AN: It's been a while since I've done this, but I have a response for a guest review:

The reasons why Hyperion hasn't caught any "real Ls" are manifold. Since you're probably not the only one asking that question, I'll make you a list of the most important ones.

1. Hyperion barely involves himself beyond having and giving ideas. He was perfectly content to remain in obscurity until divinity was dropped on him. It may not look like he's not at the helm, but when has he made any large political or military decision by himself?

2. He knows he's not the smartest kid on the block, but he's wise enough to always consult with those who are smarter, more experienced and more skilled than him.

3. This isn't Game of Thrones, where only bad people are smart.

4. I utterly despise stories that only exist to make their (main) characters suffer just to milk the drama and tension resulting from it. So, I'm putting as much distance between that and myself as possible.

5. One of the purposes of this story is for it to result in a better ending than any of the individual routes in the game. That kind of can't happen if everything goes to shit.

6. The people of Duscur being the target of a second genocide as a result of Hyperion's meddling with the timeline is not exactly a win in my book. In the in-game paralogue, it was just warriors who were under attack. In this story, almost the entire people were wiped out by Count Kleiman.

7. I once mentioned long ago in the story, that the big picture is made of many little pictures. Just because things seem to be fine on a large scale doesn't mean they're fine when you look at the details. I'd call what is happening in the occupied territories a series of very real, very painful "Ls." This chapter was written with that in mind.

If any of this is not to your tastes, I'm sorry. Thank you for your review regardless.

Chapter 37: The Little Pictures

3rd day of the Pegasus Moon 1180. Unnamed town in Arundel territory.

The battle of the previous night had been savage, to say the least. A lot of people had died. Of the Arundel forces, less than 400 had eventually surrendered. The Ochs army had been devastated as well. Just under 1'200 soldiers were left, all commanders bar Giada and Monica were dead, and the latter had been severely wounded. The young woman had lost her right hand to a fire spell and had sustained many injuries when she'd been thrown off her horse. Nobody was in any condition to continue with the campaign as a result.

"This is a disaster," said Giada. "Do you think we'll get reinforcements, my Lady?"

Monica, who was on a bed beside her, looked at her with tired eyes and said, "Yes. I prayed to the Goddess before I fell asleep this morning. She knows the situation we're in. Help will come."

"How can you know that?" asked Giada.

The mistress of foot was perhaps a bit of an outlier in Fodlan's religious culture. She had never been very devout and almost never prayed. As a result, she had dismissed the rumours that had started circulating about the Goddess, the Church and the all the changes in the works. As such, she was somewhat oblivious to the more helpful developments.

Monica answered, "The Goddess responded. Professor Hanneman is coming with a force from Garreg Mach. He's bringing a thousand soldiers and a company of Knights of Seiros with him."

Giada blinked. "She responded?"

"Yes," answered Monica.

"Since when?!" exclaimed the older woman.

"Since a bit less than a year. Have you been living under a rock?" asked Monica back, now slightly annoyed.

"Apparently…" sighed Giada. She'd have to think about that.

"Never mind that," said Monica. "What are the soldiers doing at the moment?"

Dismissing any previous thoughts, Giada answered, "As your de-facto second-in-command, I've ordered them to start burning the bodies. The ground's too cold and hard for proper burials."

The redhead nodded at that. "Good call," she said, "What of the prisoners?"

"I've had them quartered in… recently vacated residences," answered Giada.

Monica grimaced. That couldn't mean anything good. "Civilian casualties?"

The mistress of foot looked down. "About 3'000."

"That's half the town's population!" shouted the young noblewoman in disbelief. "How did this happen?"

Giada's voice was strained as she replied. "The enemy forces were desperate to find clothes and shelter. Our soldiers proved too big an obstacle to get to those quickly, so they… helped themselves to other available sources. The fact that this town was one they were supposed to retake and protect probably didn't even enter their minds."

"This day is not getting any better," said Monica. She lifted her right arm and looked at the charred stump that had been her wrist. There was a throbbing pain in it, reminding her that she'd never get that hand back. "I can't even continue the fight if I'm like this."

Against her better judgement, Giada stared at the stump as well. She contemplated a thought for a minute before she voiced it. "My Lady, you could learn magic. I know you've dedicated yourself to lance and sword, but with the loss of your dominant hand, those options are closed to you. If you really want to continue to fight on the front lines, magic would be your best option."

Monica sighed. She'd never had much of an interest in magic. Out of necessity, she had learned Reveal, but she hadn't really thought to study any other spells. It seemed that she would have to train extensively to regain her ability to be effective on the battlefield. As soon as she recovered sufficiently, she would start practising some beginner-level combat spells. Hopefully, she would be able to count on Adrianne and Beatrice to tutor her in the subject.

"It seems like that," she said. "Looks like I'll have to start soon if I want to be of any use."

Giada nodded. "Probably. The healers say you'll need a day of rest, but that you should be fine by tomorrow."

"If you don't count the hand," deadpanned Monica.

The other woman cringed slightly. She could have worded that better. "Yes. Apart from that," she said.

"I've got my work cut out for me. There goes years and years of training," lamented Monica bitterly. "My life's work practically ruined."

"My Lady," began Giada, "Your honed battle instincts haven't disappeared. Your ability to command hasn't evaporated. You've lost years of progress with your hand, yes, but to say that everything you've worked for is gone is disingenuous. How many soldiers have lost limbs yet continue with their lives? Are you telling me that you lack the resolve to push forward?"

That statement shook the Ochs heiress. "I… no, you're right. I have to keep going. If magic is the only way forward, I'll take it, and I'll become the greatest damn mage our House has ever seen," she said with newfound determination.

Giada laughed. "Now that is the Lady Monica I know. Nothing can keep that spirit of yours down for long."

Monica snorted. "Can't back down until the war is won. Have some of the mages come by as soon as they're done with their current assignment and had a meal. I want to start learning as soon as I can, even if training is currently beyond me."

"It shall by done, my Lady," said the other woman, "What about your rest? You must be tired."

Monica just stared at her quizzically. "Are you saying the soldiers will be done with their tasks in less than half a day?" she asked.

Giada made to answer before stopping and considered that with the current workload for them, that assumption was probably true. "You're right. You should still rest as much as possible, however," she said.

She received a serious nod in response. "I will," said Monica. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

Giada shook her head and answered, "No. There are only a few minor things that can wait until you're on your feet again."

"Good," said Monica. "In that case, I'll see if I can't get some shut-eye."

"Rest well, my Lady," said Giada.

5th day of the Pegasus Moon 1180. Zanado.

There were fires everywhere. Unlike what one would initially assume, these fires were not of the destructive kind. They formed an intricate pattern when observed from above, for one. The way they had been prepared also indicated organisation. Further evidence for this were the groups of people huddled around the pyres. They sang and danced as the flames consumed their fuel. Indeed, it appeared as though the people of Duscur were conducting some sort of cultural or religious festival.

This was the sight that greeted Flayn when she entered the city with her escorts. She had come here to help take care of the inhabitants of Zanado, taking the Golden Deer and a bunch of healers along with her, but she had to pause and take in the sight before her. She had always liked festivities, song and dance, so it was no wonder that she took her time observing the spectacle before her. Eventually, however, it was time to head further into the settlement.

As they walked, Flayn asked, "Does anyone know the occasion for this activity?"

Claude scratched his chin before he answered, "Considering that it involves fire, I'd say it's either a funeral rite or a sacrificial rite."

"Why would you say that?" asked Hilda. "What's so special about fire?"

"Fire is supremely important in many religions," said Byleth. He'd listened often enough to Hyperion's prattling about mythology to understand that.

"In what way?" asked Raphael. "If they're big on cooking delicious meals, I could understand it, but this is different, isn't it?"

"You're closer than you think," said Byleth. "Many past cultures often sacrificed livestock or food by burning it, sometimes even people."

"Ew," came the response from several students at once.

"Fire is widely seen as a connection or gateway to the Gods. Some cultures believe that the souls of the dead can't pass on unless their bodies are burned on a pyre," said Claude.

"Not to mention that the Crest of Flames is the Goddess' personal Crest," added Marianne.

"So, in summary, people burn stuff to send off the dead or to ask their Gods for favours?" asked Ignatz.

"Correct," answered Byleth.

Lorenz hummed and said, "We can expect the same here, then."

"Most likely," said Lysithea, "But we could always ask them. That way, we don't need to guess."

Flayn beamed. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. I've been wanting to speak with a few elders anyway."

Decision made, the group walked on, coming to the inhabited section of the central plateau. Right in the centre, where the improvised stadium had been, now sat the largest of the fires within Zanado. There were currently about a hundred people gathered around it as they sang and danced. Flayn and her companions stayed at what they hoped to be a respectful distance while the Duscurians performed their rite. And so, they stayed silent and observed.

About half an hour later, it seemed that the whole thing was concluded. The people slowly quieted down in their singing and the dancing began to peter out as the fires went out one by one. The elders among them shouted a few words the spectating students and Professor could not make out at their distance, and then the whole crowd dispersed. Contrary to what the outsiders expected, they looked sombre instead of joyful.

It became clear that the newcomers had not gone unnoticed, for one of the elders quickly turned away from his fellows and approached the group of youngsters. "Greetings, young friends. My apologies for the late welcome, but we are loath to interrupt any of our sacred rites. Thank you for your patience on this matter."

"Oh, it was no bother," said Flayn. "Watching the proceedings was fascinating to say that least."

The elder smiled kindly. "If it isn't Miss Flayn! You are always a welcome sight for us. It gladdens me that you find interest in our customs. That said, I'm curious to know why you're here."

Flayn quickly responded. "We had heard that you had barely any healers and that the Knights of Seiros here were short-staffed on that front as well. I wished to come and help, and the Professor agreed to bring his class as well."

"Most of them need more practice with the Heal spell. This is an opportunity to train them safely while aiding our allies," commented Byleth. "We will need to head out again in a week or so, but we will be of assistance until then."

Another smile crept on the elder's face. "That is wonderful news. I will immediately lead you to the healing hall."

Doing as he had said, the elder led the Golden deer plus Flayn and Aisha, who had come along as Claude's observer, to said hall. The way led them across most of the central settlement on the plateau. It only curved once at the corner of the old palace's fundament. The road went on behind a building the elder called the new meeting hall of the tribal council. Eventually, they reached a building separated from the rest of the settlement by a sizeable distance – a precaution in case a plague was ever discovered among the patients – and a small, chest-height wall.

The healing hall did not look very luxurious or ostentatious. It was made completely out of wood, and, apart from carvings that depicted the Duscurian Gods of healing, medicine and health, there were no decorations at all. The inside was not much different either, though there were cleverly placed windows that let plenty of light in while being shielded from potential rainfall. There were also not many rooms, lending credence to the building's label as a hall. At the very back of the hall stood five human-sized wooden statues which depicted the three Gods that had been visible on the outside decorations as well as the familiar figures of Sothis and Hyperion.

What held everyone's interest, however, were the occupants of the hall. Of course, there were healers about, but only a dozen or so. Understaffing was probably a big problem right now. All in all, there were about a hundred people lying on a variety of cots and beds in the main hall. It seemed that the cots were reserved for ambulant treatment while the beds were allocated to medium or long-term patients. There were a few people who appeared to have some minor illnesses or simple bone fractures while others were there because of more serious injuries. More than one person in the room had lost at least one limb or an eye. One unfortunate follow was even missing his nose and ears. Perhaps saddest of all were the few patients in a separated room labelled "Psychological Treatment." They had the look of people who were haunted by terrible nightmares. They were twitchy, restless and constantly on high alert about everything around them.

"This is our healing hall," said the elder. "Thank you once more for your help. Hora is in charge here while Elder Yarom is absent, so you should probably announce yourselves to her. She will be grateful for your help as well."

"Where is Elder Yarom, then?" asked Flayn.

The elder blinked. "Oh, yes, I had forgotten that you were unfamiliar with our customs. Let me explain: Elder Yarom is the oldest of our number still alive. That means he is leading the Rite of the Last Flame. It is part of the Flame Ceremony which you have walked in on today. As the name implies, the Rite lasts longer than the rest of the Ceremony. Yarom will not be back before nightfall."

"Say, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly is the Flame Ceremony about?" asked Claude.

"That is a good question, young man," said the elder in response, "Simply put, we are asking the Gods to purify us. Fire cleanses. Be it wounds or plagues or evil spirits; all are purged by fire. If our Gods are to be born as good people, our minds and spirits must be free of the impurities of evil. Even our wrath must be righteous. Additionally, She of the Bloom and He of the Thereafter are Gods of Fire. Honouring them after She of the Bloom has granted us sanctuary in the location most sacred to her is only natural."

"Interesting. I assume He of the Thereafter is Hyperion?" asked Claude.

"Indeed," said the elder with a nod. "We don't call the Gods by their names unless we address them directly."

"I've noticed one of the statues at the back depicts him. Why is that?" asked Lysithea.

The elder gave her a pointed look. "Young Lady, this is a healing hall. A God who can heal wounds sustained by the mind belongs here."

So that's why he was complaining about "stubborn old coots spreading my mug everywhere." Sothis probably got a kick out of it, thought Byleth to himself, slightly amused by it all. Out loud he said, "Enough dallying, everyone. We have work to do."

"Right you are," said the Elder. "I'll take my leave, then."

After the elder had exited, the group made their way to Hora's office, one of the few rooms in the building. The middle-aged woman received them warmly and gave them a quick introduction to the injuries and illnesses they would treat during their stay. The students were allocated depending on their skill with the Heal spell: Marianne and Flayn, who had learned Recover and similar spells would be especially useful for disease treatment and the treatment of severe injuries. Claude, Raphael, Leonie, Hilda and Ignatz were the least skilled and were therefore sent to treat the lightest ailments. Lorenz and Lysithea fortunately knew a bit more and would work with the bulk of the patients. There remained only two other people to allocate.

"So," began Hora, looking at Byleth and Aisha, "What about you two?"

Aisha looked somewhat sheepish and said, "Well, I don't know any spells. I'm just here to-"

"Learn," finished Byleth. "Nader sent you to observe Claude's progress, but that's no excuse to slack off."

The woman assumed the facial expression of a gaping fish. "I'm Almyran. We don't do magic. I don't even think I can"

"But you're in Fodlan, and we do magic. Besides, every human, without exception, can learn it. And you will," said the Professor in a tone with finality. "I won't explain to Nader how you died because you stubbornly refused to learn a spell you could use to safe your life, let alone that of others."

She glared at him, but she relented in the end. "Fine," she grumbled.

Hora spoke up again. "And you, Professor?"

Byleth answered, "I will take care of the most grievous wounds alongside Flayn and Marianne. I can also help teach your healers in more efficient methods of casting healing magic. Plus, I'll be able to do a bit of mental healing for those in the psychological ward."

The head healer was surprised by that statement. "Very well. Let us begin, then."

Everyone quickly went about their tasks after that statement. They quickly established a rhythm under the guidance of Hora and Byleth. Both the students and the Duscurian healers learned a lot from combining their talents. The latter mostly shared their abilities in medicinal healing while the former helped their Professor teach healing magic as they performed it. This led to a reduction in treatment time per patient and made the atmosphere of the healing hall less stressful for everyone involved.

Flayn, especially, was in her element. As competent as she had become in combat, healing was her true calling. Being able to help people was her passion. The relieved smiles on her patients' faces and those of their friends and family were always worth the effort. She much preferred this as compared to dealing death, and it showed in her demeanour. She was not exactly cheerful since the people here were hurt, but she was happy that her healing made the patients feel better.

"Say, lass," said the old man she was currently treating, "I've got a question to ask if you would indulge an old man."

Flayn smiled at him. "Ask away," she said.

"You wouldn't happen to be one of those saints, hm? A Nabatean?" he asked in a low voice.

The smile on Flayn's face froze. Then, it fell from her face and she looked down. "… Yes," she said eventually. "I never liked the title. Being called saints made us seem above everyone else."

"But aren't you?" asked the old man with a raised eyebrow. "She of the Bloom made your kind and gave them powers."

"That may be true, but we're still just people. We're just as fallible as humans are. Longevity and power don't change that," answered Flayn.

He laughed lightly. "Ha, you may look young, but you clearly carry a type of wisdom that only comes with age. I'll still call you a saint, though."

Flayn furrowed her eyebrows. "But why?" she asked. "I have just told you, we Nabateans are fallible."

The man shook his head with mirth. "I'm not calling you a saint because of what you are, lass. I'm calling you one because of what you do. Healing the sick and wounded, caring for them; that's what real saints are supposed to do."

The green-haired woman regained her smile form before and giggled. "Thank you very much," she said. "Now let's get back to that leg of yours."

The old man let out a sigh. "It's that blasted knee, I tell you. Been giving me trouble ever since that tree trunk fell on it during that storm twenty years ago. If it weren't for that, I'd be meeting with the warriors right now."

"Meeting with the warriors? Why? You should be safe here. Is somebody trying to attack Zanado?" asked Flayn worriedly.

"Oh no, nothing so distressing," said the man with a laugh. "You should be able to tell- ah. No, you would not; you are not familiar with our culture. See, the Flame Ceremony is a special cleansing ritual. It's supposed to purify our spirits and make sure that our judgement is not impaired by hatred or resentment as we go forward. We only hold it before we go to war."

8th day of the Pegasus Moon 1180. Underworld, Hall of Judgement.

While the Hall of Judgement worked without my input, I sometimes felt the need to come here. It was not so I could pass judgement myself, but to watch and figure out the complex criteria for a soul's allocation to a specific afterlife. The process had been automated a long time ago, after all, since judges like Minos had proven themselves to be corrupt and susceptible to bribes. I could smell divine interference here, and it had the distinct scent of my Adonai's tampering. It would also explain how judgement was passed according to criteria more in line with my morals than with ancient Greek mentality.

For reference, a serial rapist maniac could easily go to Elysium, basically Greek heaven, simply because he was "brave" and got famous for some big victory in battle under the Greek system. Indeed, there had been quite a few of those in Elysium ages ago, but once the new system had come into place, many of them had quickly been relocated to the Fields of Punishment or even Tartarus. These days, Elysium was reserved for virtuous warriors only. Of course, a lot of those also found their way to Valhalla or any other warrior-type afterlife, but the point stood. I was honestly glad that I didn't have to manually relocate morally bankrupt individuals.

Speaking of which, punishment in particular stood out in my observations. From what I could tell, some people simply got the bad side of Asphodel for a few years or decades if they had been too selfish in life or some such, while those who had needlessly brought harm to others served a sentence in the Fields of Punishment. Said fields were mostly like what one would expect a harsh but fair prison to be. Tartarus, on the other hand, was an abyss of torment that was reserved for the absolute scum of the Earth. Those who took joy in ruining, tormenting or killing others were sent there to suffer for their misdeeds. Unlike Hell, however, none of these places held their prisoners forever. The punishment would end immediately once those subjected to it showed genuine remorse for their misdeeds and swore to repent. As such, one could consider the prisons of the afterlife to focus more on rehabilitation than deterrence, as had been the case in earlier eras.

Naturally, I as King of the Underworld had the authority to modify a sentence or pass one of my own, but I had no intention of fixing that which was not broken. It was possible there would be one or two exceptions in the future, however, which was precisely why I was observing the judgements. I didn't want to make any wrong calls in the heat of the moment when it was finally time to make them.

As I saw the next group of souls enter, I was reminded of my other reason for coming here: The fragility of life. Ever since the war had started, there had been a lot of young people coming in. Heartbreakingly, there were a lot of children among them, mostly from the Agarthan-occupied areas in Leicester. It tugged at my heartstrings to see how many of them looked relieved to be dead. A part of me was glad that I felt so bad about it, but I was mostly just saddened by it all. None of these people should have left the mortal coil before all their years had run out, but such was sadly the way of the world. It was a big reminder for me that all the plans I was making or taking part in had real and sometimes disastrous consequences for innocent people.

Currently, I was busy conversing with a family of Alliance citizens who'd had the displeasure of drawing an Agartha officer's attention. Technically speaking, I was only conversing with the father of the family. Their six children were enthralled by my wings and played around with them while the mother was in a trance due to my soul-soothing powers. The last several hours had been incredibly traumatic for her, and she'd barely been able to string together a sentence because of it. Her husband had asked me for help, which was why I was treating her right now.

"Thank you for helping my dear Celine, my Lord! Thank you a thousand times!" he said.

"Stop the 'my Lord' thing. I'm willing to accept it from my sworn priesthood and my subordinates, but not from you," I replied. "The Underworld is my kingdom, sure, but it's also your resting place. You're not here to get bossed around by me, especially since you have sworn no oaths of loyalty."

He looked at me with an unsure expression. "I… I'm not sure how to respond to that. How else should I show proper respect?"

I hummed for a bit, focussing more on his wife's treatment than the conversation for a bit. It was technically already done, but I was reinforcing it and double-checking everything. Eventually, though, I returned to the question I'd been asked.

"You see, I grew up in a place that hasn't had a single noble in centuries. They'd proven themselves unreliable, corrupt and unjust, so my people threw them out quite violently. The patricians that ruled after them weren't much better on the corruption front, but they were still a lesser evil overall. In any case, what I mean to say with that is that addressing me as 'my Lord' doesn't do much for me. On top of it, in my language, every man is addressed as 'Lord' when you look at it," I said in reply.

Really, it was a peculiarity of the German language. "Herr" either translated to "Mister" or "Lord." Weird that.

The man I was speaking with looked quite confused. "But what does that mean for us and how we should address you?"

I chuckled a bit before I replied with, "It doesn't mean much, and just call me by my name. I'm not like the stuffy cunts on Olympus who smote mortals for mentioning them by name but got prissy when nobody talked about them."

"I… don't quite understand, but I'll take you by your word," he said.

I nodded. "Good. Though you will probably need to be a bit more formal around the other deities down here. I've ordered them not to harm anyone for not addressing them with titles, but they can get prickly. That said, don't insult them either."

He nodded back at me with furrowed brows. "Understood," he said.

"Excellent," I said. "Now let's shelve that topic. I believe I'm finished."

Indeed, I was done with checking over my work on the family's mother and was now bringing her out of her trance. A second later, I withdrew my hands and saw her eyes snap open. She looked at me, then at the children tugging at and playing with me wings, and gave a light laugh.

"Celine!"

""""""Mom!""""""

In an instant, both the husband and the children forgot that I even existed. They latched onto the woman in a tight hug, making the whole family resemble a big lump more than anything else. She was showered in kisses from her husband and happy ramblings from her children. There was still a slightly haunted look to her, but she had a smile on her face that managed to put one onto mine as well. It seemed that she was alright for now.

She laughed and responded to her family's affections. After a moment she said. "I'm glad to be here with you too, but you need to let go. I want to say thank you to the nice man who helped me."

After a few disappointed groans from her children, she managed to disentangle herself from the blob they had formed, and faced me. "Thank you for muting the pain. It was unbearable. I don't think I could be there for my family with it bearing down on me," she said.

"We need to repeat the treatment a few times over the next few months for it to take," I said, "But I'm glad that I could help you. You've suffered enough in life; there is no reason for you to suffer in death."

I slightly shifted my position to address the whole family. "Now then, come along. I'll show you to the Palace. You'll get an introduction to the workings of the Underworld and can catch transportation to your new lodgings once that is done."

10th day of the Pegasus Moon 1180. Small town in Ordelia territory.

Disgust threatened to overwhelm Kronya at the sights she was seeing. It was disgust at the condition of the people living in the settlement her team had infiltrated, and disgust at herself. Not even a year ago, she would have been in utter bliss while putting innocent people through worse. Her Lord had saved her from the Dark Shell that had warper her so, and had assured her that he did not think of her as a monster, but she still doubted herself. She was unclean, impure and forever tainted. There was no way she would ever be anything but that. She knew that she would never each the end of her path of redemption, but she still walked it. Only when she no longer felt the desire to gut herself out of disgust every time she looked into a mirror would she find some measure of peace.

She hid those feelings well behind a façade of a laid-back nature and lewd humour. Not even her teammates suspected. The only ones who knew were her Lord and, by extension, her Lord's beloved. He had made her swear to not take her own life unless it was to avoid suffering through torture. Then he had embraced her and told her that he saw her worthy of redemption. She didn't agree with him on that front, but she had relented. He'd noticed and then repeated himself. After that, he'd made one of his jokes again, she had responded in kind, and the serious mood had evaporated. Still, she got the impression that he'd never forgotten that interaction and was watching her closely during their talks every night.

"This place is revolting," she heard in her ear. It was Nikola's voice transmitted through the current version of the communication spell.

It shook her out of her own thoughts. "It is," she replied with a whisper.

Indeed, the town was run down. Half the houses were smoking ruins and the other half were the quarters of the Agarthan garrison, which was currently understaffed – hence the reason why they were here in the first place. The original population of the town had been butchered down to a quarter. Of those survivors, about two thirds laid in the streets, clad in rags and dotted with injuries. The other third were kept by the garrison as entertainment. It did not matter if they were man, woman or child. If they were coherent enough to scream, the Agarthans had their sick fun with them.

Fortunately, there were outliers. A few or the low-ranking soldiers had been observed quietly ushering people out of the town's "fun house." The conflicted expressions on those pale faces had been enough to convince Kronya and her colleagues that there was yet hope for some of the Agarthan people. She didn't know how many had Dark Shells, but it was likely the minority. The others had genuine fun with people's suffering. Still, it was a tiny glimmer of hope that there were those who refused to stoop to the same level as their comrades.

"What's the plan of attack, Kronya?" asked Anselma with a steely voice.

The things Anselma had seen ever since they'd come here reminded the lone surface-dweller of her own time in captivity. Her bearing, her voice and the air around her left no doubt that there would be no mercy for the ones in charge of the travesty that was this town. She thanked her lucky stars that Lady Judith had had the foresight to also give them medical supplies for the people they were about to free from those monsters' clutches. She would liberate them just like she had been.

"You and Philip sneak in as we discussed. The rest of us wait at the large back window of the house's upper floor. Once you've located the enemy leadership, you give us the signal and we go in," explained Kronya. "Anselma… are you sure about this? I know it was you who proposed it, but-"

"It's the best option we have," said Anselma. "I'll bear with it. I know Philip won't let anyone hurt me."

"… Okay," said Kronya. "Just… Don't take any unnecessary risks. Your daughter will have our hides if something happens to you."

"Understood," replied Anselma.

The thing left a very unpleasant taste in Kronya's mouth. She was well aware that any other plan they had come up with just wouldn't work, but that didn't make the whole thing any less ugly.

Forcing down her uneasy, she contacted the others. "Everyone, get in your positions. No fuck-ups."

Kronya, Nikola and Nadja snuck their way through the twilight of dawn that covered the town. They clung to the burned husks of destroyed houses to avoid people. Thankfully, Anselma and Philip took care to make for an ample distraction. The young man was dragging the woman through the streets by a rope that tied her arms to her side. She was sobbing in such a hauntingly convincing manner that Kronya had to forcibly remind herself that it was faked. Considering that scenes of Agarthan soldiers carrying off beautiful women and handsome men were commonplace, no one paid them much mind, but they managed to catch the crowd's attention. As such, the three other members of Hyperion's clergy could sneak their way through to the "fun house" without too much of a hassle.

The truly harrowing waiting period began when Philip dragged Anselma into the interior of the building. The plan was for him to take her and look for an unoccupied room while making it look like he wanted to "play" with her there. That way they could scout out the building. Through conversation with other Agarthans, they would also find out which rooms were reserved for the commanding officers of the garrison. Sadly for the other three, this meant that they had to wait and listen to the screams of the victims this place produced while Philip and Anselma fulfilled their part of the operation.

It took nearly half an hour for anything to change, but then a piercing shriek went through the building. It was followed by screams of excruciating pain uttered by a familiar voice. That was the signal.

She's only playing! It's not real, reminded Kronya herself. But it sounded so real. Anselma clearly hadn't forgotten what it felt like to be tormented and in what ways it had made her scream. Kronya was reminded of every time a victim of hers had screamed like that.

Tearing herself away from those thoughts, Kronya leapt up together with Nikola and Nadja. The climbed up the wall of the house, finding grip on the many decorations that littered the former administrative building of the town. Soon, they'd reached the top, and smashed in the window. As soon as they'd done that, a loud slap was heard and the screams from Anselma stopped, giving way to a whimpering that could barely be heard in the corridor. With any luck, it would take some time before the other occupants of the building noticed that the smashed window wasn't something that had come to be in Philip's room. For now, the full team was in the building.

Finding the room was easy. Kronya and company only had to follow the sound of her whimpering. It was close to the smashed window, fortunately, which made the trip a short one. Within less than a minute, they'd found the correct door. They quickly stepped in and closed the thing before approaching the two already inside.

Anselma spotted them first since Philip had his back turned to the door. Her pretend whimpering never stopped as she waved them in and gave a hand sign to Philip. He nodded and took out a specially prepared stick that had a few sound enchantments from a pocket inside his coat. When he broke it, the sickening sound of a neck snap echoed through the room and Anselma stopped whimpering.

A noise cancelling spell from Nikola was erected right after. "I was prepared for it, but that was disgusting. It makes me twitchy every time I hear it," he said.

The others grimaced. He'd lived a long life in the service of Shambhala's rulers. He had likely witnessed such scenes for real far too many times. Nadja had also seen it plenty of times. Kronya had done it on several occasions as well, and it haunted her. Anselma, too, had seen her fair share of similar events happen. Only Philip was fortunate enough to not have borne witness to such things.

"The faster we get this done the better. Let's hurry," said Kronya. She looked at Philip and Anselma. "What have you been able to find out?"

The first to speak was Anselma. "The garrison commander is holed up in the former administrator's office. He's currently enjoying the company of two boys and their parents."

"Most of his officers are in the adjacent rooms. They have various company," continued Philip.

"Most?" asked Kronya.

Philip nodded. "We've spotted two who don't follow the pattern. One tried distracting me several times while the other attempted to make Anselma go with him."

"He seemed desperate," added Anselma. "I think he wanted to get me out of here."

"Indeed. I recognised their faces as some of those we observed smuggling people out of this place," said Philip.

"Good," said Kronya. "We attack the targets as soon as soon as you're ready. Anything else we need to know?"

"Not really. The lower floor is full of grunts who will rush up the stairs at the first sign of trouble, but if we're fast, it won't matter," said Anselma.

"Then let's go. I'm sick of this place," said Nikola from the side.

The five lost no time leaving the room, stopping only to don their uniforms as the clergy of Hyperion. They stalked their way down the corridor. Soon, they reached the first occupied room and arrayed themselves before it. The cries and screams from inside cut off abruptly has Nikola's noise-cancelling spell isolated the room from the others. A second later, they kicked in the door and rushed in.

There were four people inside: two captives and two Agarthan officers. Said officers had no time to contemplate the change of circumstances as they were thrown off their victims. The speed and viciousness with which Kronya and Anselma attacked them overwhelmed them in seconds, leading to two knocked-out, bleeding members of the garrison. That only left their two victims to be secured by the other three clerics.

Nadja, the designated combat medic of the group, took a quick look and grimaced. The two young women had empty, bleeding eye sockets on top of various cuts, bruises and bite marks all over their naked bodies. Nadja acted quickly and applied some of the wound alcohol she had been given before her departure from Garreg Mach. The woman she applied it to hissed in pain while the other one whimpered in fear. That soon also turned into a hiss as she received the same treatment.

"We'll get you out of here," said Nadja. "All of you. Everyone who's trapped here. Be brave and hold on for a little longer."

Nikola, who stood guard facing the doorway, called out, "Any sign of Dark Shells, 01, 05?"

Hyperion had insisted that they all refer to each other as code numbers in the field. It lowered the risk of their identities being leaked and countermeasures being employed against them. Therefore, they had taken up different designations. Kronya, Nikola, Nadja, Philip and Anselma were 01, 02, 03, 04 and 05 respectively.

"No such sign," said Kronya.

"None here either," answered Anselma.

The middle-aged man scowled. "I say we kill them in that case," he said.

"Agreed," said Kronya.

She promptly stabbed the officer she'd been examining in the jugular. Anselma followed suit with hers.

"03, how much longer do you need to stabilise the patients?" asked Kronya.

Nadja made a quick check before answering, "I should be about done in a minute. We can move soon."

"Good," replied Kronya.

Before long, they were out and hit the next room. There, they found a single Agarthan officer and three victims. The room after it was three Agarthans and two victims plus one deceased. On and on it went for about twenty minutes. The hallway grew quieter with every cleared room. Soon, there was only the big one left, where the garrison commander was quartered. It was the final hit on the floor.

It was a fittingly anti-climactic affair, all told. While the man was about as close to the epitome of evil as one could be, he was not a good fighter. Five elite soldiers proved more than enough to dismantle him within seconds and free his victims. The small family were very much hurt and traumatised, but they had sustained no crippling injuries, fortunately. The same could not be sad for the one who had inflicted these wounds on them.

Him being the garrison commander was the reason why he was the last target on the floor. Interrogation would take some time and attract the attention of those below. Indeed, by the time he had given up the guard schedules and garrison placements, two dozen Agarthans in various states of dress were running up the stairs outside the office. It would help neither them nor their commander.

Nikola took great pleasure in throwing a block labelled APEX into the crowd of enemies and activating the delayed spell placed on it. The explosion not only blasted him of the floor but also tore the attacking force to shreds. Once he had regained his footing and his hearing, he looked at the hole that had once been the stairs, and the red chunks of flesh and bone that were strewn all over. The "special ops kits" Professor Byleth had given them at his Lord's request had come in as a blessing.

On the lower floor, a bunch of familiar faces gathered around the former stairs. They were the group Kronya's team had come to call the smugglers. Their wide-eyed gazes were directed at the grinning form of Nikola. He laughed and said, "So, who of you wants a new lease on life? Fight and die or surrender and live. I've got a bunch more of those bangers."

Wisely, most chose to surrender. The rest didn't manage to exit the building before Philip and Nikola got to them.

Several hours later, a riot broke out when the townspeople noticed that the number of guards had been steadily decreasing over the course of the day. It started with an Agarthan soldier's body being thrown out on the streets from one of the occupied houses right in the middle of the market square. The sight of her blood got the crowd's own blood pumping. When another body was dropped from a window, it picked up in speed, and when more joined them, the people entered a frenzy fuelled by rage and despair.

By the end of the day, the only Agarthans left alive in the town were those of Kronya's team and the eight smugglers they had taken prisoner. Even for them, staying for much longer would be dangerous. The crowd was unlikely to make any difference between them and the now defunct garrison's members, even if those liberated from the "fun house" would speak for them. To those, they had left instructions to contact Hyperion and the Goddess for directions to a safer place than this town in enemy territory. Anything more was no longer their concern.

The mission had been a success. The next one awaited.

AN: Greetings, dear readers!

Welcome to another chapter of Headmates. As mentioned above, the focus of today lay on the little picture, how the war affects people on the personal scope. I hope I did a good job with it since it is pretty difficult to do this while moving the overarching plot along.

Flayn has made an appearance again, and so has Kronya. With so many characters to juggle, I often don't get to focus on them as much as I want, but I found a bit of space for those two this time. This was the first big insight into Kronya's inner workings, considering that Kronya was a two-bit villain in the canon of Three Houses and three hopes. She struggles a lot with her past, and I hope I got that across without being too on the nose with it.

With that out of the way, I would once more like to express my gratitude to everyone who favourited, followed and reviewed since last time. You guys and gals are awesome.

Today's recommended story is Champion by RedXEagl3. It is another Three Houses fanfic that focuses on an otherworldler who, sadly, has no idea what the universe he's landed in is nor that he dropped in during the wrong time period. He's waking up from a long, involuntary nap.

I bid you all a good time until the next chapter. Stay happy and healthy, everyone!