xxx

"It is with no heavy heart that I go to battle with death at my side, sister. The reason I can, is because I know he has no interest in corpses."

Wiegraff Folles to Milleuda Folles, before the sacking of Nelveska.

xxx

Chapter 11: My Brother for My Sword

By the time our comrades arrived, I was thoroughly sick of the windmill. It was not as if Ramza was a bad companion to have, nor was it as if the foodstock of this former Brigade hideaway was empty. It was a decent enough fare; a plentiful stock of bread and wine that neither of us bothered to partake in. Wine, while a pleasant taste, left the mind unable to think or prepare. We were on alert the entire time; sleeping in shifts to watch for any oncoming forces, preparing battle strategies in case of an attack. The Corpse Brigade may have fled from us once, but who was to say they would do so again? The Brigade was mainly composed of blackguards and cutthroats, and there were a vast number of men who had not seen us at Dorter, nor here. This made the waiting tiresome.

Ramza's questions, even more so. He asked so many useless things it was a wonder his tongue didn't roll out of his head. 'Do you truly wish to live at Eagrose?' Naturally, Dycedarg wishes my services, and even if he were to cast me aside, having a comfortable position at which I could slide myself into at the side of Ramza's sister - and her alleged kindness, that Delita raved so much about - would be the most secure position I could muster. While a bodyguard was out of the question, perhaps an advisorship would not be. And at the side of a noble girl whose only job in life is to attend classes… Is that not the safest position I could possibly be in? 'What is that power?' Inexplicable. Being X is a devil in the skin of a divine, and even with the knowledge of my former life as a corporate slave, his questions were practically surreal to listen to. 'What happens now?'

Obviously, Beoulve, we wait.

While Ramza may have been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was still a cadet of Gariland. Fine dining was in short supply at the academy; at least for simple students as ourselves. If one wished for such a rich meal, as Remia and Amelie were often inclined towards, they would have to head into town for such a taste. It was not uncommon to wake one morning at Gariland and see many of your classmates at their tables, faces still flushed red from the night before, picking at their plates with frowns deeply embedded on faces with pinched eyes, all the while their lips bemoaned their immense suffering from headaches. It was not the sort of thing that either Ramza or myself was inclined to partake in. The mind has the need to be as sharp as a sword, after all.

When everyone had arrived, it was with bright faces and blades ready for a fight that wouldn't happen. Upon seeing us, the unpacking of camps immediately began; fires freshly lit, tables set, and quiet murmurs appearing through the troops. Almost the moment they appeared, Ramza had called for council, dragging Delita into the mill and suggesting I take my second in command as well.

"Should I even be surprised at this mad tale you're spinning?" Delita said, shaking his head. "While the sword alone proves it… This is beyond farfetched. A piece of auracite, in this place?"

He looked at the auracite I had placed on the table. We were inside of the windmill, in the very same prison Ramza and I had been kept in. The table was old and worn, and the chairs lacking for any kind of comfort. It was a private meeting, really - myself, Delita, Ramza, and Vinya were the only ones present. I wanted to keep this as secretive as possible, but Ramza insisted on allowing at least 'one of our closest confidants' into the fold. Dirk was naturally talkative, and Remia was a gossip. This left only Vinya on my side, who I had found to be quite silent on any serious matter.

"What manner of outfit is the Brigade?" Vinya asked, as she stared wide-eyed, looking back and forth between me and the stone. "To have such relics hidden in the midst of this wreck… It is as if fate itself is on your side, Commander."

"Fate's a brutal mistress," I said bluntly, folding my arms. The stone was a sign of danger, at the very least. The last time I had seen that devil, he had thrown me into this ridiculous world of magic ruled by martial might. At the very least, his reappearance meant things were going to get more dangerous. "And fortune's worse still. There were only twelve pieces of auracite, and this bears none of their signage. Could fake relics sleep amidst the real?"

That made Vinya go quiet, and Delita's eyes flickered in the firelight.

"To speak of such things…" He murmured, glancing at me. "Is that not heresy?"

"Heresy is but a word the powerful use to keep their lessers from speaking on topics they find uncouth, Heiral. Are their stories not proven true with the stone you see in front of you?"

His eyes widened at that and he looked more intently at the auracite.

"It is as if the auracite is alive," Ramza murmured, looking at the fire. The sword I'd created rested at his hip, and he'd reclaimed a spear on his back, the coat of arms of Beoulve flying just under the tip. "When Degurechaff used it, another person took her place. If it was one of weaker will- if it was me-"

He clenched his fist, his eyes flickering in the fire's light.

"I dare not say I would have the strength to turn my back on God's power. If the Brigade has this sort of power on their side, how are the likes of even Lord Zalbaag able to contend?"

That was what I feared. The more auracite there was, the more fanatics we'd have to face. Even I, a simple salaryman, could feel my heart swell with praise for Being X, as loathsome as he was, when I was under the auracite's grasp. I am a rationalist. I understand the workings of the world. In ordinary circumstances, I would never be the kind of person to fall under his whims. It was simply a poor use of resources, as I had discovered; while Being X offered great power, he took my mind in return. What is a human, without their consciousness? Who is "Tanya Degurechaff", if I lose what makes up my memories, having them slowly overwritten by the taint of Being X's power?

I had checked my mind as thoroughly as I could in the refrain between the arrival of our troop, and the Brigade's departure. I examined my memories - of both this life and the life before. I thought of names - my mother's, my father's, my coworkers - of places, both old and new to me that I had once held fondness for. Eagrose Castle. Gariland Academy. Ikebukuro Station. The Kyoto Tower. All of them seemed the same to me, no matter how deeply I glanced at them. I went deeper, dragging out bittersweet memories of my time in school, of the class trip to Kyoto where I confessed on a dare and was summarily rejected by a girl with sad eyes. There were no changes I could detect. No person's face was overwritten by my love of a God that I had summarily rejected, no place that I could think of was coated in that loathsome mist of divinity. I could see no difference from who I was before and after I had been under the thrall of his power, but how could I compare them? As I was now, I was already tainted by the auracite. Any of my thoughts could belong to Being X. I cannot confirm them.

I am me.

I know this is true, but Being X has made me question the rationality of my own mind.

"Zalbaag or not, we have the Brigade running," Vinya said, looking up at the three of us. Ramza's eyes flicked towards her, before they drifted back to the fire, while she held Delita's gaze. I stared at the auracite with narrowed eyes. "Is it not our duty to raze them to the ground? If it is with God's power on our side-"

"-Now that is truly heresy!" Delita exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table. "Are you suggesting we make a pretense that God's will underwrites our actions?! That he proclaims the Brigade's cause unjust!?"

"Their methods are unjust, aye," Ramza said, hand drumming the handle of his sword. "But I cannot go as far as to call the Brigade itself an untrue cause."

"Honest coin for honest work. Hazard coin for hazardous work. Bloody coin for bloody work," I said dryly. "The Brigade has a point. Are you not the scion of the Beoulve line? These are problems you could fix."

Ramza's brow furrowed, and the drumming intensified.

"Lord Brother would not listen to me on politics," he finally admitted in a low tone. "I am not studied in them, such as he is. And the crime that has occured here… Does it not stretch over all of Ivalice? At most, he could petition the crown. But what good is a ruler that leads a kingdom of suffering?"

I didn't have a reply to that, and we sat in a grim silence.

"Dark words, Ramza," Delita finally said as he ran a hand through his auburn hair. "Words that could be construed as treason, should the wrong ears hear them."

"Are you planning to rat us out, Heiral?" I said, arching an eyebrow. "It would be an easy method of advancement. Selling out heretics to better your position-"

"You dare?!" Delita's hand slammed down on the table, the auracite rattling as he hit it. "To sell out my brother in all but name for something as pointless as rank-"

"Don't yell at Commander Degurechaff! If not for Beoulve, we wouldn't even be in this mess-"

"As if it was Ramza's fault that Degurechaff found an artefact of God!"

Vinya had her hand around her dagger, already drawing it as Delita glared at her, his hand moving for his sword. I spun mana through my hands, ready to stop them, but Ramza spoke.

"Enough."

It was said quietly, as he stared at the flames.

"The Brigade's only crime is the crime of being born common. If such a thing is a crime, then half of our band are criminals. Would that I could save them…"

He clenched his fists, standing up out of his chair. His eyes never left the auracite as he stood as still as a stone.

"I would grant their wishes with these hands, if aught were in my power to do."

A sad smile covered his face, as he looked at Delita, then at me.

"But I cannot. It is but my meagre lot in this life. I cannot grant their desires. I cannot capture their hearts. All I can do is crush them beneath my heel."

Crush the Brigade, so that the secret does not escape. So that the auracite is not revealed. It was an elegant, simple plan, which I admired greatly. Simplicity was always important in these sorts of things; any sort of complexity always vanished after it left the middle management.

"You'd have to track them down first," Vinya said, rubbing her chin as she looked at Ramza. "Did any of them say something?"

"Not a word," I replied with a scoff. As always, Vinya expected things to be far too easy. The reality of our lives was a grim one, filled with swords and spells. In this world of martial prowess, nothing would ever be easy. It was by design, really; this was a world created by that devil known as Being X, after all. Or at least found by him to throw me into. "They were more concerned with claiming that their cause was just and true, instead of telling us their plans."

What to do? We had more than one reason to chase the Brigade, even if it would be simpler by far to leave them to their devices. I was sure Dycedarg would not be pleased, were we to return with our assigned mission half-completed.

Stamp out the Corpse Brigade before they grow more provocative. In Ramza's own words, we were to crush them beneath our heels. But to do such a thing requires time and information. In my previous life, I once was present for a meeting where we discussed one of our competitors, and how we would go about destroying them. The solution we had come upon, loathe as I was to admit it, was a simple public relations campaign. A well-told lie is worth its weight in gold. 'They're a black company', 'their CEO harrasses his employees', 'they pay their workers less than what they're worth'. These are things that make a company unattractive to consumers. But the Corpse Brigade was inherently an unattractive company; they were paid less, worth less still, and had no form of insurance or compensation for the families of their workers.

And yet, they still maintained a consistent, effective workforce. We needed a way to cut off their supply chain before they could go any further.

I frowned as I thought, biting my lip in frustration.

"We are cadets," I said, picking up the auracite and returning it to my pocket. "We have little money, and less power still. Our only skill is in arms. Could we not return, saying that the Brigade is on the run, licking their wounds? Who would believe the words of commoners and brigands, over the nobility, born and raised for justice?"

Ramza shot me a sour look, but Delita's eyes burned with anger.

"Aye," the words came out of his mouth with obvious scorn, his fingers twirling a knife he had pulled out of its sheath. "Your words ring true. We commoners could never compare to the nobility. Our words are wind, are they not?"

"You know that's not what she means," Vinya muttered, standing up and touching Delita's shoulder. "But if the truth is so dangerous-"

"-Then we should lie? Deceive our friends, our families, and the entire damned country? I want no part of it."

He looked towards Ramza, whose eyes flicked over to him. Delita walked towards him, staring the blond into the eyes, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade.

"And I suppose you're perfectly happy with this result, Ramza?" Delita asked, a mocking tone coloring his words. "Lying to Alma? To Zalbaag and Dycedarg? All for Degurechaff?"

Ramza gave me a sad smile.

"I'm afraid, Degurechaff," he said with a hint of steel in that soft voice of his. "That Delita is right. Your proposal is not something I am willing to bear."

"Then what do you propose, Beoulve?" I asked as I examined my swords, my eyes widening with mock amusement. "A blind chase for men we cannot find? How do you wish for us to follow those who leave no traces?"

Ramza was quiet, as he looked at me, before turning away. He looked at his hand, and it slowly curled into a fist that he held at his chest.

"I will not fail my brothers," he said, and his eyes looked to the flames. "Nor will I fail our men again. To sacrifice those dear to us, to keep a lie that will last as long as the two of us are alive, is an endeavor only someone as dangerously clever as you could manage, Degurechaff."

Ramza turned to the three of us, and smiled.

"I am a fool," he said with a laugh, eyes twinkling with the dying embers of the sun. "I cannot see a way forward that will keep everyone safe and warm in their beds. Nor can I think of a way to fulfill the Brigade's desires, as well as this mission my brother has given us. All I can do is continue moving, even if I do not know which way to move."

He drew the sword that I had made, and it sparkled still, heavenly light dancing along the edge of the blade and glowing softly in the room. I could see the sun setting through the window, and the crackle of the fire in the room was echoed by the one out of it. Algus' roaring laugh burst through the windows, and I could hear Amelie's cry of indignation as she lost another round of cards.

"Our comrades out there, just as much as us four in here, desire the Brigade's destruction. The auracite is a problem that only Degurechaff and I must consider. But the Brigade - that is Ivalice's problem. For king and for country, I joined the Academy. To fight as knights should, to be brave and to be true, to uphold justice and maintain my honor, even against the most dark and wicked of villains. But that is not the Brigade, is it? Their actions, while vile, are a stark contrast to their motives."

He stared at me, with eyes like steel.

"And?" I said in response, crossing my arms. "What food does an ideal place on your table, Beoulve? Do you expect them to dine on beautiful words and beliefs? They have nothing but swords. What can you do with a sword?"

"Protect others."

"Only a fool would say something like that. A sword is a weapon of violence."

"It is a tool of justice."

"Justice, Beoulve, is simply a way of enforcing your ideals through violence. Don't be naive."

He frowned at that, placing the sword on the table. It glinted in the dying light of the style, and Vinya looked between it and me with wide eyes.

"It is truly a beautiful blade, though," she said, almost mournfully. "It looks like the stuff of legends, Commander."

A legend? The only legendary swords I know of are weapons of violence. Excalibur, Joyeuse, Kusanagi no Tsurugi - these are all the blades of heroes, of those who claim to be honest, true, and just. And yet, what are these weapons used for? What are the blades of the legendary swordsmiths of my original nation - of Masamune and Muramasa praised for?

Hunting is a way of gathering food for humans. That is why in the ancient era, we used slings and spears - a way to create range between ourselves and our targets. Range is what makes humans so terrifying to the animal kingdom - what good are your claws, your teeth, if you are being stabbed or shot from out of your reach? Swords are different.

Swords are weapons made with the express purpose of killing human beings. Any person who hunts a boar with a sword is a madman. The only thing a sword can be used for is murder.

In my previous life, there were many things a person could rely on for advancement. Their intelligence, their charisma, and their competence - these are all things that the average person, such as myself, could count upon in order to achieve the position they rightfully deserve. Achieving advancement was a simple matter - showcasing your competency in the field that you chose.

This world is not so multifaceted. This is a medieval world, where the likes of words and artistry are reserved to the nobility. In order to achieve advancement, one must showcase their martial prowess first and foremost. If you are without skill in arms, then you are as surely useless as a blunted sword. It is a harsh place, both cruel and unforgiving.

I smiled at Vinya.

"I'd have preferred-"

A shout came from outside, and Ramza's eyes flicked towards the door. Before it could open, I grabbed theauracite and jammed it into one of the many pockets of my robe. Scant seconds later, Dirk came stumbling through, his eyes wide as he looked at the four of us with his mouth wide open. If it was any wider, I'd have worried that bugs would fly into it, honestly.

"Commander," he said, looking at me, "You're not going to believe this!"

I really hadn't believed it until we'd gone outside. But sitting in the middle of our camp, sending everyone a vicious glare, was a girl with long auburn hair and a snarl on her face. She carried herself with a moderate amount of arrogance, and the sword that might have been at her belt had been taken away when she'd arrived.

We'd even met her once before. She'd held her head up with pride, drawing her sword and charging at us across a battlefield. Realistically, we should have never met again. Ivalice was vast and wide, with more than enough room to hide forever from the wicked gaze of whoever you believed to be searching for you. And yet, here she was, before us once again.

"Ser Folles," I said with a drawl as I bent down to look her in the eyes, "I really wish you hadn't come here. Alone, no less."

"Where's my brother!? What have you done with him?!"

"Bit behind on current events as well? How did we manage to beat you here, twice over no less?"

"If you've harmed him-"

"If I'd harmed him, Ser Folles," I said with a dangerous smile, "Then you would have found nothing but fire and ruin when you'd arrived here."

The girl sneered at me in response, but then looked away from my eyes, muttering something under her breath.

"Sorry?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. "Didn't quite catch that."

"...I'm no Ser," she said, giving me a vicious glare. "Titles such as that are reserved for those born into power, are they not, Beoulve?"

Again with this. I had to nip this in the bud before it grew into a weed in the flowerbed of my achievements. That sort of thing was always poor for advancement - rumors that you were sleeping with the higher ups, or in this case, that your mother had slept with the higher ups, were oftentimes poor for maintaining any remote sort of high status. I clapped my hands, looking directly at Milleuda Folles.

"Beoulve? There is a Beoulve here, but you are not speaking to him. You are speaking with me. I am no Beoulve. Your hatred of the nobility means nothing to me, for I stand on the same rank as you - common as muck."

I heard someone draw a sharp breath behind me, but didn't bother to turn around. They were probably unimportant anyways - only Montgomery, of any of the men and women Ramza and I had been assigned, gave a damn about rank, and he was not asked to join this mad pursuit in the first place.

"B-But Gustav said-"

"Gustav Margriff," I said, "has never met Alma Beoulve. Everyone here has met Alma Beoulve. They will assure you I am not her."

Milleuda Folles bit her lip in frustration, before glaring at Ramza instead of me.

"F-fine. If what you say is true then… Please! Please help my brother!"

Ah. It was one of those encounters. A likely trap, that only a fool would ever fall for.

"Is Ser Wiegraf in danger?" Ramza asked as he took a step forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "The last I saw of him, he seemed in good spirits, to say the least."

"No, he is well, but the Brigade-"

"In shambles, on the run, and licking their wounds," I said happily, nodding. "We've truly done a most excellent job."

"No! It is my brother's brigade no longer! There's a schism!"

An extremely unlikely story. Impossible to prove one way or the other, to be honest; while the likes of Gustav Margriff and Gragoroth did not fit well with those such as the Folles siblings, that did not mean the Brigade was divided. They simply employed from a wider net then one would ordinarily expect - as is tradition with many black companies. You need bodies more than you need ability when you're skirting around the edges of the law.

I waited for her to explain.

The explanation was in no way easy to understand. It was stammered out, filled with far too many pleas and promises, and very annoying. To summarize it was easy enough, however.

Gragoroth and Margriff had crafted their own company inside of the Corpse Brigade, filled with men and women that preferred their way of doing things to men like Wiegraf Folles. A true band of brigands - of corpses that simply happened to walk - as opposed to the grim joke of the original purpose of the Corpse Brigade; men and women who were forgotten after the war. It was this Corpse Brigade - not the one in truth - that was carrying out such heinous acts across the countryside, for little to no gain and for reasons less understandable still. The only reason Wiegraf had even deigned to speak with us was that we were there. He had known that there was little chance that taking such high profile prisoners would do naught but draw attention to the Brigade, and overwhelm their message with accusations of kidnapping.

Only a true idiot would believe such a ridiculous story. One would have to be overwhelmed by ideas such as nobility, bravery, and justice their entire life to fall for such an absurdly convenient story.

'It's not my part of the company that's bad, it's the rest of it.'

'My division is good, it's yours that's poorly run.'

'If R&D worked faster, then the engineers would have more to do.'

All patently absurd excuses for the core answer - the management of the company is disgustingly poor, and the higher-ups are dangerously incompetent. Wiegraf didn't even notice the blood in the water, and he's the closest thing they have to a founder. How embarrassing. I didn't believe it for a second.

Of course, Ramza, ever noble, brave, and loving of justice, fell for the entire speech almost immediately, and was on the verge of pledging our swords to her cause.

"If what she says is true," he was saying in a whisper to Delita, myself, and Algus, away from the rest of the men, "Then if we were to wipe out this other faction, the rest of the Brigade would come along peacefully, would they not?"

"And where would scum like that work, Ramza?" Algus asked, crossing his arms with a sneer. "Common as sin, lacking in wits, and incapable of even smelling a coup under their feet? Do you truly wish for daggers to be aimed at your throat in the dark so desperately?"

I had to admit, even if it was worded harshly, Algus brought up an excellent point. Ramza was quite the idiot, and he would absolutely die a horrible, knives-in-the-dark related death if he did something as absurdly stupid as hiring the remnants of a commoner faction that loathed nobility to be his retainers.

"Honest coin for honest work," Ramza said as a reply, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he looked towards Algus. "Perhaps as guardsmen in a port town, or as a reservist unit-"

"Putting the Brigade in the reserves would be a sour offering," Delita muttered, scratching his chin. "They were already tossed to the side once before. To pay them to do naught but sit around would be asking for them to be thrown away again."

"Even so, there must be something that we can propose to my lord brother. Better still if it seems like a punishment."

"For you or for the Brigade?"

Ramza rolled his eyes at Delita's statement, a small smile on his face.

"For me, naturally. My brother would not care for the Brigade, but if it was a way to make me feel like a fool for keeping them around-"

"-Aye. He'd take such an option in a heartbeat."

Ramza's family situation sounded horribly complicated at times, but wasn't that how it was with all these noble families? It's why I wanted to be a retainer in the first place - a true and proper noble would have to deal with the only thing more loathsome than office politics. Family politics.

All of the nobility knew each other, at least tangentially - the Teneveres had known the Beoulves dating back a century or more, the Goltannas had been involved with the Volls for around the same time period, and the thing that bound them all together, whether it was through familial ties or otherwise, were the Atkaschas. The royal family, even if the current king was less competent then I would prefer, had previously brought up some supremely devious rulers. A speck of their blood flowed through most of the noble lines, doled out like precious crumbs to each and every high house to tie them closer to the throne. The Beoulves had more than most, being the sworn swords of the Atkaschas for close to two centuries now.

You could even see a bit of it in Ramza's features, or at least I could. I doubted anyone else was bored enough to study the history of Ivalice and look at all the portraits of the royal family when they were younger. The high cheekbones and thin nose with a fine point, the way his face was almost heart-shaped with wide, expressive blue eyes - it was a face that absolutely screamed nobility in every feature. Of course, not that I was any different. Being X had ruined that for me, as well. Some of those very same fine features I could see when I looked in the mirror myself. But mine were crafted by what might as well be the devil, while Ramza's were the luck of genetics.

It was no surprise, in some ways, that the Brigade had mistaken me for Alma Beoulve, a girl none of them had ever seen. While none who knew the three of us - myself, Ramza, and Alma - would ever assume such a thing, it was an easy enough mistake to make when you were an incompetent, desperate kidnapper who needs to maintain some semblance of control over his men.

"So craft yourself a punishment, Beoulve," I said, rolling my eyes. I was growing tired of Ramza's desperation to save such a useless cadre of people. "Or would you rather drive your heel into their spines? Either way's fine by me."

"That could be you in her position, Degurechaff," Delita said quietly, looking at me. "Staring down at captors who you know not what will do to you, and being forced to throw yourself at their mercy."

"We freed ourselves from our captors, Heiral," I said to him. "You would do well to remember that."

"Aye, but how many here could do the same?"

"All of you, if our lessons hadn't slipped past your ears," I let out a sigh as I spoke, my eyes closing. "Is the training we give you not enough?"

People say that all that matters is talent. That is, on a strict level, not true. There is no gap between the talented and the talentless. There are no secrets that the talented have that the talentless do not. The only difference is in the understanding of their ability. A talentless person can just as easily stab a talented person through the throat. What matters is competency, the ability to understand yourself. If you can understand your own limitations, then it is simpler than anything to set goals for them to overcome.

To be talented is to simply have longer gaps before you reach your goals. That's all there is to it.

"Do you expect us all to rescue ourselves when captured? To fight five to one odds at any given point, and to die with smiles on our lips?"

Die? Don't be ridiculous, Heiral. I'd never ask any of you to die. What I'm training you to do is survive. Insurmountable odds don't exist in this world. Even the most mediocre of mages can cast Firaga with time and effort. Even the least skilled swordsman can cleave a head from a body. All that matters is time, and we don't have enough time. Half-trained men and women with half-finished ideas of how combat works is all we have. So I'm making the best of it.

"Of course not," I said to him. "If you must flee and lick your wounds, then by all means flee. But if you are able to stand and fight, then stand, Heiral. I can ask no more of you."

He looked like he had more to say, but Ramza placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a look. Delita clicked his tongue, turning away from me and walking back towards our seemingly lucky prisoner, Milleuda Folles, who seemed to be looking with a grim sort of horror as Vinya and Remia started up a ridiculously fast paced game of cards.

"I'll offer myself to Dorter."

"You'll what?"

"I'll offer myself to Dorter. As recompense for our destruction of it. I'll offer to rebuild and run the city. He won't want to do it himself, but he'll want someone he can trust in charge. Who better than his younger brother?"

I nodded, approving of Ramza's plan, as nepotistic as it was. This world was, after all, run on nepotism. That was the entire reason I had gotten close with him in the first place. The easiest way to secure one's future in this medieval world was to either be a noble, or be close to one. As I was no noble, I simply had to settle for closeness.

"And what of the Brigade?" Algus asked. "What will you do with the remnants? What if they claim to be true to Wiegraf, but are more of the rats that kidnapped the Marquis? How will you deal with deserters of a deserting company, lying to save their own skin?"

Ramza looked at me, and he closed his eyes.

"I'll cut off their heads myself."

Algus seemed satisfied by that, and he turned and followed Delita, leaving Ramza and me alone. The wind cut through my robes, but I felt no chill. It was a warm night, and the breeze was more refreshing than anything else. Ramza opened his eyes, staring at me with a sad, sad look on his face.

"Degurechaff," he said quietly, "It seems that in order to let others live, I have to die."

"Don't be a fool," I said. "If an axeman ever even came close to your neck, I'd cut off his head myself."

He laughed at that, placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked at it for a moment, before turning to stare at the moon instead.

"In a way, I despise you, Degurechaff."

"Oh?"

"Aye. Your way of doing things appalls me. The violence you're willing to apply is absurd. Your skill at arms is the only thing that allows it to be acceptable."

"In a way, Beoulve, I loathe you as well."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. Your naivete will get us all killed. Your willingness to plead for your enemies to give is ridiculous. The quarter you give to people who want you dead is far too much."

Ramza smiled at me, and I glared mulishly at him in response

"It was my father's way," he said to me, his hand falling from my shoulder to his belt as he looked up at the stars. "He said I had to live up to the Beoulve name. To be brave and true, to be kind to the unkind, to be just in the face of injustice. And yet… It doesn't work, does it? To be a knight of knights. Though I have tried, it all seems to result in suffering. At Dorter. With Miss Folles, when we first met. With her brother. With you."

"Are you surprised? This world is ruled by violence, Beoulve," I said, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at his words. "The strong conquer, and the weak kneel to their strength. It is not the sort of place where you can bring peace without a sword."

"Must I give up everything I am to succeed? My faith, my honour, my dreams… All of them seem to slip through my fingers, and there is nothing I can do to stop it."

A crisis of faith? I was the last person to speak about such matters. The only thing I had faith in was the Chicago School. The only thing I believed in was the system of economics. Those two had served me well throughout both of my lives, and I saw no need to discard them now. Ramza's system of belief was clearly flawed; it had resulted in our capture, in a failed negotiation, in empty promises from a girl who would have surely killed us if she had any of her men with her just now.

"So? What are you going to do about it? Just give up and die?"

He looked down at me, arching an eyebrow.

"The only people who can enforce their ways of life are the strong, Beoulve. Mercy and forgiveness - those are things only the weak care for. The strong have no need of it."

I smiled at him, placing my hand on his shoulder.

"Become strong, Ramza. Then maybe you'll find the answers you're searching for."

I turned and left, heading towards the mad card game that Amelie and Vinya had been playing.

When I looked over my shoulder, Ramza was still staring at the stars.

xxx