Chapter 62 – [Justice]

Fire

So much fire… and blood.

Crossbows had been aimed at them, and when Fayette had acted, she had acted in that instant of stunned confusion. That instant had ended, and the men had reacted. Fayette stared at the crossbow bolt lodged into her thigh.

She had been hit by more, but the [Maid Armour] had made the impacts glancing, and they had ricocheted away. She was still knocked down on the floor.

The [Maid] pried herself off the floor, staggered to her feet, and felt a brief relief that her leg worked. Can’t remove the bolt—that’s bad. But I can fight with it. I can—

And then she felt the blistering heat searing against her face, and Mireille pushed her forward. The room—what was…?

A hole. There was a hole in the wall, where [Lord] Marcel had been and the full moon shone from outside, light filtering through all the smoke. And fire was flying. Fayette ducked a fireball, but it still hit the wall and lit more fires.

A figure so bright she couldn’t look at it was slowly manifesting, like an ocean pouring in through the smallest possible hole. An ocean of pure heat and fire. But it was being… held back?

The fireballs stopped.

With a brief glance, Fayette counted the enemies. She remembered the room. In the middle wall was the hole—nobody alive there. No [Lord] or [Mages]. By the door was the second [Lord]—he felt high level. He had other fighters with him—[Knights] and a [Mage] of his own.

The other side of the room only had three men. And her party was around her. Fayette screamed and ran forward, a fast decision. A crossbow holding [Knight] was blinded by the smoke in the room, but Fayette prowled in like a wounded cat, laying low. She whipped her broom about like a tail, swishing a path through the smoke for her party. A broom on the verge of shattering.

Then she jumped the man. No fancy technique—just fingers in the eyes, a kick off-balance, then stomping on the head. She got her broom up as a Sword-wielding [Knight] turned on her, and used [Sweep Dust], sending smoke at his eyes. He didn’t flinch. The sword fell down, and Fayette blocked with the metal end of her broom, and a crack spread over it.

Then her party arrived. A surgical knife on an unguarded back, and needles through a helmet’s eye guard. The third man downed with a syringe. Fayette stepped back, letting Olivia and Mireille finish them off, and she took out a knife, turning. Her mind was moving fast, trying to find a path. The [Mage]—he’s doing something to the elemental—have to—

A gentle hand blocked her. “I can’t seal it, Fayette, we have to let him”

The [Maid] blinked, calming down, breathing finally. She coughed and felt pain in her leg. Breathing smoke was bad.

The [Mage] by the door was holding up a clear gem at the elemental, which was now dwindling in size. Three [Knights] in gleaming armor shielded him, and the [Lord] stood behind them all, eyes locked onto her. Fayette looked at the crossbow bolt in her leg. Shit, this hurts.

She let out her breath. “We have to let him have the elemental?” She turned to Marie. “Are you sure you can’t—”

The [Lady] shook her head. She whispered, speaking only to her. “I’m a [Lady], not a [Mage], so I don’t have their full capabilities. If we don’t let him bind it, it will be let loose, and do [Saints] know what… I can’t—”

This town was her town, these were her people, Fayette remembered. And now the [Lady] was attached to their mess. A pang in her heart. She hadn’t wanted this.

“Sorry,” she whispered, finally looking Marie in the eyes. “Should have told you—or something. Your family—”

“They can wait,” Marie said, holding up a hand. She pointed. The [Lord]. “Right now we need to get out of this alive.”

Fayette sighed, and closed her eyes, focusing. Even with them closed, she could still make out the glow of the elemental—lessening. How long did she have? She had made this mess—she would fix it. She would make up for this.

The situation was bad. Their side of the room was on fire, and she could feel the heat of the fire gradually advancing, like a creeping finger at her back. The [Lord] had the door. Smoke was gathering—she could sweep it away. There was a hole in the wall, but jumping was very risky. Would Maire make it? Could the [Lord] hit them in the back then?

She opened her eyes and stepped forward, finally meeting the [Lord’s] eyes. Negotiate. Maybe that would work?

“[Lord]!”, she shouted, voice clear and curt. Business mode. “I don’t know you or why you are here. Do we have to fight? Those two are gone,” she finished, pointing at the hole. And the body with the crushed head.

The [Lord] did not move from behind his men, but he did speak. A voice she did not know, authority and experience. The man knew negotiations. “[Maid], this was not what I expected to find. Someone meddled in my plot against [Lord] Castellani, so I had to see things through. That is all.”

Fayette frowned. A strange answer. She pointed at herself. “You were plotting against him? I was the one who killed him. Did I not do you a service? Let us go,” she held up a knife and shifted her gaze left. “I won’t interfere with your [Mage] if you agree.”

The [Mage] was sweating, gathering more and more energy into the gem he held. But his face spoke not of despair, but of rapture. A smile almost eerie, and so hungry. Fayette shivered and saw the [Lord] was nodding.

“it is true,” he said. “That man was my enemy. One could say you did a service to me by killing him.”

Then he stopped nodding and stared out, speaking coldly. “But I do not say that. It was not your place to interfere—There are sacred rules that are to be protected.” He raised up his sword and pointed it at her. “And servants who rise against their masters will be put down. That is a [Lord’s] duty.”

And then the [Mage] finished binding the elemental.

It was like a great bonfire being snuffed out in an instant, and the [Mage] shrieked in joy, holding up the gem. The [Lord] nodded, then went to touch him at the back.

But the man flinched back and hissed, then threw a bolt of fire at the [lord].

“No! Don’t touch me! This is mine!” he shouted, eyes darting back and forth. The [Mage] backed up from his allies, cradling the gem against his chest. “I have this now—you don’t matter. None of you do anymore.”

The [Lord’s] face was frozen, but he was gripping his sword tight. He tried to speak, but then the [Mage] threw an arm out, and bright symbols of white flashed, vanishing off his forearm.

Then the man leaped backward and flew out of the hole.

And Fayette started choking.

Not the smoke—suddenly there was no air to breathe. The [Lord] was shouting and gesturing, and Olivia and Mireille were gasping for breath too. What? There was nothing here—nothing to hit, Fayette threw a wild fan of forks into the room, but they hit nothing.

Marie was also flailing and chocking—no, wait, Fayette paused. The [lady] was waving at her, indicating smoke and her eyes. Ah. Fayette activated [Dustsense] and saw the emptiness.

There were two of them, two gaps in the smoke and roiling ash, standing in the middle of the room. Her eyes saw nothing there—except a subtle current? Air elementals? What the hell?

She pointed at them, stomping in anger, but Marie nodded calmly. Then the [Lady] kneeled and started drawing on the floor. With magic.

A simple line of something brown in the ground, with sharp, defined angles and thick lines, crisscrossing in a complex pattern. She drew a last finishing touch on the line, and then Fayette could breathe again.

Everyone was coughing, finally getting a breath in, and Fayette swept the approaching smoke back—it was getting too close. The fire was right at their backs, and the [Lord]—

He wasn’t choking. The man was still just staring at them, iron face calm. Seeing their recovery, he nodded once, then spoke fast. “I [Exert My Authority] on you, minor monsters. You were bound by my subject, so be banished.”

And the spots of emptiness vanished. Just like that. And the [Lord] was not moving. His men were heavily armored, shields and long swords, and he stood at ease—a [Lord of the Field]. And he had the door.

Fayette felt the flames at her back, tickling, sparks hitting her uniform. No more time for standoffs. She felt something wet on her nape, and a boon appeared. It’s time. She threw a fork at the [Lord] and charged, and her party followed.

Seeing the charge, the [Lord] nodded, satisfied. Then he started activating skills.

“[No Quarter Given], [Bounded Champion], [While I stand]—” and then he pointed forward, meeting Fayette’s charge with contempt. “—[Hold the Line].”

And then Fayette felt fury—she remembered that skill. That damned skill. And the men used it so well.

The [Bounded Champion] shone with red. He did not step forward one bit, and Fayette almost lost her hand. She felt a step of Waltz and bent down, hearing Marie scream behind her, and a sword flashed right by. Her allies were not close combat fighters, really. Even Olivia—the [Doctor] fought best striking at the back. And this was an impenetrable line.

Fayette faced it alone. A crossbow bolt in her leg.

Oh, her allies were throwing projectiles, needles, strings, and such, but the damn line held. Nothing with so little momentum would do a thing.

So Fayette tried to fight forward with despair, fire literally at her back, throwing spice into eyes, jabbing with her broom, kicking, anything. She dodged back and forth, managing just because the men did not step to chase her and because a [Waltz] held her right foot up. And just for an instant, she managed it. Against the big [Knight], who stood like an impenetrable wall, she threw a flask under him at the same time she battered the shield, and the giant of a man slipped.

And the [Lord] spoke again. “[I fight with their Strength]”, and he stepped forward, just as strong as the [Champion Knight] himself. A surprise sword swept at her, and Fayette’s broom was cut in half, then her boon flashed, blocking a fatal strike. She looked at the sword inches from her face and saw cut-off strands of hair float down.

Fayette jumped back, only a [Waltz] still holding up her leg. She retreated back and collapsed on the other side of the room, her party around her, all panting. The air was running low. The Fire was so close.

And the [Lord] nodded as if checking something off a list, and now he stood among his men, no leader from the back. He did not advance, he was a holder of things. No retreat, keep the door. He would win with time. Fayette saw the coldness in his eyes.

Those eyes… they held not the contest of true battle or the rage of vengeance. It was something she knew too well—pest removal.

And she felt her rage cool, going cold as it once had. She stood back, panting, and her eyes no longer held hate. So that’s what this is. We’re on that level for him. So…

Why should she not do the same? She had been thinking too much like a [Combat Maid]. But it was a [Maid] who removed infestations.

Fighting was a mistake, he was a [Lord] of battlefields. But he was staying in place, like a nest of bugs burrowed into this building. Fayette could almost imagine him standing like that, holding some key hill on a vital battle. How do you remove infestations? What do I have in this room?

She spoke as her eyes darted around, searching for anything she could use. “Anyone have any ideas? Now would be a good time.”

“I can maybe try to make more fire?” Olivia said, uncertain.

Marie shook her head. “Risky. But that man—he’s staking a lot on holding position. Skills like that can have backlash, like your capstone and mine. If you can get him to retreat one step—”

“We go for the kill,” Fayette finished. She stared at the [Lord], who was looking back calmly. A strategy of impenetrable defense, but his [Mage] was gone. What did that mean? What part of his defense was gone with him?

The air.

“Mireille, I need you to try and sneak some thread by,” she spoke, and the others shivered. “I need you to block off the door behind them. They want to stay? Fine—they can.”

“If they see it—” The [Seamstress] began, but Fayette pulled out her spare broom—no metal end.

“They won’t.”

Then she started using [Sweep Dust] and sent all the smoke in the room at the turtled in [Knights]. And there was a lot.

But it was just smoke. It roiled around the men for a moment, they coughed and Mireille snuck something true, but they were led by a [Lord]. And the [Lord] cut through the smoke with his sword, speaking. “I [Exert My Authority], this fire belongs to my man’s elemental, so let it not pester me so.”

And it did not. It faded away to the corners and floor, staying out of their faces. That damned calm on the man…

But Fayette was already moving, thinking of a new plan. There were bodies in the room—[Mages] by the hole, so she walked to the side and dug around, feeling that calm gaze on her.

The [Maid] found a [Mage’s] treasures and recognized a stone. She had had only one, picked off from a drunken [Mage] at a party, but she remembered its effects well. She stepped back, hiding it in her hand, then met the [Lord’s] eyes. He still seemed confident.

Does he know something? As long as he doesn’t retreat, we can’t either, or something like that? Some trump card if he stays there for some time longer?

But the fire and smoke was thick, there was barely any more time to act, and Fayette had a tool. A tool for extermination—killing. Not fighting. She had never used it on humans—never really hoped to. There was something different in battle and extermination, but this was the latter. The opportunity was there, and the time had come.

Fayette took out her last bottle of [All Purpose Cleaner], dropped a fork inside, then the stone, then corked it. The liquid started bubbling and frothing, and pressure started to build. She threw, [Cutlery Control] guided the bottle, and it smashed against a shield.

And then gas started spreading.

Fayette ran forward to fan it in with her broom, and she saw that Mireille had managed to cover the door. The yellow gas rose and went past the shields and swords. A turtle with one weakness.

Gas started peeling off skin from flesh and going into lungs. The men tried to run back, and their skills broke. A moment of weakness, and they could not open the door. The [Lord] tried to say something, but the gas was by his mouth already. His skin was curling, scalding and he vomited blood.

Then there were screams. Using this on the kobolds had been brutal, but humans—

They didn’t really sound that different. Fayette did not quiver, she had chosen this, and fanned the gas in more. Desperate men bashed the door, and finally got it open, but the gas followed them out. One man stepped towards her out of the gas cloud, clutching at his helmet, and the [Maid] pushed a knife through the eyehole.

Marie was frozen in horror, and even Mireille was green in the face, but Olivia did not shake. The [Doctor] just nodded at Fayette, face grim.

And then the [Lord] ran out, face scarred and burned. Fayette moved to bash him, but he suddenly skipped to the side and jumped through the hole in the wall. Fell two stories. Fayette saw him land outside and get up.

A quick glance—she saw her party was fine. The [Knights] were all crumpled on the floor, so she swept the gas away, into the flames, where it all burned out in one last flash. Fayette nodded at her party.

Then she jumped outside. No bugs could be allowed to escape extermination.

—

How is the bastard this fast?

The [Lord] was running like the devil itself was at his heels, but it was only an injured [Maid]. Small consolation.

He was running through the town, screaming, and The [Maid] was chasing. She had a crossbow bolt in her thigh, but she was still faster, Fayette was gradually catching up.

And then a leg shot in from the side of the road to trip up the [Lord], and he fell down, onto his face. Fayette slowed down and stopped. She was… at the town’s central square? There were people.

The [Lord]-tripping foot went back a step, then with a hop, Marat the [Journalist] jumped on top of the [Lord’s] back and turned to face the confused [Maid]. He was smiling, wearing a dark navy-blue cloak and a black top hat. He tipped his hat, smiling as carefree as he had before, back down in the mine's mess hall. But now the same expression looked vicious.

“Greetings, miss. I was hoping you would arrive soon. Pierre does not like to wait,” The curly-haired man said, grinning, and he jumped off the sprawled [Lord], towards Fayette. A tall and thick-set figure approached, cloak billowing ominously, and started hauling the [Lord] away, dragging him in line with the others.

Others. Fayette’s eyes widened. The [Mage] who had bound the elemental was there, in shackles and on his knees before a block of wood. Behind him stood [Lord] Marcel—somehow still alive—but burned almost unrecognizable.

The new [Lord] joined the others as last in the line, and the tall figure snapped shackles on his hands before leaving him there.

“You—what is this?” Fayette asked. She had just been fighting for her life… and suddenly all these men were in chains and waiting… what exactly? Her eyes went to the first figure. “I thought that [Mage] flew away. How do you have him?”

Marat’s eyes flashed red as he opened up his right hand, revealing a gleaming red gemstone within. “He was quite easy to find, carrying something like this around.” He nodded at the tall figure who loomed over the line of prisoners. “And my friend is a bit of a specialist in arranging captures.”

“Is that what this is?” Fayette asked, eyes drawn to the gem. “A trial, or something of the sort?”

The [Journalist] gestured Fayette forward, towards a group of observers standing on the side. “Indeed, the opportunity came, so we decided to pass judgment.” The [Maid] narrowed her eyes, recognizing some of the observers. They all looked afraid and confused. Are those… villagers? Testimonies? And that’s…

The bespectacled [Secretary] was there too, staring silently at her shackled [Lord], not moving an inch. Fayette shuddered, and then a figure in tattered robes marched to the wooden block.

Pierre. His shaggy robes and wild beard now seemed sharp under the moonlight, and he held a huge blade with both hands. Fayette finally recognized that this was no mere trial—the haunting town square was hosting something darker.

“An execution,” she said, eyes now focused on the ragged figure.

Marat gestured her forwards. “Come, you shall hear a [Judge] speak. We have you to thank for today’s offerings, I believe.”

Fayette hesitantly walked forward, but she had to see this through. Even if she did feel a bit annoyed… “I read your book. I guess this is the sort of thing you do, then?” She asked, peering doubtfully at the [Journalist]. “Not the most pleasant of hobbies.”

“Ah, but as you read the book, you should know this is no hobby, but a duty,” Marat said, smoothing his mustache.

“A hobby you seem very late in performing,” Fayette said, voice cold. “We could have used help a lot earlier.”

“Ah, for that you have my apologies, miss,” Marat said, tipping his hat for a second time. “I’m afraid we are a careful group in our operations, and that can run close to cowardice. We only acted after we saw an opportunity.”

Fayette grimaced and shook her head. If felt like they were trampling on her victory somehow, but did that matter in the end? She suspected the results would be the same. Pierre was stretching, rolling his shoulders side to side, then finally nodded at the tall cloaked figure.

The giant picked the [Mage] up, then pushed his head to the wood block, keeping him there with a foot to the back. Fayette noticed that the [Mage] seemed to have some sort of darts stuck in his face, and she squinted, trying to see better. Magic disruption of some sort?

And then the [Judge] spoke.

The words carried no hesitation, and though Pierre’s voice was hoarse from disuse, it rumbled.“[You are Accused], [Elementalist] Eblé of crimes against the people. You have stolen rightfully earned money, and unleashed dangerous experiments on the unaware. I repeat, [You are Accused].”

Fayette was impressed and raised her eyebrows. They actually know who he is, and what he’s done? She turned to Marat. “Is this like, a real trial? Witnesses and evidence and such?”

Marat chuckled darkly, and the shadow from his hat hid his eyes. “In a way, yes. But Pierre…” he turned to look forward, to the [Judge] who was raising his voice. “—has only ever given one type of judgment.”

The [Mage] was struggling and shouting. “I—what—let me free!” He cried out, wiggling under the firm grip. “Pitiful mock trial! I have done nothing wrong!”

Then Pierre finished raising his blade, more cleaver than sword and threw it up into the air. Where it just… hung. Waiting. Above the suddenly terrified [Mage]. Pierre looked coldly at the man and spoke his verdict.

“You lie. [Judgement: Death].”

And the blade fell. Fayette did not wince or look away, she stood steady as a neck was cut through in one slash, soft as a floating leaf. A head rolled onto the town square. Eyes forever locked in horror.

“You see—” Marat said, glancing to Fayette from the scene, “My friend is a [Judge], but an odd sort. He only ever accuses those he knows will be judged his way.”

The [Maid] nodded, keeping her eyes on the scene. So, they were this type of group. Is this how they will change things for the better? Felt pretty different in the writing. “Your book was hard to understand. Learn better words or something.”

The [Journalist] made a mock gasp of outrage, then laughed. “Hah! True—true. It is one of my older works. Was more for the academic types back then, I like to think I’ve gotten better.”

Pierre had stepped back, and the giant was leading the next person to the chopping block now. The [Mage’s] body had been tipped to the side, and Pierre had reclaimed the blade which he was now sharpening.

[Lord] Marcel was led to the stand.

His face had little of anything human left on it. A charred skull, with one dull eye still moving about—not one bit of hair left anywhere. Even Fayette winced a bit at the sight—better if he had just let himself be incinerated. Was this justice then?

“Is this what you do? Your group—whatever you are. Kill [Lords] and such?” Fayette asked, finally turning from the scene. Marat just seemed so calm. Not on edge one bit, as if the executions, not really trials—Fayette wasn’t a fool—were just normal things.

He shook his head. “Our group… we are a club of sorts. Friends of Jacob, who leads us. But this… this is not the aim— but a tool. For change, you understand? Things are rotten, they need to change. Don’t you agree? You did fine work yourself.”

Did she agree? Maybe I once did… Fayette turned back to the wooden block, and the [Lord] was struggling now. He had seen his [Secretary] in the crowd, but the foot at his back held him firm.

“Isabella, Isabella! Come, speak for me! Go get help!”

The [Secretary] walked over, and nobody stopped her. Pierre just watched the bespectacled woman approach the burnt man. “My [Lord], what should I say to them?”

Marcel licked his lips, “Say—”

That was enough for Pierre. This time there was no accusation even, only the [Judgement: Death]. He again threw his sword into the air, and Marcel’s scream of terror cracked through the town square when it fell.

And another head rolled. The [Secretary] froze in place, staring. She started shaking. Fayette felt uneasy. Why is nobody seeing this? That was loud, but nobody is opening the windows to look. The crimson-tinted moon at her back started to feel more ominous.

But still, she did not regret watching this. Seeing the shaking [Secretary], she knew there was a story there too. Justice had been done. Right? But the book had been very firm about how change had to be large-scale. Larger than this.

“Are you just going to kill all [Lords]?” Fayette asked, once more turning to the [Journalist]. The book had kind of stopped midway. “What happens then? Somebody has to lead, right? Your group?”

“We can talk on this more,” Marat said, stroking his chin. “But ultimately, it comes to classes. Yes, somebody must lead, but the classes must change. No more [Lords]. Are you interested? We could use someone of your talents.”

Ah, so this is a recruitment pitch, is it? Fayette narrowed her eyes, preparing a response.

And then the next man was led to the block, and Fayette’s flinched back to look at him, eyes wide. Henri, the short man who had led them to the mines, the one who had betrayed them.

The senior [Miner] was struggling against the grip that held him, that huge man as implacable as a mountain. “No—no, I have done nothing! What is this? Why?”

He looked like he had been pulled straight from bed, and his eyes were wild with fear. And… confusion. Fayette brushed Marat off and stepped closer. She had to know.

The [Maid] marched to the block and stared at the panicked [Miner]. “Hey, Henri, don’t you remember me?” she asked, looking him in the eye.

And the man froze. “You—didn’t you die? When the mine collapsed?” A tear left his eye, and a held breath left him. He gave a short nod, as good as he was able to when laid on the block. “Thank goodness—the boy, did he make it?”

Fayette’s heart trembled. He doesn’t remember a thing. “The kid, he’s dead—you killed him. You collapsed the mine,” Fayette said, watching his eyes. But there was recognition at all, just confusion.

The [Miner] was staring at her, wide-eyed. And then he really started panicking and trying to pry himself free. “Wha—this has to be a mistake! Some terrible mistake, the lad… I would never—”

Then he was pushed down to the block, and Pierre spoke. Fayette shivered, backing away. No—if Pierre speaks, but he did it—is this right?

“[You are Accused], [Miner] Henri,” Pierre said, slowly sharpening his blade on a rock. His eyes were like death, nothing human shone through them. The ragged figure stood up, and held his blade up, moonlight glinting off the razor. “But you do not know your crimes.”

Henri looked up desperately, seeking mercy, an explanation. “How can I not know? I have done nothing wrong!”

Pierre’s voice was a glacier. “You lie. You made a deal once, knowing something may be asked of you one day. Even something like this. You accepted though you do not remember.”

The [Miner] started struggling. “No! No—I wouldn’t have! I—”

“[Judgement: Death].”

Fayette turned away, she couldn’t watch this one. Marat was still smiling, more vicious now. “Deals without the consequence of guilt—a foul thing. He knew what he accepted.”

Fayette began to walk past him, away from all this, and then she heard laughter. The last [Lord], the one she had chased here. “See, little [Maid]! See how the rabble acts once grown, let loose! Senseless anger! Madness!”

The [Maid] felt fury, and whipped around, meeting a mocking gaze. The [Lord of the Field] was lain on the block, skin peeling from burns, but his eyes still burned with fierce strength, and his gaze did not waver.

“You would do the same to us!” She shouted, stepping back, panting. “You have no right to speak!”

The [Lord] just smiled, seeing her anger. “My actions are those of Justice, of law. Your madness is personal, ceaseless.” Then he sneered, spitting down on the ground. “I will laugh when your [Lady] friend shares this same block.”

Fayette stared, stunned by the words, and then a blade fell, and a head rolled.

She did not hear the system message which dinged out with the fallen head, just stared, but Fayette’s anger did not wane. The [Maid] turned back around, heart beating faster than it had in the chase, and she started walking away. It was all done, by these people. Not by her, but that didn’t matter, really. Still, she needed to check back on her friend.

“Wait just a minute, miss!” Marat shouted, jogging to catch up with her. “Are you refusing our offer?”

“Sorry mister, but… I don’t know you really. I’m not sure I like you,” Fayette responded, not looking back. I have my friends. And Marie’s…

“There’s no need to hurry the decision! Just wait one second, let me give you something!” The [Journalist] shouted, and Fayette hesitated.

She stopped, turned back and stared at what the man was offering. “Another book?”

“A bit better than the last, I hope. I’ve improved.” The man said, smiling. Then he took a card out of his breast pocket and slipped it behind the last page. “And an invitation. No need to hurry—search for your answer.” His teeth flashed under the crimson moon. “I think you’ll arrive at the same destination as us.”

Fayette hesitated for a moment, then nodded once, and took the book. No harm in it. The last one had set her thinking, and the man was smart… She slipped it into her pouch then turned walking back, dreading what was ahead. The enemies were dead. In a sense, they had succeeded.

Mireille and Olivia caught up to her midway but did not say anything when they saw the [Maid’s] face. Fayette gave them a quick nod, winced when she remembered the pain in her leg, and kept walking forward.

She could not feel victory when she saw the [Lady] in the dark, lit by the burning building she was watching, like a ghost of fire. Fayette took a deep breath, then walked closer.

Marie. Just how bad have I messed things up for you?