He played a dangerous game.
He played a very dangerous game.
Kazuto knew this.
It was the reason he still went to work for them everyday. It was the reason no one in the Reksinya Freedom Front had ever seen his face. It was the reason Kirito, and not Kirigaya, took credit for the 31 lives he'd taken so far.
Because no one could over find out.
Sometimes he did wish, though, that he could get that burden off his shoulders. Not because he wanted the credit, not because he hated keeping secrets (god knew he was good at that) - no, it was because he hated feeling like he was helping the bastards who ruled him when he went to work at the quarry for them.
It was a necessary sacrifice. But damn, this godforsaken quarry, Kazuto thought as he heaved the pickaxe. With a thunderous clang, the rock in front of him cracked just a little more.
Kazuto wiped away the beads of sweat on his forehead, for they were sure to drip down his bare back like the glistening moisture already coating his toned muscles suggested. As he swung the heavy tool again, another loud sound echoing in a mine full of them, the slab of granite in front of him finally broke free, nearly crushing the raven-haired teen's toes on its way down to the minecart below.
And he simply shrugged. Occupational hazard. Kirigaya glanced down to track the path of the gray lump into the receptacle. It looked like that was the piece of granite that would fill the thing. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Kazuto jumped down from his perch, glad to have a break from the relentless sun that shone throughout the topless canyon, but looking at the cart laden with heavy granite with disdain. He was dreading having to push it up the steep rails affixed to the canyon walls.
As he began his ascent up to the repository, Kazuto grimaced every time he was faced with the Royal Seal, which the Authority looked to plaster upon any available inch. He'd never really understood why; no amount of bombardment with a picture was going to make the people of Reksinya more welcome to the oppression of the First Principality.
It was a very lame seal, too. A red shield split into thirds by three intersecting gold lines, with an emblem in each corner to represent the three Constituencies. A dragon to represent the Eastern Constituency and its speciality, entertainment, in the top left. A gear to represent the Southern Constituency and its focus on innovation and industry. A trident to represent the Northern Constituency and how it was the import, export, and finance capital of the First Principality, all of which were made possible by its proximity to the ocean. And finally, at the center of it all, at the tripoint where all the lines met, was a crown, to represent the Throne, and the Royal Protectorate.
Could it get any more generic? They should hire me to design them a better seal, Kazuto thought jokingly. I may suck at art but at least I could add some spice to it.
Regardless, he, and most of the other Reksinyans, would never accept the rule of the Authority, nor the seal they seemed to love. As if what it represented was something to be proud of.
There was no pride in war.
There was no pride in cruelty.
There was no pride in desecrating graves.
In the rural parts of many Constituencies, churches had graveyards.
Asuna Yuuki did not live in a rural part of the Northern Constituency. And the cathedral she was in sure as hell didn't have a graveyard out back, either.
Her back ached from sitting up in the rigid wooden pews lining the expansive interior of said cathedral. Her feet ached from being arched up in ridiculous angles for hours. Her mind ached from sitting through yet another knightship ceremony.
The third one in as many months.
It was unheard of, this many cadets being promoted to knight. The Authority usually held a mass knightship at the end of every training year, to induct the 20-ish knights who'd graduated from being an Authority Cadet.
These past few months, the Northern Constituency Authority alone had inducted nearly 60 knights. Something was amiss, and everyone knew it - but no one voiced it. Especially not the Yuuki family, not with their obsession with status and perception.
Their doctrine: Never talk about why something's happening; but if it is, be there.
And it was following precisely that advice that had led Asuna to don another dress, equip another pair of heels, and braid her hair once more. To watch yet another pointless ceremony, a ceremony that felt...with no other way to put it, off.
See, while the Yuuki family doctrine meant to question nothing and keep up appearances, Asuna was never one to go along with it. Sure, she'd do whatever her parents asked of her. But when the time came, Asuna would not let a situation go without critiquing it.
Why now?
Why does it feel so rushed?
Why so many?
Why are they leaving the Constituency, never to be seen again?
Why doesn't anyone know where they're going?
Why haven't they sent a minister with them?
What is the Authority hiding?
Asuna shuddered. If her parents knew what had just run through her mind, they would be aghast. In her mother's words, it simply would not do for a prospective noblewife to be thinking those things. It would scare off the suitors.
To hell with those suitors.
Oops. Another risky thought.
Asuna really did have to be careful with this.
It was dangerous to disobey the Authority.
It was dangerous to be disloyal to the Throne.
It was a dangerous game she was playing.
Later, back on her balcony and grateful to be wearing a soft nightdress in lieu of the terribly uncomfortable monstrosity she'd worn that afternoon, Asuna played that game again.
She'd mulled over many things on that balcony before. Tonight was no different: just another question. But this evening's feature appearance generated much more turbulence in Asuna's mind than the seemingly inconsequential one she'd had yesterday, or the day before, or any time prior, really.
How had she known she needed to be careful with what she said?
And why did she believe, with every inch of her soul, that the Authority was dangerous?