rest for a moment.”

On the headstone directly across from Ulfric, Karl mimicked his pose, the rain phasing through his ethereal body. Ulfric had never noticed the mana that seemed to be sloshing around in the ghost’s body. Even though it obviously wasn’t the real thing, it looked as real as Karl had ever been. An impressive magical signature, but no tangibility. No doubt it was in Ulfric’s head, but why did it look so real? The ghost crossed its arms, looking impatient.“What are we doing here, boy?” He wondered.

Head’s still jumbled from yesterday. Must be. “You’re not the hallucinations of a haunted one,” Ulfric said.

“You sure?” Karl asked.

No, Ulfric realised. “They say the hallucinations are only of the dead. The real you is still out there by my father’s side.”

“You’re probably right,” he admitted. “I think it's your usage of magic. Those rings don’t come without consequence. Your body isn’t built to use magic. You’re destroying your brain even more than your trauma already has.”

“What are you?” Ulfric demanded.

“I think I’m a manifestation. A vessel for a shattering brain to tell you the things you don’t want to hear. As for my form, your brain must prefer a kind master to deliver the information.” Karl shrugged. “But I’m not actually sure. After all, I only have the information you do.”

“So I’m going crazy. Great.” Ulfric rubbed the rain water into his face, hoping the ghost might disappear. He’s still there. I can’t live like this.

“You are definitely going crazy,” Karl admitted. “Remember, internal mana related damage is more or less impossible to repair. I’d quit dabbling in those rings if I were you.”

The things I don’t want to hear, Ulfric reminded himself. Doesn’t always mean he’s right. “I’ll do what I must to level the playing field.”

“And kill yourself slowly?”

“So long as I live to finish the job, it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s your problem, Ulfric. At the end of this, you don’t see a future, do you? What will you do when the job is done?” Karl did a cheery little jig. “I know the answer. You’ll seek out more slaughter. More people to kill in your little justice crusade. You’ll do it until it kills you. That’s your plan.”

A vein twitched in Ulfric’s forehead. He held himself back, still aware that he only spoke to a ghost. “So? Is there something wrong with using my life to do good? That’s my purpose.”

“Is it?”

Ulfric paused. “Yes,” he said.

“Ah, but you hesitated. Only a little bit, but you did hesitate.” Karl leaned on his hand pensively with a wry smile. “Don’t you want to be happy? Something more than a sad little puppy dog?” He stood and moved towards Ulfric. “Look at you… Look at you! Your daddy didn’t love you. None of your family did. All you ever wanted was their attention… That was your goal. But you got over that. This, though… It’s no different. Back then, you did things to satisfy your family, but now it's for you, only you.” Karl pressed a finger into Ulfric’s chest, and he swore he felt it beating down repeatedly. “This sadistic crusade. For what!? Just to prove to yourself that you can do it!? So you finally believe you’re good enough!?” Spittle hit Ulfric’s face, but in reality it was only the rain.

“Shut up!” Ulfric cried. The graveyard went silent. “Shut up…” He said, quieter this time. With that, he fell off of the headstone and sank down to the ground, leaning into it and cradling his head in his hands. Catharsis. That’s what I came here for. Not like this, though. His clothes soaked through. He was wet and miserable, and now looked the part of someone visiting his father’s grave.

“I came here to talk to you, Edwin.” Ulfric beat his hand against the side of his head a few times. “To clear my head before I take the next step.” He looked at the soggy ground pensively. Clouded skies meant clouded thoughts, but alas, the sky overhead began to clear, albeit slowly. Ulfric saw a ray of sunshine that danced down his forehead and eventually stung his eyes. It came to rest on Edwin’s grave, dodging him entirely. At this display, he laughed.

“I’ve been starting to think that you and I aren’t so different,” Ulfric said. “The sun blesses you, but not me.” He huffed. “You would’ve done anything to achieve your goals, and I’m exactly the same. The ends always justify the means. But…” He scoffed at the ridiculous analogy appearing in his head. “If I kill ten children to get to my goal, and you kill ten to get to yours. Does the goal really matter? We’re the same, aren’t we? At least, that’s what I think sometimes. I’m sure that’s what you’d say too, if you were alive.”

But that’s not the way it is, Ulfric reminded himself. The goal is everything.

“But that’s the way a weaker man might think,” Ulfric said. “The difference between you and me lies in the goal and the execution. You oppress my people with evil, the innocent magicless that live in squalor. I seek to free them with evil. Where you’d give an order to kill the child from your office, I’d be on the front lines throttling that child with my own two hands. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to win, and that includes dying for it. That, Edwin, is where you and I are different.”

Ulfric stood up and turned to regard the grave. The watchful eye of his master loomed over him. Silence filled the graveyard. He was alone with Edwin, a man who’d hated him but never really knew who he was. Ulfric never knew who he was, either, just the things he’d done. Perhaps that alone was enough, to judge a person based on actions rather than themself.

“One more difference,” Ulfric smiled. “People will remember me when I’ve died. They’ll remember my evil. They’ll say I was powerful and courageous. My sons won't spit on my grave like yours do. They’ll say their father was a hero who did what he had to.” He turned away from the grave defiantly, meeting eyes with his ghostly master, who’d seemingly returned.

“What the hell was that!?” He demanded. “That’s not ‘catharsis’!”

“Maybe not to you,” Ulfric replied. He brushed past his master’s shoulder. “Words of doubt cloud my mind,” he said, his words a dagger cutting through the ghost’s chest. “Reinforcing my own, true vision. That is catharsis.”

Onwards. Towards victory.