[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/201123/117f24ebf11c0a01c648eeafeb796351.png[/img][/center][hr] Humans crumpled so easily. It wasn't like the sturdy wood of a training dummy designed for such violence. The man didn't shudder from the force but remain standing, ready for the next swing despite the new gash carved into his bark. The collarbone shattered easier than expected; that had to have been what the crunch was. Such a disgusting noise shouldn't have brought such satisfaction. Auberon was an avid participant in his duty, but he took no joy in the fruits of his labor once the dust had settled. A man laid dead at his feet and he knew what that sounded like now. It was no hymn, but he could treat it like a prayer as long as it heralded an end to the chorus of innocent screams around him. The blond raised his axe from the scene of the carnage, freshly red and dripping. There was another sound now; one that echoed over the thumping of his heart in his ears and the chaos and bloodshed and clashing of steel on steel. An actual hymn carried on the wind - an impassioned plea for the bandits to lay down their arms and save their eternal souls rather than meet their untimely end at the hands of the Goddess' reckoners. [i]His[/i] hands. The swelling of pride within him from that thought was the only thing keeping him from humbly lowering his own weapon in an ultimate act of mercy, such was the power of Clarissa's censure. Unfortunately, the scene around him was unabiding to his shortlived desire to swear off violence. She had phrased it aptly; anyone who could stand to hear that and not be overcome with the weight of the Goddess' word was a beast, not a man, and yet these animals kept their weapons raised. Paradoxically, the impromptu sermon had steeled his resolve more than ever. Daphnel's blood smoldered in his veins, justifying each act of violence he undertook, calling for more glorious combat to nourish the embers. Every being that met his axe here was deserving. Guilt and regret had no place in his heart; only theirs, even if they neglected to feel it yet. [color=ffd700]"Beautifully said,"[/color] Auberon murmured as Clarissa quieted at last, doubtful the words would even reach her but unwilling to raise his voice above a reverent volume. It wasn't until Michail's hand landed on his shoulder that the boy realized he was still dazed. He tensed on instinct, angling his axe in preparation to drive the haft into the knight's sternum like the shattered nose of his last victim before he noticed the man touching him wasn't a foe. Auberon wouldn't have had the chance to strike anyway, Michail surged ahead and Auberon had to follow, though there seemed little point with how handedly his professor finished the group before them. Once they reached a short reprieve and his lucidity had fully returned, Auberon's arms went limp at last and his gaze snapped backward to the rest of the students. Nobody on the ground or crying or [i]red[/i] like the corpses in the dirt. His Lions were fine - everyone was fine. He could harden his heart to the death throes of unrighteous brigands and drown the cries of unfamiliar villagers with cool detachment and knowledge that they were headed to a better place, but there was no satisfaction or comfort to be had from Kellen or Derec slipping away in a pool of their own blood. [color=ffd700]"Nice work,"[/color] Auberon told Derec soberly. He wasn't sure what exactly he was congratulating, but there was a corpse with a spear wound through its chest over by where the commoner had been standing, so Derec had to have done something praiseworthy. The 'stay safe' he'd intended to follow that statement died on Auberon's tongue. He had no idea how to voice that sentiment, nor whether he even needed to. It went without saying, right? The sudden rumble was a far more appropriate subject for his attention, anyway. That explosion before was magical? Auberon figured they'd filled a wagon up with oil barrels or something and threw in a torch. That meant the mage - mages? No way a single person was responsible for a blast of that caliber - should be their top priority. No, that was up to Euphemia; they just needed to clear a path for the villagers. The stray arrow was an even more immediate concern, but Auberon didn't have much luck in thinking up a solution for that one either. At least there were only two archers, a proper volley would decimate the group. So when the more melee-inclined banditry made their appearance, Auberon almost welcomed it. [i]That[/i] was a solvable problem. He rushed forward to interpose himself between the charging brigands and his classmates and swung his axe to batter away a spear poised to lance right through his midriff. The spear's wielder advanced cautiously, holding up a battered old shield that should've long since been retired. The wood was cracked and even rotting in some areas. It might've been sturdy enough to handle an arming sword or something, but he couldn't possibly think it could hold against Auberon's axe for more than a handful of swings. Then again, the young noble supposed it wouldn't have to. The moment he reduced the shield to firewood and his axe was still wedged in the scraps, he'd be skewered. The spear came again and again in quick, hounding jabs. The man held the reach advantage and he knew it; he didn’t even need to rely on his shield. Still, it remained raised before him, goading Auberon to bash the man into submission and step right into his trap. What was worse, the man’s thrusts were far less energy-intensive than the motions Auberon needed to parry them; the bandit simply had to wait for his opponent to tire out. With few other options, the blond chambered his axe at his side in preparation for a wide swing, aimed at buying him space first and foremost, but he never got the chance to follow through. The holy blood within him reached a familiar fever pitch at last. Knowing what would inevitably follow, Auberon abandoned his earlier swing and raised his axe high above his head like an executioner. His limbs burned not with exertion but the assurance that the searing gaze of the Goddess, for this brief moment, rested solely on him and his opponent. It was the euphoria of combat he chased every time his fingers closed around a weapon, but even moreso he longed to stand alone in that gaze, and the fire swelled to abide. The axe fell with the weight of divine retribution, with more force than even a man of Auberon's stature should have any right achieving, fueled by muscle and gravity and the inferno raging inside him. The bandit's dilapidated shield splintered under the force of the blow, just as expected, but Daphnel's lance would never stop at such a pathetic barrier and neither should Auberon's. The axe continued on its path undeterred, cleaving right through the poor sinner's arm underneath as surely as it would've if he'd cowered behind a sheet of parchment. Auberon gave him little chance to wallow in his agony, as he immediately thrusted the sharpened tip of his weapon upward through the man's chest and heaved the body to the ground. Auberon's second kill went unprocessed and unmourned. There was simply no time. He swiveled around immediately to face the other aggressors, raising his axe defensively. The flames within him had subsided for now, but his Crest would not truly be extinguished until every last crime performed in Luin today had been answered for. His ancestor had allegedly saved these people before, so the burden fell to him more than anyone else present to do so again. That was his ordained purpose here, so his victory was already decided by the will of the Goddess. Simple as. [hr] [center][img]https://fireemblemwiki.org/w/images/thumb/0/07/FETH_Crest_of_Daphnel.png/60px-FETH_Crest_of_Daphnel.png[/img][/center]