Dark clouds covered the moon once more as they slowly eased the pressure they put on the other's blade. Eventually, they both backed away and skittishly sheathed their weapons. A drop of rain fell from the sky.
"Leave," Beatrice said somberly, finally diverting her gaze from the mercenary's eyes. "If our paths cross again, things will end differently."
The wind grew stronger and more raindrops tapped the macadam floor as Alex breathlessly said:
"I need proof a' the job. I'll just take a pic of the spell comps and go."
Beatrice remained silent as the rain intensified into a heavy downpour. The mercenary approached the van, and the squire followed. Alex assumed she too needed confirmation of a completed mission. She attempted to open the door, but it wouldn't budge, so she grabbed a lockpick from her pockets and started working on the lock.
As Beatrice waited for the mercenary to open the door, thoughts stormed her mind. If she couldn't kill, was she even worthy of the title of knight? Was her restraint a righteous mercy, or a failure to combat evil? Was she weak? Was she a sympathizer? Her pondering was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She looked at the mercenary, who stared into the van with a stunned expression. She held on to her still-sheathed sword's grip and approached the van.
They both stood, frozen in silent shock. Only the sound of downpour could be heard as they stared at the vehicle's contents—not spell components, not tools of gang warfare—but several mauled, scorched corpses, lacerated and disfigured by the blast and the flames.
A minute passed, and Alex took a step back, muttering a swear.
"Immigrant caravan," she said. "Pro'lly headin' to Vezenia. So, Ashway's back to racial cleansin'… Fuck! I didn't sign up for this shit!"
The mercenary looked to the side and noticed the squire was still frozen. She thought about her first kill, about how she was only seventeen, about how she couldn't sleep for days afterward, and about how, even after all her training, after all she went through, nothing could have prepared her for it. To some degree, she understood what the squire was going through.
A deluge of feelings flooded Beatrice's mind. She grieved, simmered with rage, she felt guilt in a way she had never felt before. For what seemed like hours, she stood, unthinking, ever-feeling.
Alex sighed and took a picture of the van's contents. It felt wrong, but she needed a way to prove what happened. She began walking away, leaving the squire by her lonesome.
There had to be a way, Beatrice thought. There had to be an explanation, a rationale that would make everything make sense. Why would her nation, why would the knights, why would the heroes, ever do something like this? It didn't make sense. It was impossible. It couldn't be happening, yet it was. How? How!? How could they have let this happen!? How could she have let this happen!? She needed a way to fix this. Yes, she would fix this. No matter what, no matter the cost, she would find a way to fix this.
"Wait."
Alex stopped walking.
"You're a mercenary," Beatrice stated, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. "I require your assistance in the tracking and elimination of a Vezenian agent, planted within Rooksbury. Price is of no concern to me."
Alex turned to the squire, whose expression showed a strange, sorrowful determination.
"...You sure you wanna double-cross Vezenia?"
"I am not betraying my nation!" Beatrice responded, her expression and voice now betraying what she was—not a knight, nor a squire—but a kid in a rainstorm. "The Empire would never do such a thing! I… These orders were given to me by an agent. There is- The only explanation is that he wanted this! That he used me to further his own goals!"
"Not ‘ere." Alex reached into her jacket, producing from it a black card with a skull on its back. She handed it to the squire and turned her back. "There's an address in there. In two days, 4 in the evenin'."
Beatrice nodded firmly and turned in the opposite direction. The pair was split. No matter how much it rained, the bloodstains could not be washed away.