Author's Notes: This chapter is divided up into a lots of little sections. The main reason is that a lot of the latter half of the Death Corps saga was really just a bunch of meaningless fights that should have been a lot shorter. Thus, I crammed a majority of these minor battles in one chapter. More of Dycedarg's bastardness and Algus' prick-ery.
Chapter Three: The Death Corps
The day after their arrival at Igros, Ramza, Delita, and Algus were on the training field practicing sword drills. Eventually, the drills turned to sparring with padded armor and padded weapons. Surprising to Algus, but unsurprising to Ramza, Delita was beating them both at once, using everything from swords to daggers to quarterstaves to axes. It seemed that nothing could defeat Delita, not even fatigue. Indeed, after only a few hours on the training floor, Delita was the only one of the three who was not breathing hard.
"Just…can't keep…up with you…Delita," panted Ramza tiredly. His arms were on fire from swinging around the practice weapons and his hands were numb from blocking his friend's powerful blows. But despite his defeat, Ramza was in good cheer and high spirits. After all, it was only exercise, and quite an enjoyable session at that.
Algus took the defeat less gracefully. He seemed outraged that a commoner defeated him. The only thing keeping him from calling Delita out was the fact that he was standing on the ground of Igros Castle, where he—as a Limberry cadet—was a foreigner. Protocol alone prevented him from challenging Delita to a duel of honor where pride was at stake…a duel he probably would have lost.
As it was, Algus gave the commoner a grudging look that was between respect and contempt. Delita, accustomed to such glares, just took it stoically.
"Whew," Ramza said with a sigh, lying flat on his back and resting his head on the grass. "It's incredible how boring it is around here. You know we've been sparring for the past five hours straight? God above, there's absolutely nothing to do here!"
"Is he always that way?" Algus asked Delita in the closest way he could to politeness.
The commoner shrugged an affirmative.
Algus looked at Ramza again. "He must live a very happy life if he can be so carefree," he concluded.
"He's right though," Delita admitted. "There isn't much to do here. I'm sure you'd agree that you'd want to be out looking for the marquis yourself, right?"
"This is so," said Algus. "But I dare not leave my post—and neither should you two. The disgrace any form of failure can bring on your family is a hard thing to live with. I should know." He sighed and sat down. "I haven't known you two for very long, but I think I can trust you with this. When we first met I mentioned that I was no longer a nobleman. Technically, I still am, but only in name; the respect due my station was stripped from my family after my father betrayed his company during the war. He was found out, publicly humiliated, and executed. Stripped of knighthood and title, he died a commoner.
"My family paid the price as well. Much of our estate, added by martial exploits during the war, were taken from us, leaving us with only a single small castle. The fiefs grew smaller and smaller and the serfs were claimed by other lords. Our lands lay fallow and the homesteads stopped producing wheat and produce for the market. The servants left after our coffers became too poor to pay them. My family line, unblemished for two hundred years, died into obscurity. I am the last male heir, the one on whose shoulders lies the rejuvenation of my clan."
Algus looked imploringly at Ramza. "You are Beoulve. You must know the pressures of rank as a member of the most respected of the warrior families. Are you not encouraged to be a knight? Are you not expected to excel in all things of warfare and to overcome all enemies? Are you not demanded to prove your mettle, your chivalry, and your honor?"
Taken aback by this impassioned string of questions, Ramza could only dumbly reply, "I am…Yes, I am."
Algus smiled warmly. "Then you know well my position. I cannot do anything that would jeopardize what little honor my family has."
"But if you participated in saving the marquis, wouldn't this improve your standing?" Delita ventured.
Algus had already thought of that possibility. "It would, but the risk would be too great."
"So you, who were so eager to deride me for my failure on the plains, will now meekly sit in a barracks—simply because your honor is no longer on the line," Delita accused quietly.
Algus veritably exploded, and not even the mediator in Ramza could quell it. "Commoner! Bumpkin! What do you know of honor?"
"Enough to know that you're just being a coward!" Delita retorted. "If you want to save the marquis—even if it's just to improve your selfish image and honor—then let's get going! Ramza, don't you want to save Marquis Elmdor yourself? Do you want to leave him to the mercy of the Death Corps?"
Now this was territory that Ramza Beoulve was comfortable in. "Of course I do," he said with almost heroic conviction…which immediately deflated. "But my brothers…."
"…will probably forget your transgressions if we save the marquis!" reasoned Delita. He looked at the two of them, one encouragingly and one in challenge. "Well? What say you?"
A small group such as theirs, traveling on fresh chocobos, easily out-marched Zalbag's team of draftsmen and Hokuten. Thus, they arrived at Dorter without being noticed.
Dorter, a crossroads, was naturally suited to being a trading city. Though officially of Gallione, Dorter freely catered to Gallione, Limberry, Fovoham, and Lionel. But on this inauspicious day, when the dark clouds gathered overhead and proud a black, ominous rain upon the streets, the trade city held little business. Shops closed and shutters were latched. The streets emptied, leaving it to the disreputable and homeless.
Algus was positively disgusted by it, for he felt it a grave insult for him to walk through the filth of such common rabble. In contrast, Ramza and Delita dealt with it with equal stoicism.
"This was a mistake," Algus said suddenly. "Dorter is huge—the Death Corps could be anywhere! They won't simply come out and—"
A nearby cry caught their attention.
"Why did Gustav do it?" came a harsh demand.
The three cadets sneak closer, catching a full view of what was transpiring. A group of darkly-clad men stood were towering over another in similar dress. A powerfully-built man with a too-square jaw picked him up and held him by the neck. "Where is Gustav?" the square-jawed man demanded. "Why did he kidnap Elmdor?"
The cadets looked up in surprise, for it seemed providence or Lady Luck was on their side.
The strangled man gurgled, "R-ransom! W-we need the money, Wiegraff!"
"Idiot!" the man, Wiegraff, shouted. "Now Gustav'll bring the whole damned Hokuten down on our heads! That fool! That moron! I must salvage this situation. Tell me—where is Gustav now? Where is he keeping Elmdor?"
The soldier managed to stutter, "S-sand r-rat's cellar!"
It was then that Wiegraff noticed the cadets. Realizing that they must have overheard him, he released the soldier and ordered to his men, "Kill those boys over there—they know too much by now. Rendezvous at the cellar. I must speak with Gustav immediately."
Even as Wiegraff fled into the night, the other warriors—ten Death Corps soldiers in all—drew blades and advanced. A few of them carried crossbows.
"Damn," Ramza cursed, seeing just how badly the odds were. In Gariland it had been almost equal, but three-to-one odds was downright suicide. "Delita, I hope you have a plan."
His friend, who was as composed and cold as marble, simply nodded. "Ramza, you and I will charge ahead and run interference. Algus, scale that short building there and strike from above."
"I don't take order from you!" Algus countered hotly.
Ramza cut in. "This isn't the time to argue! Do it!" The authority in his voice was surprising, for Ramza did not seem the kind of leader to inspire obedience. Yet, Algus found himself scaling the woodworker's shop with alacrity, even as Ramza and Delita made their near-suicidal charge at ten armed soldiers.
The battle was on in full, and almost immediately, the Death Corps surrounded the two friends. Ramza killed one, Delita three, but there were six left who were slowly whittling away the pair's defenses. But the Death Corps did not expect Algus, who dropped from the roof and plunged his blade into one soldier's back. With another stroke, he felled another man.
With the sides now roughly even, Ramza and Delita attacked with renewed vigor, cleaving the way to victory. Once the ten Death Corps soldiers lay dead, the cadets took stock of injuries. Fortunately, neither Ramza nor Delita had suffered any grievous wounds, save for a few sword wounds. Ramza quickly applied disinfectants to prevent the spread of tetanus and infection.
"Let's not do that again," Ramza joked as he finished bandaging Delita's arm.
"It seems we'll going right into it again," his friend said quietly.
"Yes. But where is this sand rat cellar?" Algus asked.
Delita, more knowledgeable about these things, explained. "During the war, there was a base camp in the Zeklaus Desert used by various forces as a staging ground for assaults on Gallione. The place became known as the sand rat cellar after the unique rat that was indigenous to the area. The cellar is basically an easily-defended fortress that can house up to thirty men."
"Then let's pray there aren't so many there right now," Ramza said grimly.
Gustav was, at first, pleased to see Wiegraff.
"Thank God you're here!" he exclaimed, wiping perspiration from his brow. "You can only imagine what I've had to go through to get Elmdor here safely. First, he had more guards than I was expecting, and then these kids show up and start massacring my men, and then—" Gustav was interrupted by a slap across the face.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Wiegraff demanded hotly. "Why did you kidnap Elmdor? Money? Is that all we are, bandits? Gustav, you imbecile!"
"But Wiegraff! We need the money! You can't fight a war without money."
"Idiot!" Wiegraff roared. "Miluda is planning a raid on the Gallione Bank! Money would have been taken care of!"
"N-no one…told me…."
Wiegraff punched him across the jaw again. "That's because you're a moron. Now I have to clean up your goddamn mess. We've got Hokuten pounding on our door. They're just cadets, but they're already killing everyone up there. It seems that one of them is quite the swordsman." Wiegraff grabbed Gustav by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "We're going to lose the cellar, Gustav," he growled menacingly, and do you know why? It's because of your stupidity."
He released his lieutenant, who slumped limply to the ground. "Where is Elmdor, Gustav?"
"In…in the back. Tied up. I…I didn't hurt him or anything…."
"Good. You'd have been a complete idiot otherwise." Then, remorselessly, Wiegraff plunged his blade into Gustav's back. He left the corpse and went to free Elmdor.
The marquis saw the bloodied blade and narrowed his eye hatefully at the leader of the Death Corps. Wiegraff was impressed by his gusto and courage. "They certainly do not call you the 'Silver Ogre' for nothing, Elmdor," Wiegraff conceded. "One look into those eyes would scare most men out of their armor. But I'm not here to kill or ransom you. You're free."
Just as he cut the marquis' bonds, the three cadets burst in, faces, armors, and weapons stained with the blood of Death Corps. They panted tiredly, exhausted from battle, but upon seeing Elmdor, new vitality surged through them.
"Release the—" began one of the cadets, garbed in the colors of Limberry.
"I already have, boy," said Wiegraff. "Take your marquis and begone. The man responsible for his kidnapping is already dead. He acted insubordinately, without my permission, and for foolish reasons. The Death Corps are not bandits, Limberry! We are revolutionists! We will bring equality to the classes, and you nobles will pay for your indiscretions against the common man!"
"You're a coward and an animal!" retorted Algus, full of contempt. "You deserve to be ground under the heels of your betters, you filth! You swine!" He did not notice the darkening glare that Delita was shooting into his back at these words.
But the words did not faze Wiegraff. "You talk big, brat. I give you the offer one last time: begone, with your precious marquis. Refuse me again and I will not hesitate to kill you. And believe me, I am a far superior warrior than the men you killed at the gates."
Algus was about to challenge that, but Delita stopped him cold. "Let him go, Algus—he's telling the truth. This man will massacre us if we fought him. Let's just get the marquis out of here. Now!"
"I will not stand for his insults, Delita!" Algus countered. "I will see my honor purified!"
Ramza grabbed them both by the shoulders. "Enough, both of you! Let's go!" Again, the power of his voice was enough to compel his friends to obedience. The three left with a weakened Elmdor in their arms, leaving Wiegraff in the bloodstained halls of the sand rat's cellar.
"…and finally, you disobeyed a direct order, Ramza! I told you to stay here and guard the castle!"
Dycedarg was in a fury and Ramza was taking the brunt of it. But he was not alone under the eldest Beoulve's withering gaze. "Algus, you have shamed your country and the Knights of Limberry by abandoning your post!" Each word was like a stake being driven into the cadet's heart. "Be sure that I will be making a full report about your behavior to the master-at-arms!"
Delita was next, but he managed to maintain his impassive facade. "And you, Delita. I understand that it was by your encouragement that this foolishness was carried out?" Delita nodded, taking full responsibility. "Have you nothing to say?" Dycedarg demanded.
"Only that the marquis gave us his deepest thanks for our initiative," Delita said smoothly, almost too smoothly; Ramza recognized his friend's cunning, and suspected that Delita anticipated his brother's questions. Ramza silently applauded Delita's cleverness.
Even Dycedarg had the wind blown out of his sails with that comment. "Be that as it may," he said, returning to the offensive, "I cannot ignore that you committed a grievous act of irresponsibility unbecoming in future knights."
"Let them be, Dycedarg," said a new voice. The speaker, a tall and stately man dressed in rich robes, entered. The cadets, instantly recognizing Prince Bestrada Larg, fell to their knees. "Arise, future heroes of the Hokuten and Limberry," Larg said kindly. He leveled a calming gaze on Dycedarg. "We have need of such worthy and quick-thinking lads these days, Dycedarg. It would not do to berate them for qualities that will be needed in our future military leaders."
"Hmph. I would not put my trust in leaders who so callously disregard proper military etiquette," said Dycedarg. "They are clever and strong, I readily admit, but their impetuousness is far from being a virtue." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "But if you, Bestrada, insist on pampering them for their improprieties, I, as your humble servant, can only allow you to do so."
Larg smiled. "Such sarcasm is unbecoming in a Holy Knight of the Rune, Dycedarg." He turned his attention to the three cadets. "Now, young heroes, I think you will be pleased to learn that I have spoken with the marquis, who has, in turn, spoke quite highly of you. Thanks to your bravery, the ambassadorial mission was a success and Gallione can expect the full support of Limberry in the eradication of the Death Corps."
Algus was positively beaming at these words.
"Furthermore," continued Larg, "the marquis has made a special request, one that I cannot deny in light of recent events. He has asked that the three of you be involved in a major assault on the Fortress of Thieves, where the Death Corps leader, Wiegraff, makes his home. Thanks to Zalbag's studious work, which has divined this location, you will most certainly find the headquarters of the Death Corps at the fortress."
"Thank you, Prince Larg!" exclaimed an astounded Algus, who bowed low. "Thank you for this great honor! As a cadet of the Limberry Knights, I am your humble servant, my liege! I will fell your foes to the quick with the honor that is mine!"
Large turned to Ramza. "And you, son of Balbanes? Are you so fervent as your ally here?"
Ramza, stunned at the attention, was all too aware that Dycedarg was giving him a dangerously expectant stare. He stammered quietly, "Er, yes…Yes, my liege. I-I, that is, I also accept this great honor. I-I only hope that I can be of service to you, as…as my father…once did." Dycedarg looked disappointed by this poorly-delivered speech, but Larg seemed placated by just the mention of Balbanes Beoulve.
"Then it is with the blessings of God and the White Lion that I, Bestrada Larg, send you onto this most important mission. Good luck, brave soldiers. Good luck, future knights!"
When they were alone, Dycedarg gave Larg was withering glare. "Must you pamper them with your melodrama, Bestrada? It was positively sickening. 'Future knights' indeed!" he spat contemptuously.
Larg dropped the pretenses of the kindly lord, falling into the coldness in which he felt so comfortable. He was a great deal like Dycedarg in that regard: both were men of cruelty, fueled by ambition and pride. "They did save the marquis, against all odds," said the prince. "I must say, despite their gullibility, I was quite impressed with them."
"Most people are," Dycedarg murmured. "A shame that their impressiveness is all luck and sham. They were fools to go up against someone as dangerous as this Wiegraff alone! Heaven alone knows how they survived an encounter with a former Death Knight like him. Damn that Ramza—he has inherited too much of Balbanes' stupidity in him!"
"You are so quick to slander your own father," Larg muttered.
"He deserves it, that fool," countered Dycedarg. "It is better that he lies beneath the earth. At least now we can proceed without his idealism to block us. You know that he would never approve of tactics like what we are using now. He would have given Wiegraff a fighting chance, perhaps even challenged the trickster to an honorable duel!"
Larg nodded in agreement. "I concede the point—Balbanes was, indeed, an idealist, which leads to foolish actions. But that is neither there nor here. Did you confirm Zalbag's report on Fort Zeakden?"
"Yes. Scouts have seen Death Corps troops filter in from the south. I can only surmise that they are going back and forth from the Fortress of Thieves."
"Then Zeakden is their last stronghold," Large reasoned. He smiled evilly. "Excellent. Now that we know the locations of all their bases—Dorter, the cellar, the Fortress of Thieves, and Zeakden—we can launch our assaults whenever we please. Within a week, the Death Corps will be no more."
The Fortress of Thieves lay on the northernmost borders of Gallione beyond a steep mountain pass near Lesalia. Home to mountain lions, goblins, and other equally dangerous denizens, it was a renowned spot for hearty adventurers to test their bravery and mettle. One could often find trappers taking a cat's pelt or a martial artist hunting goblins or feral chocobos.
But on this sunny day, three young cadets did their best not to arouse any attention. Whenever a hungry predator or a vicious goblin reared its head, they quickly dispatched it and disposed of the corpse, lest they alert any of the Death Corps' scouts to their approach. For in their minds they were all too aware that this was no longer the territory of the chivalrous and honorable.
And so they made their careful way up the sloping paths, entering a dried-up ravine overgrown with weeds and stout grasses. Ramza and Algus kept their hands on their sword-hilts, and Delita scanned the sides of the ravine with such alertness that he jumped at the merest glimpse of movement—whether it be only the scattering of rock rats or worse.
"This smells too much of an ambush," Algus growled darkly. "We should not have come this way." He made it sound accusatory, for it was Delita who opted for this quicker—albeit more dangerous—path.
"We'd have lost too much time," the commoner argued, keeping his voice low for the sake of stealth. "We do not know how much the Death Corps knows about the Beoulve's war plans. And speed will lend us the element of surprise when we attack."
Algus huffed, unconvinced. "I recall that it was your bright ideas that earned us the ire of Dycedarg Beoulve!" the Limberrian shot back. "We were lucky Prince Larg vouched for our character, or else both myself and Ramza would have taken a heavy blow for your stupidity!"
This time, Delita moved like a viper, his hand instantly wrapping around Algus' throat before Ramza could intervene. "Say that again, I dare you!" he growled fiercely. "If it weren't for my so-called stupidity, that bastard Gustav would have killed or ransomed your lord! Show some gratitude, punk!" He threw Algus to the ground.
The Limberrian, furious at this humiliating treatment, was red to the roots of his hair. He bounded onto his feet and slugged Delita hard enough to knock out a tooth. "Don't you dare touch me again, peasant!" he spat angrily. Just as Algus was about to continue the assault, Delita countered with a kick to the belly.
"Stop it, both of you!" Ramza shouted, trying to bring the two to their senses. He got between them, pushing them to arm's length. "We're in enemy territory, you fools! You'll alert any scouts in the area with your fighting! Stop it, I say!"
Suddenly, with more urgency and force than Ramza's words could ever muster, a crossbow bolt struck the ground. The three looked up and saw that the ravine edges were manned by Death Corps. Surprisingly, one of them was a woman who would have been beautiful if it were not for her hard-bitten demeanor.
"What have we here?" the woman drawled threateningly. "Pups come to hunt? If you are from the Hokuten, then the knighthood has certainly grown foolish—never have I heard them sending wolfhounds to do a wolf's work!"
Algus directed his earlier anger at this new foe. "You will regret these insults to my honor, woman! Come and face me like a warrior!"
The woman merely laughed mockingly. "The pup speaks such bold words! Since when did it become chivalrous for a man to fight a woman, boy? I thought so. You're just a spoiled brat—well, let me tell you, kid: you're Hokuten, and you're not leaving this ravine alive."
She raised her sword high and shouted, "For the Death Corps!"
Delita immediately took charge of the seemingly insurmountable situation. "Ramza, Algus! To me and back-to-back. On the double!" His commanding voice brooked no argument, and even fiery Algus obeyed to the quick.
"But those archers…!" Ramza said worriedly, looking down no less than three crossbows aimed for them.
"Duck," Delita said simply. Then his words were cut off by the clash of blades, for the woman's forces had come down in force. A daring idea came into his mind. "Ramza, Algus—go into the fray! They won't shoot their own men! Go in, go in!"
Taking his own advice, Delita pushed into the ranks, his sword cutting open bellies and hacking off limbs. He fought desperately, blindly, knowing that if he slowed his assault by even a fraction of a second, that would be all the opening a Death Corps soldier needed to slide a yard of steel into his guts. Surprisingly, his suicidal charge inspired fear into his enemies, who hesitated to engage him. In such close quarters, it was difficult for them to retreat from his flashing blade, and they fell, one by one, to his skill.
In the thick of the melee, he knew not what became of Ramza or Algus. He could only pray that they, too, fared as well as he.
But Delita's confidence was soon shattered when his swing was halted by the heavy blade of the woman warrior. With a heave of her shoulders, the strong woman sent him sprawling to the dirt. "You're surprisingly adept with that toy, young soldier," she dryly praised. Her sword glimmered brightly in the midday sun. Delita was mesmerized by it. "You've killed a good number of my men today. For that, you've earned my respect. I'll kill you quick, nobleman."
She hacked at him, but Delita was not one to give up without a fight. With skill born of desperation, he blocked each stroke and scrambled to his feet. Again, he parried her blows aside with puissant ability; it seemed that they were equals in terms of fighting skill. "I'm no nobleman," Delita said suddenly, pushing away another strike. "I'm a commoner, like you!"
That took the woman by surprise. "What?" Her shock was enough to halt her assault.
Had it been any other foe, Delita would not have hesitated to strike her down. But in recent days, he began to wonder…was he all that different from the Death Corps? He tried to reach out to this woman. "I am Delita Hyral, a servant of the Beoulve family, who sponsored my admission into the Gariland Military Academy. But I am of common blood, like you! I know what is feels like to be oppressed, more so than you, probably, because I must see it every day in the faces of my fellow students."
"Then why stay with them?" the woman demanded. "Why fight alongside them? You are just like us—so join us! Help us rid Ivalice of their classes and wealth and prejudice! Your skill says much about you, and with someone like you in our ranks, we can surely attain victory."
Strangely—or not so strangely anymore—it sounded like a tempting offer. But Delita shook his head. "Violence will solve nothing, not without power to back it up, to enforce stability and order. Even if you defeat the knights, even if you take the crown, it will amount to nothing because we are—and let's face the truth here—we are only rabble. We've no real organization or power. Even the Death Corps will crumble from internal fighting. It's already started! Your leader, Wiegraff, slew his lieutenant Gustav for insubordination!"
"My brother did what he had to do!" the woman cried. "It was to keep the order in our troops!"
Delita was taken aback by her words. "Brother? He's your brother?"
The woman nodded. "You gave me your name, warrior. I will give you mine: I am Miluda, sister of Wiegraff and second lieutenant of the Death Corps." She drew her eyes across the bloodstained battlefield and saw that her troops were taking heavy damage despite their overwhelming numbers. But even so, they could defeat the cadets with little trouble, if she gave the word.
She raised a gauntleted hand. Immediately, her forces began a retreat.
Miluda gave Delita one last look. "I give you your life today, Delita Hyral. Remember my name and remember what I did for you this day. Remember that we commoners have to be united in order to change this world. I'm sure that you will come to see things our way!" With that, she, too, disappeared behind the ravine's edge.
Ramza and Algus regrouped with Delita, all three showing signs of injury and exhaustion. Thankfully, none of them received any serious wounds; most of the blood spilled on them was that of their enemies. "Why did they retreat?" Algus demanded, feeling cheated of an honorable victory. "Who was that woman? I saw you talking to her."
Delita looked down at the corpses slain by their hands. These people were just like him—commoners who wanted to be free of the arrogance and hauteur of the nobility. He started to wonder just why he kept on fighting for the sakes of people like Tallondale, who would not even acknowledge his skill, or Algus, who showed his disdain violently.
But these thoughts were quickly buried beneath the urgency of the mission. "Her name is Miluda," he answered. "She is the sister of Wiegraff. Yes—that surprised me too. But evidently, that woman is just as dangerous as her brother. They've retreated because she wanted to prove a point. At any rate, we must make all haste to the Fortress of Thieves. If her forces came here, then the defenses will be weaker there. If we're quick, we can take the fort before she can reinforce it."
Night came with a rainstorm by the time the three cadets reached the imposing Fortress of Thieves. Once a Gallionian keep, it was sacked and torched during the early days of the Hundred Years' War and intermittently became the home to squatters, bandits, and roving warlords. Now, it was the headquarters of the Death Corps. With its easily defendable walls and drawbridge, it was an ideal base for a hard-bitten band of rebels.
"This won't be easy," Ramza noted darkly. "With only the three of us here, any way we attack will be at a disadvantage."
Delita, the most tactically-minded of the two, could only agree; he saw no easy openings in the fort's defenses. His sharp eyes saw Miluda atop the battlements. He swore under his breath. "She beat us here. The fort's fully defended. Come, we must seek a higher vantage point, so that we can count their troops."
The three clambered onto a nearby hill that provided almost complete view of the fort's interior. "A dozen, by my estimation," he said with growing despair. "Four to one odds is too much for us."
"Are we to come all this way, only to turn back with our tails between our legs like curs?" Algus spat angrily. "I won't have it, Delita! These knaves insulted my honor by retreating—I will see reparations made in blood!"
Delita wanted to punch the bastard again, but at a calming look from Ramza, he only tightly replied, "If we rush in there without a plan, we'll be slaughtered." He could not help but add sharply, "And your precious honor won't save you then."
Ramza suddenly spoke up, "Delita—look there, to the east side of the fort. A grillwork grate, the sewage line of the fort! That's our way in!"
The three cadets jumped into the nearby river, moving under the cover of the rain and the night undetected. They reached the grate and used their knives to lever the rusty metal loose. Then they slipped into the sewage-laden tunnel, their sleeves to their noses to block the stench.
"By my guess," said Delita quietly, though his voice echoed in the tunnel, "we should be right under the main courtyard. Here! A maintenance grate. If we strike now, we'll have a few moments of surprise on them."
"Then kill as many of these dogs as you can," Algus said with venom. Without another word, he forced the grate open and climbed out. Within moments, all three were in the courtyard, so far undetected by their enemies.
Then they saw a patrol moving toward them. With a wild cry, Algus charged forth, cleaving his way through them before they could even draw steel. "For Limberry!" he called fearlessly.
In moments, the fortress was alerted to their presence, but the confusion that ensued gave the cadets the advantage. The only blood that spilled was that of the Death Corps.
As if by some bitter fate, Delita ended up crossing blades with Miluda again. "Why?" the woman demanded, seemingly betrayed. "You are one of us, and yet you strike us down with such dastardly tricks! Why, Hyral? Why betray your own?"
And Delita could offer her no explanation, for he, too, wondered the same.
But then her beautiful face contorted in agony as a sword blade erupted from her breast. She fell without a moan or a sigh, her hair spilling around her as surely as her lifeblood. Standing victoriously over her was Algus, who planted a domineering boot on her back.
"This is the price you dogs pay for your insults, woman," he declared to the corpse. "This is an act of divine providence."
Delita was shocked at what had happened. His limbs were cold, his eyes locked on Miluda's frozen visage. Then, animation returned to his features, morphing his expression into one of rage. Rage he directed at Algus. "Why did you stab her in the back?" he growled angrily. "Where was your honor then, Algus?" His fists trembled and his sword seemed to ache with desire to enter the Limberrian's heart.
"She is just an animal, Delita," the Limberrian said simply, as if this were a matter of fact. "You should know this well. This," he ground his heel into Miluda's still back, "is what happens to commoners who raise a hand against we who give them jobs and clothes and a place in their worthless lives. You owe us everything, Delita. Remember that."
At that moment, Delita wanted, more than anything else, to kill Algus. He looked around for Ramza, but his friend was on the other side of the fort, where he had faced off against three Death Corps soldiers and emerged victorious. Delita wished that Ramza were at his side now, to placate him and still the rage bubbling over in his tumultuous heart.