>>5697755>You shake your head. “I did not see his body but…as you said, the battle was a loss. Many of his fellow nobles he fought alongside, including the King, perished in the fighting. Sylvain had been in the front during the final charge against the Empire. I believe it very likely that he did not make it.”Something changes in the man’s face upon hearing your words. Though it is only there for a fleeting moment, you’re confident that news of Sylvain’s death has deeply affected him. The strong look of remorse vanishes as quickly as it appeared before he regains his composure.
“I see. That’s too bad.” He sheathes his sword, granting you an immeasurable sense of relief. As he does so, the Blackwings begin pouring out from the tower one by one.
“Blair?! Are you okay?!” Ashe yells, bow in hand and an arrow knocked. Though no one makes a move, the mercenaries all have their weapons unsheathed. Likewise, those from Sreng who had surrounded the tower have begun drawing closer, screaming and hollering in their strange language, and hammering their shields. Things threaten to escalate into violence once more.
“Tá cuid acu láidir. Ach is féidir linn a bhuachan.” The man whom you’d fought says to his ‘cousin’.
"Níl aon ghá. Níl aon argóint againn leo. Is fearr go sroichfimid lán-neart.” The second man responds. He turns towards you. “We’ll be taking our leave now. There’s no need for a fight here. Best of luck to you, mercenary commander.”
As the two men turn to leave, someone from the Sreng side of the crowd runs forward yelling.
“Prince Leif! What is the meaning of this?!” She yells. Curiously, she speaks the common language of Fodlan rather than the language of Sreng. She points a trembling finger towards you, genuine fear in her eyes.
“Maeve.” Leif says. “There simply mercenaries. We have much to do, they aren’t worth fighting.”
“No!” Maeve shouts, sounding almost as if she’s on the verge of tears. “The spirits cry out to me in anguish! This one is evil! A black soul we must eradicate!” She turns back towards the throng of Sreng raiders, shouting further. “Namhaid! Namhaid!”
The crowd responds to her provocations by raising their weapons and screaming murder. They begin drawing closer, weapons at the ready, only to stop in their tracks as the “First Sword” takes a step towards them, one hand on the pommel of his blade.
“Maeve.” Prince Leif says. There’s an edge to his voice, as if he’d lost any semblance of patience with this woman long ago. “You may be the Oracle here, but I am the head of this army. Justify what these spirits are claiming. Until then, no one here is fighting.”
