"Reports from the battle weren't very good," Edelgard acknowledged. "We took three hundred fifty men to retake the Ailell crossing. More than half of them were either killed or injured too badly to continue serving. Add to that the seventy-three killed in the initial attack. This goddess-forsaken place took two hundred and fifty-two soldiers."

"But you did take it," Byleth reminded her. "And they won't have another location as defensible as the Valley of Torment."

"Do you know how many of the Knights of Styx were reported killed?" Edelgard asked. "Nine. 252 of our soldiers died or were seriously injured, all to kill nine Agarthan shock troops. This was not a victory."

"Sometimes victory comes at a steep price," Byleth said. "The only thing you can do is learn from it."

"You sound like a teacher tutoring a student," Edelgard said. "Do you not care that hundreds of people just died?"

"Of course I care," Byleth said harshly. "But fretting will not bring them back to life. The only way you can prevent more from dying is by making sure you don't fall into a trap like this again. And I sound like a teacher because I am a teacher. So, what do you think you could have done differently?"

"Let me think," Edelgard mused. "I could have had the Valley of Torment scouted better; perhaps that would have averted what happened to Randolph's men. I could have made better use of our wyvern riders."

"Heavy wyvern cavalry probably would have been reasonably effective against the thralls," Byleth agreed. "Though we don't have that many of them. Wyvern riders are more common within the Alliance. They would have been effective support for the pikemen, though."

The two continued discussing strategy. Nicodemus would not catch them unaware again.

"I'll kill them! I'll kill them all!" Dimitri raged. "I'll tear Thales apart, and rip out Cornelia's spine! I will burn Nicodemus until he can't heal another wound!"

"Nicodemus is not yours to kill," Jeritza insisted. "I will end his miserable existence. After everything he did to me, I am owed that much."

"You were hardly the only person he wronged," Dimitri told him. "I will see those responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur punished. You can aid me, or stay out of my way."

"You do not want to walk my path," Jeritza warned the young prince. "It will consume you as it consumes me. Would your friends wish to see you become an animal, unable to turn from your rage? What happens when your rage brings innocents to harm?"

"You have no right to lecture me," Dimitri said.

"No, I think I am the only one with that right," Jeritza told him. "I would give anything to turn away from my path. But I cannot. I am and must remain a monster. You, however, still have a choice."

Dimitri came to a realization. "Is this truly about revenge?"

"The Crest Stone in Nicodemus's chest belonged to Flayn's grandfather," Jeritza eventually admitted. "I can offer little in the way of amends for how I wronged her. But I can at least return the Crest Stone to her. Perhaps it would bring her family a bit of peace."

Dimitri sighed. "Very well. I believe I fought an opponent imbued with the same Crest. Nicodemus can heal from virtually any injury, but he can be strangled like any other man. Cut off his airflow and he will die."

Jeritza nodded. Dimitri continued, "I will allow you to kill him without getting in your way. But tell me, can you truly not turn away from your path? Or are you just too much of a coward to face the consequences of your actions?"

Jeritza didn't answer.

In the privacy of his tent, Hubert removed his gloves and looked at the sigils he had carved into his hands. Black as ink, and the darkness was beginning to spread outward. "That's not good." Quickly, he set up his cleansing ritual, drew the containment circle around himself, and reopened the wounds in the center of each sigil. The blood that poured out was pitch black, and smelled like death. Eventually, once the sigils had faded, he closed the wounds.

A voice came from the entrance to the tent. "What happened to your blood?" Hubert looked up and saw Ferdinand enter the tent.

"Dark magic pollution," Hubert answered. "Without the resistance a Crest would grant, I need to do this to keep the corruption at bay. Even then, it's not entirely effective."

"And you have to do this after every battle?" he asked.

"Not every battle. Just when too much of the corruption has built up." Hubert sighed. "It will eventually corrupt me, or possibly just kill me very painfully. But I can stave it off."

"Then why keep using Dark Magic?" Ferdinand asked. "You could just use ordinary Reason Magic."

"Because I am addicted," Hubert confessed. "And as a result, when I do try to use ordinary Reason Magic, it is greatly weakened. I can't afford that. I can't stay on the sidelines, and I can't go into battle at half strength. Too much is at stake."

"What if you could use this?" Ferdinand asked, handing Hubert the Arrow of Indra. "It's meant to be as powerful as one of the Heroes' Relics."

Hubert took the magic lance, and felt its power. "Why give me this?"

"Because if you succumbed to corruption and I could have prevented it, it would be my fault," Ferdinand told him. "It would weigh on my conscience if you killed someone as a result, and a friend would be upset if you died. Take it."

Hubert nodded. Guilt was something he understood all too well.