95: Garbage in, garbage out
The sun is well past set when the last of the enemy wyverns finally flee Paris. But they do in fact flee, and so after a few moments spent waiting to counter a possible false retreat, we move to regroup at City Hall. I'm mentally and physically exhausted, my leg is sore from that [Emergency Evade] earlier, and above all my ears are still ringing thanks to a certain self-proclaimed idol's singing.
Still, I'm pretty satisfied. We saw Carmilla go down, and Edward's absence when we got to the south gate means that he must have gotten Dracula to Notre Dame like he was supposed to. With those guys down…
I switch my communicator channel. "Merry, how are you two holding up over there?"
"...Nothing really to report," the girl replies. "We fought a few wyverns a little after noon, but that's all."
"Did any get away?" I ask.
"Y-yes. One got away. Sorry, Monsieur Subaru," she says, cringing.
"I won't say it's fine, but it can't be helped at this point." I close my eyes for a moment. "They know where you are now, though. Still, we've already avoided the worst case - Dark Jeanne wasn't smart enough to commit everything to stopping Napoleon's landing. His absence here means… probably, she's sent Chlodovech alone after you guys."
In theory, that's a move no different from sending everything in its final result. Napoleon won't be arriving for days, and the [Quinotaur] should be able to wreck his boat with ease when it does arrive. Siegfried can't stand up to [Fleur de Lys], so they'll be annihilated… is probably what Dark Jeanne has assumed.
"-Anyway, just steal his axe with your Noble Phantasm and kick his ass, Merry." I say with a shrug. "To be honest, I'd prefer you take him alive if you could. I don't really want you absorbing his spirit origin."
"Um- right!" She nods hesitantly.
"And contact us when you see him, okay? The moment we get confirmation he's all the way over there, we can move in and take Orleans," I continue with a grin.
That's right, the entire trump card that is Napoleon is just another trap for you to fall in, Dark Jeanne! That's why you don't send newborn tsukumogami to match wits against genius tacticians!
Kongming really is unbeatable!
Kongming, you bastaaaard!
"Edward's gone!?" I shout. "Just like that!?"
What part of this is a perfect victory!? You shitty fake strategist, let me summon you again so I can kick your ass!
"...He seemed satisfied, at the end," Jeanne says, a small smile on her face.
"That's…" I grimace. So what if he was satisfied? Rem was satisfied dying for me, once upon a time. To hell with that! "If I had planned better, I'm sure he could have lived-!"
But what if I couldn't have? What if it was impossible? Even in Kongming's plan, the Black Prince was sacrificed. It might be that there was no other way forward.
I can't die for him. I already know that. A man I barely knew, renowned for his brutality, one of the instigators of the war that led to Jeanne being burned alive - as if I could possibly die for him. I'd wager my reset point has already moved forward anyway. He's going to disappear at the end of the singularity anyway. His [Innocent Monster] skill meant he was living in agony anyway. I have plenty of excuses.
With that accounted for, I have to wonder. I have to wonder if that, too, was part of Kongming's plan.
"Servants are transient existences, Subaru," Jeanne says. "I know it's difficult to understand, but-"
"It's not." I say through gritted teeth. "I get it, okay! I get it! It's been drilled into my head over and over! But, even so-!"
Even so, you didn't have to go this far, Kongming!
Yeah, I get it. This is the 'optimal path'. A way to slowly accustom me to sacrifice by throwing away someone I wouldn't ever return for. He's been way more clever about it than Roswaal was.
I'm tempted to die again just to thumb my nose at him.
"-I won't accept it," I mutter. "Above all, Natsuki Subaru must not become someone who accepts sacrifice to achieve his goals. Because I-!"
"Alright, okay, that's quite enough of that," Mozart says - and then, seizing me by the collar of my shirt, he drags me back to the entrance-
"Hey, let go! Where-!" I protest, struggling.
"You shut up," He raps my forehead with his conductor's baton as we reach the doors. "We're just going to have a private talk, be right back everyone!"
The door slams shut behind us.
I spend a few moments more struggling before realization finally dawns on me.
I've seen this movie before.
"This is the part where you punch me, isn't it?" I ask with a sigh, and he finally releases me. "And then I learn some important moral lesson?"
"Since you recognize it already, I'll forego the beatdown. I'm not very good at fighting, anyway." Mozart says, and as I turn I can see a wide grin on his face. "And I'm a garbage person, so I won't be imparting any kind of moral message either!"
"Then why the hell did you drag me all the way out here!?" I retort.
"I can't give moral lessons - but I can give aesthetic ones." He says, face growing serious. "That is to say, Edward's passing was a pretty beautiful moment, so quit pissing on it."
"That's-!" Seriously!? Just because it looked nice-
"Natsuki Subaru, don't tell me you're the kind of moron who thinks that death is the worst thing that can happen to a person." Mozart says, and I stop short.
"Death is… horrible," I mutter.
"It is," he responds simply, "but Edward knew that, I think. Poor man died of dysentery the first time around, can't have been fun."
"...And?" I ask. "Just because he knew what he was getting into, does that make it better?"
"A little bit, probably." The composer gives a noncommittal answer. "But even putting that aside, I think he preferred dying defending France to disappearing after defending it. He was never punished for his crimes against this country in life - and I think he wanted that."
"...Punishment, huh?" I ask. "Do you think this clears his name?"
"Who knows?" He says. "I think you and I both know that at the very least there's no bottom to man's self-loathing."
"I…" I can't really respond to his accusation.
"That brings me to my next point, though," He continues. "I won't bother moaning about unrealistic standards, since I've got them too. But don't set standards like that and then whine about not meeting them. Not where others can see, in any case."
"Seriously…?" I mutter. "Your advice is seriously twisted."
"Like I said, this is just about aesthetics!" He chuckles - and then, growing serious. "You were putting a pretty miserable look on Mash's face. That girl admires you a lot, you know? Not to mention, Elizabeth and Gareth really don't know you well enough yet to hear you spilling your guts like that. Maria and me too, for that matter, but we're both unreasonable people, so we can handle it."
"So… what, just put a fake smile on-?"
"No, idiot!" He raps my head again with his conductors' baton. "Just be appropriately sad. Have a little self-control, that's all I'm asking. If you've really got to cry and complain, don't do it where the girls can see you."
I feel my cheeks heat up. I get it now. It's totally superficial, but I get what he's saying. "I've made a fool of myself, huh?"
"Just a little. And only because it was some guy you barely knew. If you get me killed you better put on a display at least that dramatic, or I'll haunt you." He says.
"You asshole!" I laugh.
"-So, the gist is, I haven't really changed any of my feelings, but I'll try to look cooler in the future! Sorry, everyone!" I say with a bow.
"Um, Senpai, that's…" Mash mutters. "Well, I prefer the senpai who doesn't accept sacrifices, I think, but-!"
"Fishie, you already failed at being cool in your apology…" Elizabeth says.
"I feel like an important lesson was missed out on…" Jeanne says.
"Okay, Amadeus, your turn!" Marie says, dragging him away by the ear.
96: Hatred and Forgiveness
The beds at the Maison Aux Piliers are just as good as the one I had in Lyon. They're better than the seat of Marie's carriage. With how exhausted I am, I should by all means have passed out instantly. But, even so-
"...I can't sleep."
Grumbling, I climb out of bed and make my way to the hall outside. Turning, I begin to make my way downstairs. Maybe a drink of water will-
I hear a gentle scratching noise. Long brown hair, caught in the breeze from an open window, flutters in my vision.
Seated on a stool, gazing out into the night air with an artist's canvas in front of him, is Saint George.
"...I didn't realize you were here." I say, after a moment of silence.
"Hm. Things seem safe for now. My instinct skill was upgraded by being in English territory, so I'll sense it when enemies arrive - unless it's another Assassin," he answers.
"-in which case it would be best to be nearby, huh?" I conclude, and he nods. "...You paint?"
"I'm not very good at it, I'm afraid." He says. "That 'photography' in the modern world - I wouldn't mind trying my hand at that. But for now, I've resolved myself to paint."
"...Why is that?" I ask after a moment.
"Because this is something that can be left behind," he says, and I fall silent. "We servants… are transient existences. That's how it should be, perhaps. But these peaceful times, nights like this - I want to create a record of them that remains when I disappear."
I gaze over his shoulder - and unfortunately, all I can see is blue and black blotches. "That's…"
"As I said, I'm not very good at it," he says with a chuckle. "But you're not awake at this hour because of my lack of artistic talent, are you?"
"...I'm not." I reply. I know why I'm awake. Something that's been eating at me all day, even before my little meltdown earlier. "I guess… let's start with Elizabeth."
She's not what's really messing with my head. But if I understand this, then maybe- "Can we seriously forgive her for her crimes?"
He gives a gentle smile, and I feel a strange sense of peace settle over my aching heart. "Did she ever do anything to you or I?"
That… "I-it can't be that simple, right? I mean, she's evil, right! A horrible, horrible criminal, so surely justice would-!"
"Does justice need to play a part in forgiveness?" He asks.
"Huh?" What does he-
"Well, in the case of Elizabeth, don't forget that justice was done. She was caught, sentenced, and died a pitiful - if well-deserved - death." He continues. "Would you punish her more? Even beyond death?"
"It… her punishment doesn't bring back-"
"Is it the role of justice to raise the dead?" He asks. "No court made by men can do such a thing."
"Then, to reform - come on, you can't seriously tell me she's reformed!"
"Hasn't she?" He asks. "That girl threw away her entire adult life to try to claw back her innocence. She's given up on torture entirely, in favor of singing. I'd say that's repentance."
"But she's bad at singing!" I retort.
He sighs. "I never said she was good at it."
"I mean, you get it, right? Idols are untouchable beauties, platonic ideals of femininity - she's just chasing the same thing as before! She's gonna be the standard of beauty and who cares how many eardrums she has to rupture to get there!"
"That's-" He starts, only to be cut off by the sound of wings flapping. And out the window, I can see the fruit of my cruel words spoken in anger, as Elizabeth Bathory's tear-stained face turns back to us for just a moment before she rockets off into the night sky. "Oh dear. It appears I will be consoling two distraught teenagers tonight."
"I…" I don't really know how to follow that up.
"Well, suffice to say, the poor girl is doing the best she can. It's difficult for a Servant to really change. Tremendously so, in fact. Some would even say it's impossible, but I have faith that it is." George says. "Still, I think considering her handicaps, Elizabeth is the very model of repentance - but she's not who you really wanted to talk about, is she?"
And with just that little prompting, the messy tale of Ley Batenkaitos and an unfulfilled grudge tumbles from my lips, together with the story of Louis Arneb and her final plea for mercy.
Saint George closes his eyes for a moment, and he crosses himself. Then, opening his eyes once more, he speaks. "Subaru-kun, do you know the difference between anger and hatred?"
"I think hatred goes deeper." That's my instinct, comparing the two words.
"That's right. If I had to put it into words… anger can be satisfied, but hatred is bottomless. That's why it's the worse of the two." He sighs. "You're dissatisfied because you didn't kill Batenkaitos yourself - would you have been satisfied if you had? Or would you have been upset that he hadn't suffered more?"
I feel gross. "...The second, probably. But, he deserves it! That monster is-"
"That child was already in hell for his entire life." The saint says simply, and I stop. "Can't you see that?"
I don't want to see it.
"I'll tell you the story of the life of Ley Batenkaitos." Saint George says.
The boy was born in a slum, or maybe a brothel. He certainly never knew any parents worth anything - in all likelihood, that boy didn't even know his own name until he received that so-called 'gospel' of the Witch's Cult.
He was a slave at some point, I'd wager. Although I can't imagine what sort of value his masters got from him before he had his Authority.
But one day he received it - who knows how. And on another day, or maybe the same one, he found himself in a lethal situation, and he used it instinctively. Ley Batenkaitos devoured his first life, and just like that he was doomed.
It had to be dazzling. For just a moment, for the first time in his life, he didn't have to suffer through his own wretched existence. For the first time, he had the chance to experience what everyone else took for granted.
In your country, there are people who lose themselves in video games and animation to get away from the pain of their lives. NEETs, they're called, correct? And those people, they get lost in shallow imitations, with none of the true depth and connection of real human existence, to get away from… really, social embarrassment? There are those who would give up on normal life for just that much?
Well, that aside, you can imagine it, right? How much deeper the taste of a true life, with all the value of real family connections, of true effort and accomplishment, of love and romance, and even tragedy and loss. How much more dazzling to a boy whose only memories had been the gnawing of hunger, the sting of the whip, the cold of homelessness.
He never stood a chance.
Of course he dedicated his life to it. Even as he gained the power that might have let him make a true life for himself, he fell deeper and deeper into his inescapable addiction to the memories of others. Even as he grew a tolerance for it. Even as each new meal came to mean less and less to him.
He had a sister. That was the one redeeming fact of his life, you understand that, right? The one thing that might have given Ley Batenkaitos meaning.
But someone like him, who only knew how to eat and how to seek new meals, what could he possibly do to show his love?
He shared his addiction. That's all he could do, and so even that one connection became another mark on his list of sins. And in the end, that shared addiction killed the sister he loved, and then him.
That is the story of Ley Batenkaitos's life.
I didn't want to know this. I wanted to ignore it. This was the puzzle I least wanted to solve.
"And so what!?" I finally say with a moan. "What else could I have done!? I couldn't save him! Not after all he had done!"
"That's correct. Saving such a boy was impossible, and it was perfectly just that he should die for his crimes." Saint George says. "But let it end there."
"Let it… end there?" I echo numbly.
"Justice was done, and so forgive the rest." He explains. "That is the difference between anger and hate. Let his life and death be punishment enough, and move on. And if you see him again, and he's up to the same old routine, kill him again."
"And," I say, swallowing, "what about Louis?"
"What do you think is right?" Saint George asks, smiling - and then, suddenly, he stands. "...I've made a mistake."
"What-?" I start to ask.
"Elizabeth is in danger. I'm going after her." He answers, and in the next instant, he leaps out the window, horse materializing beneath him - and then, in a blur of motion, he's gone.
"Stupid Fishie! C-can't sing, huh? I'll s-s-show him who can't sing!"
"-Then, shall I teach you, my dear?"
"E-eh!? Who are you!? I don't need the help of a weirdo in a mask-!"
"Ah, Christine, my Christine, do you not recognize me? I am the angel of music."