NOVEL NEXT Chapter 152 - After the Nightmare's End
With the end of the Evil Dream and the return of daylight—or at least what remained of it—that region of End-World had just been covered by a long veil of peace and tranquility. One could feel it in the very air one breathed, purged of the evil that was coming from the North. The warmth of the sun's last rays permeated the souls of mere mortals with serenity, conveying the message that not all was lost in those difficult times.
Some interpreted the end of the nightmare as the blessing of the Gods falling upon Nekrom in a show of mercy for humanity's great suffering and opposition to the Dark Lady's shadow.
Others saw it as a sign that the Enemy of the World was not yet capable of consolidating her supremacy. There was still time to confront that malice that will never stop, attacking mercilessly for five hundred years...
Although very few kept their hopes intact in their hearts.
That dichotomy was absolutely evident when Tristessa and the group of thaumaturges arrived at Entrana.
"So this is what the aftermath of a battle to defend the city looks like," the girl thought, as she dismounted Vergil and placed her feet on the immaculate black brick path that led to the double gates of the southern wall. An intact structure, like the refugees' rustic homes, they were signs of complete success in protecting the Dominion's flagship city and its citizens. A pristine image that dissolved into blood, sweat, and tears as Tristessa looked down at the hundreds of soldiers occupying the ground. "So terrible…"
The victory in the defense had been followed by a more than deserved state of relaxation for that Imperial Army battalion, but difficult to consolidate for many. Their armor was stained with the blood of the Fallen and their own. Many soldiers were drinking soup or water, trembling with fear and unable to be alone at a time like that; others were celebrating the successful resistance, enjoying tankards with beer, singing military songs, and wishing fortune to the Empire. And others, along with priests of the Heterodox Church, assisting civilians who had left everything behind to find some peace in those southern lands and had nowhere to go in the midst of the battle.
"H-how will I ever sleep at night again?" murmured a young woman who had removed her helmet and was bleeding from a cut on her head. "I-I can't... I... I can't…"
"Again they're sending us old rifles and poor-quality gunpowder!" complained a veteran with a long beard and burned skin on his neck. "How the hell do they expect End-World to survive if Mortalis sends us sticks and stones to defend ourselves?! This is Lady Eramisaptor's responsibility!"
"…and tonight no one trembles, tonight we celebrate! One more day, that's what I ask of you! Nekronomika, listen, there are no gods here, only Imperials defending your world with…! WELL, WITH A STRONG, HARD SHIELD!" sang those in the mood, accompanied by those in the mood to clap and laugh.
Each member of the Imperial Army had their own context. Immersed in their respective activities, a temporal reflief from their duties by the Commander, who was overseeing the treatment of the wounded in several tents that had been set up and staffed by healers. Fortunately, not many needed first aid, although, like in any war, there was an unavoidable death toll: a dozen bodies covered in white silk cloths embroidered with the great Shield Against the Darkness.
"What a relief that we got rid of that [Tainted Ursall], isn't it, Tristessa?" Urias asked, leaning against the wagon's wooden backrest and looking around, before turning back to her with a mocking sneer. "A cursed beast like that would have wreaked havoc here, with so many thaumaturges with very limited abilities drafted."
"Your ego is astounding," she retorted, not suppressing her dislike, though deep down, she agreed. "That Ursall killed so many in the previous loop… It took so much to kill it. And Urias turned it to ash with a single spell."
Truly, that woman, who could keep standing in the face of such magical exhaustion, was a monster.
What was her limit? How far could she go on the path of magic?
What was her deepest desire that only thaumaturgy could grant her?
"Let's go to the door. There's already a queue waiting to get in," Xavier indicated, patting his friend on the shoulder. "See you, Miss Tessa! If you see your beloved elf, tell him we said hi!"
"And tell him to be careful while floating, lest he fall and break his nose like that time!" Armin added, then burst out laughing.
Urias smiled at the amusement of his two friends affected by mana burns. Purposely, knowing that she might anger he black-haired girl because of her relationship with Severus.
"Good luck, Tristessa... I'm sure we'll see each other again soon. Keep training with the mutt besides you, in no time you'll stop feeling nauseous."
"...fuck you too."
That reply only made the thaumaturge smile with more enthusiasm, even though she had to hold back her laughter. The Vilecross began to advance slowly, and Urias waved one last time to her new enemy.
"I'm finally free of that disgusting bitch," Tristessa hissed within the privacy of her mind, watching Urias sit down again to continue chatting with Xavier and Armin. As they moved away in the direction of the door, where a mass of people had gathered and several soldiers were trying to organize them into lines. "Maybe I should have confessed that I have no romantic relationship with Severus... Or rather, no relationship at all."
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Perhaps that was going to cause her trouble, but a part of her didn't want to back down. Her feelings for him prevented her from doing so, the need to defend his honor no matter what. It was bittersweet to think that the blood elf didn't even know of her existence in that loop and that soon that would change.
Sooner rather than later, thanks to that small crystal in her pocket that vibrated stronger than ever.
"Sev..." she sighed, that diminutive of his name that he didn't like, looking with longing toward the black walls of the city. Stroking Vergil's head, crucial to fighting the relentless loneliness she felt in her heart. "Come here, quickly."
"Raaa!" the beast blurted, worried for its new owner, only to receive a half-smile and more caresses behind his right ear from her, deep in thought.
Severus must already be aware of the presence of his soul-shard's twin, and Tristessa just had to wait for him to reach her. Thinking it was Viktor Enma, after being missing for a month… It was going to be difficult to explain to him the cruel fate that mercenary had suffered, but there was no choice but to tell him the truth.
"Miss, miss! Are you a dragoon?"
Tristessa was pulled from her train of thought by two children dressed only in old, dirty rags. A sad image of them, cold and each one carrying an empty clay bowl. Their long brown hair almost hid their dirt-stained faces; those eyes shining with emotion at the sight of Vergil.
Full of innocence and living in absolute poverty. And yet so burdened with the weight of a dark worlds, that when they inevitably noticed the dense Discord surrounding Tristessa, their expressions of emotion turned to disgust and terror.
"Another Evil Dream?!"
"Nasty smell!"
Tristessa sighed, downcast. It was very sad to see such young children suffering the terror that plagued Nekrom since time immemorial, living among the evil that sought to destroy them indiscriminately... Mixing innocence with fear and horror was something no child should have to endure.
"Huh…"
Before she could say anything, a priest quickly approached the children from inside one of the refugee tents.
"Cissa, Nigel! Didn't I tell you to go get water for your mother?" He was a young man with long; brown hair tied in a ponytail. Muscular behind his Heterodox Church soutane, a rosary wrapped around his right arm, and a red ribbon covering his blind eyes. "Excuse them, they're just stupid kids."
"Don't call us that, Higgs! Poopy head!"
"Yeah, you stink too!"
The children ran off in the direction of the river, leaving a stunned Tristessa staring with a surprised smile at the priest, who had no way of noticing the face she was making.
"I'd better go keep an eye on those two imps. Again, my apologies."
Higgs Vendrick gave her a quick nod and a blessing, not judging her for her Discord. He crossed the street, following the footsteps of those two bare feet, audible only to his trained ears.
He paid no attention to Tristessa except to apologize on behalf of the children. He didn't remember someone he'd never met.
"Taking care of his flock, huh? I didn't know Higgs well enough; it's reassuring to see the same person in this loop," she thought, following him with her eyes for a while until she began to pay more attention to her surroundings. "Where are you...?"
In addition to the silent groups of soldiers mired in post-battle depression, or the groups of those celebrating, there were soldiers still clad in their armor from head to toe, soaked in the enemies' blood that the Evil Dream hadn't bothered to turn to ash, and of allies belonging to that cruel dimension...
Sitting on the ground, on long stools brought by members of the Church or the healing corps, or even near the refugee tents. What they all had in common, and what caught Tristessa's attention the most, was that they were being voluntarily cleaned by civilians: from children to the elderly, they used wet rags to clean the armor the soldiers wore, as a kind of ritual.
With patience and dedication, they bent down to polish greaves; they sat beside them to leave gauntlets, breastplates, and pauldrons gleaming. Even helmets, which the soldiers didn't remove solely so civilians could do the work.
"Almost everyone is smiling, crying with emotion... They're grateful," Tristessa thought as she walked beside her black-furred aracross, seeing the large number of people who had left the city at the end of the Evil Dream to perform this voluntary work. "Oh, is that lady...?"
An old woman wearing a long, dark, antique dress with long sleeves and a high neckline, and a large, wide-brimmed hat with a funeral veil attached to the brim. She was cleaning the right pauldron of a Crestfallen daemonion soldier, who was holding her head in both hands and victim of constant spasms.
Both of them sat among other members of the Imperial Army receiving the same kind of treatment.
"Calm down, dear. The worst is over." Tristessa heard the old lady speak with the same heaviness and suffering nostalgia she remembered from the meeting they had at the Monument for the Vanishers. "Breathe and let all that darkness fade..."
"It's very difficult, Madame Nerval…," she whispered, her guttural voice mixed with shades of despair. "They kept coming. There was no end to it!"
Her last name finally revealed. Madame Nerval left the now tainted black wet cloth over the seat and forced the horned woman to rest her head on her lap. Like a little girl, the soldier burst into tears and cried at the top of her lungs, her eerie cries intensifying when the old woman stroked her head, trying to comfort her broken spirit.
"If I have the chance, I'll leave flowers at the Monument, next to your grandson's name," Tristessa thought, looking away at once when Madame Nerval raised hers, sensing she was being watched. "Hang in there."
She continued walking, looking closely for that person. It couldn't be that difficult to find her, given her striking armor and cape, which contrasted to perfection.
"Where are you? I wonder if..."
The question she was going to ask herself was answered almost right away, making her heart leap with emotion and, at the same time, break into pieces.
Silent and heartbroken for the beautiful, lonely, and rejected knightess named Astoria Silverthorn, located across from the street.