Matt's anger seethed within him, rising like a tempest, and all he could think about was lunging at the Viceroy, his fingers wrapping around that arrogant throat and sending his soul straight to oblivion.
But just as his muscles tensed, ready to spring, he heard a soft sigh beside him. His commander's quiet exhale, a single, subtle sound, cut through the storm in his mind.
Reluctantly, Matt held himself back, his fury simmering beneath the surface like a predator forced to remain still.
"Don't make me laugh, Sin! You have absolutely no clue how the battlefield works, do you? Within that blood-tainted wasteland, there is no such thing as honor. No right or wrong when you are holding a weapon that took lives."
"What honor is there to be held when you are drenched in your enemies' blood? The simple answer is that there is none! It's not some school race where one trips and falls and the other helps the person up."
"This is a warzone we are talking about where the only thing on anyone's mind is to survive. By hook or by crook, whether you are forced to kill your enemies or you have to sever your own rotting leg to survive."
"You've lost the reason of honor once you've taken your blade up on the battlefield," scolded Mavislin, utterly disgusted at how her underling had viewed the concept of honor on a battlefield.
"I have to agree on the Viceroy's point... The whole thing about doing this or that for honor or morals is nothing more than an excuse. I'd rather be honest than live and walk amongst my own lies," continued the angered dragoness as she glanced at Zenos.
"Shadow... I can't seem to understand why you would side with the Viceroy's thinking..." asked Matt, seemingly defeated that his own boss would chide him.
"Why are you so worked up for lives that never mattered to you in the first place?" quizzed Mavislin, leaning back to shift her position.
Matt's gaze darted nervously towards his superior, anxiety etched into his features as he worried about the consequences of his defiance. Despite his unease, the rabbit's determination remained unshaken.
He was resolute in his decision to confront Zenos, driven by the need to demonstrate to Mavislin that the Viceroy was not to be trusted.
"Because they are still lives… No matter what, those were people who had their own families, ambitions, and wishes. They will always matter to me because I have compassion. Because I view them as more than just flesh and bone."
"I view them for who they are, the same way you view your younglings, Mav. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been an adventurer in the first place," explained Matt as he tried his best to keep his composure.
"My younglings are mostly given to me by the selection process of the Syndicate. You are the only exception because I took an interest in your fighting style and needed a tank."
"I do not view my younglings the way you've assumed," replied Mavislin, with her eyes coldly glazed over.
Mattheos stood in stunned silence, his jaw slack in disbelief at the dragoness's unexpected response. The situation had clearly tilted to a two-against-one scenario, leaving the rabbit with little hope of prevailing.
Meanwhile, Zenos observed Mavislin with a growing sense of recognition. Her words and actions reflected an eerily similar mindset as if he were peering into a mirror.
This realization brought a faint smile to his lips, a rare flicker of satisfaction at finding a kindred spirit in the very person he had chosen.
"How could you… Say that…" whispered Matt, devastated at Mavislin's uncaring nature towards the matter.
"If we let ourselves be paralyzed by the loss of lives instead of pressing on with our fight, then we fail in our roles as leaders. As a Viceroy, I am tasked with making decisions for numerous nations, and I cannot afford to be immobilized by grief."
"If I allowed myself to mourn every fallen soul, I would lose the next battle before it even began. This is not just cold pragmatism—it's my method for showing you that I am not merely a madman wallowing in bloodshed."
"The truth is, my true passion lies in standing on the frontlines, weapon in hand, engaging death itself in a deadly dance," added Zenos, folding his arms across his chest.
Matt was on the verge of protesting again, but he hesitated as conflicting thoughts surged through his mind. The Viceroy had a point; there was a reason why both Mavislin and Zenos were respected leaders in their own domains.
It was also possible, he realized, for someone to possess a passion that didn't necessarily interfere with their responsibilities. Even if said passion was to experience the thrill of the battlefield.