The roar of the crowd still echoed in their ears as Nacht and Ashley exited the arena. The thrill of victory was overshadowed by a heavy silence that settled between them. The reality of their actions weighed heavily on Ashley, her mind replaying the gruesome images of the battle.
Nacht walked with a steady gait, his eyes fixed ahead, while Ashley trailed behind, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. She couldn't shake the memory of Frode's severed head, the lifeless eyes staring up at her, and the way the crowd had reveled in the bloodshed.
"Are you alright?" Nacht's voice broke through her reverie, startling her.
Ashley looked up, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that hid whatever turmoil might lie beneath. "I... I don't know," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Is this what it means to fight in the arena? To become a monster?"
Nacht sighed, a rare moment of vulnerability showing in his eyes. "It's not easy, Ashley. The arena demands blood and spectacle. To survive, you have to be willing to do things you never thought you could."
Ashley shook her head, trying to reconcile the man she knew with the ruthless fighter she had seen in the arena. "But at what cost, Nacht? Is victory worth losing our humanity?"
Nacht looked away for a moment before responding. "I don't know. I already lost it a long time ago, and I don't think I'll be able to reclaim it anytime soon. You'll have to decide the answer to that question by yourself."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger from the Duke. "The Duke requests your presence," the messenger said, bowing slightly.
Nacht nodded, his face hardening once more. "We'll be there shortly."
As they followed the messenger, Ashley couldn't help but wonder how much more of this she could take. The path they were on was fraught with moral dilemmas and dark choices. She glanced at Nacht, seeing the resolve in his eyes, and knew that she had to find her own strength if they were to make it through this ordeal together.
The messenger led them up the hill to the duke's grand mansion. They passed through the courtyard and entered the duke's chambers. The messenger knocked on the door. "My lord, I have arrived with the Black and Silver Blade, as you requested."
"You may enter," the duke's calm and composed voice responded from the other side. The messenger ushered Nacht and Ashley inside before departing.
The duke observed the two standing before him. "My, you certainly know how to put on a show for the crowd," he chuckled, gesturing at Nacht's bloodied clothes. "You have done well and advanced to the next round. I expected nothing less from the infamous Black Blade." He stepped towards Nacht, intending to touch him, but Nacht instantly raised his blade, pointing it at the duke's throat.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Duke. We are not here for your praise," Nacht said, his glare icy.
Ashley, sensing the tension, decided to stay silent and observe.
The duke backed off, clapping his hands as he chuckled. He then took a seat, gesturing for Nacht and Ashley to do the same. Nacht closed his eyes and sighed before sheathing his blade.
The duke poured tea for the three of them and then looked up at Nacht and Ashley. "First of all, your next opponents," he said, sliding a letter across the table. Nacht picked it up and read aloud, "Liphia and Seraphina. Twin sister warriors from a distant land in the east, across the black ocean. They finished their first bout in a matter of seconds with their fast-paced and coordinated attacks."
Ashley glanced at Nacht before looking back at the letter. "They use hidden weapons and traps, and their main weapons are spears," Nacht continued. When he finished, he set the letter down and looked at the duke. "Why are you telling us this?" he asked.
The duke smirked. "Because I want more spectacle from you, Black Blade. Give them a vicious death, and the audience will be thrilled. You've proven you can accomplish that."
"And why should we do that?" Ashley asked angrily.
"Because if you do, you'll get this information before each of your next battles, making it easier to advance to the next round," the duke explained, focusing on Nacht. "Isn't this a good deal, Black Blade?"
Ashley looked at Nacht desperately, hoping for a different response. But her hopes were dashed when Nacht nodded and sighed. "It is."
"Nacht!" Ashley shouted, disappointed. "We're already fighting to the death, but giving them an even more cruel death is too much!" she exclaimed, looking at Nacht, who remained focused on the letter, ignoring her outburst.
The duke chuckled. "Of course you will. You are the ruthless Black Blade, after all."
Ashley slumped back into her chair, closing her eyes. The duke noticed her despair and smiled. "The arena is entertainment for monsters, Silver Blade, and monsters crave brutality and blood," he explained.
Ashley sighed, still looking down. "Yes, and we're becoming one of them by participating," she said quietly.
The duke burst out laughing. "Exactly! That is what a gladiator from Nira is!"
"Very well," Nacht said, standing up and leaving. Ashley remained seated for a while longer before reluctantly following Nacht.
Confrontation in the Market
"Nacht!" Ashley called out, following him through the market. "Why are we doing this?" she asked angrily. "This is not what I signed up for, Nacht!" She protested, but Nacht kept walking, ignoring her. Frustrated, she grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "Look at me when I speak to you!" she shouted.
Nacht turned to face her, his expression devoid of emotion. Ashley sighed, trying to find the right words. "I just… this isn't right, Nacht. The fight is already to the death. Making their deaths even more brutal isn't something we should do. We are not monsters."
Nacht's gaze remained cold. "I told you already. I've been a monster for a long time, and that won't change. You said you would do anything to win. Now it seems you're backing down."
"I'm not," Ashley insisted. "I just don't understand why we should do it. It's not necessary. We can win and advance to the next rounds without resorting to such methods."
Nacht shook his head. "We are fortunate now, yes. But later, we will face opponents who have survived multiple rounds, who are powerful and capable of killing in cold blood. We need all the information we can get to beat them. As long as we do what the duke requests, we will receive that information."
Ashley knew he had a point, but the idea of giving other competitors a more brutal death didn't sit right with her, especially after witnessing the horrifying sight of Frode's severed head in their last battle.
Seeking Solace
After their tense discussion, Nacht and Ashley parted ways. Nacht felt the weight of Ashley's words pressing on his mind and needed to clear his head. He wandered through the market until he found a small, dimly lit tavern. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to the noise and chaos of the arena. He found a seat at the bar and ordered a drink, hoping it would help him sort through his thoughts.
Meanwhile, Ashley returned to the inn where her mother, Livia, was waiting. As she entered their modest room, Livia looked up, concern etched on her face.
"Ashley, is everything alright?" Livia asked gently.
Ashley sat down heavily, the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the day catching up with her. "I don't know, Mom. Nacht wants us to do terrible things in the arena to gain an advantage. I'm not sure I can go along with it."
Livia listened intently, reaching out to hold her daughter's hand. "Tell me what happened," she encouraged softly.
Ashley recounted the events of the day, from the duke's proposal to Nacht's insistence on following through with it. She expressed her fears and doubts, her voice trembling with emotion.
"I just don't understand how Nacht can be so cold," Ashley said, tears welling up in her eyes. "He talks about being a monster, but I can't accept that. There has to be another way."
Livia squeezed Ashley's hand, her expression thoughtful. "Nacht has been through a lot, Ashley. Sometimes, people build walls around their hearts to protect themselves. But I believe there's still good in him, even if he doesn't see it himself."
"But what should I do?" Ashley asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How can I fight beside him when I feel this way?"
Livia smiled gently. "You have to be true to yourself, Ashley. If you believe in compassion and mercy, hold on to those values. Show Nacht that strength doesn't always come from brutality. Sometimes, it's the courage to stay kind in a cruel world that makes the biggest difference."
Ashley nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Thank you, Mom. I needed to hear that."
Livia hugged her daughter tightly. "We'll get through this together, Ashley. Just remember, no matter what happens, as long as we stay together, we will be alright."
Echoes of Conscience
In the hazy atmosphere of the tavern, Nacht's mind swam in a sea of ale, each gulp a futile attempt to silence the storm of moral conflict raging within him. Ashley's words, sharp and cutting, echoed relentlessly in his mind, a relentless reminder of the humanity he sought to bury beneath layers of hardened resolve.
Suddenly, a cacophony of shouts shattered the relative quietude of the tavern, drawing Nacht's attention like a magnet. Two figures clashed amidst the chaos, their voices rising in a crescendo of anguish and fury.
"You bastard! You killed my daughter!" cried out the grief-stricken father, his eyes ablaze with raw emotion.
"So what? She knew the risks of the arena! Don't take it out on me because she was too weak to even reach the main event!" retorted the gladiator, his tone cold and callous.
"Too weak?! She was just a girl!" shouted the father, his voice choked with grief and rage.
"Look old man. It isn't my fault that you are such a terrible father that you let your daughter fight in the arena. It isn't my responsibility to prevent her from entering, it is yours. No need to get mad at me for your own mistakes!" countered the gladiator, his words dripping with scorn.
"You—You bastard!" seethed the father, charging towards the gladiator, knife in hand.
The gladiator, trained and ready, easily evaded the knife and threw the father to the ground. As he stood over him, mace in hand, he taunted, "This is the weapon that killed your daughter. I struck her over and over, and she kept struggling, trying to escape, screaming, crying, and begging me to spare her. I stepped on her hand, twisted my foot over it before staring her deep in the eyes. Want to know what I whispered to her?"
But before he could finish, Nacht, slurring his words, intervened, shouting, "Shut up, will you!?"
With a guttural growl of frustration, he seized the gladiator by the collar, his grip unyielding as he hurled him through the nearest wall with a force that shook the very foundation of the tavern.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Nacht stumbled through the hole in the wall, towering over the fallen gladiator. His thoughts raced, a tumultuous mix of anger and self-doubt, as he crouched down, his voice low and menacing as he whispered, "What did you whisper to her?"
The gladiator, gasping for air, attempted to rise, but Nacht stepped on his hand, pressing him back down. "What? Are you scared?" Nacht asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he grabbed the gladiator's mace that lay nearby. Outside, the rain began to fall, and a crowd gathered around the two, eager spectators to the impending confrontation.
"What did you whisper to her?" Nacht's voice was low, carrying a menacing undertone.
The gladiator's gaze met Nacht's, his expression defiant. "A pity for such a young girl. How your skull will crunch each time my mace strikes it until you finally gasp your last breath. This is where you die, alone. No one to help you," he spat out the words, his tone filled with fear.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Nacht's lips as he slowly raised the mace above his head. "A pity indeed," he echoed the gladiator's words, his voice chillingly calm. "This is where you meet your end, just as you promised her."
Begging for mercy, the gladiator's pleas fell on deaf ears as Nacht delivered blow after blow with the mace, each strike met with horrified gasps from the onlookers.
Suddenly, the father lunged forward, desperation etched on his face. "Stop!" he cried out, a mixture of grief and rage in his voice.
Nacht's smirk widened as he noticed the father's intervention. Stepping aside, he offered the mace to the grieving father. "Take justice into your own hands," he whispered, his eyes glinting with a dark intensity.
With a trembling hand, the father raised the weapon high above his head, his breaths ragged and uneven. For a moment, the tavern seemed to hold its breath, anticipation thick in the air. But then, with a sudden burst of emotion, the father let the mace fall to the ground, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his grief.
As the father walked away, leaving Nacht, the gladiator, and the stunned crowd behind, Nacht's expression twisted with confusion and anger. "Why? Why?!" he shouted into the chaos, his voice filled with frustration. His momentary satisfaction at finding another monster like himself vanished, replaced by a bitter sense of disappointment and self-hate.
The gladiator's desperate struggles only fueled Nacht's rage, his grip tightening around the man's throat with each passing moment. Blood trickled down the gladiator's face, mingling with the saliva that dripped from his trembling lips as he fought for breath.
From the corner of his eye, Nacht caught sight of two guards pushing through the crowd, their weapons drawn and faces set in grim determination. "Let him down!" one of them barked, his voice laced with authority as he pointed a rifle at Nacht's head.
Ignoring the command, Nacht tightened his hold on the gladiator's throat, his eyes blazing with a primal fury. The second guard moved to intervene, reaching for Nacht's arm in an attempt to pry him away from his captive.
With a snarl of defiance, Nacht seized the guard by the throat, hoisting him up with an effortless strength that belied his slender frame. The guard's eyes widened in terror as he struggled to break free, his air supply cut off by Nacht's iron grip.
Suddenly, the crack of a rifle echoed through the street, the bullet striking Nacht in the shoulder with a sickening thud. Pain flared through his body, momentarily weakening his grip on the guard in his grasp.
With a gasp of relief, the guard dropped to the ground, scrambling away to safety as the gladiator seized the opportunity to flee. But Nacht's wound quickly began to heal, the torn flesh knitting itself back together before the eyes of the stunned onlookers.
Fueled by a newfound surge of strength, Nacht turned his attention to the remaining guard, his eyes blazing with an unholy fire. Another shot rang out, but Nacht pressed on undeterred, his relentless advance sending a wave of terror rippling through the crowd.
Just as the guard prepared to fire again, a carriage pulled up between them, its door swinging open to reveal the imposing figure of the duke. Without hesitation, the duke seized Nacht's hand, dragging him into the safety of the carriage before riding off into the night, leaving the guard and the shocked bystanders in his wake.