[@Reflection] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Flfan1p.png[/img][/center] [center][h1]DDD[/h1][/center] “Saber.” he called out “Before we embark onto any new fights, before we decide to fight for the grail or for peace we must tend to the matter of your arm.” He began to walk out of the meeting, stalwart in his stride. There was no sense of disrespect or disregard for the problems that faced Fuyuki, merely the aura of a man who knew he had to be somewhere else, whose role was not meant to be played there. “I accept the conditions that are agreed upon, within humane reason of course, by this group. But there is no real place for someone like me in deciding such regulations or conduct. Instead there is a matter I must take care of, please excuse me.” This land is painted back to what is beautiful, to what is untouched by man. But that does not mean it is peaceful, that does not mean it is kind. The tragedy and blood that were at the genesis of this wildland were not quite washed away by the storm, or so he believed. In a sense it was a taste of what terrorized man before now, while also being the cost to transition into this modern world. He said before he’d selfishly accept the suffering and deaths of others. But it had to be used as fuel. Consume, consume. Burn that gut-twisting nausea and horror into your mind. Never forget it, never let it stop pushing you. One of the dismantled guns that littered the ground from the earlier disarmament was crushed under his foot, the metal whining under his strength and weight. [center][h1]Miyama - The Beautiful Land[/h1][/center] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ivVFiAzby4]In a field of grass and flowers Tilipojuan waited.[/url] “Roland. I congratulate you on your journey. It was a joy to see, and my heart is warmed by the sight of your blade in your hands once more. Well, your hand. One of them is not yours after all, not yet anyway.” He turned around. “There will be more foes, but before you face them you will have to earn your second arm. Animal spirits are my field of expertise but I am a far-cry from the talents of my brother who I had thought I had slain over this mask I wear. The heir of our people, a great shaman and a man of great intelligence and cunning. Yet his cruelty, or perhaps worse, simply a lack of care was even greater. It could be said to be my own foolish mistake, but I traveled west with a trophy that became this mask, and he took it as a personal slight. Outcasts of our people in a sense and yet the center of them as the ones who inherited a path, my path has left our people bereft.” He shook his head. “But this is no longer the age where people are bound by their blood, or by the greater whole. More and more people are born until an individual life is but a drop of water in a deluge of rain. Yet despite that every life shines greater and brighter, for we each are simply just ourselves. Thousands upon thousands have died and it is not just the community of Fuyuki suffering a loss. No, it is men I have met. I have drunk with a man named Kusamori Fujio as he spoke on his hopes, apprenticing under a clayshaper’s guidance to make works of art he considered beautiful. I have slain a man named Kusamori Fujio as he was driven to maddened fright, the hands that should have only held potential and beautiful things holding a knife as he stabbed his fellow men again and again, the notion of mercy or sanity gone due to his inner demons. A clenched fist rose out of the grass. “I have always passed by the street noticing a man who walked with his son on his shoulders whose name I only know because of his fellow men passing by who offered their own cheers, crying out to him, “Good afternoon Ushio. How is your wife?” His palm opened, revealing and releasing a fistful of petals, once white but dyed black and red from the grime that still covered the American. It formed a mournful spiral that danced in the wind before the air seemed to settle as though listening to the man’s words. “There are many more, but that does not matter anymore. Their lives are tragic, their ends are tragic whether it is brought by their own actions or not. I do not fight to avenge, I do not cling to the past. To begin with these are not my people. Nor did I hold any grudges towards the men of the west for my people.” Slaughters, disease, slavery. The degradation of castes and the many tragedies born of the conquest of the New Land. They were things that smoldered still in the hearts of those who shared his blood. There were those who also wished for their own land, to be independent and separate from the world that forced itself upon them. There were many injustices. He was not blind to them, but he was not one who would heed their call. “To begin with… if one were to fight for those who were fallen, then it is only after there is no longer a need to fight for those still around. I am a fool Roland, but I am a happy fool. Even after these sins, even after that horror I can still smile. Is it disgusting? Perhaps. But I must smile for myself. I weep for others, I will fight to keep those of the present part of it, but I will trample over the past if I must for the future. For mine and others.” Nagato once said he’d probably make a better teacher than him, or that sorcerer. But now that he thought about it, what did he really teach Hideyoshi other than how to use his body? He’d have to reevaluate the meaning of being a teacher, and see if he truly could be one. It was quite preposterous but if he is to be reborn as a teacher then let us see if he could teach a legend. “What gives you the strength to go on? You said you fight for love, but what is the full extent of it? It is not merely for the love of a woman, for you fought many things even before. I love this world, Roland. I love it despite its ugliness, and I love what it could become even if I may never see what lies in the future that will remove the stain and scars of now. A man who would journey forth. A demon who cruelly accepts the color of black, that which accepts all light, all color unconditionally. No wonder he ended up such a grimy and sorry sight. It mattered not how good and bad. He only looked foolishly towards the future. He was not blind to the past but he would consume it and trample it for the sake of the now. Perhaps then… another color could be attributed to him. A man who crafted himself into a beast while extolling the virtues of humanity. What a strange thing he was. Despite its contradictions and oddities his disposition could only be called the purest Blue. “Sit down, close your eyes.” He began to coax Roland into a trance while bringing himself into one himself. Dance, sound, drink. Yet even as the rituals of self-hypnosis were brought forth, he continued to ask of Roland of what was the core of his love. What were the feelings that would form the core of himself to become a blade as unbreakable as the one that hosted miracles? Even if it did not come yet at the time, even if he did not know the true nature of the calamity that would soon visit Fuyuki, no, the world and humanity. His question was perhaps simply a matter of “What sort of love will you oppose the Liberator’s love with?” What love bound you to the shackles of the world? that made this order of ours so dear?