Author's Note: One Character Challenge prompt # 12 - "Ernest Hemingway once wrote, 'The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.' I agree with the second part." - William Somerset (played by Morgan Freeman) in "Seven".
Warnings: None.
The sun was just peeking over the ridge behind him as Sephiroth stared down at the valley below, watching as the small village began its daily activities. The figures that emerged from the tiny huts seemed unbothered by the cold grey light, several of them heading for the well at the centre of the village while others trudged off to the marshy fields they cultivated.
It didn't look like much. The huts would probably be scorned as garden sheds by most people's standards, although he was aware that below-Plate they might be grateful for even that. Raggedy constructions of mud, bamboo and grasses, Sephiroth had been inside one in another village. It had held a musty smell, although that might have been disuse, and a lingering sense of dampness. He wondered if these were any better.
It was a stark contrast to the sterile labs he'd grown up in, and he couldn't imagine living in one. But then, he already preferred the tents and mud he'd been living with these past few months to the labs and their pristine surfaces, so maybe he would have less trouble with it than he thought.
His bird shifted restlessly behind him, and he reached a hand back, patting it absently as he counted heads.
This was a scouting expedition, to establish whether there was any fighting presence along the planned route of advance. Nobody here resembled soldiers, that was for sure, but he'd come to realise that that didn't mean much. One of his units had been nearly wiped out in another village, because they disregarded the implements being used in the fields as weapons. The sight of a head split open by a hoe had been a persuasive argument otherwise.
It was one of the many things Sephiroth found fascinating about Wutai. He supposed, as he was here to conquer the place, he shouldn't have much interest in the people, but they were so different from those he was used to, and not simply in appearance. They had elaborate rituals and customs that he'd had to search hard to find the reasons for, but many of them stretched back centuries.
After successfully claiming one territory, they'd taken over a local mansion as a command post. The elderly noblewoman who was the only remaining resident had insisted on performing an intricate tea ceremony with himself and several of his officers as guests, because it was her duty as hostess; Sephiroth wondered if anybody had explained to her that they were not there as guests, but invaders, and if maybe there was some plot to poison them. As such, he insisted that he would be the only one to take part, excusing the others from it with various 'duties' that couldn't wait.
To his surprise, Sephiroth found it relaxing, watching the graceful movements with which the tea was served, the lack of any haste to get it over with and on to the next job.
He'd asked his hostess if she didn't find the whole thing unnecessarily time consuming. The look she gave him in response suggested he'd just crawled out from under a rock, and had the appropriate lack of manners. It was refreshing, as even among his own men few would dare to challenge him on anything, and here a defeated enemy acted as if she still counted herself his superior in every way that counted. And then proceeded to deliver an hour-long lecture on the proper etiquette for such an occasion.
The fighters he'd come up against were fierce, proud, and unwilling to give any ground. And even the villagers, armed with little more than knives, staves and garden tools, would ardently defend their muddy little patches of dirt.
He tried to imagine the average Midgaran trying to hold off a unit from ShinRa with as little to defend themselves, and couldn't. In all likelihood, they'd simply give in, especially if money was offered as an incentive. Sephiroth had often thought it was possible for ShinRa to buy anyone, and so far little evidence had been found to the contrary. The regulars in ShinRa's army fought for a paycheck. The SOLDIERs often had slightly different motivations - some wanted a challenge, some wanted to be the best, some had reasons they never shared – but at the end of the day, they fought for ShinRa because ShinRa paid them and made them what they were.
These people fought for nothing. What difference did it make to some villager who ruled their nation? Many of them rarely heard anything from the government anyway, and there was the possibility that with ShinRa in charge, their lives would improve. Higher incomes, better technology, reliable electricity – all of these things should have been persuasive enough without requiring an extensive military campaign to make it clear that ShinRa was also far stronger than they would ever be.
It was completely irrational.
On the whole, he found a lot that was interesting about the Wutai. But Sephiroth fought for a different reason: fighting was the purpose for which he was made. He didn't have a home to defend as the villagers below did, but he still had no intention of losing. Extensive years of tests, treatments and training had all been for the purpose of making him the best fighter he could possibly be. To fight with anything less than his best efforts would be to act as if none of that mattered.
Sephiroth wondered if any of them would understand. He supposed it was also a form of pride; perhaps they would understand his motivations better than he understood theirs. He dismissed the thought as irrelevant as he mounted his bird again and turned it back towards the way he'd come.
Perhaps some of them would understand the need for him to fight to the best of his abilities, but that didn't mean they'd find it any easier to accept their inevitable defeat.