The Andestine forces were obliterated. Alisson went from every corpse, stabbing his rapier down into them, and sometimes, they screamed out. He did this mercilessly, as Celis went through the remnants of the destroyed camp, and the knights’ personal affects, trying to find some semblance of orders. She did so, and reported that the next convoy of reinforcements and supplies was slated to arrive in the next two weeks. That was plenty of time to get to Nubinaya, and get the hell off this side of the continent.
They had only a few escapees from the whole battle. A few Irinians from the most recent supply convoy had escaped, Celis had apparently been busy attacking, and killing, her Sequiturs. She said that she hadn’t seen any from then on, and with those words, Alisson sighed with relief. Eufrozina had done so much for them. Alisson’s Bacilla, which he utilized to great effect, and Celis’s now imbued blades, which were vital in her combat against the knights. Alisson even saw Celis throw a blade in the air, before kicking it at a knight, wherein is subsequently detonated.
A quick check up of their manifest yielded poor results. Their armor was, essentially annihilated. It did its job. In that final skirmish between him, Celis, and the knights, it had quite literally fallen apart, for the both of them. It had survived Freigat, what more was to ask of it? They unceremoniously sold of the armor as scrap metal to the highest bidder in Scratskoslovotskaya, along with all but two of the Andestine horses. With the newfound human credit, they purchased more rations. Their armor now only consisted or their ripped gambesons, granted, still infused with Lavjoure’s metal string.
They had that mystery mana object, whatever it was. Those maps from Lavjoure, for Alisson had taken them along with him instead of leaving them with Marmel. The Kitsune medallion, though it was becoming clear that perhaps it was not of much use. Sylph’s light source had stopped working after a time in the Deadzone, but Alisson still carried it, intent on either returning it to Sylph, or having Lente take a look at it, along with those parts they scavenged.
Him and Celis set off to the coast early the morning following the day of the battle. Celis audibly voiced her annoyance for losing Basil, the lamia. She had been with the horses, when Marmel had sold them off, apparently to merchants headed for Irinian land. Celis had also lost her journal, which Alisson didn’t know she had one of, but she stated that it had important things in it. Alisson asked her if it was so important that it warranted them veering off track for, to which she reluctantly said no.
As they went, calmly through the beast infested wasteland of the north as if they were taking a stroll in the park, Celis recounted her side of the story at Scratskoslovotskaya.
“After I dealt with the drafted forces and destroyed the camp, I noticed that all the knights were going to you, so I went to ambush one of the companies.” She described how she, utilizing the limitless mana granted by the mystical object, quickly annihilated an entire unsuspecting company. It was made easy by the fact they were mounted, and in no way expecting a fight.
“After that…I paid a visit to Marmel’s place, and picked up some of his imbued items, the smoke bombs.”
Celis then, seeing the reluctance of the knights in that they were suspecting her, placed herself in the mud in between them and their camp, using the smoke screens to great effect.
“But how did you see through the smoke?” Alisson pondered. “You had to see through it to be able to attack so many enemies – You couldn’t have just bumbled around into them by luck.”
To this, Celis shifted the bangs of her hair tepidly. There were two symmetrical burns on the sides of her temples.
“That spell that Eufrozina gave us, the ‘magic needle’ one…”
“You used it…” Alisson muttered. Celis nodded. “But healing magic hasn’t helped…the scars are going away on their own though…”
She must’ve used the spell incorrectly or haphazardly in some way, but nonetheless it still seems to have functioned – by giving her vision in the dense smokescreen.
They arrived at Nubinaya within a few days, and got to work. Nubinaya was nothing more than a small hamlet, no walls, no garrison, nothing. They had many shoddy docks for fishing ships, and some larger ones for trading vessels, and that was about it. Him and Celis spread out through the hamlet, gathering information. The cool winds of the morning sea rolled in across the village, seabirds flew overhead, and distant waves crashed against the coast.
Alisson had his lead fairly quickly as to where the Kitsune were. As he’d heard in Scratskoslovotskaya, there was a pirate ship docked here not long ago, that had apparently raided a Kitsune fishing ship. They had departed just this morning to go retrieve the ship from their secret base of operations, apparently someone in the hamlet was looking to buy it and its ‘wares’. They would be here by tonight, so they had some time to kill.
It felt so odd to have nothing to do. They had been for the past two months on a back to back scramble, constantly facing down death defying odds. The problem before them, of their way back home missing, seemed trivial in comparison.
There were inns in Nubinaya, but of course him and Celis, having just been in Scratskoslovotskaya, didn’t have an ounce of trust for them, and instead opted to rest in a dark little alley, near the side of the road. They watched the sun slowly rise as the sparse inhabitants went about their daily business. Most didn’t pay attention to the two of them, but the wiser among them, merely by glancing at him and Celis’s faces, could tell that something was awry, and kept their distance.
Alisson felt strangely content. With Celis leaning over his side, snoozing, while the sun started to fall, he seemed to forget the trash and human filth around him, the grayness of the surrounding hamlet, the dirty features and sullen looks of those around him. In Sidonia, would things be any different? Would he care about the cleanliness of the land? Of the beauty the cities shared, of the pride and dignity of the people there? He hoped so. He still wanted to feel that warmth of patriotism in him. Something that he hadn’t felt since they were with Tsuhara, and even that wasn’t another Nekomata. Celis wasn’t exactly the most vehement Nekomata, even before their revelation about Sidonia. It was understandable, given her past.
Would he even be able to lead his troops anymore? What would they think of him? Becoming so attached to but a lowly apprentice, it was disgraceful. Alisson knew however, that no amount of negativity would make him split ways with Celis. He already promised her, promised himself, that even if the entire world turned against them, Sidonia included, he would stand by her side. He just wondered if any other of his fratello felt the same. He wondered how his father was holding up, being on an expedition out to the Far East along with Lord Salchyon and the first and second armies, they must be on their return trip by now.
He wondered how his 51st were. As he did, another weak pang hit him, of Harshel Company. They were gone. Alisson shook his head. He probably missed their funerals in the time he’d spent out in this mission. He just wondered if it was worth it. Was he really contributing all that much to his species survival? But did that even matter when Celis was by his side?
Alisson closed his eyes, sighing deeply, and attempting to disperse the knot in his head. He held Celis tighter, as if to fill the sudden pang of loneliness that assailed him. She didn’t awake from this, to Alisson’s relief; He was content to use her as a body pillow. As he was about to drift off into a blissful drowsiness, someone collapsed before him. Outside the alley, on the main road, a new group of foreigners had arrived.
Their armor was stained and they stood on shaky legs. They had the obvious appearance of soldiers that had marched through the night, without mounts, whilst stranded in enemy territory. They were exhausted, and in no shape to fight. Alisson noticed the Irinian sigils on their pauldrons, the insignia commanded far less authority when it was worn by such miserable soldiers. One of them had collapsed, the source of the noise.
“Up! Up! We’ve no time to spare! What if the Sidonians are chasing us down!? You know they don’t like strays from battles!”
The soldiers were evidently terrified. Their fear seemed to be the only thing that drove them on.
“Calm down…If they wanted us dead, that girl wouldn’t of let us go so easily…I think we can take a breather here.”
Alisson almost didn’t notice her, stifled behind the half-dozen other Irinian soldiers, a female soldier not older in appearance than Celis stood with her estoc planted in the mud, trying to command an authoritative pose, but ending up just looking more miserable. Her once bright armor was dirtied, stained with blood, and broken. The same could be said for her eyes. How defeated she looked, but still she held her men together.
Alisson didn’t need to be told that these were very clearly the strays that Celis had told him about. He awoke Celis, and they melted deeper into the darkness of the alley, watching the soldiers. Alisson briefly considered letting them go, but if the soldiers were stopping to rest here, while him and Celis were still awaiting nightfall, a confrontation between the two parties was probably inevitable. Alisson decided to take the first move. It didn’t really matter much though…This wasn’t a fight him and Celis could lose. Their magic alone could flatten this town.
Alisson stepped brazenly out into the open, while Celis stayed hidden in the shadows. He walked toward the soldiers, and drew Enhérejär. The Irinians didn’t notice him for a few crucial moments, as wearing his dirtied cloak, he wasn’t the most conspicuous person in the world here in this hamlet. When they did notice him, they seemed to instinctively realize that Alisson wasn’t just some human. Something primal within them perhaps sensed the predatorial eyes Alisson bore them down with.
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They stumbled back, drawing their weapons, when suddenly, the commander of the ragtag group of soldiers stepped forward, slicing her estoc to the side, in front of her men.
“You! Show yourself at the very least!”
Her voice rang out strong, but the sharp eared could tell easily that behind that tone was a quivering fear. Alisson pulled off the hood of his cloak, figuring it didn’t really matter.
The soldiers stepped back, and the commander was left in shock for a moment. “A-alisson Vi Nuam…”
It was then that they knew that this was a fight they could not win. Despite this, the commander stepped forward, grabbing hold of her estoc with both hands. Her grip was shaky, and sweat mounted on her face. She declared, falling over her words as Alisson still paced toward them,
“F-face me! One on one! A duel! If I win, then promise me you’ll spare my men!”
Alisson was puzzled by the sudden proposal. He was intent on just killing them all and calling it a day, but the courage the commander showed piqued his interest.
“And if I am victorious?”
Alisson spoke out in his usual, sharp, commanding tone that was commonplace when there were humans about.
The commander looked side to side for a moment, more sweat mounting on her forehead as she raked her head for the right words.
“I-I’ll…I’ll do anything! J-just leave my men alone! Please!”
Her sword shook. Alisson tilted his head. “You do realize that you’re in no position to bargain?”
The girl didn’t respond, and only braced herself. Alisson stopped with a sigh. He found himself taking pity in the sight, of a platoon of grown men, cowering, as this baby-faced woman stood in between them and certain death.
“Fine then…” Alisson gave a flare to his blade. “Show me what your human courage is capable of.”
Alisson sank into stance. “I’ll let you have the first shot.”
The commander was stunned for a moment, not actually expecting Alisson to accept, but regardless fell into readiness as her training took over. The two parties stared each other down for a moment, before the female soldier dashed forward with a lightening quick thrust. Alisson didn’t want to parry her. He could so easily flick his blade up, knock hers out of any threat, and then thrust at her neck. Instead, he found himself slipping to her side, and avoiding her.
“You’re going to have to be faster than that.” He retorted.
Alisson suddenly felt a little disgusted at himself, mocking this clearly weaker being. Alisson sighed to himself. Perhaps he had grown too confident after their last engagement, having toppled such odds.
The commander redoubled, thrusting again; this time Alisson parried her thrusts, opting to not riposte, however. A trio of thrusts with her estoc, and a trio of equally fast parries rang out a second thereafter. Alisson was surprised to find himself having to push his body much faster than he had expected when parrying her blade.
She wasn’t a bad fighter. She wasn’t eve an average fighter. She was certainly good, in the last large engagement, were she to not be fighting Alisson one on one, not holding his full attention of mind, not fighting a completely rested Alisson, fresh onto the field, she may have stood a chance.
The exchange of bladework continued until eventually the commander was starting to gain ground on Alisson, as he never counter attacked, and she was getting quite used to it. After about thirty seconds, he figured that it was rude to play around with people’s lives. A warrior should die a dignified death in real battle, not as some plaything.
Alisson stepped forward in a blur all of the sudden, his cheek an inch from the commander’s blade as he got right in her face, chest to chest with her. Of course, in doing so, Enhérejär was now lodged through the commander’s chest.
The soldier was in shock for a moment, her body quivering and her eyes suddenly wide. Blood welled in her mouth, and dripped down the corners of her lips, when finally, she went limp over Alisson. She said quietly, barely audible to Alisson through her last breath,
“…Good…fight…”
Alisson took a moment to process those words. When he did, his eyes shot open, and he grabbed hold of the commander by the shoulders, some sort of overwhelming regret filling him.
“Celis! Celis! Get over here! Now!”
Alisson shouted, his tone lacking that regal authority it had commanded only a minute before, but rather now had a snappy irritation.
He stared at the girl in front of him, dying in his arms. He saw the ranger from Menton staring back at him. He saw Rei, looking up at him. Both wore such faces of disbelief. Why did they have to die? Why did Alisson kill them?
And now, their visions faded, to be replaced by the one of a soulless girl. Barely a soldier in all but skill. Did they really have to die? Did this girl, and her men, really have to die? Did those…did all those conscripted peasants from Scratskoslovotskaya have to die? Did Celis really have to kill them?
Why was attacking this group of people so automatic to him? Why didn’t even think twice about it?
But no flash of blue ice filled him. That liquid mercury that so cooled his mind, and froze his thoughts, was nowhere to be found.
Alisson stared into the lifeless eyes before him, watching as the girl’s muscles twitched as her body shut down. She was so fragile. To be killed by a single mortal wound. For her body to be so traumatized and shocked that it simply gave up on her…It was nothing compared to the inhuman resilience of the Andestine knights, of Celis and himself…She was no soldier…
Alisson looked to the rest of the Irinians.
No, these weren’t soldiers…these were no warriors…
Celis finally arrived behind him, giving a questioning look. Alisson simply flashed a anxious look at her, and somehow, she immediately knew what Alisson was asking of her. She immediately started to heal the girl. He laid her down across the ground, staring at the now bloodied Enhérejär he held. The blood dripped down the blade’s length, glistening along Enhérejär’s angled surfaces. Alisson sat still, staring at his blade, the girl’s blood, for a long minute.
Finally he broke out of his trance and his vision focused onto Celis before him. “Will she be alright?” He asked tepidly.
“Barely.” Celis responded. The soldiers surrounding them were in bewilderment. That fear that had so paralyzed them was nowhere to be seen, rather it was now replaced with peculiar intrigue in Alisson. Alisson looked at his feet, suddenly made uncomfortable by their stares, knowing full well that he had ordered the deaths of their comrades, and now he had dared to take the life of their commanding officer.
The silence was interrupted when the Irinian commander loudly coughed, and then inhaled a large breath, as if she had been underwater for all that time.
Alisson loudly cleared his throat. “Good. I wish to have some words with her regarding my compensation for winning our duel.” His voice reassumed that regal authority it had previously carried, as if nothing was awry; the surrounding soldiers didn’t object, rather, couldn’t object, when Alisson had Celis whisk the commander off to a secluded rooftop. Celis sat near her, pouring a constant stream of mana into the wounded commander, thanks to the aid of the black cylinder.
When the commander finally came to, she locked eyes with Alisson, with a dumbfounded expression. She had thought she had just fell unconscious for the last time, and now here she was, cooped away, kept as some object of desire by two Nekomata.
“Look…” Alisson started, trying to sound commanding, but not finding the scorn in him to be anything but meek and shy in front of someone who he’d just stabbed for no good reason. “I’m…I didn’t mean to…”
“What my master is trying to say is that he’s sorry.” Celis said suddenly, not breaking contact with the commander’s wound. “He’s a lot less bloodthirsty than his rumors would have you believe.”
Alisson stared at Celis’s nonchalant carefreeness, talking to the enemy commander like they were pals.
“A-ah…I see…” The commander said, furrowing her brow. Her eyes then widened when she flashed a look of realization at Alisson. “S-so this is what you had in mind for the terms of your victory?”
Celis suddenly blushed for whatever reason, and shot a glance to Alisson as well. Alisson closed his eyes with a straight face. “Yes…I just wanted to ask a couple favors of you.”
The commander gulped, and Celis was suddenly a little angry for whatever reason.
“Your estoc, hand it to me.”
The commander did so, and Alisson examined the blade for a long moment. Nodding, he tossed it to Celis.
“And…what is your name, perchance?”
“Cecil. Cecil Al’Alavount.”
It was a quaint name, more befitting of a Sidonian than an Irinian.
“So then…onto the matter at hand…”
The commander’s face twisted into terror when Alisson set sharp eyes on her. “You wanted to save your men, right? I have a proposal. You’re going to help me get help get off this continent.”
…
“Y-you want me to do what?”
Cecil leaned forward, eyes wide.
“Call off the blockade. Tell them that you accomplished your mission. I doubt the Irinian navy and the Andestine special forces have that much of a communique with each other. More so now that the 153rd now consists of but a single old man.”
It showed on her face plainly that Cecil didn’t know whether to be more surprised by what Alisson was asking of her, or of the fact that the elite Andestine force had been utterly crushed by the two before her.
“B-but why? Why didn’t you…why didn’t you kill me…and my men? T-there’s nothing stopping you from…”
Alisson looked away with a frown.
‘Because there was no use in killing them.’ He wanted to say out loud. Coming from the Nekomata who’d so brutally slaughtered an entire battalion, and hundreds of innocent peasants not days before, it was almost comical.
These soldiers didn’t want to kill him. They were afraid. The sight of them was pitiful; whereas the Andestinians would’ve stopped at nothing to conflict with Alisson. And those peasants…all those lives lost in Pūshkinskaya… he now knew that he had fooled himself into going through with those things. That in some mystical way, they were righteous and just, if only they were aiding the accomplishment of his mission, aiding his Lady.
Even now, he still found an excuse that aided the mission. In keeping these soldiers alive, he could lower the Irinian blockade. It wasn’t necessary, but it certainly made life easier for himself and Celis. But that was just what it was, an excuse not to kill any more people who had nothing to do with him.
Finally making up his mind about what he wanted to say, Alisson looked back to Cecil. “Because I pitied you. I’m…I’m the one who was responsible for the ambush on your convoy. And now…to see you and your men in such a miserable state I…”
Alisson trailed off, before realizing that he’d probably said too much. “N-now. Be on your way. The blockade will not lower itself, and if it does not fall, then be assured that many more lives will be lost.”
With that, he whisked the commander away. She kept on glancing at Alisson with mixed expressions, unsure of how to react, before finally, he and Celis were alone together.
“So,” Celis began, twirling the estoc in a hand, “Why did you do it?”
“You need something with some range, and to combat real swordplay…an estoc will suite you.”
Celis smiled gingerly. “You know what I mean.”
Alisson sighed, his shoulder’s falling guiltily.
“It was…it was so automatic to attack those Irinians. I didn’t even think twice about whether or not it was right I just…did it.” Alisson stared into the ground. “I realized something after I struck that human…That insignia that they bear has no ties to the ideals in their heads. Not like us. Not like how we used to be.”
Celis didn’t say anything, so Alisson looked up to her for advice, only to find her smiling slyly at him. “W-was it wrong? S-should I have just killed them? I mean there’s the reason for lowering the blockade and all but that’s negligible and, and…”
Alisson anxiously mumbled, feeling uncomfortable by Celis’s silence.
Eventually she shrugged, and still coyishly smiling, said, “You’re the master here, Alisson.”
She was definitely keeping her thoughts to herself, but her quip was right, and Alisson promptly straightened himself. “R-right. It’s my choice.”
Despite his self-assurance, he still felt doubtful of himself. Of these new thoughts that graced his mind.
***