ARC 3 - HALLOWED

CHAPTER 17 - ALDWAY

How many days had it been? Ten? Twelve? Raegn had lost count. It had been a long time since he’d trained this hard and each sunrise and sunset had begun to blur together into a constant stream of sweat and sore muscles. With a grunt, he heaved against the rope across his shoulders and started to drag the sled weighed down with stone across the training yard. Kai was already a few steps ahead, the islander's more muscular frame having an easier time of the load.

The midday bell would ring soon, releasing them of their regime in favor of food, but until that moment the two would press on. The yard was full of other Templar working on sequences with various wooden weapons or other physical training, though none paid the two any attention. None save for the newly arrived Crusader and his following of Templar accomplices.

Raegn caught the group as they entered the yard out of the corner of his eye, largely because of the asshole at their head. How Eligor had already ended up in command of half a legion was lost on him. Probably something to do with a noble bloodline, if he had to guess. Could the Order not see how unworthy the prick was?

The rigors of the Crusader trial had failed to temper Eligor’s callousness, not that Raegn expected it to. If anything, it actually made it worse. The higher rank came with many things, mainly authority and responsibility, but influence as well. Templar looked up to the Crusaders as superiors and mentors and Raegn was not blind to the fact that in each of the previous days more and more of the Order’s members were beginning to take Eligor’s side in the open criticism of his past.

He braced himself for another bout of taunts before Eligor had even gotten close enough to open his vile mouth.

“I’m amazed to see you still putting up these appearances, Edelgard.”

Not the worst opening the bastard could’ve chosen despite portions of Eligor’s legion sneering along. Raegn rolled his eyes and let the accusation slide off of him while keeping his efforts on pulling the sled. It was times like these he wished he were deaf, for the Crusader’s silver tongue often masked the venom of the words.

“You’re a failure, Lord of Bastion,” Eligor called out, loud enough for the entire yard to hear. “You couldn’t lead the people of your home and they died for it. Now you came crawling to the Order for another chance? Pathetic. Why don’t you save yourself the embarrassment and let us handle protecting the Realm. Clearly you aren’t cut out for it.”

Raegn dropped the rope from across his shoulders.

“And you think you are?” he growled.

“Raegn, don’t…”

Kai’s warning might as well have been a world away. Raegn’s hackles were already raised and his vision had gone red.

“When my legion deploys we will handle Bulwark’s pass alone, without the need for the farlings to risk their fragile lives.” Eligor spat on the ground. “We are more than capable.”

The bastard wanted to insult the very people that allowed him to grow up into such an ass? No. Raegn wouldn’t stand for it.

“Then prove it!” he barked.

Raegn marched towards the Crusader and with fists clenched. He did not call for the Light. He envisioned no flame. No, he tore the power from existence itself, ignoring the ash in his mouth and the coals rolling under his skin.

“You need to learn your place!” Eligor retorted and swung his quarterstaff with all his might at Raegn’s head.

Raegn lifted his arm to block the attack. Normal bone would have shattered at the force behind the strike, but Raegn’s body was no longer natural. With Light coursing through him like it had when Camael forced it into his soul, bone became like steel. Splinters flung through the air and Eligor’s eyes widened as the staff broke apart.

Ulrich’s lessons came back to Raegn’s mind as he fought.

Shock is weakness of the mind.

This would not be like their sparring match seasons ago. Sparring trained the eye to see, the mind to interpret, and the body to react, but all of that was only a piece of a true fight. This would not be a test of sequences, but a demonstration of wills. Who was willing to uncage the fury within in order to triumph?

Raegn had little doubt.

He grabbed Eligor by the collar of his tunic. With a crouch, he heaved the Crusader off balance before driving an elbow deep into his gut. Eligor was freed of the air in his lungs and the broken weapon in his hands.

“You know nothing of that battle!” Raegn roared. He kicked aside what remained of the staff to keep it away from Eligor’s desperate grasp. “It was brutal!”

Just as the Templar group took its first collective step to rush him, Raegn threw a shockwave as tall as the walls of the courtyard at them. The dozen or so Templar were flung back and the blast rattled the stone behind them. Some of them struggled to rise, but none dared come forward again.

Fear is weakness of the heart.

Raegn reached down to grab the doubled over Eligor. The Crusader tried to swing a rising fist at him, but Raegn side-stepped and used the momentum to throw Eligor along the ground. One soul summoned the bravery to rush forward in an attempt to help their downed leader. Raegn’s enhanced senses heard the footfalls. He turned into the Templar, parrying the thrusting staff with a massive downward swing of his arms. The Templar’s stunned face turned to pain as Raegn planted a foot into his chest and sent him half the courtyard away. Eligor rose to his feet, still trying to catch his breath, and charged Raegn again.

“I watched my friends die beside me!” Raegn shouted.

The punches came at him as though through water. He planted his feet firmly against the ground and dodged with movement from his torso alone. After allowing several swings, he countered with a single, thundering blow to the Crusader’s jaw that sent Eligor staggering back.

“My people fought to their last breath!”

Despite being hit with enough force that it would’ve knocked the head off a normal man, the Crusader regained his footing and lunged forward in an attempt to tackle. Raegn allowed the Eligor’s arms to wrap around his waist and he was pushed back, his feet leaving lines in the dirt, but he did not topple.

“They screamed not in terror but in rage as they were torn apart!”

Raegn kneed up into Eligor’s chest with a gruesome sound like a mallet tenderizing meat before kicking the Crusader’s legs out from under him

“I can still hear their cries!”

Eligor started to rise abnormally quick for taking such a heavy hit, but was met with a knee to the back.

“I have stood against voidlings with claws as long as your arm and Voidborne that don’t fall when mortally wounded!”

Eligor howled in rage and thrashed wildly against the pull on his arm that threatened to separate the shoulder. Raegn simply yelled over him.

“I had to kill my own father at his order for a chance at salvation! And what did it earn me?! The Divine ignored my pleas and destroyed my home! And now my people reject me!”

There was a click, and Eligor’s cries ended in a pained gasp. Raegn freed the Crusader of the tortuous hold and threw him through the air to land back in front of the members of his legion.

“You have no idea what fighting the Void is like!” Raegn seethed. “You are weak! You will not survive!” Dozens of onlookers stood frozen at the sight of the battered Crusader lying twisted on the ground. “None of you would have!” Raegn added, staring down the crowd.

Only when he was sure no one else dared approach did he release his hold on the Light. Yet here I am, among you, he swore at himself.

Fighting Eligor was ill-advised. Raegn knew it. Kai had tried to warn him and he’d ignored the good advice of a good friend just as he’d once ignored Ulrich. He’d won both times now, sure, but ultimately proven Eligor to be right. Why was it that the blonde prick could always draw the rage out of him? It was like all of Ulrich’s cautionary teachings and all the time away from the Far East vanished whenever Eligor opened his fucking mouth.

Raegn exhaled heavily through a clenched jaw and glanced about. There was no escort this time as he followed the Highlord across the Citadel’s grounds. How long the Order’s leader had been there Raegn wasn’t sure, but when he’d turned away from Eligor painfully hoisting himself to his feet it had been Highlord Orgeron staring him down with a disappointed scowl.

“Highlord, I recognize that my actions were unbecoming of a Templar,” Raegn said in an attempt to justify his actions, “but surely you must see that Crusader Belestram is intentionally antagonizing me. Does that not prove him unworthy of leadership?”

Highlord Orgeron rounded on him immediately and gripped Raegn’s face with a single hand, crushing his cheeks so he could no longer speak.

“Is this how wish for this to go? Making excuses and whining to me about your childish rivalry?”

The Highlord’s eyes darted between Raegn’s own, and he gave a small shake of his head. The Highlord released him and continued on his walk. Raegn rubbed his jaw and resumed the implied order to follow.

“Crusader Belestram is being tested,” the Highlord noted as he strolled along with his hands behind his back. “If you would only trust in the Order, perhaps you would not be so quick to question it.”

Raegn sniffed and hung his head. He couldn’t be sure whether or not the Highlord was telling the truth, but they had done similar things in Bastion. Those with potential for greatness but hampered by weakness were given opportunities to succeed, or fail, with little risk to others. He had been one of them, once. It would make sense that Eligor would be in a similar position—or at least explain why he was only given half a legion.

After passing the stables, Raegn noticed that they weren’t headed off the Citadel grounds, nor back towards the Highlord’s office. If he wasn’t to meet the Council of Seven again or be disciplined in front of whoever the hawkish man was, where were they going? The kitchens? No, those were the other way,he reasoned. Working for Erkan again wouldn’t be so bad, though. At least he’d get to eat fresh food all the time.

As they approached another training yard on the north side of the grounds, Raegn began to realize their destination.

“Why are we going to the Crusader grounds?” he asked as his eyes darted between the various ranking officers of the Order that moved all about them.

None of them paid him any mind, but all gave crisp salutes with a closed fist over their heart as the Highlord passed by. Somehow this was worse than the civilians that had gawked at them when he’d been escorted to the Church. He felt every bit the lamb being led to slaughter.

“Because you are about to meet the leader of the Justicar,” Highlord Orgeron said after raising a hand to put the Crusaders at ease.

Several of them stepped aside to give the Highlord a wide berth and Raegn saw two massive men in the middle of a wrestling match at the center of the training yard. The more muscle-bound of the two, with strawberry-blond locks down to his shoulders, Raegn recognized as Crusader Swann, the proctor of the final portion of the Templar trial. His opponent was equally large in width, but towered above Swann as they lunged at one another.

They collided with enough force to shoulder through a barricaded gate, yet neither recoiled, instead meeting in the clinch and jockeying for position. The larger man kept better footing as they fought for a good hold and Swann was thrown to the ground. There were shouts of glee and some of dismay and the crowd began to break apart as the two in the center shook hands. The large man glanced over, then glowered at the sight of the Highlord and reluctantly made his way to them.

His head was shaved on the sides, leaving a wide patch of black hair down the middle that came to a braided end at the base of the neck. More eye-catching, though, were the letters of the Divine intermixed with a sigil or two that started at the wrist and wound their way up the arm.

A farling. The leader of the Justicar was a farling!

And that face was so familiar…

The man’s eyes were fierce despite their common brown color and his expression was stiff. He lumbered too, like a creature of the forest.

“If I’m not mistaken, you knew his brother,” the Highlord said quickly. Then, once the massive man was standing in front of them, gave the introduction. “Templar Edelgard, this is High Justicar Cenric Aldway.”

Raegn staggered back as the connection formed in his mind. A wide, square jaw and large muscles lingering beneath a healthy layer of meat that was itself coated in hair, thick like fur on the arms. The man bore the same size and shape as Ulrich and certainly had the same eyes.

“Close your mouth, Templar,” High Justicar Aldway ordered. “You look a fool standing there with it hanging open.”

Raegn clacked his gaping jaw shut and swallowed. He looked to the Highlord, but the equally large man bore a devious grin.

“How…why—” Raegn cleared his throat as the words came out hoarse.

“You mean to ask how he is here and why are you meeting him now?” the Highlord asked for him.

Raegn nodded faintly, his eyes still trying to comprehend the face in front of him. All those memories, all the warm smiles and advice from a voice like a low growl, came flooding back

“Cenric?” the Highlord said with a glance at the Justicar.

“I’m sure my brother told you of an exile. It was me. There is nothing else to it,” the man answered sternly.

“And as for why, well, I’ve heard you intend to take the Crusader trial,” the Highlord added. “With the demonstration you just gave the rest of the Order and your talk of experience, I figured you might be ready now. If you can best Cenric I will make you a Crusader on the spot. No trial necessary.”

Raegn gawked at the Highlord. Win a bout and skip the two season-long trial? What about Kai? He’d want you to take it, Raegn told himself. But fight his mentor? He wasn’t sure he could remember a time he actually beat Ulrich. No, not your mentor, he corrected. Cenric might look like a younger version of Ulrich, but the temperament was different. Cenric was exiled for an inability to control his rage. He cost Bastion unnecessary lives. Ulrich had been a mentor - this man was only an obstacle.

“Fine,” Raegn said.

“Very good!” Highlord Orgeron exclaimed between a few coughs. “A simple bout will do. No weapons, no Light. First to be thrown or otherwise finds themselves on the ground, loses.”

Raegn nodded and Cenric immediately took to a slight crouch. The Highlord stepped away as the two began to circle one another, though it was more Raegn circling; Cenric’s movement was more akin to slowly spinning in place. There would be no overpowering the Justicar, of that Raegn was certain. If this was to be anything like wrestling with Ulrich then getting into a clinch would be the end of it. Speed would be the key. Speed, a creative use of weight, and a bit of surprise.

Raegn lunged in. Cenric reached for him, but his massive arms slid over Raegn’s back as he crouched beneath the grasp. Raegn stepped to the side and gave a solid check inward with his hip, but the large Justicar didn’t budge. He continued his circle in an attempt to end up facing his opponent’s rear, but Cenric turned just as quickly. Raegn was forced to leap back to avoid being put into a bear hug.

He tried again, this time feinting the lunge, drawing the reach from the Justicar, and then trying to clamp one of the man’s arms down. The difference in strength was immense, but if he could fight only a portion of Cenric at a time he had a chance. He wrenched the arm away with all his weight and forced the Justicar to spin, but the man took a massive step and planted firmly, flinging Raegn free. He was sent rolling across the ground, but recovered in a low crouch.

With a growl like a cornered beast, Raegn rushed again. He tried a leg this time, but Cenric put a blow in his back that broke Raegn’s grip and splayed him out on the ground like a rug. He missed a breath or two, but when he rose he tried once again for a leg. The man’s stance was strong, but breaking something at the bottom meant the top would fall too. Cenric saw the attack coming and stepped in, shouldering through Raegn’s chest and sending him tumbling backward over himself.

Each time Raegn fell his heart beat harder, pushing fury through his body. He ran at the Justicar again, this time headlong, and met the equivalent of a stone wall in return. Cenric gave no ground and the two met with arms clasped around the other’s shoulders. It was the exact opposite of how Raegn knew he needed to fight, but raw determination blinded him. The Justicar overwhelmed him easily. Raegn’s hold was broken like that of a child’s and Cenric hoisted him over his head. The man did give a bit of a grunt in an indication his strength was not limitless, but Raegn was hurled through the air all the same.

He bounced once on the ground, though it didn’t soften the impact at all. Raegn pushed himself off the dirt, swearing under his breath and staggering as he tried to regain his footing. The massive man was too quick to attack only a single side, his stance too hard to break, and his strength too much to handle head-on. The only chance was surprise.

Raegn rushed forward again and Cenric almost rolled his eyes at the brazenness of it. Good. Believe your victory assured, Raegn thought. He leaned forward as if to make a lunge and Cenric mirrored the posture to intercept the incoming blow. The Justicar’s outstretched arms found air, however, as Raegn pivoted to plant a hand on the ground and reach out with his legs instead. He wrapped his thighs around the sides of the Cenric’s head and twisted, using the strength of his core to power the movement. Raegn guessed he only weighed half as much as his opponent, but anyone faced with half their weight suddenly pulling in a direction they weren’t anticipating would see the same result. Cenric’s feet left the ground as the Justicar was pulled from his stance and rolled onto the ground.

The moment the man’s shoulders hit Raegn was on his feet. Covered in dirt that clung to his sweat and with his chest heaving from the effort of the bouts, Raegn stood proud, a grin spreading across his face. He searched for the Highlord’s bearded mug among those of the Crusaders in the yard that had stopped to watch. He found it, though the Highlord’s fur-lined jaw was stern and the lips above set in a quizzical frown.

“You think yourself victorious?” the Highlord asked, approaching as Cenric picked his large frame up off the ground.

“I threw him,” Raegn insisted.

“And were thrown yourself four times prior,” the Highlord retorted. “First to be thrown loses, I believe my words were.”

Like the wind abandoning a sail, Raegn’s spirit vanished. That wasn’t fair. How was he supposed to win on the first bout? There was a reason people of the Highlord’s and Cenric’s size were usually the best warriors. The sheer strength of someone that big was near impossible to overcome with a weapon or something to equalize the genetic difference. Luring Cenric into overconfidence with previous attacks was the only way he ever would have had a chance.

The Highlord pursed his lips and stared off into the sky above the walls. “It seems the trial will be necessary after all,” he said, then brought himself to look down on Raegn. “Even for you. And now,” he continued with a sigh, “we must issue your punishment. How many times did you strike Crusader Belestram?”

Raegn shook his head and forced himself to swallow any other complaints. He thought back, playing through his fight with Eligor in his head.

“Five,” he growled with his head hung low. His fists clenched and he wanted to shout at the Highlord that it wasn’t his fault, but proper reasoning said it was despite his heart telling him otherwise.

“And four times you failed against High Justicar Aldway,” the Highlord added. He reached toward the small of his back and pulled out a tightly wrapped whip from beneath his cloak. “Crusader Swann?”

The muscle-bound man that had been wrestling Cenric when they’d approached stepped forward from the loosely gathered crowd. The Highlord passed the whip to Swann and the Crusader gave a solemn nod. Raegn bit his lip to hold his tongue as Swann led him to a post at the edge of the training yard.

“Do we need to bind you?” Swann asked quietly.

Raegn wrapped his arms around the pole and clenched his hands together.

“No.”

He was foolish to even consider that he’d be sent back to the kitchens. It had been a joke of a punishment the first time. Even more foolish was ever thinking he’d be made a Crusader without the trial. This was an organization with order in the name, for fuck’s sake. Of course he’d be held to standard.

And Crusader isn’t enough, Raegn swore to himself. You wanted more and you tried to settle for less. He pressed his forehead against the wood and awaited the first stroke of discipline.

The whip cracked, but no cry followed.

“Well?” Dulius asked.

“He’s like his father—headstrong and full of reckless determination,” Cenric stated plainly. “He didn’t bother to ask if there would be multiple bouts, he just charged me without a thought. When he lost he simply got up to try again.”

“You see his father. I see you.”

Dulius turned away from the display he had orchestrated to face the leader of his Justicar. It wouldn’t do for the Order’s highest rank to see their Highlord wince. Raegn needed this discipline, that temper of his lurked too near the surface to be good for him, but this type of punishment was never Dulius’s forte. The High Justicar, however, seemed to have no issue keeping his eyes on the young Templar.

“He needs you, Cenric,” Dulius said.

“I am not my brother,” Cenric replied coldly.

Dulius flexed his brows and pressed his lips in a line. “Perhaps not. I realize this is difficult for you as well, but I see a benefit for both of you. Train him. Regardless of the outcome in the trial, I will not ask you to instruct him further.”

The whip struck for the ninth time and Dulius hazarded a glance towards the post. Raegn was hunched over and his shoulders heaved with heavy breaths. His back was starting to bleed quite heavily, but the boy did not fall to his knees or even make a sound.

Crusader Swann called out and another rushed forward with a stack of cloth. Dulius watched Swann cast aside the whip in the dirt and begin to apply pressure to the boy’s wounds. When he turned away from the scene, Cenric was staring back at him. If they weren’t nearly the same height Dulius might have been a bit intimidated at the predatory eyes, but instead looking into them almost felt like looking into a mirror.

“It didn’t feel like you were asking.”

Dulius shrugged. “I suppose wasn’t.”

Raegn winced as Rue delicately rubbed an ointment-coated finger along another of the lashes that scored his back. She was as good a healer as he’d ever had and she’d been made a Cleric in what he assumed was record time despite her young age. Unfortunately, even with all her prowess, there was no way around the pain that came from tending a whipping.

“Seems odd that they’d punish you this badly,” she said absently.

“It’s my fault,” Raegn replied with a bit of a hiss when her finger found a deeper portion of the wound.

“It’ll hurt worse if you keep moving,” she scolded. Raegn huffed, but relaxed and leaned forward to give her better access to the cuts. “At least they didn’t prohibit you from taking the trial though, right?” she asked. “You’ll still do it?”

Raegn grunted in affirmation, but the question brought more than just a simple answer to his mind. He wanted to take the trial - becoming a Justicar would probably be the most satisfying thing he could do in the Order - but it would mean he’d be under Cenric’s command. The man hadn’t given any indication he gave two shits about Raegn’s existence despite their common heritage and familial names.

“I think you should,” Rue said.

Raegn heard her wiping her hands on a rag and braced himself for the long bandage she began to wrap around his torso.

“And why’s that?” he asked.

“The Order protects people and that’s what you’ve always done. You’re like a hero, though it's hard to picture because you’re still just a Templar.”

“A hero?”

Raegn scoffed at the thought. Oh, he’d played at one when he was a child and thought he might be one when he fought in Bastion, but hero’s didn’t abandon their people and fight someone for saying mean words—traitors and prideful nobles did.

Rue ignored his reaction. “I’d given up on good people, you know. My parents abandoned me because I was a burden, even though they said it was for my own good. My uncle was an awful man. Joyce was always fair and nice often enough, but things were always business with her; if you didn’t contribute you had no place. And don’t get me started on Farvald. I thought he was a hero once only to learn he’s probably one of the worst people to walk our world. But you…” Rue trailed off, distracting herself by intently focusing on the bandage to ensure it didn’t wrinkle.

“I what?” Raegn pressed.

“You saved me that one night. You didn’t ask for anything in return, not even when you went to rescue Joyce. She might’ve been the one to suggest joining the Order to me, but once I heard you’d joined I’d already made up my mind.” She stepped around in front of him and tied off the bandage at the front of his shoulder. “You’re a good person Raegn. I’m sure there are plenty of others you’re meant to save, so I think you should take the trial.”

Raegn looked at the young girl who had brought him back from the brink of death and was in some small part thankful that he’d come across as a decent person to her.

“That’s very kind of you,” he replied and reached for his shirt.

Rue blushed some, he noted. She set about cleaning up the table and chairs they’d been using in one of the Church’s drab tending rooms with an unusual amount of concentration. She was a pretty girl, especially with that auburn hair that made her unique amongst the sea of blonde in Elysium. Light, Tera left you not even a season ago, he thought, scolding himself for looking at Rue in such a manner. As he watched her scrawny frame tidy up several small bottles and bundle up the dirty bits of cloth he also became aware of how young she still was. Much too young to consider her a prospect.

“What are you doing for the Hallowing?” Rue asked in an attempt to change the subject from her earlier embarrassment.

With a smile, Raegn obliged the effort and finished pulling his shirt over his head. “I picked up a guard shift so someone else wouldn’t have to work,” he answered. “I’ve heard it’s a big event here in the city.”

Rue turned to him, her arms full of soiled rags, and frowned. “It wasn’t in Bastion?”

“We celebrated, I guess,” Raegn said with a shrug that brought a small wince to his eyes, “but it was more of a remembrance thing. The Archangels descended here, in Elysium. My people didn’t receive aid until some time later, so even though it's a special day we only honor it with a feast. No different than any other celebration.”

“That’s a shame,” Rue said. “About your shift, not the way your people celebrated,” she added hastily. “Here they hang lanterns all around the city and there’s food sold on every street and musicians are on every corner.”

The young Cleric became more lively as she finished cleaning, seemingly taken by the thought of the upcoming festivities.

“People dance and drink and have a great time all through the night. They even make the bells toll in song, seven times through the night for each Archangel, and every time they ring it's like the energy comes back out of the city and the celebration renews.”

“It sounds lovely,” Raegn agreed, rising to leave.

He gave Rue a small hug goodbye and thanked her again for helping tend his wounds, but agreed not to tell anyone of it to protect her from any trouble assisting someone without approval might get her in. It seemed odd that the Church kept track of everyone that visited for treatment. If he had gone through the normal process it wasn’t a guarantee that Rue would be the one assigned to help him, though, and he wasn’t about to allow anyone else near his back. He rolled his shoulders some to test the pain it brought and was pleasantly surprised by how well the compression of the bandages and whatever ointment Rue had used soothed the burning sensation the lashes had left.

As he crossed the bridge back towards the island and the Citadel’s grounds his hand brushed against something stiff jutting out from his pocket. He pulled the small item from his trousers and regarded it with a certain disdain. It was a simple white hair clip designed as two overlapping elongated triangles, but they were curved in a way that gave them a certain sleek look that had appealed to him when he’d been hunting for a gift in Joyce’s shop. The woman had been no help, insisting that he buy Tera some fancy piece of jewelry or perfumes. Raegn knew she wouldn’t wear either, but when he’d seen the clasp it brought the memories of how often she ran her fingers along the same lock of hair. It was a simple gift, but practical.

Looking at it now, however…he cocked his arm back to throw it into the river, then sighed and stuffed it back into his pocket. It wasn’t worth wasting the gold piece he’d paid for it, even if Joyce swore it was a discount.