Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

In all truthfulness, Ilyas was dreading bringing his thoughts to last night's events, not because of the blood on his hands, and not because of how he killed them, but because he didn't feel bad about what he did. He didn't loathe himself as he thought he would while marching over Ferra's corpse; he didn't feel disgust at the blood he spilt; instead, he felt justified and right.

Every time his instincts tried to guilt him into believing he's a murderer and a monster, the memory of how Ferra skinned that human leg, and how they all gathered around and cut out their favoured chunks, or the memory of Cenric flopping to the ground with a ghastly wound on his back, resurfaced in all its revolting vividness, and his murder became right.

It brought him a sense of balance, as if he had completed a necessary Task. It felt like he had delivered divine justice.

Like he had delivered the consequences. 

Was he disturbed and disgusted by the goriness of it all?

Oh, most definitely!

But all of that terrified him because now, he felt comfortable with something he shouldn't be. Ilyas wasn't a murderer; he was a hard worker. He tried to be kind and nice because that's an easier and happier way to live.

He wasn't supposed to be a killer. 

But also, no one was supposed to be. One doesn't choose to kill; they kill because they were brought to it.

'So Benjamin was right, huh?'

But not everyone deserved that choice. Ben didn't deserve to kill at all, but Ilyas did.

Yes, he did.

There was no hypocrisy in it; that was just the truth. Ilyas was frustrated enough by the chain of unfortunate events that had befallen him that he felt no shame in thinking it. 

He stared at Alexander a little longer, thinking on how to answer. How does one recount such things? Should he recount them triumphantly or tragically?

'I'll go with the neutral option.'

Alexander pretended to be nonchalant about his question, but it was clear that it had been dwelling in his mind to the point of cippling curiosity.

After all, Ilyas didn't even have a weapon during the attack. He'd be curious, too, if it were him.

His wonder was warranted.

So it wasn't that strange when Alexander bit into a piece of dry meat with his eyes flickering a bit too often at Ilyas expectantly, and chewing in a more mechanised manner than natural.

Ilyas put down his piece of meat, then leaned back a little with his back straightened in respect. "I... well, in both circumstances, I had no choice. When I fought Benjamin, the man in the forest..."

Ilyas recounted the incident with Benjamin and how the bastard intended to take his mask to save his own sorry life. He didn't mention the Vault and their origins, but he did mention the gist of Benjamin's hypocrisy and how he tried to force Ilyas to suffer for his mistakes. Alexander listened intently, barely blinking and completely forsaking his meal.

He then went to recount in disturbing detail his fight with Rye and how he was losing miserably until he heard Alexander cry out in panic for Cenric. The decision to angle and stab himself and Rye with the Twinblade gained a wide-eyed gasp from Alexander.

"You did what?! I must say you may be teetering in the realm of insanity, my good friend, that truly is a..."

Ilyas wasn't shy about mentioning how it all came about because of the need to be with them as they fought. How he needed to be near Cenric, and was scared straight by being alone in the dark, strangled and dying by a cannibal, where no one could hear him.

Lunging and killing Ferra didn't take much explaining, and the rest involved the two of them, so it wasn't really necessary. And of course, he kept out the part about the mind-boggling stunt his mask pulled when it cried, and the dancing silhouettes. 

That... that he needed to ponder for at least a few days, because-

'What the hell!'

It still never left his mind. The feeling of anger was born from despair when time resumed. The need to cry at their disappearance. The beauty and tragedy of it all. There was this strange, compelling flare within him yearning to experience it all again. Begging for more.

Alexander reeled back, still processing everything he heard. Then he tsked and said, "That is some will you have, Mister Ilyas. A truly noble man in a world with few."

He set his partially eaten piece of meat down and stared contemplatively at Ilyas. "Our report once we reach the Procession is gonna be one for the ears. 'Two scouts and a random southerner returning from the depths of a Salivitain camp after defeating a special detachment.' I can already see it. Maybe we'll even make the paper. No. No wait, ignore my rambling. Silversun will always be all the attention." Both Alexander and Ilyas chuckled at that. "But truly, I must say, our fight against that beast Rum was a thing to remember. And the way you communicated your plan, oh genius! Even I commend you."

"Oh yeah, I was quite cool, wasn't I?" Ilyas smiled bashfully, then gestured to Cenric and Alexander. "But, don't give me too much credit, you two were the ones who did most of the work. That flawless shot at their leader! Ferra, and killing that sadist? Even understanding my intentions was really cool."

Alexander crossed his arms and raised his chin. "Yes, yes, keep the compliments coming. I could never tire of those."

Ilyas laughed. 

Alexander turned to him, confused. "What's so funny? You are right. I did do most of the work! That improper GentlePug was all but useless. Who decides to sleep in the middle of a battle?"

"I slept... because I would rather be with my mother than fight side-by-side with a fraudulent noble like yourself." 

Ilyas and Alexander's eyes snapped wide open, they gasped, and jerked their heads to where Cenric lay. They were both awash with shock and relief.

"Cenric! Cenric, you're awake!" Ilyas cried out.

"Yes, of course I am, good sir!" The weak voice croaked. "It is very improper for a Gentleman like me to abandon such a heavy duty!" 

Battered as he was, Ilyas dashed to Cenric's side with bleary, concerned eyes. "Cenric, oh thank goodness! I was- I was so-"

"Please don't underestimate me so, good sir Ilyas." Cenric smiled weakly and tried his hardest to open his eyes as wide as he could. "I'd leave much unattended if I died so soon."

Alexander stood above them, crossing his arms arrogantly and said with a shuddering, excited voice he probably thought was indifferent, "Oh, you're awake? Shame. And I had already gone through the effort of digging a small grave in a ditch. I guess the world must suffer a little longer with such a boorish breed."

'Does he know how obvious he is?'

Cenric couldn't hold back a smirk as he strained his neck to sneer at Alexander. "Every second that tongue of yours runs, the world suffers."

Before they could continue their bickering, however, Ilyas interrupted them with a cough and said, "Ah, should we get you something to eat then? Maybe some roasted tomatoes. I'm telling you if you enjoyed them raw, wait till you try them roasted!"

Alexander and Cenric turned to him as if he had just said something blasphemous. "You... you are jesting!" Cenric said. "You are not seriously implying that you desecrate those beautiful plump things by 'cooking' them?"

"That is absurd!" Alexander added. "Truly absurd! An affront against the Celestes and yours truly, I must say!"

'Huh? Why are they so offended?'

"Well, of course I do," Ilyas said, frowning at their reactions. "If you must know, Ms Henriette taught me and Antonio a thing or two about handling these delicacies. There are more ways than one to prepare them, other than just roasting them; actually, you could also turn them into a paste and cook other things. Although that only works best for-"

Both Alexander and Cenric gasped. "You... you waste such luxuries so?!" Cenric uttered.

'Huh. I guess they aren't gonna ask about Ms Henriette or Antonio.'

Shame, he really wanted to talk about them.

Alexander shook his head ardently. "No. No, I cannot allow it. As the second son of House Rosenadale, I forbid this atrocity!"

Cenric nodded affirmatively.

'Oh, so now his neck works fine.'

Ilyas sighed and, responding to Cenric's gesture, he propped the GentlePug up against the wall. 

"You guys have no idea," he said while shaking his head. "It's fine. I will show you."

Alexander, meanwhile, handed Cenric a few slices of meat on a leaf. 

The GentlePug did his best to maintain his manners and not gobble it down like Ilyas did.

***

An hour later, after starting a fire, slicing the tomatoes, and catching up on last night's incident, consequently defusing many heated, formal arguments, the roasted tomatoes were ready. Thankfully, Alexander had some salt, so they would enjoy a delightful treat today. 

Apprehensive silence settled as the three all struggled near the fire, groaning from their wounds. 

Cenric and Alexander stared worriedly at the cooked slices and shook their heads in regret. "How tragic. How tragic indeed," Cenric muttered.

"Even the Salivitians would frown at your barbarity today, my southern friend," Alexander complained.

Ilyas chuckled, then shared the roasted tomatoes amongst the three leaf plates.

He watched silently as they both took tentative bites and chewed with pensive expressions. After a few seconds, both set down their leaves, mulled what was left over and smacked their tongues.

"I..." Cenric paused, smacked his tongue again, then continued, "I see the potential."

Alexander, meanwhile, took a deep, contemplative breath, then said, "Indeed. I see the possibilities... You mentioned something about 'paste'?"

Ilyas smirked, then nodded. "Well, yes, there are many things we can do with these beautiful babies. Eating them raw is good, but preparing them, oh boy, you guys are in for a culinary adventure."

"Perhaps when we reach Mathesonia, then?" Cenric asked.

Ilyas nodded, then cleared his throat solemnly.

"Ah, about that, I would like to say something... uhm... important." Ilyas wasn't good with serious declarations, but this matter was heavy enough to demand one. "These would be the last tomatoes we eat with the pulp included. From now on, I would like to preserve the seeds. From my understanding, you guys don't have them here, so I would hate this to be the last time I eat them, too."

The two stared at him for a few moments with deep furrowed brows and pensive eyes. Then, suddenly, they both realised something that made Ilyas wonder if they were on the same page.

"A magnificent proposal!" Proclaimed Cenric enthusiastically. His face was lit with something Ilyas had rarely seen. Was it 'opportunity'? "Therefore, I would assume you would like to become an entrepreneur. There would be a lot of demand, oh yes, there would. Oh, how lucrative!"

Alexander shared in the excitement, but with a little more composure. "Although I'd hate not indulging myself in these plump beauties, patience is truly a virtue. I'll honour you with my blessings in your grand endeavour, my good southern friend."

'Grand endeavour? What are they on about? What's an entrepreneur? What's going on?!'

Ilyas stared at them, frowning, his eyes darting back and forth between the two, seeming absolutely lost. "Wha-What are you guys talking about? What am I missing? Is this what you call sarcasm?"

They shook their heads in sync, their excitement unwavering. "Why would we mock you, good sir? No, truly, we share you're ambition. This here is truly a treasure trove if handled correctly!" Cenric declared.

"Indeed, you are right. It would have to wait until we return to Mathesonia, of course, then you could go to His Majesty's House of Companies and launch. Perhaps require a loan for a farmland in one of the colonies, embed yourself in the markets through..." Alexander trailed off in thought with his hand to his mouth, muttering and whispering things he didn't understand.

'What are they going on about? House of Companies? Entrepreneur? Should I ask? No. Not yet. They would think I'm stupid. Let me change the subject for now!'

Ilyas cleared his throat. "So uh, we still have to reach the Twentieth Procession in time, right? When do we leave?"

Alexander jerked his head from his thoughts, then shook them away, clearly intending to save them for another time. Cenric, meanwhile, pointed to the Salivitian haversack. "That is indeed a chore. Here, may you hand me that haversack, good sir?"

Ilyas obliged. 

Cenric weakly grabbed it, then patted his body down and retrieved a small, rolled-up map, slightly tained with blood, and a little creased. 

'Oh yes, finally I can see!'

He laid the map aside, still rolled up, and reached into the haversack searching for something. 

"What are you searching for, GentlePug?" Alexander asked.

Cenric paused, looked at Alexander in utter offence, then realised and shrugged it off. "Oh well, if you truly have a noble mind, then you would've picked the right sack. There was a sheet of paper that one of the Salivitians stashed away before our ambush. Probably an Intelligence report."

Alexander and Ilyas looked at each other, then back at Cenric, seemingly trying to remember.

"It seems..." Cenric finally stopped rummaging through the bag and retrieved a small folded piece of paper. "You truly did pick the right one," Cenric smirked, and outstretched his arm to show them.

"It's probably irrelevant; otherwise, my noble senses wouldn't have missed it," Alexander snickered.

"We'll see about that, you dullard." Cenric unfolded the sheet of paper and stared at it quietly for a few seconds.

But.

The longer he read, the more unsteady his breathing grew, the more his paws trembled, and the more his eyes widened in utter disbelief. 

Alexander and Cenric were watching him silently with mounting apprehension.

Waiting.

"What? What is it? What does it say?" Alexander asked impatiently.

Eventually, Cenric's eyes drifted away from the paper and started vacantly into the distance. 

His paw loosened, then flopped. The papers swayed from his grasp to the ground.

He tried to say something, but it was barely a whisper. They couldn't hear it.

"What?" Alexander was at his wits' end.

"Ah, they did..." Cenric was hyperventilating now. Mumbling and barely forming coherent sentences. 

"What is it, Cenric?" Ilyas asked more calmly.

Cenric gulped, finally blinked, then wrung his paws together. He took a deep, shuddering breath and said:

"The Salivitians... they ambushed and decimated the Nineteenth Procession from the east. No one made it out." 

He paused, took a deep breath and continued:

"Silversun, his coterie and their forces went to stop the large eastern offensive but lost at Rosa town. They were forced to retreat to Marianne Lake. They attacked him with a large combined force under the command of Lieutenants Gordon and Sera."