Chapter 41:

Between the Lines

(Vincent's POV)

The Saville camp was a smoldering ruin behind him. Magic had been flung, arrows shot, and blades clashed. Vanessa's father had tried to run, but Vincent found his trail quickly.

"You cannot run..." Vincent stated, his tone hollow, "You sent your daughter to die...I promised her I'd make it quick. Why must you prolong your death?"

Duke Saville was crawling across the ground, the tendons in his legs cut by blades of ice. Vincent lifted his hand, several mana circles appearing in the air. From them shot ice-spikes that pierced Duke Saville's legs, pinning him in place. He let out a horrific, satisfying scream.

"You just need to answer my question, and this will all be over," Vincent knelt down before him, grabbing the man by his hair, "Is your wife with you?"

"N-No!" he cried, "I wouldn't take her to a battlefield like this!"

"...But you would your daughter?" Vincent inquired coldly.

"I love my daughter," the man spouted, growling at Vincent, "I'd give anything for her, but she...she was obsessed! I...agh!"

Vincent channeled ice magic into the hand holding his hair, freezing part of his scalp. Vincent's breath was frosty, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"So, you send her to die?" Vincent asked again, not expecting an answer, "You had to of known what you gave her was a death sentence."

"Why do you care?" he sneered, "She was in pain. I gave her the chance to have her revenge. You took everything from her."

"No," Vincent told him harshly, "You did. From the moment she was born, you whispered lies in her ear. You and the Noble Faction. You forced her to be something she wasn't...and it cost her life. You pushed her to the brink because of your own selfishness. Your own desire for power and to remain in the Noble Faction's good graces."

"N-No..." the man denied, his eyes frantically looking about for an escape, afraid of the truth, "I-I only did what was best for her, I-"

"Shut up," Vincent froze the man's mouth shut with a single breath, "I am not here to judge you, but to send you to her...so that she may decide. Your wife will join you soon."

The man's eyes lit up in fear before being frozen there as Vincent encased him in ice, then promptly smashed his head against the ground. Closing his eyes, Vincent took a deep, calming breath. He felt satisfied, ending that man's life, but he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Sir, we've secured the area," a Knight bearing the crest of Gwen upon their chest reported as they trotted up to him, "Everyone in the Saville Camp is dead, but...you're going to want to see this."

Vincent stood to see that the man held out to him a journal. The name on the front was obvious: Vanessa Saville's Private Property – No Peaking.

"...Did you already look at it?" Vincent inquired softly.

"J-Just a bit, Sir," they answered nervously, "I apologize if-"

Vincent held up a hand, silencing them.

"No, it's fine," Vincent stated quietly, "Just forget what you saw in it and return to your post. Have the men begin to make their way towards the main unit, capture or kill those you deem necessary."

"...Yes, Sir," they saluted, "Consider it forgotten. We'll begin our sweep."

Vincent was left alone again, staring at the journal in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he knew he should be joining the fight, but they had already made incredible progress. An overwhelming victory. So, he had a bit of time before he had to return.

"...What could it hurt?" he muttered, lightly passing a finger over the cover.

Snapping his finger, a small mana circle appeared in the air before shaping into a floating ball of light. "Forgive me, I'll be looking at this now." he thought to himself, paying respects before he broke decorum and flipped open to the first page. It was said it was a sin to breach a ladies trust by reading their journal, but in this instance...he believed Vanessa wouldn't mind.

In fact, it felt as if she wanted him to read this. The first line was about him. In fact, it was specifically addressed to him. He understood why the Knight had given it to him.

To Vincent,

If you're reading this, I'm probably dead. I'm scared. Father is acting irrational, and I miss you terribly, though I know I don't deserve to. I'm angry. You were taken from me. He says there's going to be a war, and I am to join him. I don't want to.

Vincent's heart clenched itself in his chest. These words were of a woman who was still obsessed, but who had begun to let him go. As he turned the page, he began to realize that the words left to him was about her life. How she had always been given what she wanted, but had always felt empty...until he came into her life.

She knew it was a hollow feeling, but it was the only thing she had...besides her paintings. There were pages where she would rage about how he was hers, and that he was horrible for leaving her, but then others where she lamented her anger. That she was confused. She didn't want to be angry, but...she was.

She spoke about how her father took care of her. Gave her tea that calmed her nerves. It always helped, but afterwards, she felt unreasonably angry. She would turn to her paintings, desperately trying to capture Vincent's likeness from memory. There were then bouts where she would black out, only to wake with those very same paintings shredded.

It was like...every time she saw him, she grew angry. It terrified her. Why would she be so angry towards someone she loved so much? It soon became obvious to Vincent as he read...these episodes happened anytime she had the tea that her father gave her. It didn't take a genius to put to and two together...she had been drugged.

Whatever was in that tea had made her susceptible to suggestion. A type of subconscious mind control. He was preparing her. The reason he brought her with to this war, a war she wanted no part in, was to fight Vincent. The moment she saw him, she went into a blind rage. Somehow, through Vincent's words and her own strength, she was able to break free.

What became even more apparent as Vincent continued to read, was that she knew she was going to die even before she had left her home. She had willing taken the concoction, hoping that Vincent would put an end to all of this. The last entry in the journal was right before she took the concoction her father gave her.

Vincent, I don't want you to forgive me. I don't deserve it. If you see me out there...I hope you kill me. I'd rather die by your hand than any other. Father is calling now...it seems you're close, yet you still seem so far away.

If you find this, I hope you know...I don't regret dying. I only regret that I did not live better. Do you remember the cherry trees? You always looked good in pastels.

The journal ended with a hastily drawn depiction of cherry blossoms falling around a portrait of himself. Despite the haste in which it was done, there was no mistaking the detail and expert hand in which it was made.

"...You really are a handful, Lady Vanessa," Vincent sighed, carefully tearing the drawing from the journal before placing the journal within the folds of his robes, "I really did look good in pastels, didn't I?"

He admired the drawing for a moment, looking upon it fondly. He learned an important lesson tonight. Even memories, no matter how clear they were, didn't always hold the entire truth. He had to wonder...had her father been spiking her drinks for all her life? Was her obsession...the madness inflicted upon her, done by her very father?

He looked down at the now headless, frozen corpse Duke Saville. A sudden rage entered Vincent's heart. He claimed to love his daughter until the very end, yet did such horrible things to control her. To shape her to his whims. The thought made Vincent sick, and in a fit of anger, completely crushed the rest of Duke Saville with a strong concussive force of Magic.

"I hope...she judges you harshly," Vincent closed his eye for a moment.

As with everything, when new information is presented to Vincent, he begins to realize how complicated life is. Much like feelings. He had held no love for Vanessa before, but now, that pity he felt grew into sympathy. Empathy.

"...Shit," opening his eyes, he took the drawing tenderly in his hand, folding it with purposeful care, "We really got screwed, didn't we? Neither of us really understood...we simply lived the only way we knew how. Products of our abusers."

Vincent placed the drawing safely within the folds of his robes, and even placed a ward around it, just in case.

"I see now that abuse takes many forms," Vincent looked to the burning town, thinking about all the pain that the Noble Faction has caused, "Not only is it the visceral, horrifyingly physical, but the manipulative, terrifyingly silent. It comes from even those closest to us..."

Vincent's thoughts turned towards his own father who had sold him during a time of great pain and anger. He would never forgive him, but he at least understood. It didn't make it right, and it never would. At the very lest...if Sir Henrick continued along his current path, he wouldn't end up shattered upon the ground like Duke Saville.

As he turned from the area, Vincent sensed something off in the distance. A large crimson aura, rising above the ruined buildings, took the shape of a Phoenix. He quickly picked up the pace, realizing that Gwen must be worried about him after that display from earlier. If he didn't hurry, she might just destroy what little remained of the Bridge Towns.

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(Gwen POV)

Her heart raced with worry. Gwen had to be held back by her own Mother, or she would have gone racing off towards that insanely destructive blast that tore open the sky. It was the same direction that Vincent was.

"Focus, Gwen!" her mother urged, "I know you're worried about the boy, but you need to believe in him!"

Her mother's words were right, but she hated to admit it. She reluctantly tore herself free of her mother's grasp, slashing through one of the enemy soldier's who foolishly threw themselves at her. She tore her blade free from their flesh, turning with a darkened gaze towards the enemy.

"It's time we speed this up," Gwen practically seethed, trying to control not only her anger, but the worry building in her heart, "Mother, do you think you can-"

"Already on it, Little Flame," she spoke with a smirk, eyes glowing with starlight.

Several blasts of what looked like stars dancing through the sky erupted from the mana circles which traced themselves in the air. They tore through a squad of spearmen rushing them down, allowing the Elven Guards to clean up the rest.

Meanwhile, Gwen took the flank, dancing among the blades of the enemy while her own found purchase in their flesh. Doubling her efforts, Gwen concentrated more of her Aura into herself and her blade. She had simply been fighting a fraction of her skill, merely supporting her Knights, but now it was time for her to take charge.

"Follow me! Tonight, the Noble Faction falls!" her war cry was heard amongst the battlefield and responded to by a deafening roar of approval.

The ground became soaked in blood as she moved through the opposing soldiers like a hot knife through butter. She became the spearpoint through which her army became funneled. Soon, they broke the enemies battlements and tore through their defenses. She became lost to the battle dance, focused solely on ending this battle as quickly as possible.

Through alleyways and burning streets, Gwen pushed her way into the suddenly retreating enemy. They were pushing them back, but they had nowhere to go. Thanks to Gwen's earlier deal with the Queen-Consorts, their forces were boxing the Noble Faction in. This made them deseperate, and many were trying to take her down.

"Traitorous bitch!" a behemoth of a man raged, swinging down a battle axe shrouded in an amateurs aura.

Nimbly sidestepping, he seemed so slow to Gwen. She remained cool even being so close to the razors edge. Twisting her blade, she cut swiftly up, taking his arms clean from her body.

"You're aura's weak," she stated, completely unimpressed.

In a swift motion, the blade danced in her hand, turning to a reverse grip as she plunged it into his chest. Pulling it free, she corrected the grip just in time to parry a blade that came for her neck. Sending the attacker off-balance, Gwen then flipped her blade over, past the parry and into their neck.

"There's just no end to them..." she muttered, condensing her Sword Aura before sending it out with a horizontal slash.

The red-hot crimson wave of energy flew forward into a group of oncoming soldiers. From the moment it made contact, they were engulfed in its burning heat. They were flames that were not so easily put out as they struggled to get rid of them. Their screams as they burned to death, their armor melting into their skin, was almost like music to her ears.

A sickening crescendo as she unleashed the full might of her aura. The ground cracked, half-melting from the heat as the area around her became a death trap for all those she saw as enemies. Her Knights rushed in, ending the lives of those who panicked within the heat of her aura.

There, with her aura flared to full strength, she stood victorious among a sea of corpses. The ground beneath her boots squished from the blood which flooded the area. It was an absolute bloodbath. It was her choice to go where the most of the enemy forces were. It was a statement she had to make.

She would not be quelled.

"Your lives are forfeit!" she roared above the din of battle, now coming to a whimpering end, "Surrender yourselves and earn a merciful death! Fight and be burned in my flames!"

The pressure of her aura caused all those she saw as enemies, fall to their knees. With one look at her, and the terrifyingly blood-soaked appearance she held, they dropped their weapons, surrendering completely. Little did she know, her aura had taken on the very form that many had now come to call...the Flames of the Phoenix.

She rose above adversity. She moved across the battlefield with terrifying elegance. Her aura melted both metal and stone. The Noble Faction understood tonight just what a mistake it had been to have awoken such a slumbering giant.

She didn't know how long she had been fighting for, but the battle was winding down. All that was left, after...what? A few hours of fighting? All that was left now was the cleanup.

Her mother joined her in the assessment of the damage, looking surprisingly pristine despite having been in the center of the fighting. Gwen knew that this was her victory. It was always going to be her victory, but now that it was coming to an end...she didn't feel relieved. In fact, she felt...antsy.

"Relax, Little Flame," her mother soothed, "He's fine, I'm sure of it."

"What do you..." Gwen's words trailed off as she looked to see her mother's knowing look.

"Don't what me, Gwen," she chided playfully, "Vincent. He's fine."

"I just...what if he's hurt?" Gwen asked, her heart tearing itself apart right now, "What if he-"

"-Appears before us looking completely fine?" her mother interrupted, finishing her sentence with her own.

She sounded quite amused as she motioned off a ways. Gwen followed her gesture, her eyes going wide as she saw Vincent walk from between two buildings. Besides being slightly covered in blood, he looked to be in one piece...but before she could determine for sure, she had to go over to him. She didn't even realize her feet were already moving before she had him in her embrace.

"Vincent! You're safe!" she exclaimed in excitement, lifting him into her arms and spinning him around, "What the hell was that blast from earlier? Was that you? Did you get hurt?"

He gave an awkward smile as he chuckled.

"One question at a time, Gwen," he stated, though his words sounded a little strained, "Also, I'm happy to see you too, but...I can't breath."

Gwen's eyes widened, realizing that she had been squeezing him a bit too tightly. She relented, setting him gently on the ground and dusting off his robe.

"S-Sorry," she stated, blushing a bit, thankful that the blood covering her face probably hid such a shameful display, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"N-No..." he replied a little sheepishly, "I'm not physically strong, but I'm incredibly sturdy. Even if you did break a rib or two, it'd heal pretty quickly."

Gwen grew mortified at the thought.

"I didn't...I mean, your ribs are fine, right?" she asked, absolutely terrified.

"Heh, relax...I'm fine," he assured her, "You didn't break anything. Trust me, you'd hear it if you did."

"I...I suppose I would," she let out a sigh of relief, the tension in her chest finally releasing, still...she couldn't be too safe, "Are you sure you're okay?"

She began to meticulously check him over. Patting him down carefully, lifting his arms, checking his robes for any cuts and tears. Everything looked good, and Vincent was a good sport about all of it. He allowed her to check him, despite his amused exasperation. Then, something caught her eye.

His right arm looked a little...pink. Like fresh skin that had grown underneath a scab. She narrowed her eyes and pushed up the sleeve of his robe.

"G-Gwen?" Vincent suddenly exclaimed, a little flustered and the first time he really protested, "I'm fine, truly. You don't have to-"

"Shush, Mister I'm fine," Gwen narrowed her eyes at him before lifting his arm for him to see, "What's this then?"

Right there, half-way up his bicep, there was a slight discoloration in his skin. She's seen this before whenever he's hand to heal an injury. The new skin would heal over, become a light pink like new flesh, before finally regaining its normal complexion. However, the worse the injury...the longer it takes to go back to normal.

"...Would you believe me if I said it's a suntan?" he inquired awkwardly, "I mean, we were just in the desert, and-"

"Vincent..." Gwen's tone grew dangerous, yet in a lovingly affectionate way, "I'm glad you've learned to joke, but...a suntan makes the skin darker, not lighter. Explain."

He was nervous now, and she could practically see the sweat begin to drip from his brow. Seeing how nervous he was, Gwen took a deep breath and composed herself. Standing tall, she placed her hands gently upon his shoulders.

"I'm not angry, I'm just...worried," she let out more inflection than she intended, unable to hide just how concerned she had been.

Suddenly, she felt his hand upon her cheek, wiping away the blood. His touch was...surprisingly tender.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," he said with an unfair warmth, "Look at the two of us. Both hopelessly worried about the other...I promise you, I'm good. I'll explain later, but right now...perhaps we should wait until we're clean, yeah?"

She couldn't remain serious in front of him, succumbing to laughter, the last remaining bit of tension in her disappeared.

"Gods, we are a mess, aren't we?" she attempted to wipe the blood from his own face, only to smear it completely, "Absolutely hopeless."

Finally reunited, they turned their attention towards finishing this. Most of the leaders were already rounded up or dead. Any that remained had not been on the battlefield. It was almost hilarious to Gwen that the Queen-Consorts, of all people, showed up when other leaders in the Noble Faction were too scared to do so. Credit where credit was due.

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