After a moment, she snaps back to reality and looks up at you.
A coy smile spreads across her face as she leans back and offers a soft, "Sorry about that." She breaks eye contact and turns around, searching for a tool she brought with her.
Lada turns back to reveal a flask of what appears to be whiskey and a hemp rag. You already cringe, knowing just how much pain can come from this treatment. She heads around behind you, toward your much more serious wound. She empties a small amount onto the rag and presses it against the cut, and you tense up, hissing through gritted teeth.
Lada turns around, discards the rag, and comes back with a needle and a line of catgut. You see the needle and sigh, hanging your head as you realize your fate. "Hold still," she mutters.
After experiencing so much training and violence, you have quite the pain tolerance. You show no outward reaction. However, you still feel pain. It hurts the same, even if you can bear it.
You settle in for a long and painful experience.
Next
You're not sure why you remain at the medical tent. You're not actually treating anyone. You're not even encouraging the men. You're just… watching. Watching as once-strong men writhe and bleed upon their straw beds.
All watching this does is hurt you. All it does is make you feel the aching responsibility. But it's because of this responsibility that you watch. But watching makes you feel helpless. It reminds you that there's nothing you can do.
And this helplessness makes you scream. It burns and burns.
But if you look away, you feel as if you're defying your responsibilities. A nagging portion of your mind asks why you must be responsible, but it's drowned away by the vast portion that once led the armies in Krorid.
You really never should have joined the sally. But you've been aching for a fight for so long. You've had no purpose for so long. Now you have one.
And it burns.
Without a purpose, you feel like you don't deserve to live anymore.
With a purpose, you feel like you don't deserve to live anymore.
You sigh and place your head in your hands.
Next
You move to exit the medical tent with your helmet under your arm and your discarded armor pieces slung over your shoulder. The coat of plates, as well as the hauberk, can bend, allowing it to be slung like an old rag or shirt.
As you make to leave, you nearly run into another soldier entering. You half leap, half step back to avoid the collision. He takes his own step back, holding his hands out to appear non-threatening.
"Sorry, Marshal! I nearly ran into you," the man says, and then you recognize him. It's the nobleman, Milon, that you met earlier. He's wearing no tunic, leaving his chest bare. A set of bandages is wrapped around his torso, stained red with blood seeping through.
"I won't count on it," he replies with a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
His tone becomes much more serious as he asks, "Have you seen my sister?"
You nod. "She's been assistin' with the wounded."
Milon chuckles to himself, some inside joke unknown to you. "I appreciate it, truly."
You nod again and shuffle past him, making to leave again. He calls out after you, "Stay safe, Marshal." You just offer him another noncommittal nod.
You have someone else very important to visit.
Next
The royal stables are quite the depressing sight. They too have been turned into a makeshift field hospital, this time for horses. Those horses that are uninjured are being rested, fed, and watered.
And you know Aurora is somewhere amongst them.
You check on the wounded horses, and sure enough, you find your Aurora, sat lazily on the ground, being cared for by an older stablehand. As you grow nearer, you suddenly realize that it's no stablehand. It's Velinor, the huntsman you met earlier.
You quickly approach, both Aurora and Velinor glancing up at you almost in unison. Aurora almost looks… annoyed. Velinor, however, cracks a smile at your appearance, stands up, and strolls toward you. He offers one of his massive hands.
With your free hand, you shake Velinor's, his grip tight and almost crushing. You tense up at the pain, and even more so after he gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Velinor heads back over to Aurora, sitting down next to her and motioning for you to follow. "Nice ta meet'cha again, Marshal."
You glance at your horse and then back to him, causing him to lean back, laughing. "It appears that your ol' Aurora likes me, my friend."
"Well," Velinor says as he rubs a gentle hand across Aurora's injured flank, "she's doin' a damn fine job at it."
"You've been bought in," you deadpan again.
Velinor just chuckles as he continues to massage the wounded animal.
You still have a nagging question. "How'd you know to patch her up?"
He pauses for a second and then says, "So ya see, I's with Darin last night, right?" He waits for a response, so you offer a small, confused nod. "And then he's sayin' that there's probably gonna be a battle on the morrow, right?"
Again, you nod. This satisfies him, and he continues. "And he's all like 'Velinor, buddy, I's need ya to do somethin'… somethin'—I dunno—Marshal's horse might get hurt.' And I's already know yer horse, right?"
"What?" you reply. He's met Aurora before?
"Oh yeah! Darin got me to tend to Aurora and Ashka, right? When ya first arrived them weeks ago, I's the one who took care of her," Velinor says, a hint of a pride in his voice.
"Is that so?" you ask, an eyebrow raised.
"Yup! I's good with horses. When ya hunt on them plains, see, ya gotta chase the damned deer or what have ye on horseback, usin' a bow and shite. Is dangerous work, but…" Velinor trails off. You stare at him with a blank expression.
"Shite, sorry, I's gettin' off topic. Doesn't matter anyways. Just know if ya need anythin' done to yer horses, I'm yer man."
"I'll keep that in mind," you reply.
"Anyways, Marshal, I's know yer a busy man, so I's not gonna take up anymore of yer time. Get outta here, I'll make sure Aurora is all right."
Velinor offers you a final goodbye, and you make your way back to the palace.
Next
Two days have passed. Two gruesome days where even more men have died as the insidious rot begins to set in. Men, laid low by their wounds, are killed in their sleep by the fevers that imbalance the humours and corrupt the body from the inside out.
You wandered those accursed streets, listening to the wails as amputations were performed, wrists were slit to drain their bad blood, and all manner of foul elixirs were drunk to cast away this corruption.
And the funerals have been nonstop.
So many nobles and knights were killed. Many families are trapped within the walls of Wrido, and now have lost a brother or a father. The bodies cannot be left to rot, so they're buried within royal lands. You know not the legality of it all.
Those whose bodies are trapped beyond the walls are simply left to rot. Rigor mortis has long since ended, and the opportunistic rebels strip the knights and nobles of their armor before decay sets in and removal becomes much more difficult.
And the damned ravens have started their gory feast.
Next
Belos's body has already been embalmed. The coffin is open, allowing you to take one last look at him before he's lowered into the earth. Not a single tear falls from your eyes.
He's being buried in the royal graveyard, outside of the cathedral, in a plot next to Sobik's own. Many other plots have been dug, awaiting the death of those in the hospital.
It is a morbid sight.
Vedran stands in a near trance, watching as his brother is buried beneath the soil. Though his wounds still impact his mobility and cause him pain, he very much insisted upon being present for it.
Mass has already been said. Final words have been spoken. The workmen bring their shovels to the dirt, piling it upon the coffin. Vedran continues to stare blankly.
You watch this sight from only a few feet behind Vedran, arms crossed and mind alert.
Most of the other guests have already left. Those who remain are members of the royal family: Elya, Mira, and of course, Vedran. You know that Darin is watching from an even greater distance, staying hidden but still watching.
Not many others attended this funeral. The boy king's only exploit was killing off a chunk of Kanton's nobility. Wanton violence doesn't attract many admirers.
And many who would have attended lay in the dirt or on a sick bed.
Vedran turns around and steps toward you.
Next
Vedran approaches, taking a position by your side. A few seconds pass, as if he's building up the strength to ask something. Finally, he says, voice shaky and unsure, "What… do I do?"
"Elaborate," you reply flatly.
Vedran sighs and says, "I… I'm king now. I… I need your help."
You wonder how to break the news to him.
Vedran's face turns from shock to outrage in seconds. His voice escalates as he turns toward you, looking up into your cunning eyes.
"You dare?" he asks, voice escalating. "You dare!"
This sudden flurry of activity gains the attention of everyone remaining in the area. Mira and Elya look over from their place of mourning, while the gravediggers look up from their work, clearly uncomfortable at the sight of Vedran shouting you down.
You stare back, unflinching, showing no fear and yielding no ground. "I would ask of you to read this note."
Vedran takes a small step back, extending his hand. "Show me." His voice is brimming with barely restrained fury.
You reach into your satchel, retrieving the folded-up parchment without breaking eye contact. He snatches it from your grasp as soon as you hold it out for him. As he reads it, his expression drops.
Vedran looks back up at you, dropping the note to the side. He starts shaking his head, over and over in denial. His eyes snap to yours as he blurts out, voice sounding panicked, "Y-you forged this. You… you're a… a… damned liar!"
Vedran shouts the final word, causing Mira to begin herding Elya away. Elya peeks around Mira's arm, trying to watch the scene unfold. Mira begins to shout for the guards, frantically gesturing toward the scene unfolding.
Your mind kicks into overdrive as Vedran takes a step closer. You take a step back, one hand on your hip, ready to draw your blade at a moment's notice.
"Why must… why did… stop lying!" His hand reaches for his own scabbard, and he draws his sword. Such an aggressive move sends adrenaline through you.
"Must we draw blades over your brother's grave?" you ask with a sigh, staying completely calm.
Vedran tenses up and blankly stares at his blade, gazing into his reflection. Suddenly, his focus is back on you as he says, "Stop lying. It's… not real. It has to be fake!"
You shake your head. "It's real. Elya inherits before you."
"Why?"
"I am not Sobik. I do not know," you reply.
As he meets your eyes, you can see tears beginning to form.
"I know how it feels," you say calmly.
"But… you're the bastard… and I…"
"I know," you reply. "It's not fair. Nothing ever is. How about we calm down before one of us gets hurt, aye?"
Vedran sighs and sheathes his weapon. He then says, voice filled with furious determination, "I am not stepping down. I don't care… what Father said."