The Dustbin
Day 38: No School Part 2
9th of Red Wolf Moon, Morning
"GOOD MORNING YOU MAGGOTS!" shouted the organizer of the House VS House Magic Tournament, "I HOPE ALL EIGHT OF YOU SLEPT LIKE BABIES, BECAUSE TODAY IS THE DAY WHERE ONLY ONE OF YOU WILL BE WALKING AWAY AS THE WINNER!"
Among the eight that were gathered here were the following. From the Black Eagles were Hubert von Vestra, the "Emperor's Shadow" and Vincent von Gogh the "Wounded Genius", both being sons of Empire noblemen with humble renown. From the Blue Lions, there were three graduates of Faerghus's Mage Academy from Fhirdiad, with Mercedes von Martritz, the "Benevolent Soul", Makarov Daniel Dominic, the "Lord of Lightning", and Klaus Ezekiel Kleiman, the "Winter Prince" making up the roster of representatives. For the Golden Deer, the two representatives were the smartest of their class, with Lysithea von Ordelia, the "Prodigal Child" and Ignatz Victor, the "World-Catching Artist".
But out of the eight, one stood out the most, and not for any good reasons. Represented as a non-affiliate candidate was none other than Byron Amadeus Noa, the "Cold-Blooded Demon" for his utter brutality that he'd inflicted onto Annette and Dorothea during his rounds at Block H.
"Come on, Mercie!" cheered Annette from the sidelines, her face still having patches taped onto her cheeks and brows, "win this for us!"
"ALRIGHT! HERE'S TODAY'S MATCHUPS!" the tournament staff then unveiled a board behind him, revealing the bracket for the final tournament.
The first round was between Byron and Hubert. The second round was between Mercedes and Ignatz. The third round was between Lysithea and Makarov. And the fourth round was between Vincent and Klaus.
"Finally, something that is worth being excited over," snickered Byron as he eyed towards Hubert, "... no hard feelings, okay?"
Hubert refused to answer the heel competitor, to which the latter just shrugged and moved on as the first match began.
"Alright, take your stances!" barked the referee.
Byron's fingers then crackle and pop with the gas and ignition of his impending [Miasma Δ] while Hubert remains calm and posed.
"Remember, the fight is over until one of you can't stand back up or concedes," said the referee, "if I see any attempts on taking the others' lives, I'm stepping in."
"Yes sir," Byron smirked as he got ready for his coming match.
The two then ready themselves for the coming exchange of magic.
"AND BEGIN!" barked the referee as Byron then took off running with his spell in hand.
"I yield," Hubert raised both of his hands in surrender, causing his opponent to stop in his tracks, "referee, please call this man the winner."
"... You serious?" Byron remarked, with anger and disappointment tinged in his voice, "come on! I know you're strong enough to give me a fight!"
"I know, which is why I won't," Hubert smirked as he walked out of the arena, "enjoy the rest of this malarky without me."
"WINNER OF ROUND 1 IS BYRON AMADEUS NOA!" cried the referee as he raised Byron's hand into the air while the boy in question was adopting an expression of complete and utter disbelief.
Byron won, but he really lost where it really mattered. Hubert deliberately quit the tournament right in front of his face to spite him. Although to be fair, no one was really happy about the result of Byron being winner by default.
And the rest of the rounds began culling the lesser participants, with Mercedes defeating Ignatz with her [Fire] spell overwhelming his [Blizzard] spells, Lysithea dominating her competition with her [Miasma Δ] wiping the floor with Makarov's [Thunder] spells, and the other two not mattering since compared to Lysithea, those two were considered jobbers.
On the other semifinal round, Byron and Mercedes were pitted against each other, and the crowd was buzzing with vigor and excitement.
"COME ONE MERCIE!" Annette yelled with all the air in her lungs to make sure her voice reached her best friend's ears over the rest of the crowd's roars cheering her on, "BEAT HIM FOR ME!"
Byron however, was only receiving nothing but scorn.
"GO TO HELL YOU BASTARD!"
"I HOPE SHE BURNS YOU ALIVE!"
"STOP RUINING THIS TOURNAMENT WITH YOUR VERY BEING!"
"Ah, they can't get enough of me," Byron reveled in the jeers of the crowd while Mercedes looked at him with genuine concern, "... is that pity on your face?"
"Well, even though you're... difficult, I still think you don't deserve all this hate," she stated, "even calling you the 'Cold-Blooded Demon' seems like a bit of an overkill."
Byron's eyes widened at her compassion toward him. "... So you're not mad that I beat your BFF senseless?"
"Oh no, I am rightfully angered, it's just that I won't let it dictate me to win this tournament," said Mercedes as she took her stance, "so no hard feelings, okay?"
"Tell that to the rest of the peons watching us," scoffed Byron as he readied himself for the semifinal round.
"BEGIN!" shouted the referee as Mercedes began shooting her [Fire] spells towards Byron, which the latter then parried with his own [Miasma Δ] to prematurely detonate the former's spells before they reached him.
"You picked the worst possible opponent to fight, Mercedes," sneered Byron as he casually walked up towards the Priestess, "never bring torches to an oil fight. Just sayin'."
Still determined, Mercedes then shoots another [Fire] spell at him, only for Byron to again pre-detonate her spell with his [Miasma Δ], causing a massive explosion to obstruct both of their vision. Seeing an opportunity, Mercedes then readies fires her spell into the haze where Byron was at, but just before she could take the initiative, Byron jumps out of the smoke with a pair of [Miasma Δ] spells in both of his hands before clapping the two of them together, shooting out a jet of pressurized and flammable gas that caused Mercedes' own [Fire] spell to explode right in front of her face, sending her flying towards the surrounding spectators as they caught her going out of bounds while Byron landed on one knee on the ground.
"WINNER!" spoke the referee as he grabbed Byron's arm before thrusting it up into the air, "BYRON AMADEUS NOA!"
"Now that's more like it," Byron remarked to himself before he looked towards where Mercedes flew towards, "... you okay over there?"
The entire crowd then begins booing at him.
"GO TO HELL, JERKWAD!" one student yelled.
"DROP DEAD ALREADY!" another jeered.
"Ah, they love me," Byron rolled his eyes as he was then guided out of the ring to make way for the next match.
Said next match only lasted ten seconds as Lysithea mopped the floor with her competition. After the utter stomp that was her match, the final round immediately began.
"COME ON, SHRIMP!" shouted one student amidst the roaring crowd of students and failed contenders, "DON'T LET THAT DASTARD WIN!"
Lysithea then looked at Byron, who was in the middle of flipping off everyone booing at him at the rafters, cementing his status as a heel to the crowd. "... This is all a game to you, isn't it?"
"What's that, babyface?" taunted Byron as he leaded down towards her as he cupped one ear, "I can't hear you from down there-"
Lysithea then slaps away Byron, which the crowd then cheered louder at her act of defying Byron.
"Oh come on, they're eating it up," Byron pointed out, "give them what they want, midget. A villain to your superhero."
"I'm not so childish to think that I'll placate to your antics," Lysithea glared, "I don't have time for this nonsense. If you're not going to take this seriously, hurry up and forfeit already!"
Byron then belts out a wicked cackle that echoed throughout the arena that was louder than all of the crowd's jeers, causing them to fall silent as his devilish laugh that came from the deepest bowels of the underworld.
"Make, me," Byron then took his stance as Lysithea did the same.
"Ahem," the referee then cleared his throat, "with that little admittedly-amusing theatrics out of the way..." he then raised both of his hands before throwing both down as he jumped out of the way, "BEGIN!"
Both combatants waste no time shooting both [Miasma Δ] spells at each other, the two gas clouds colliding against each other before exploding into a thick purple haze that covered the whole ring.
"Well ain't that just convenient," muttered Byron, "evenly matched."
"Take this!" Lysithea then shoots another [Miasma Δ] at Byron spotted in the thin violet fog, only for him to dodge the spell as the missed spell emitted another blast of gas that thickened the surrounding haze upon impact, "dammit, missed."
Byron then takes notice of his current surroundings, and realizes that he can use his and Lysithea's mutual disadvantage into his own, sole advantage. He then puts on his beaked mask as he then begins to purposefully misfire his [Miasma Δ] spells to thicken the arena with more fog until no one can see what was going on now.
Lysithea, realizing that she was now making things worse for herself, stops firing her [Miasma Δ] lest she ends up in a blind firefight that won't work in her favor. "Come on," she hissed as she readied her last shots of her [Miasma Δ] to bring down Byron in a decisive final confrontation, "show me your face, you coward-"
"Oh really now?" a distorted voice echoed through the fog, "quite eager to end it so soon?"
The distorted voice causes Lysithea's heart to jump. Nevertheless, she refused to dignify this obvious ploy set up by Byron to trip her up-
"You know, there was something about that always caught my interest," said the voice in the fog, "of how you'd push yourself despite being so little. How you overachieve and dominate your peers both academically and magically. How you're the apex of your peers, and yet, you desire for more approval and more recognition in the name of your intellect," it continued to speak to the back of her head like a phantom clutching her from behind, "how you and I..."
A beaked shadow was spotted before Lysithea, prompting her to fire one of her few [Miasma Δ] spells left, only for her to realize that was merely a mirage as it faded away into the fog.
"... Are not that different," a beak peaked the back of her neck, causing her to waste another shot out of reflex before disappearing before her.
"That's not true!" she growled, "we're not the same!"
"Correct, no one is," mocked the voice as Lysithea began looking around sporadically in the fog, "but that's why it's so interesting."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, her heart now completely enthralled by the Devil itself.
"No two people are born the same," it spoke, "rich, poor, commoner, peasant, luminaries, rabble, good, evil. The dichotomies that pit one against another. How I had the pleasure of seeing and living through both sides of the established spectrum."
The beaked shadow shows itself against in Lysithea's eyes, but the latter refuses to fire as she saw the shadow disappear by itself.
"You see, as a fellow intellectual like yourself, I've always been... interested in you, to say the least," said the voice, "of how you're always seem to be in a rush to do things. Of how you greedily devour more knowledge day by day, never being satisfied with what you have right now. Of how you rebuff others who live and prosper like a wounded prey fighting to its last breath... because you are one."
"What do you know about me?!" Lysithea barked, "just how am I this 'wounded prey' that you claim to be that I am?!"
"I heard rumors, so at best, take everything I say with a grain of salt from this malady of educated guesses and connecting the dots on my own part," said the voice as a hand caressed her neck, with the girl quickly turning around to see nothing again, "Lysithea von Ordelia, born at the 28th of Pegasus Moon of Imperial Calendar 1165, outed as a collaborator of the House of Hyrm's little rebellion that ended in miserable failure," he then began reading off her own personal history, "before that place was set ablaze by pirates last month, the failed rebellion was naturally then followed up by a brutal reprisal, first stripping your family of your noble titles before disappearing for about the following ten years before joining the Leicester Alliance's Round Table. Then comes the rumors, of how you bear both the Crests of [Glouchester] and [Charon]. I'm using Topaz's own acquisition of how she received the Crest of [Gautier] despite not being born into the now-endangered pedigree as a template, but I suspect that you were... exposed to them. A natural-born Crest-bearer being exposed to another..." the voice mused as if it were observing a science experiment, "... I suspect the reason why you're so in a rush is that your body is on the verge of having a dual-Crest-induced meltdown, correct? It's only logical, since, a human body can only take so much strain before it loses it. Crests are naturally powerful, so ergo, having two isn't good for your health despite all of its boons."
Her eyes widen as Byron had somehow managed to figure out her whole life out of pure guesswork.
"I'll take that silence of yours as confirmation that I was somewhere within being correct," scoffed Byron as he kept himself hidden in the mist, "alas, you think you're the only one who is suffering, the only one in the whole world who can't afford to fail because she was dealt a bad hand through outside interferences and other factors of life that is considered less than ideal. But here's the thing: you're nothing special."
A tap was felt on Lysithea's shoulder, causing her to swivel her head around again only spot nothing through the fog behind her.
"Afraid of dying too soon? Your life not being fair because you never wanted two Crests in the first place?" taunted Byron, "here's the thing: life is not meant to fair. Some people are born poor, sick or crippled as they're likely to be born rich, healthy or unimpeded. What happens after, no one really cares. Take it from me, like I said prior, I lived through both spectrums of Fodlan's societal web through a brutal crash course that taught and fed me everything about the world that we're only allowed to see. And now, I've become bored of what I am seeing right now."
"... Bored?" Lysithea parroted in disbelief, "... you're doing all this because you're bored?"
"If Fodlan was a banquet, then you're the most shameless glutton that I've witnessed," taunted Byron as Lysithea kept hold of her last remaining shot of [Miasma Δ] in his hands, "you're a glutton for punishment, brat. I threw down my napkin onto my meal that was shoved into me before, and quite frankly, I'm bored out of my mind. I'm bored of Fodlan. I'm bored of its people. And I am bored of its brand of dangers. I want to experience the chaos that is happening outside. Of how Almyra's military advances generations ahead of this sorry patch of land with black powder and numbers! Of how the remnants of Sreng and Topaz's people mete out death as if they were breathing! Of how Battu and Shangri-La are in an eternal stalemate in an endless siege! Of how Hanafuku, Brigid and Dagda are when the latter two are looked down upon as this continent's losers! Of how wide and dangerous Morfis and the endless deserts further south are!" he yearned, "I'm no different from you, Lysithea, for I used by be a glutton for knowledge myself, but I can only cram down the same shit over and over before I puke out of disgust of blandness! I lived everywhere and experienced everything that Fodlan had to offer! Everywhere is the same here! Nobles make peasants bow at their feet, Crests and the Goddess are all you motley lot ever believe in, and life here no longer stimulates me here! And here you are, telling yourself that you can't afford to fail when your whole life is nothing but failure!"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY WHOLE LIFE IS A FAILURE?!" Lysithea cried out as the fog began to slowly dissipate, "I'VE WORKED HARDER THAN ANYONE ELSE WITHOUT FLAUNTING MY NOBILITY!"
"Here's the thing, Lysithea," spoke Byron, "you failed to realize something I've already learned: that at the apex of effort only lies death," he stated as his voice echoed throughout the haze, "knowing all that, you still wish to go on? Knowing that perfection is the very end and that your efforts will mean the end of your short story? Why?"
"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" she cried out, "HUMANS AREN'T JUST MEANT TO LIE DOWN AND JUST WAIT FOR DEATH LIKE ROCKS!"
Byron echoes out a deep sigh of disappointment. "So said everyone, but alas, that is the universal justification for porridge-minded fools."
Another tap was felt on Lysithea's shoulder, for which she then grabs onto before firing her last [Miasma Δ] spell towards that direction, only to find a boot in her hand while Byron himself escaped her last shot as the exploding spell thickened the haze to the point where she can't see what's up ahead in a few inches.
"Honestly, I envy you, Lysithea. Not for the fact that you have two Crests, but the fact that you have an incentive to struggle and live whereas I have nothing left in the world that I can vouch for," Byron spoke as his shadow loomed over her in the purple haze, "but that is why you're scared. You're scared losing everything that you know and love. Admit it, they're holding you back from living how you want, aren't they? How you can't just go crazy and take the whole world down with you? You hate them, because they made you, which, I can understand."
"... That's not true!" she protested, "I don't hate my family or the people around me! They're the reason why I strive to live and dig myself out of the hole that I was thrown into!" Lysithea remarked boldly, "you have nothing! You're an empty shell that goes about life as if you've already died!"
"How cute," he pointed out, "but, you have a point, I am a dead man walking with nothing left to lose."
A hand then grabs Lysithea's face before lifting her off of her feet. Within the mist was Byron, holding Lysithea up by her head above his shoulders as his beaked mask hissed menacingly with his filtered breathing.
"And that is why you're a failure," Byron's hand around Lysithea's face began to glow purple before a [Miasma Δ] was blasted point-blank directly into Lysithea's face, knocking her out cold as her limp body was then dropped to the ground.
The mist eventually dissipates, with Byron standing over the defeated Golden Deer honors student lying limp on the floor.
"W-WINNER!" said the referee as he raised Byron's hand into the air, "BYRON AMADEUS NOA!"
The crowd then begins to boo louder while they threw random things at him, from stuffed bear dolls, training weights, riding boots, books, and other miscellaneous objects that one would buy as gifts at the marketplace.
Byron then catches a slab of smoked meat before putting his boot back on then coming up to the stage to receive his prize of an [Advanced Seal] along with 10,000 gold.
"Congrats kid," spoke the organizer, "you'd make a damn good fighter but you suck as a human being."
"I'm used to it," he shrugged as he caught a tasty baked treat thrown towards him before taking a huge bite out of the confectionary that he'd caught, "permission for an escort? For obvious and not-so-obvious reasons?"
The crusty Brawler groaned before nodding. "If it means not having thaw at least a hundred people out all at once, I'll save myself and the boys from the excess paperwork and libel."
Byron was then escorted out of the arena as the crowd of upset at the results of the tournament. Outside of the arena were none other then Sorcha and Selene, the only two (three counting Flayn, but she's not allowed to go outside as usual) people in Garreg Mach to not actively hate his existence.
"Oi, de ell's wrong with em?" Sorcha remarked.
"Dey seem kinda mad at ye," Selene pointed out as she fiddled with her [Gradivus], "did ye do somethin' to dem?"
Byron chuckles to himself. Sure, he may have claimed that he's tired of everything that Fodlan had to offer, but he did agree on Lysithea with one thing.
"Oh nothing much," he smirked, "they're just jealous of me."
That life and boredoms as a whole are much easier to bear when he has friends and family to live for. And the Dustbin are both to his twisted and cold soul. They're someones who are worth dying for, a feeling that he can somewhat empathize with Vidar. In fact, he knows that Flayns is a hard exception to the rule of human being being self-interested scumbags, but he really didn't hold himself any better, only just saw them beneath him because at least he admits that he's unrepentant.
After all, losers have no right to complain. If Lysithea is going to have beef with him in the future, then he'll gladly be her new reason for living. Byron can always use a worthy rival, but not as highly regarded as Professor Byleth Eisner, the Ashen Demon.
Oh well, baby steps, I presume, he shrugged as he caught the eye of Lysithea being carried out of the Training Grounds by her classmates.
None of them paid mind to him, being only concerned of their peer, for which Byron can find somewhat admirable.
"So..." Byron smacked his lips as he walked between the McCarthy twins, "... now what?"
"Eh, join de others at de village?" Sorcha suggested, "I mean, it's not like we're going to be welcome ere' and I haven't killed anythin' for a whole fekin' week."
"Dat and well..." Selene looked at her [Gradivus], "... still don't know how to use dis, so I figured we could train."
"Doing what we know best?" Byron pointed out, to which the twins nod, "well, silver lining, no one would be dumb enough to come into the woods just to try and well, kill us."
"Got me gear ere'," Sorcha brandished her [Ne Zha] and pointed to her [Claymore] strapped around her back.
"I'm just glad dat I can finally de-stress," said Selene as she picked up her quiver full of arrows with her [Gradivus] for her crank-operated [Crossbow] slung around her back, "we're still young. We can stretch our legs a bit."
"Not like any of us are strong enough to actually use this thing," shrugged Byron as he looked at the [Advanced Seal] in hands, "you know what? Let's make a deal," he stated as he then bought a [Mace] and a [Steel Lance] for himself and Selene respectively with the gold that he'd won at the tournament, "first come, first serve."
"Sounds gud," smirked Sorcha as she took the [Wo Dao] with her, "don't cry when I git it first, ye hear?"
The three then walk towards Remire Village to link up with the others from their class, leaving behind the scorn and jeers of the others students in Garreg Mach.
At Remire Village...
"Drinking again?" said the bartender as Karna downed another mug.
"It's the only thing that makes sense in my life now," said the hooded Professor as he sobbed into his empty cup.
"You yourself don't make any sense at all," the barkeeper remarked with a sigh, "I mean, who cuts off their own manhood with a broken shard of pottery just to escape being a slave? And what does having children with barbarians have to do with ownership?"
"Alimony," Karna shuddered, "... or what they call the 'rite of ownership'."
"... Seriously?" the barkeeper's eyebrows jumped up in surprise, "they, of all people, care about bureaucracy? And they let slaves in on it?"
"Battu may be a race of civilization destroyers, but they tend to take what they've learned in what works in societies to better organize themselves," the Professor elaborated, "alimonies, suicide watches, military structure based off meritocracy, tactics, resource distribution, governing, if it helps Battu's next generation and after to prosper and continue the bloodline, then nothing's off the table. That's why the Battu people don't treat the slaves as horrifically as one a slave would be treated, they need them to last."
"You know, I heard that they used to be an empire that almost took over the whole world outside of Fodlan before the rots of civilization claimed them," said the Barkeeper, "is that really true?"
"I saw the people Battu, and I noticed a lot of mixed breeding between different ethnic groups, so it might be that they were from different lands before they were ultimately displaced during the collapse," he pointed out, "and before you ask, no, it was impossible for Battu to be anything but nomadic due to all of the surrounding land that can either be farmed or settled in were taken by Shangri-La and Alymra. That's why they practically worship their horses as gods, because they kinda saved their ancestors butts by allowing them to traverse the endless sea of grass known as Battu."
"... Yeah, I'd hate whoever took my tavern and deny me of entry for it," admitted the barkeeper as he refilled Karna's mug with more mead, "... kinda reminds me of Miklan's cartel if they actually succeeded."
"Mm hm," the Professor then drinks from his mug before Byleth came in from the tavern doors.
"Yo," she greeted the barkeeper, "wolves are gone from this whole area," said Byleth as she noticed Karna's back hunched over the counter, "... enjoying yourself?"
"Screw you," Karna flipped her off.
Geez, the alcohol is making him more crabbier than usual, Sothis rolled her eyes upon seeing the pathetic man drink himself to death, ... he's gonna be a layabout, isn't he?
Normally, I'd welcome his help given how well he performed during Flayn's rescue, Byleth pointed out, ... but I guess he earned it after surviving a surprise pirate attack last month.
Is that really the case? Sothis pointed out, I doubt mere pirates can burn down a whole town to nothing!
The fact that the Archbishop didn't put him in the gallows is reason enough to not turn on him, said Byleth, ... although I do agree that you have a point. Karna tends to attract even worse kinds of trouble when he's around.
Don't jinx it, I swear, growled the spirit.
Us sellswords prepare for the worst, reassured Byleth as she gave Karna's back a pat before leaving.
As Karna was left alone to stew in his own misery in the tavern's bar stand as the rest of the day went by without issue.
Except for the fits, for which the patient count increased gradually the longer it lasted, with more and more semi-crazed people being dragged out of the village by the men of Church of Seiros.
13th of Red Wolf Moon, Night
"Whoa," Odesse remarked as he saw entire cages of wolves stacked on top of each other in the middle of a cave that was converted into a magical workshop, "what's all this for?"
"To ensure that we leave no survivors," said the hunchbacked elder with the spherical mask, "if Demonic Beasts can't be created by those beasts wearing human skin, then we might as well send in the actual beasts to do the deed."
"Wow, you're really not messing around this time," spoke the Dark Bishop, "what gives?"
"Call it... an enlightening moment," said the old man as he picked up a syringe with a glowing liquid inside of the vial, "it appears that the students of the Dustbin are becoming more formidable then we thought," he stated as he injected one of the beasts with the concoction while hypnotizing the wolf to remain still long enough for the procedure, "then again, constant misery had made them stronger than the most in the academy. They're already fully-fledged warriors despite their lowly rank."
"They're no Dolofanos, that's for sure," reassured Odesse.
"Then best to kill them before they become him," replied the elder, "... speaking of whom, the Seven Sages. What do they have to say about the current state of affairs?"
"The most perfect timing possible, or so I've been told," said the Dark Bishop, "bottom line, we're in the clear for this little operation. And also said that we can kill the Flame Emperor, as long as we make it look like an accident."
The sphere-masked elder then chuckles low and gravely. "... Good."
"Wanna tip off our 'friends' of Remire Village?" asked Odesse.
"Tell them that we're going to test our new friend out into the open," said the elder, "the Ashen Demon and the Blade Breaker are to be their targets in the chaos. Request the Death Knight as well. He's too dangerous to let live at this rate."
Odesse nods before asking another question. "... Uh, sir?" he asked, "... if, by any stretch, everyone that we're supposed to... you know, die, but does not die in these 'accidents'... because of a certain someone involved, then then what?"
The hunchbacked man then unmasks himself to reveal his face to the Dark Bishop. "I'll risk it."
16th of Red Wolf Moon, Afternoon
"Vacation's halfway over for you," remarked the bartender as Karna entered the tavern with a bloodied and beaten man dragged behind him by his collar, "... another one of those fits?"
"Son of whore tried to shank me," grumbled Karna as he pulled a carving knife out of his thigh as he let the wound bleed while walking in, "... it worked."
"Yeah..." said the bartender as he peeked at the beaten man's face before turning away in disgust, "... think the Church will write this off as self-defense?"
"... He stabbed me," the Professor pointed out, "... I didn't in return, so we're clear."
"Whatever you say," he shrugged as he slid a pint of mead toward Karna across the countertop.
Karna ignores his own injuries and the half-conscious man laid next to him as he drowned himself in mead. Out of boredom, he then begins playing with the knife ala five-finger fillet on the bar counter.
"Stop that," chided the bartender, "don't scratch up the lumber more than it has. Already hard enough to wipe it down."
"Right right," nodded Karna as he put the carving knife away, "sorry."
"Huh, guess the mead is helping," snarked the bartender as he leaned onto the countertop, "you're words are less slurred than usual."
"Is it?" the Professor raised his eyebrow as he looked at his half-empty mug, "well damn."
"Eh, time helps, I guess," he shrugged, "you may have been through a lot, but some good things ought to happen soon enough."
"Even if it's just one, small good thing, amidst an endless black sea of pure hate?" asked Karna as he rubbed his cheek against the bar counter.
"Something worth living for," said the bartender.
The two then stewed in silence in the empty tavern, listening to the ambient sounds of the wind blowing outside that is heralding the coming of winter.
"... Is it just me or are there less people around?" asked Karna.
"The fits are a helluva drug," said the man behind the countertop, "more people are being dragged into the Church's sanatoriums as of late..." he muttered to himself as he looked outside towards the nigh-empty dirt road outside, "... honestly, it's kinda spooky."
"You don't say," Karna dryly replied as he rolled over to his other cheek on the countertop, "... I'm doing my best to ignore the whole 'calm before the storm' cliche that always seems to happen to me whenever I'm around."
"Normally, that'd be a foolhardy thing to do, Professor Yuga," spoke an elderly voice as a humble-looking old man walked into the tavern doors, "room for one more?"
"Sure," said the barkeeper, "... if you're going ignore the guy laying next to him, that is."
"Oh, hey Tomas," grumbled Karna as his neck creaked towards where he was walking towards to, "... been months last we've talked."
"Well, I suppose a busy man like you would be hard to talk to," chuckled the old man as he sat down on the stool next to Karna, "... it seems that I am blessed to finally have run into you. Or at least, the Archbishop actually letting you take a vacation... overly generous of her, I'd reckon."
"How the hell did you get here by yourself?" asked Karna as he looked at the old man with his oaken cane laid next to his own seat.
"I go outside sometimes," answered Tomas as he paid for his own pint of mead, "what? You think I live and sleep in my own library?"
"You're talking to someone who has slept inside dumpsters and dirt before he got hired into Garreg Mach, Tomas," deadpanned the Professor as he saw the old librarian enjoy and savor his mead.
Tomas smacked his lips after he'd finished his first sip. "Ah, fair enough," he shrugged, "so, how have you been?"
"I think 'conditioned to accept horror' is the best way to describe him right now," said the bartender, "mind if I share your story to him?"
"Get me an entire cask of your strongest wine as payment," Karna requested before a whole barrel of red-velvet alcohol was placed before him, "you may."
As Karna began drinking straight out of the barrel, the barkeeper then begun telling the whole life story of the Professor sitting next to him, with Tomas' expression gradually looking at the half-hooded man with increasing levels of concern the further along the ridiculously and elaborately-brutal tale of Karna Yuga and his "travels"/enslavement-and-later-escapes.
"... My man, you've more then enough earned that wine," said Tomas as Karna slammed down the now-barrel of fruity alcohol that he'd finished in one sitting.
"I drank so much alcohol from all over the world that I'm basically immune to getting drunk," claimed the Professor, "... come to think of it, where is Monica? Aren't you two usually hanging out?"
"You know that she's a student, right?" Tomas pointed out, "she's better off elsewhere than being with some crusty old geezer like me."
"Fair enough," Karna then sat on the barrel next to his prior seat, "so anyway, how are things back at Garreg Mach?"
"Oh, your student Byron won a House vs House Magic Tournament last weekend," said the librarian, "in a major upset too. I've heard booing all the way from my workplace."
"Good for him," smiled Karna, "so where is he?"
"Joined the Blade Breaker's outing all the way here," he answered, "the twins also have joined too. Apparently, them filling in for the Byleth lass has allowed her to resume teaching her classes for the upcoming Advanced Exams coming next month."
"Really now?" the Professor remarked, "... well, best I better hit the books as soon as the vacation's over. I'm not falling behind, that's for sure!"
"Found something to live for?" asked the bartender.
"You bet!" answered Karna as he begun rolling on top of the barrel towards the exit, "and that is to show that I am better than her-"
Karna then promptly smacks his head against the top ledge of the tavern entrance before landing hard onto the floor, flat onto his back.
"... How did he even manage that?" asked the bartender.
"Beats me," Tomas shrugged before he sipped on his pint of frothy mead.
At the Forests Surrounding Remire Village...
"... Nothing," Byron hissed before clicking his tongue, "... nothing at all."
"Dey might've taken a hint and began huntin' elsewhere," Selene pointed out as she noticed that there were no fresh tracks in the forest grounds, "... a few might come back, though."
"I hope they come back," said Byron as his hands crackled with Dark Magic, "simply beating off on weaklings isn't enough for me to get substantially stronger. I need more practice!"
"Gittin' used stabbin' with a lance," said Selene as she fiddled with her [Steel Lance], "although being stuck on the ground while swinging dis thin'... kinda feels like somethin's missin'."
"What, like a horse?" Byron pointed out.
"Nah," she shook her head, "but somethin' else," she remarked as the two traversed through the forest path, "... like, wat Seteth was ridin' on."
"Oh, you mean his wyvern?" he answered, "... although given your preference for lances, I think a pegasus would do nicely."
"Pegasus?" she asked, "de fek is dat?"
"Horses with wings," answered Byron.
"Dat's weird," replied Selene, "... although... dat does sound neat."
"Your superhuman hyperopia combined with an aerial domain, you'd make a really dangerous Pegasus Knight," pointed out Byron, "combined that with your [Crossbow] and the [Gradivus]..."
"Ohohoho... I git wat ye mean, mista genius," Selene playfully jabbed Byron's arm as she looked at her [Gradivus] hung around her back, "so wat class do ye plan to become?"
"Eh, dunno," he answered, "... I mean, ideally speaking, I would love to become a class that lets me keep expanding on my own Dark Magic, then that would be great."
"Think we'd run into dat mista Death Knight or whatever he's fekin' called?" asked Selene.
"Hopefully, another [Dark Seal] will be involved," sighed Byron.
As the two then sat down on the stump in the middle of the forest, they then both looked up at the cloudy skies above.
"... Ye seen snow before?" asked Selene.
"I'm from Faerghus," deadpanned Byron, "it's already buried under 4 inches of snow all the way over there, by the way."
Selene chuckles. "I guess," she grinned, "still, thinkin' dat snow's everywhere in de whole fekin' world... why am I so scared of thins'?"
"I think you're doing fine," said Byron, "or at least, better than before when we met Professor Karna."
"I know, but still..." she sighed, "... feels like every day, de more shite happens to us, de more I feel like I'm goin' back..." Selene gulped, "... like back to dat day where me sis and I arrived at Adrestian Empire, of how we were gawked and stared at like animals," the girl shuddered, and not because of the cold, "dunno how I was supposed to deal with em. ... Felt both fear and rage... when I looked at de eyes around me... like I was the prey being cornered..."
Byron then hugs Selene close with a grumble. "... They're not here, aren't they?" he pointed out, "remember, we're predators. Don't let anyone make you prey, got it?"
Selene snorts before bursting into laughter. "Never took ye for a ladies man!"
"I assure you, I'm doing this as a friend," Byron flatly remarked, "... at least I'm not bothered solely by Vidar to not care," he pointed out, "you know, maybe I do care. At least people that aren't just me or Vidar."
"But fek de others, rite?" Selene smirked.
"Oh indeed, screw them," Byron agreed as the two then shared a laughter, attracting Cyrus and Vidar to come find them where they are right now.
"... Girl... friend?" asked Vidar.
"No Vidar, she's just a friend," Byron reassured, "nothing's changed."
"Others might incline to disagree," said Cyrus, "anyway, Jeralt sent us two to look for you guys. He's got something to say to everyone back at the merc camp."
The two then follow the other pair back to the base camp where the Blade Breaker's company along with Topaz and Sorcha were waiting for them.
"Took ye four long enough!" remarked Sorcha as she tapped her wrapped [Claymore] on her shoulder pauldrons, "where de fek have all ye been?"
"Enough," said Topaz, her waists now occupied with the [Zulfiqar], a sheathed [Wo Dao] (that was delivered by Sorcha), and a pair of flintlock pistols that she pilfered from Kasim (including lead balls and a horn refilled with fresh black powder; the horn itself got caught around her ankles as she swam back to shore last month), "he's talking."
Jeralt first then clears his throat before beginning his announcement.
"As you all know, the wolves around Remire Village has been throughly dispersed, meaning that the area is now clear of any predators that may come and attack the local livestock," said the captain, "however, the Church itself has given us another assignment, and yes, we're getting paid for this too, so don't think that we're being short changed."
Various sellswords within the crowd sigh and express their relief of their compensations not being not compromised.
"Our new job is to make sure that the villagers at Remire to not kill each other," said Jeralt, "you already know of the fits going on around these parts, of how they constantly are being found beating their spouses to near-death and how almost all of them are trying to kill Karna. You know, typical Tuesday for him."
A few snickers were picked up by the Dustbin students, much to their silent disapproval.
"With that said, it's just a basic security detail at the end of the day," Jeralt stated, "also, yes, the Dustbin brats are getting paid too, albeit less than usual, mainly because one of them caused a scene during the tournament that he'd won last weekend."
"And there's the kicker," sighed Byron, "... vindictive hag, I swear that Archbishop."
"Byron sounding Karna aside..." Jeralt remarked, "make sure to subdue, but not kill, any villagers that might be acting crazier than the norm and drag their hides to the Church's sanatorium for Manuela to take a look at them. Understood?"
A choir of "yes sirs" were spoken among the crowd of sellswords, with the Dustbin students nodding.
"Dismissed," ordered the Captain as he rode off, "see you all tomorrow morning."
The crowd then disperses throughout the area as they all went about their different ways.
"So..." Cyrus spoke as the six of them were left by their lonesome, "now what?"
Vidar then looks towards the village itself before pointing his finger at it. "... Go there?"
"Nothing better for it!" shrugged Byron as he walked towards that way as the others followed behind him.
Now normally, they would have something to comment about their surroundings every time they go somewhere, but at Remire Village, aside from a few sellswords meandering about throughout the settlement before they all converged towards the tavern, there was nothing going on, let alone, find something worth talking or commenting about.
"... Yeah," Cyrus nodded in disapproval, "... aside from Jeralt's men, this place feels like one of those villages that my people raided. Cleaned out everything, including the people living there, and yet this place feels more lifeless!"
"Must be those fits," Byron commented, "more and more people are being dragged into the sanatorium..."
From the tavern doors, they saw their Professor and an old man come stumbling out of the tavern doors, the latter being more drunk then the former as evident by him being blush-faced and hanging off of the former's shoulder.
"Hey," Sorcha pointed towards the pair, "he's got a drinkin' buddy-"
Suddenly, a farmer approached them before he began attacking the two of them with his hoe.
"Alright, step in!" Cyrus barked as Vidar slapped on his pair of [Baigujing] gauntlets to stop the madman.
First, Vidar drags his ice katars across the earth before trapping the maddened farmer's legs in a bramble of ice before Cyrus, on top of Darius, rode up towards the man before grabbing an apple from a barrel before he loaded his [Bowgun] with it.
The pelted fruit then bursts against his struck temple, knocking the farmer out cold and drooling. By then, the McCarthy twins already binding the man's arms, legs and mouth while Topaz ran off to the Church to request for another pick-up.
The Dustbin managed to calm the situation down in less than a few seconds before any blood could be spilled. The old librarian looked at them in confusion while Karna looked as if he just woke up from a good night's sleep.
"Hey guys," greeted Karna, "is something happening?"
"... Nope," Sorcha shook her head before looking at the others to see if they're doing the same, for which they were agreeing with her, "... nuthin' at all."
To Be Continued...
Support Conversations:
- Byron and Selene (C)
Byron: ... I'm bored.
Selene: Do somethin'.
Byron: Did that, didn't work. I'm still bored.
Selene: Dunno wat to tell ye. It's de same shite over an over again and again.
Byron: ... Come to think of it, we don't much else, don't we?
Selene: Ell' if I know! Didn't do much while I was at de Empire! Couldn't even go outside except for a few times where we snuck out.
Byron: ... I think it's starting to become clear to me on why the others consider us maladjusted.
Selene: De fact dat we can't do much shite aside from killin' and fightin'? Yeh, I guess. I mean, who would want us to take part in other stuff?
Byron: ... Sad truth is, I can't offer anything myself to you either. Tried every board game in Fodlan at taverns across Faerghus, usually waging supplies and food. I won all of them. I only play as an alternative revenue for resource acquisition.
Selene: ... Der's yer problem.
Byron: What would that be?
Selene: Ye don't know how to have fun, do ye? Like, you play games, but yer too serious at it. ... Come to think of it, we're bored because we can't wind down, can we?
Byron: Can we afford to? You're a Brigidian in Fodlan and I myself have a target painted on my back from all the enemies I've made.
Selene: ... Ye know, it kinda sucks it has to be dat way. Wish we could find somethin' dat we can do just for de two of us.
Byron: ... Alright, we'll play a board game together.
Selene: ... Seriously? After ye just say dat you don't have fun with it?
Byron: ... You're right. I don't know how to have fun. So here's the deal. I teach you how to play, and in turn, you teach me how to have fun.
Selene: ... Just how is dat fun?
Byron: That's your job to figure it out.
Selene: ... Bloody ell'.
- Vidar and Cyrus (C)
Vidar: ... Can I... pet your... horse?
Cyrus: Hm? What brought that up?
Vidar: It... strong. Vidar... wants to... know... how strong... it is.
Cyrus: ... Vidar, you're my friend. So heed me when I say this: DON'T.
Vidar: ... Why?
Cyrus: Same reason why I am having a hard time trying to find a suitable mare for Darius: Battu Steppe Kings are THE king of horse breeds. They're stronger, faster, smarter, and deadlier than any other horse that I saw in Fodlan. Seriously, even my own people worship it in fear.
Vidar: ... Vidar... stronger... than people.
Cyrus: And horses are stronger than all people, Vidar.
Vidar: ... Let me pet.
Cyrus: No. It's for your own good man.
Vidar: I am... good enough.
Cyrus: Dairus disagrees.
Vidar: Let me...
Cyrus: No.
Vidar: Let me.
Cyrus: Again, no.
Vidar: Make, me.
Cyrus: Make, me.
Vidar: ... Gonna do it.
Cyrus: NO!
Author's Notes: Gonna try to finish this arc even if it means doing this writing in the first weeks of my school. After that, I'm putting this fic on hiatus until like mid-December. Only two more parts to this tinder box of an arc that is about to explode, so everyone (myself included) brace for impact.
Byron is established to be the smartest student in Garreg Mach to the point where no one but Karna is qualified to teach him anything new, and even then, the latter has limits. So what happens when he has no guiding hand and goes full "nerd bully" mode, especially towards Lysithea, who herself is pretty smart for her age. Byron is the apex of "Conditioned to Accept Horror" and "Misery Builds Character" tropes that are heavily implied with the rest of the Dustbin students, given that to paraphrase the organizer of the tournament: "make a damn good fighter but suck as a human being". After all, he's smart enough to figure out Lysithea's whole backstory through purely guesswork and rumors, but the way he flaunts it can only be described as "diabolical" because he can't "turn off" his "work mode". Byron's perception of "enemy" is never turned off, so in turn, everyone else does that towards him, hence the reason how he became so smart (he studied to sharpen his brains faster than most people) but at the same time earned him no other friends (except for the Dustbin, who are just as broken as him and Flayn, because she's practically a saint). It's also evident on how he fights in the tournament, Byron doesn't fight like a traditional spellcaster, but rather in a semi-modern CQC with Fodlan's magic thrown in. He doesn't show any mercy (aside from not killing his opponents, which is a miracle of in itself), because he doesn't know how, and him exploiting Lysithea's fear of beaked shadows/Dark Mages is his show of lack of psychological filter. And with all that, Byron effectively embraces the role as the "villain" because as he said himself, it's "what they want", or at least, within the context of Fodlan's insular culture.
As for Karna's drunken haze, he's purposely leaving his back open and allowing the maddened villagers to attack him because he's that done with life. He has a bit of a paradoxical desire to both die but stay alive, both bordering on closet sadomasochism because it's the only thing that gave his life of endless madness meaning. This whole arc is about Karna knowing his limits before looping back into his toxic cycle of violence and misery ala Archer. He hates it, but he's good at what he does: surviving.
And with the other Dustbin students now in the middle of Remire Village in crosshairs, expect the adaptation of the canon "The Flame in the Darkness" chapter to get gorier then usual. Hold me to that in case I forget.
Also, guest reviewer, no, Cyrus is not a eunuch. Karna is, in order to escape being a Battuan breeding slave. Sorry if I didn't make it clear enough.
References:
- The mask that was being worn by one of the Seven Sages presenting himself before Odesse is based off Mysterio's crystal/mirror ball helmet from the Marvel Comic Books and Sir Grodus's head from Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door.
- Byron and Selene's Support Conversation mentioning playing board games wagering food and supplies is a reference to how Dio Brando played Chess for bottles of whiskey and brandy for his alcoholic father Dario in JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Phantom Blood.