With a yawn, John crawled out of his tent, reserved solely for him ever since his identity became known. The Sun shined brightly overhead, and he had to squint his eyes against it. “Fucking hell,” he grumbled under his breath before yawning again.

Unlike so many other sleepy soldiers who had spent the night drinking, dancing, and celebrating around the fireplaces, John went to sleep early as usual. Or at least attempted to. He entered his tent, laid down on the bedroll, and closed his eyes.

He rolled around in his bedroll as the hubbub from outside lasted well into the night and sleep failed to come. Hours passed before the noise finally died down and yet he remained awake. Before long, the outside started getting brighter and he realized that it was the sun rising.

John walked around aimlessly through the camp. After Vasilis’ capture and execution, the whole campaign’s original objective, the army was soon to be disbanded. Maybe a small portion of the soldiers would be left behind to deal with any enemy stragglers but, overall, everyone would be going home.

To John that meant returning to the castle with Hagen and Athalia as Lanard no longer required his services. Back to his routine of training and cultivating for the Squire’s Tourney in a couple of years. Hopefully, Marleya would wake up again without any lasting damages. As for Neina, he would need to put a lot of effort to try and apologize for what he did.

John sighed, continuing to roam around aimlessly.

A gale eagle took to the air, carrying with it half of the Ashen back to Alistown and leaving behind a shrill cry that echoed through the camp.

Eventually, John’s wandering led him to the recently raised platform at the foot of the hill. Vasilis’ body had already been removed and buried. In its place, a long pole twice John’s height stuck out of the ground with Vasilis’ head on the top end of it for all to see.

No guard posted to watch over it. Most people walking nearby didn’t even spare it a glance, choosing instead to look for a way to deal with their hangovers from the previous night.

It was weird, really. Just a few days ago, John would have given anything to see Vasilis’ head on a pole, seemingly the most important goal of life. After finally achieving it, he couldn’t see it as anything more than a rotting head.

John never expected that Vasilis’ death would make him happy, but he hoped to feel something at least. It was like he had had a weight on his back this whole time that suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing in its place. Like with a constant voice in the back of his mind that once drove him forward but suddenly disappeared. The silence was deafening.

It felt empty.

Maybe if it had been him to deliver the killing blow instead of Lanard it would feel different. Maybe in place of a clean slash of the sword, John could have used a blow of the hammer as he did with the man’s son. Or maybe it would make no difference at all and this was how it was supposed to feel.

After avenging his brother Lucas back on Earth, John didn’t get the chance to process it at all, so he simply had no idea.

“Squire,” a low but feminine voice called out. She stood with her back straight, the green and orange accents on her left arm in full display. “Lord and lady Westbrook request your presence.”

The voice wasn’t unfamiliar to John. The Ashen was the same one who Lanard had assigned to look after him while he translated the letters.

“Certainly, Dame,” he answered with a slight bow. Disrespecting an Ashen seemed to be an effective way of shortening one’s lifespan.

Rather than the large tent belonging to Hagen, the Ashen guided John towards the edge of the camp where most of the horses were kept. The smell of more than a hundred animals packed together served as a nice distraction for how he felt. He found Hagen and Athalia each atop one horse, with a third one by Athalia’s side. They both had somber looks on their faces.

“Here he is, lord Westbrook,” the Ashen spoke with a salute.

“Thank you, Dame. You’re dismissed.”

The Ashen saluted again, turned around, and walked away.

Hagen then gestured towards the free horse. “Climb on it and follow us,” he told John who promptly did as told. The three of them rode out of the camp and into the dense forest.

“Where are we headed?” John asked after a good ten minutes of silent riding, only partially interested in the answer itself. Hagen and Athalia had barely spoken a word since leaving camp, and this worried John. He knew for a fact that this whole campaign had taken a toll on the two but this felt different as if they had something else weighing on their mind.

Rather than answering, they both glanced at one another and then back to John, the look in their eyes doing little to ease his worries. “Here is good enough,” Hagen declared, pulling on the reins of his horse. He then jumped down, walked towards the side of the trail, and rested his back against the trunk of a tree. Athalia remained where she was, lightly petting her mount and refusing to meet John’s gaze again.

John removed both feet from the stirrups and jumped down. “Seriously, what is going on?” he asked. “You’ve acting strange this whole time.”

“You’re the one who murdered Edgarth.” Hagen’s words were as blunt as a mace and just as impactful.

“W-What?” was the only answer John could offer to the sudden accusation.

“I talked to Vasilis before his execution. The dagger used to murder Edgarth belonged to Seimon, one of his followers. Vasilis claims that a southerner woman and her half-bred child killed his follower and stole the dagger.” Hagen looked John dead in the eye, barely contained rage clear on his face. “It happened around the same time you arrived at our castle.”

“And just because of that you think I’m the murderer? Seriously, there must be hundreds of other free southerners living out there.”

“But none able to cast spells above their level. Vasilis said that the woman was able to instantly cast a Warlock spell, not unlike what the Olsens claim that your mother did at Grenfell.”

“He lied,” John argued. “He was at the end of his rope and so he came with this crazy story. Maybe he hoped that Lanard would spare him in exchange for what he knew.”

Hagen pushed against the trunk of the tree and took one step forward. “I knew Vasilis personally. Whatever flaws he might’ve had, being a liar was not one of them.”

John was forced to take a step back, both literally and figuratively. “Fine, let’s say that Vasilis told the truth. How does this prove that I killed Jacke’s grandfather? I was asleep in my bed at the time.”

“No, you weren’t,” Athalia cut in. “We sent a message back to Alon at the castle and asked him to question your bodyguard. She told Alon that you sneaked out of the castle that night towards Rothar’s church, just a walk away from where Edgarth was murdered.”

John’s next words got caught in his throat as he himself was caught in a lie. His first instinct was to try and discredit Neina but immediately stopped after realizing what he was about to do. He had already hurt her once and refused to do it again.

His mind worked into overdrive trying to find a way out of the corner he had been driven into. He failed to come up with anything.

Finally, he sighed in defeat. “Fine then, it’s true. I killed Edgarth.”

Hagen gritted his teeth and his breathing got heavier. It was like he needed all of his willpower not to do draw his sword. As for Athalia, it was… much worse. The hand petting the horse, her breathing, her gaze. Everything froze as something broke inside of her.

“I was too weak to kill Vasilis directly,” John continued. “If I waited too long, he would assume Skanler’s position as earl, then it would become impossible for me to get to him. That’s why I killed Edgarth; because I wanted to frame Vasilis and make sure he’d never become earl.”

“How could you?” Hagen asked.

“How could I?” John asked back. “That damned eunuch killed my mother! This is what he deserved.”

“And how many other mothers will die because of what you did?” Athalia asked, struggling to hold back a sob. “Because of you, Rass Skanler will continue with his atrocities in hopes of holding onto his power. Did you ever considered that?”

John nodded. “I did. And I still chose to go through with it.” With his response, she couldn’t hold back her tear any longer. He wanted to tell how sorry he felt, but it wouldn’t be genuine, not completely at least. While seeing her cry hurt him, allowing Vasilis to live would feel even worse.

“So there you have it,” John said, turning to Hagen. “Now you know the truth. Or rather, you already knew it before we left the camp and I just confirmed it.” John opened his arms wide. “Now you can kill me.”

Athalia’s crying intensified.

Hagen stared at John for a long time, saying nothing at first. John said nothing more and simply waited for the earl to draw his sword. Instead, he finally opened his mouth to speak. “I never believed the common knowledge that half-breds were deranged. You’re proof of how wrong I was. There is something deeply wrong with you.”

Hagen took a deep breath before continuing. “The day you arrived at our castle, I made a promise to protect and give you a roof to live under. Athalia convinced me that Jonathan’s son deserved more than just that. She convinced me that you deserved a chance at greatness, which is why she wanted you to become a squire.” Instead of drawing his sword, Hagen reached inside his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. He shoved it against John’s chest, so hard that it forced the air out of his lungs.

“What is this?” John asked.

“A letter written by me, proving that you squired under a knight. It gives you the right to take part in the Squire’s Tourney when you reach twenty years of age. You’ll take it, get back on the horse, and leave, never to return.”

“Why not just kill me?”

“I made a promise. Doesn’t matter if it was just to myself. Unlike you, my word actually means something. That’s the only reason why I don’t cut you down on the spot. But make no mistake. We never want to see you again. The only thing you deserve is to have your head on a pole like Vasilis’.”

Athalia continued to cry. John looked at her, then back at Hagen, and finally towards the letter pressed against his chest. He got back on his horse, saying nothing. Taking one last look at the two, John finally motioned the horse forward.

The sound of Athalia's cries gradually faded away until they were nothing but a memory. For a long time, the clip-clop as the horse walked down the dirt road was the only sound that reached him. Then, somewhere along the line, John found himself thinking back to the start of the day. Tears began to pool in his eyes. Now, he finally felt something.