Hypocrisy, all of it.
“You said this wasn’t about sacrifice and death, but about how we wished to live—stirring rhetoric indeed. Enough to prick the conscience of some impressionable young knights,” Philip said.
In truth, Leon knew he should have asked that question of himself.
“I’ve dispatched several knights who share your perspective to both the imperial palace and the Papal Office—Heringen, Zekt, Mücke—all from houses wielding considerable influence. A complete civilian exodus might not be possible, but we should secure permission to unseal the south gate, at least. Though I question how many citizens would abandon Karta’s hallowed protection based on mere whispers of salvation.”
With the Bahamuts lurking just within cannon range, Leon was waiting for his turn in his tent.
Philip, arms crossed over his gleaming breastplate, observed Leon tapping restlessly against a steel helmet of mysterious origin.
“No, I think plenty of people would want to leave,” Leon answered with eyes clouded by distant thoughts.
“Because of that woman?”
Leon offered no response, but Philip interpreted his silence as confirmation.
“Undoubtedly, if she were to accompany them into the wilderness, more people would be willing to risk the move.”
The rhythmic tapping on the helmet ceased abruptly. In the razor-edged silence, Philip’s eyes widened with sudden comprehension.
“You don’t intend to send her away with them.”
Stirring or not, Leon’s earlier proclamation amounted to nothing but hollow hypocrisy. Those were questions he should have directed inward.
When death’s shadow finally fell across them, could Leon truly face Veronica with an unburdened heart? Could he seek absolution because she herself had chosen to remain at his side? Could he declare himself blameless for her inevitable doom, insisting he had exhausted every avenue to save her?
“If that is your decision about how to spend your final hours, I cannot fault your reasoning. The desire to keep her beside you is… understandable.”
Philip unfurled his crossed arms as he delivered this assessment. Leon slowly raised his gaze to meet the eyes of the man who had condemned him for so long. For the first time, those elegant violet eyes reflected sympathy rather than contempt or disgust.
“Yet you appear anything but content with this choice. When you find a moment, perhaps look at your reflection in your sword blade and see what kind of face you’re making.”
With that, Philip pivoted and departed before Leon could formulate a response. His measured footsteps faded into silence as the helmet clattered loudly to the ground.
Leon bent to retrieve the fallen helmet, staring numbly at his trembling hand. His labored breaths seemed to pour like molten lead onto the floor.
“I love you.”
The memory cut deeper than any blade he’d ever faced.
How could I possibly… What am I supposed to do with you? Is this my divine punishment?
Every path before him led to misery. The crushing weight of guilt threatened to suffocate him. His swelling emotions pressed down upon his chest like a physical force. He wanted desperately to have her by his side, to claim a future with her, to grasp a dream now forever beyond his reach, no matter how desperately he clawed for it.
I want to be with you.
“Damn it all to hell…”
Leon covered his eyes with a trembling hand and exhaled a shuddering breath. His passion would consume her utterly, leaving nothing but ashes.
“Sir Berg?”
How much time had slipped away? An unfamiliar voice suddenly penetrated his consciousness. Leon emerged from his dark contemplation, raising bleary eyes. A soldier stood silhouetted against the light streaming through the lifted tent flap, reporting with cautious deference.
“I called several times from outside, but received no response… Your presence is urgently required at the wall, sir.”
The Bahamuts had evidently advanced within combat range. Leon stared vacantly at the messenger before slowly straightening his spine.
“…Bring me battle stimulants.”
“Sir?”
“Bring me the battle stimulants first, soldier. My mind is clouded from sleep deprivation.”
Understanding, the soldier bowed and withdrew with haste.
On desperate battlefields, knights who were pushed beyond mortal limits often resorted to stimulants. The alchemical concoction sharpened awareness despite its notorious side effects—blinding headaches and days of insomnia—but its potency justified the cost. Leon desperately needed mental clarity now.
In his current state, thoughts of Veronica would plague him throughout the coming battle. He couldn’t have that, not today—not the first day of full-out battle.
Leon rose, securing his enchanted blade and methodically inspecting his armor. Footsteps returned sooner than anticipated.
“Hand it over,” he said, drawing his sword for inspection.
The presence at the tent entrance remained motionless. Leon frowned and turned, only to find himself frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away. It was Veronica, who should have been safely at the cathedral’s prayer vigil.
“Leon, I… I’ve…” she stammered.
And her pristine white ceremonial robes were drenched with blood as vivid as crimson camellia blossoms against winter snow.