Chapter 35 The Sunlight in the Winter
CRACK.
The sound of bone shattering echoes around the compact forest, sending a message of death into the intruders of these forbidden woods.
SLASH.
The silver katana cuts through another limping body, leaving behind a trail of crimson blood to mix with the soil on the dark grounds.
As the sound of the katana sheathing ends the last words of the next intruder, Akame lets out a light sigh.
The lives of humans are weak. For many years has Akame been comprehending the fragility of mankind. Many people have sacrificed their lives for some goal in which they believe due to merely following orders, but what else are they supposed to do? Is it right for innocent empire guards to lose their lives for the sake of a lie? Nothing can be certain.
How ironic, the person who has been continuously causing the death of others is no other than Akame herself.
Wielding such power, enough to make herself one of the most respected assassin in the revolutionary army, but sill apperceives the full sense of powerlessness when seeing the innumerable deaths of the lives she has ended, Akame can undergo emotional struggles from time to time.
Even though she hides it discreetly under that unmovable face.
"Is this why Hei never takes down his mask?" All of a sudden, the young assassin feels as if she understands the Black Reaper more than ever before.
Dissension.
Yet such conformity.
Akame does not have any regrets in becoming an assassin. She knows, since the very beginning, that people like her are meant to stain their hands with the blood of others.
"The past is only an attribute," a monotone miraculously connects Akame's train of thought with its own way of phrasing, "your choices were never subjective enough to be judged befittingly."
Turning toward the sound source, Akame notices that the Black Reaper still has his hands in his coat pockets, while his mask continues to reflect absolute indifference to their current situation.
Is that… consolation in his words?
This half-stated sentence of comfort mixed with Hei's signature monotone does not reflect much about concern and caring, but it is a thin ray of sunlight in Akame's narrow winter.
A sentence that is seemingly insignificant can mean a lot when stated in the correct moment.
The pale hand holding the scabbard of Murasame resorts to a tiny trembling upon those words.
"Your katana is inefficient for assertive counter-ambush measures, injury possibility for yourself greatly outnumbers potential rewards, therefore –" Gradually pulling his hands out of his pockets, the image of two pistols are reflected into Akame's crimson eyes, "Follow me."
If that is Hei's way of saying, "I will take the risk of frontal assault, and you can cover my back." Then he has done a horrible job at communicating such information.
For Hei, efficiency is the most important part in the field of battle tactics. Seeing every living being as a commodity, Hei only uses them to their full potentials in order to achieve the best result.
In this situation, Hei sees himself as the more efficient weapon than Akame in counter-ambush assaults, and logically places himself in front of the young assassin for further operations.
But that's not how Akame sees it.
Tightening her hold on the Murasame, Akame is covered in deep thought as Hei slowly walks pass her.
She has encountered many operations before with assassins of the empire and the revolutionary army, and she has been the best in most of those occasions. For years, she has relied on her incredible speed in her assassinations as her primary advantage, and she was ordered to be the frontal assault in the majority of these assignments due to no other than her efficiency in her line of work.
And yet this masked man is telling her to stay back, saying that her way of fighting is "inefficient."
A slight sense of confusion and discomfort swiftly pour into her eyes.
Before she can unsheathe her blade once again, the view of the Black Reaper comes directly into her line of sight.
Hei is standing in front of her within only a few inches.
Looking directly into the white mask, Akame is ready to deliver her way of protest against Hei's decision.
However, words never make pass the very start of her vocal cords.
She feels something on her right hand.
Looking directly down, she suddenly finds Hei's black gloves overlaying on her rigid fist.
"Trust me."
And her hand is finally loosened by that tender grip.