Master of the Loop
Chapter 45: Children of the Condemned

Chapter 45

  Children of the Condemned

Sylas reset the loop. In fact, he restarted it quite a few times since the day Valen, Tenner, and Ryne brought him in. Though it was a bonding ceremony, he didn’t want them to have that image of him in their heads. In part, it was due to his position as a 'Prophet', but mostly because… he didn't want them to.

Since then, he mostly coped. Drinking, eating, swinging a sword in vain attempt to forget. It helped, somewhat. Though he’d still wake up in the middle of the night in shivers and sweat, it was getting better, at least. The night terrors had subsided, and he could pick up a sword without his entire body convulsing in the process.

He didn’t bother trying to be productive in the least—he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus on anything for a long while and he felt if he did, he’d simply half-ass it. And half-assing it in this place wasn’t good enough. He needed time, so he took that time. After all, time, truly, was the one thing he had in excess. Infinite time, laid out bare in front of him.

Sitting on a terrace overlooking the eastern wall, his gaze was adrift. Beyond that wall and beyond the forest and beyond the mountains was a stretch of land, flat laid on top of a slope, where his mind kept escaping to.

“Ah, here you are!” Valen’s voice pulled him out, causing him to look to the side where he saw the young Prince pull up with a smile on his face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Hoh? Why?” Sylas asked.

“Why? To celebrate, of course! I am anointing a new Captain tonight! And I am hosting a ball for the entire castle as means of thanking the men for fixing the wall so quickly!”

“They fixed the wall? That was quick,” Sylas said. Though each time he re-ran the loop it was mostly the same, there were usually some differences, entirely dependent on his behavior and choices. “Who’s the new Captain?” he asked instinctively.

“This one man called Derrek,” Valen replied. “I’ve seen him in action myself during the invasion—he was part of the vanguard! His bravery and skill won me over. I think he will make a fine fit.”

“Good for the both of you,” Sylas said, forcing out a smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“… have you ever killed anyone? Not a Ghoul, I mean, but another person.”

“… I have,” Valen replied after a momentary silence. “Why?”

“How’d you get over it?”

“Get over it?” Valen smiled bitterly. “I haven’t, that’s how. It’s been almost four years now, I gather, and… it still haunts me, I’m afraid.”

“Did it get any better?”

“Better? A bit, I suppose,” Valen said, sighing. “In time, it just… became a part of me. Like an extension of myself. A reminder that I have just as much capacity for evil as those whom I condemn do. Why do you ask, by the way?”

“Just curious,” Sylas shrugged. “I never pegged you for someone like that.”

“Who did you peg me for?”

“A voyeur and a courtly playboy," Sylas replied honestly. "Who spent his days in the Palace flirting with the married Ladies and cucking the Lords.”

“…”

“…”

“… once or twice,” Valen mumbled.

“Get out of here!” Sylas exclaimed, glancing at the young man who was sporting a wry smile. “Really? Did they catch you?”

“They knew,” Valen said. “Kept quiet, though.”

“Damn,” Sylas sucked in a cold breath. “You have many, many layers, young Prince. I thought you a simpleton. Turns out, you’re two times a simpleton!”

“Haah,” Valen sighed helplessly, shaking his head. “Forget that. Will you attend tonight?”

“Of course,” Sylas nodded.

“Ah, Captain Derrek,” Valen suddenly called out, causing Sylas to turn back.

“Not yet, Your Highness,” a man who replied was yet another handsome sort, Sylas concluded. He had a chiseled, squared jaw, a pair of sapphire-blue eyes, just enough stubble to age him up slightly without making him seem unkempt, and short, golden-brown hair. He was over six feet tall and looked even more heroic than Valen. Sylas immediately became suspicious—and it had nothing to do with the man’s handsome features. Nothing. “This is…?” the man glanced at Sylas and inquired.

“Ah, yes, the two of you haven’t met yet,” Valen said with a smile. “This here is my… advisor, Sylas. Sylas, this here is the hero I was telling you about. You two should get acquainted seeing as we’ll all be spending a lot of time together in the future. See you both later tonight!” Valen bolted away in one fell swoop, leaving behind an awkward atmosphere. Sylas merely smiled at the new Captain and resumed drinking the sweet wine.

“How did you do it?” the man asked abruptly.

“Do what?” Sylas asked back.

“Convince His Highness you were a Prophet,” Sylas’ eyes widened momentarily as he glanced back. Gone was the relaxed, handsome face—in its place was a stern and even slightly angry expression.

“…” Sylas remained silent, clearing up his mind’s haze. He realized that the conversation he was about to have was beyond important—one he’ll have to have a recollection of when he inevitably restarts the loop again. “Why do you ask?”

“This world does not have Prophets or Messiahs,” Derrek said convincingly. “Only charlatans exploiting either helpless people or their helpless situations.”

“You seem utterly convinced that I don’t exist,” Sylas said. “Does that mean you are speaking to yourself right now? How queer.”

“Mold my words whichever way you wish—I will expose you.”

“Is that so?” Sylas looked at the young man again, this time deeply. “What’s it matter to you, anyway? Aren’t we both simply exploiting the young boy’s circumstances for our own gain?”

“… what do you mean?” the man frowned, his hand instinctively reaching for the scabbard strapped to his waist, but pulling back immediately.

“Just like you aren’t an idiot, neither am I,” Sylas shrugged. “Someone who looks like you is purposefully bred. Fuck, even if I painted a face, I couldn’t get it as perfectly. You come from ‘good blood’. So, what the fuck are you doing in the middle of fucking nowhere, fighting Ghouls and bending a knee to a Prince you didn’t know existed until recently?”

"…" Sylas purposefully used aggressive language and, as he suspected, it made the man irate. He'd come to realize something—even if Valen said nothing during his… outbursts, he could always see the Prince's expression change slightly. Someone like Tenner, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind, no matter how obscene of a word he used. “You seem confident I won’t simply cut you down where you stand.”

“I’m sitting, though.”

“…”

“But, you’re right. You could cut me down,” Sylas said with a shrug. “At least do me the courtesy, then, of telling me who you are. You aren’t Derrek, a no-name guard whose heroics captured the Prince’s young eye.”

“Do you really take me for a fool?”

“Yes, habitually so,” Sylas fired without hesitation.

“Impudent!” the man immediately drew out his sword in anger, its edge resting some few inches from his face. “Apologize!”

“… Jesus, how fucking old are you? That’s all it takes to blow your fuse?” Sylas merely glanced at the sword and looked away, sighing and taking a sip of wine. “Put that thing away. It’s not a toy.”

“…”

“…”

“Charlatans and their way with the words,” the man took a deep breath and retrieved the sword into the adorned scabbard. “Don’t mistake cleverness for wit.”

“Sit,” Sylas said, pointing at the chair next to his. “Our vast differences notwithstanding, I think we could work together.”

"Not in a million lifetimes," Derrek replied immediately, though sat down in the end. "I'd rather die than make the bed with a charlatan like you."

“What’s so wrong with two charlatans working together?”

“…” the man’s eyebrows winced and twitched furiously.

“See, that’s the difference between us,” Sylas chuckled. “You can call me any name imaginable, and I’ll own up to it since, well, I genuinely couldn’t care less even if I tried. Yet, look at you. Twice now you nearly blew my head off because I, quote end quote, stepped out of line. That ain’t gonna get you far.”

“… people like you are the reason why my homeland is falling apart at its seams,” the man suddenly said, his expression harrowing. Even Sylas found himself startled at the image. “So, forgive me for not approaching you with kindness and love.”

“People like me? Ah, I didn’t know that Ethernia is flooded with false Prophets and Messiahs.”

“…”

“Besides, I’m afraid I’m far more real than most others,” Sylas chuckled. “For instance, what if I told you… this place will be invaded in less than a week by a band of criminals living in the mountains?”

“…!”

“Oh, are you fucking kidding me?!! You were the other dude? The one with Dyn?!” Sylas exploded, rolling his eyes in frustration. “Goddammit. The both of you. Fuck you. Especially you. Shit, I thought we could really work together since, I figured, even at worst, you were some jaded noble son or whatever. But nooo, you’re a fuckin’ psychopath. Fuckin’ hell, I can’t catch a break recently.”

"… I… I'm not—what are you on about?!" the man appeared genuinely confused, at least over the second part of Sylas' outburst. "What do you mean with Dyn? Dyn… he’s alive? That’s… no, that’s impossible! I… I put a sword through his heart myself! I watched him die! I… I watched him get buried… you—you are lying! That’s impossible!”

“… no, wait, hold on a second. You… you’re not with the criminals?”

“What?! Why would I be with that unholy scum?! I came here for the express purpose of getting rid of that hive of debauchery!”

“And you supposedly killed Dyn?”

“Not… not supposedly! I killed him!”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, man,” Sylas sighed, feeling quite lost himself. “That guy is very much alive. In fact, he’ll probably attend tonight’s ball or whatever the Prince is throwing. He’ll come to warn us of the imminent attack, which to this day I can’t configure. Why would he warn us? It’s not as though it would buy him any sort of advantage.”

“… you… you’re… who are you?!!” Derrek suddenly shot up to his feet, tossing the chair onto the ground in the process. The man was shaking, his eyes wide like eggs, pointing a quivering finger at Sylas. “How… how would you know that?”

“Know what?”

“No, no, no, this is impossible. He can’t be alive. He can’t be. If… if he is, then… then that means… no, this is bad. This is terrible. If they’ve infiltrated that deep… no. I must report to Master at once. This needs to be dealt with.”

“Oi, oi, slow down—slow down! What the hell are you talking about? Who has infiltrated what? What Mater? What needs dealing with?”

“… they call themselves Children of the Condemned,” Sylas shuddered. “Pray, o’ ye Messiah, you are wrong,” Derrek said, his countenance shifting to that of a Paragon. He stood higher and holier than even Prince at that moment. “Or else, we shall all burn in black fires soon enough.”