The dynasts surround the perimeter of the field. Most are on horses, but I think there might be some on flying beasts. Nevertheless, I think there's no escape.
Some of our soldiers are more battered than I thought. Actually, there's a few major injuries, and Stahl's armor is rather clearly broken. And that mage, Henry, appears to be covered in blood.
...actually, it could be someone else's, given Henry's profession.
I have to admit, I thought that we'd beat the Conqueror here and that would be it. How did he survive? That blow should have been lethal. Any of us would fall to that blow...and yet be didn't. The Conqueror is truly frightening.
But on the matter at hand. The dynasts.
Not many of our soldiers ride horses or flying beasts. Stahl does, Frederick does, Cherche does, and Cordelia does. That's it. Even though horses are amazing in war, there's not many here who ride them.
Robin appears to be surveying the terrain. He's surely figured out something. His eyes dart from spot to spot, never lingering. Chrom, who stands by his tactician, slowly draws his sword. Frederick fidgets, moving slightly closer to the rest of the group. Lucina's eyes are as cold as ice. What emotion they have held is gone. Her own sword, Falchion, is drawn. It gleams in the midday sun.
I didn't notice it before, but Lucina's stance is a lot different from Chrom's. I guess I didn't have the eye for it, but her feet are planted differently, her sword is ready at a different angle...almost everything has been changed subtly or sometimes completely revamped.
The rest of the army stands at the ready.
"Hold, sir! Look!" Say'ri calls out.
Robin notices what she says and looks over the dynasts' forces once more. He yells back, "I see. The dynasts. They're under a different flag. And they're preparing for a siege."
"This...this boggles the mind," Say'ri says. "They betrayed us for the empire." She sheathes her sword and a smile begins to emerge on her lips.
"It seems as if their allegiance is clear enough now," Flavia says, resting her sword on her shoulder.
Say'ri looks over the force that has gathered. "Their lands were the lands under my brother's control. Have they come to answer the call to arms at long last?"
"It's taken a lot of hard work. Not to mention sacrifice," Flavia says. "Basilio, not to mention many of my soldiers, died to give us this chance. We must seize the day!"
Chrom nods. "Let us finish this war. It has gone on long enough!" Chrom holds Falchion above his head, and the sunlight gleams off the blade. It seems to glow. Almost like something from a movie poster.
Robin looks at the capital, then back to the dynasts. His gaze is cold.
We march on the capital. The dynasts follow. What remains of the Feroxi army also stands by us. Most were wiped out during the assault right before I was found, but about a hundred men remain. Add to that the almost uncountable men that make up the dynasts' armies, and the handful that our smaller army is made of.
The capital is massive and foreboding. It looms over us. While I look at it, a chill crawls up my spine slowly. An ever-present feeling of dread lurches up from my gut and makes itself known again.
Somehow I know something will go wrong in there.
I turn to Robin, who is walking forward with a confident stride. I step beside him and match my pace to his. He greets me with a quick, "John. Is there something you need?"
My question is sort of lingering within the back of my brain, but the words come out slowly. "I, uh, was just wondering. Why do you keep me with your army?"
"Well," Robin says, still walking, "you have no skills. You haven't demonstrated any skills in any of the arts, I haven't seen you volunteer to cook, and you are of no use on the battlefield. So why do I keep you around?" He looks at the ground. "You don't deserve to be abandoned in a field. You are a man with no nation and no past. I was the same. If you want to leave, we'll just leave you in the next town. But I want you to know that you can stay with us."
Huh. I can leave...
No, even if I left, there would be no way to get home. Even if it takes a hundred years, I will return. My friends...I will fight to return to you. That is my cause.
Robin interrupts my musing. "I would like you to take some weapons lessons, though."
The capital's doors fall down. The siege is finished. Well, there wasn't much time to erect defenses.
The capital's inside is a long hall, with stairs every so often to signal an ascent. From here, I can't quite make out who sits on the throne, but I have a good feeling who's sitting there.
The dynasts march in. They aren't on their horses, of course. Who ever heard of someone riding a horse inside a building? It's absurd.
The remainder of Walhart's army - those that weren't killed retreating into the capital - have already arranged themselves into formation.
Gotta say - pretty efficient army to have them retreat and not be a completely disorganized mess. Maybe most of the army were actually waiting in here, already organized and ready for us to overextend ourselves into their trap. Well, that's what the Mongols did when they conquered cities. They'd make the appearance of retreating over a hill, and as the enemy chased them, their soldiers who were lying in wait would counterattack in greater numbers. And they conquered a lot of the known world, so they're not idiots when it comes to tactics.
Thank you, history teacher, for ranting for nearly two hours on the Mongols.
The dynasts and Feroxi, however, crush the probably demoralized soldiers and work their way down the massive hall. Our force is quick in catching up and joining the fight.
The whole army reaches the first set of stairs. They march their way up, weapons still ready.
From what they've left behind, though...
Corpses litter the floor. Not just Valmese, too. The dynasts' have taken losses, along with the Feroxi army. The sight is horrifying. My stomach churns just looking at it.
Is this what "peace" is built on?
The army reaches a particularly fierce bunch of armored knights led by a man with large, hefty armor.
Behind them...
Excellus.
The man whose face has been tormenting me for days. He looks terrible. His robe is disheveled and lacks the sadistic grin he once wore. His face is now one of panic, one that says he is out of his element.
Frederick's hammer comes down on the last general in charge of the armored knights. Almost simultaneously, Cordelia stabs another one with a steel lance, and then rises up, switches weapons, and swoops down with a javelin in hand.
Excellus is dead. Impaled on a javelin. In death, he is still not handsome.
The army continues down the hall. I follow, through the corpse trail. My mind is turned to whatever god might be there. Please let these souls rest. Do not let them suffer in hell.
The noise of battle stops abruptly.
What is left of the dynasts' force, along with the remaining Feroxi and our army, have formed around the throne. On an elevated platform, Chrom stands across from Walhart.
"There is nothing left to say," Walhart yells. "What you call peace is nothing more than a dream - empty words surrounded by naive ideals. I will unite humanity! That is the only way peace can exist!"
"You're wrong. I will fight to the end for the peace that my sister believed in!"
"Then there is no hope, young prince. You can drown in the naive ideals you hold...and die without ever realizing your folly."
And then the two clash blades.
No - that is not the right word. It's something more than mere clashing of metal. It is a clashing of souls.
Chrom's sword dances around Walhart's axe, but there is no opening for attack. Walhart's axe, in turn, can not hit the young prince. The two who believe in different types of peace fight without words, letting their weapons decide who is right and who is wrong.
And then Walhart's axe finds its mark. Chrom's side erupts with blood. I think a rib cracked, too. It's a severe wound. If he gets hit again, that's game over. No continues in reality.
Chrom regains his balance and strikes for Walhart. The swing connects, and it manages to make a sizable dent in Walhart's armor.
Dents aren't fatal, though. Chrom needs to break the armor.
"Father! Catch!"
The yell comes from the left. Lucina throws a sword right for Chrom. Chrom grabs it, plants Falchion several inches into the ground, and holds an even larger sword.
"An Armorslayer?" Walhart says.
Ah. I see. That sword is effective against armor. Using it against Walhart is a pretty smart move.
Chrom is battered, but he can still swing a sword. Walhart is almost completely unharmed. But now Chrom has a better sword.
He swings. The swing has a lot behind it, and it's aimed right for the torso. Walhart doesn't manage to block it in time. His armor is cracked in several places.
Now Chrom is back on the offensive. With every swing, Walhart is pushed back, the armor slowly gaining more cracks. Walhart tries to block, but Chrom effortlessly disarms him. He pulls out a pair of broadswords and blocks the next strike.
Chrom attacks and attacks, moving from attack to follow-through and right back into attack. Above all else, though, he's yelling at the top of his lungs. It is nothing intelligible, just a vocalization of rage.
Walhart is silent, blocking every blow with his twin swords.
And then, with a guttural scream, Chrom swings from above his head. Walhart blocks with one of the two swords and it shatters in his hand.
"Impossible-!"
And Chrom swings right for the torso. The already broken armor gives way, and Walhart stumbles backwards. That last strike was fatal.
"Did you learn anything today, Prince?" Walhart says, his voice almost disinterested. "The way to peace...is not through words. Sometimes...the sword is the way to...true peace..."
With those words, Walhart falls to the ground. The Conqueror is dead.
It's over...