Free Web Novel"Reinhardt, do you think these guys are fools?"
Frederick squatted on a crossbeam, watching the people coming and going below. He stroked his chin and posed his question to Reinhardt, who was beside him.
His golden left eye glinted slightly in the gloom, and the twisted scar on the right side of his face made his expression look exceptionally complex.
Half was genuine confusion, and the other half was a sort of near-philosophical contemplation.
Below the beam was a warehouse where over a dozen people dressed in dark clothing were busy moving wooden crates. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
As for what was inside the crates?
The pungent smell, like burnt sugar, had already told everyone the answer.
"Why do you ask?"
Reinhardt didn't look up. Uncharacteristically, he wasn't whittling wood today; instead, he was staring intently in one direction, sensing something.
"Look at them."
Frederick pointed at a young man below who was portioning out explosives.
"That guy's hands are shaking, but the look on his face—have you seen it? There's a sense of sanctity, like 'I am doing a great deed.'"
"I've seen it."
"Where?"
"In the mirror. And you looked like that when you went out today, too."
Frederick choked for a moment, then let out a low laugh.
"So what's your conclusion?"
"My conclusion is that the word 'fool' is too arbitrary."
Reinhardt continued to answer his question. "They just don't know who they're dying for. The noble lord funding them is likely sitting before a fireplace in some luxurious Victoria manor, drinking hot cocoa and reading a headline about 'Anti-War Terrorists Strike Again,' contentedly checking a box on his plan."
"And these people—they'll be arrested by the Imperial Security Bureau one day, and then on the gallows, they'll believe until the moment they die that they are heroes sacrificed for peace."
"Does that still count as being a fool?"
Reinhardt finally looked up at Frederick, his deep gray eyes appearing exceptionally profound in the darkness.
"Hard to say," he said. "At least they'll die in the illusion that their actions were noble. On the contrary, I think we're more like the fools."
Frederick raised an eyebrow.
"How so?"
"Look." Reinhardt pointed at Frederick and then at himself. "Pavela, a girl who looks harmless to humans and animals, tricked us into working for her with just a few words."
"..."
"This means either she's a terrifying negotiation expert, or we're fools."
Frederick thought about it and smacked his lips, feeling that Reinhardt had a point.
Oh, of course, not the part about them possibly being fools, but the other part.
"You're right about that. Little Pa is indeed quite terrifying when it comes to persuasion."
"When she persuaded me to join, I knew I was being persuaded the whole time. I could clearly see every one of her tactics, every pause, every perfectly timed silence—"
"And then?"
"And then I agreed anyway."
Reinhardt let out an ambiguous grunt.
"Useless."
"What did you say?! Then what about you? Why are you here right now?"
"I agreed too."
"Hey, you motherf—"
Suddenly, a dull thud interrupted their conversation.
Thump—!
Some heavy object fell behind them, making the entire wooden beam shake, but the busy people below didn't notice at all.
"You two, please don't chat at a time like this."
A steady female voice rang out from behind them.
Natasha stood up straight behind them.
Silvery moonlight poured down through a gap in the damaged roof behind her, but as the light touched the positions of the three, it seemed to be distorted and deflected by some invisible force, ultimately only illuminating the empty crossbeam.
Alicia's handiwork.
Natasha's left hand held an unconscious man.
The man wore a black coat with a dagger at his waist. Right now, he was being carried in one hand like a sack of flour, his head lolling to one side with a trace of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.
"A sentry?" Frederick asked.
"The one by the second-floor west window."
Natasha placed the man on the beam. The fellow's head hit the wood with a 'thud,' making a dull, tooth-aching sound.
"Way of Strength, sequence i. His reactions were quite fast, but unfortunately, he's purely self-taught."
She spoke in a flat tone, with a hint of disdain.
"Which one is this?" Reinhardt asked.
"The fourth. Katya took care of two in the south, and Pavela took care of three in the east."
"Three?" Frederick whistled. "She's really efficient."
"One of them was a Sequence II of the Path of the Magician," Natasha added. "According to her, he was'somewhat interesting'."
The two men exchanged a look.
When the evaluation'somewhat interesting' came from Pavela's mouth, it roughly meant, 'It took me a full two seconds to put him down.'
"What about Alicia?"
"In her position." Natasha jerked her chin toward the north-central part of the warehouse. "She said she found the archives room."
Frederick looked in the direction she pointed, only seeing a cluttered space piled with wooden crates.
But he knew that in that seemingly °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° ordinary area, there was an entrance perfectly concealed by Alicia's illusions.
"The action plan is—"
"You two go to the archives room to meet up with her, and Katya and I will continue clearing the perimeter," Natasha said. "Pavela will create an 'accident' in fifteen minutes to draw the main personnel over. During that gap, you take all the documents you can."
"What kind of accident?"
Natasha's lip twitched.
"She said she'll make them think something more interesting than an explosive blast happened in the next block over."
"...I'm starting to get a little worried now," Frederick admitted honestly.
"You should be." Reinhardt stood up and patted Frederick's shoulder. "Remember our training ground? It still hasn't been repaired yet."
"I won't let you slander her for that! That counts as an accident!"
"Yeah, a'slight' accident."
Natasha took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.
She finally understood why Pavela put these two in the same group every time she assigned tasks.
They weren't necessarily very coordinated, but if they were separated, they would each find different people to complain to, polluting the morale of two squads at once.
"Meet at the archives room door in twelve minutes."
She said, "Alicia will guide you."
"Roger."
The two figures disappeared into the shadows of the crossbeam.
Natasha looked down again.
That young man was still portioning explosives with trembling hands.
His lips were moving, as if he were silently reciting something—perhaps an oath, perhaps a name, or perhaps just counting to calm his nerves.
She remembered the situation during her own first mission.
She was like that then too—hands shaking, heart pounding, thoughts like 'this is to end the war' and 'this is a righteous cause' echoing in her head.
Thinking back now, those thoughts weren't entirely wrong.
Just... not complete enough.
"Fighting for peace" was a nice-sounding slogan.
The problem was that too many people shouting this slogan didn't truly know what peace looked like, nor did they care how many bones would be crushed on the road to peace.
"Natasha."
Alicia's ethereal voice sounded in Natasha's ear, a thought surfacing directly in her mind.
"There are two people approaching your position from the north. sequence i, one Path of the Chariot, one Way of Strength."
Natasha nodded, turned, and also merged into the shadows of the crossbeam.
"Received."
