The Twenty Virtues Book 1- The Twenty Generals

50-The Last Hope of the World

Helena was still holding her uncle's body when, along with Pedro, she landed on the ground, shaken and exhausted. She held the cold body tightly, as if it might come back, as if she wanted to keep him in this world for at least one more second.

Pedro continued to cry on the ground, increasingly assuming a position similar to a fetal one, only lying down. He was simply so tired of seeing scenes like this. But... who was he kidding? Only himself for being a fool; he would continue to witness these deaths, one after another. It was all his fault. His existence only caused suffering to others; Margareth was right all along, Pedro was a mistake, useless, and incapable.

Without saying a single word, Helena stood up, picked up her uncle's lifeless body in her arms, and began to walk, with a closed expression and tears still streaming down her face. She didn't think about talking to Pedro; to be honest, she didn't even remember he was there at that moment. She simply walked past the crying young man, leaving him there alone, as everyone always did with him.

She didn't know where she was going, to be honest; she was just walking aimlessly, thinking about nothing, looking at nothing. She just cried and walked in an empty way. Or almost empty, right? Because deep down, there was something there, a monstrous beast that only thought about destroying, killing, and taking everything she could have for a happy life. That was and wasn't part of Helena; it was part of her being, but she didn't want that side, though it seemed to be much stronger than she was able to control. Helena was lost. There was no way to save herself or those around her.

Pedro was destined to destroy everyone he encountered. Helena was destined to destroy everyone she encountered.

What a miserable pair, don't you think?

Helena walked and walked until she finally found the other four. Emily, Lysa, John, and Stuart, as dejected as when she left them. It turns out the dark virtue had truly brought traumas they wished they could have left behind. Deep down, she knew they wouldn't be able to leave them behind, so she wanted to make sure they didn't forget what they still hadn't resolved. What still needed to be dealt with.

The reaction of the four was unanimous upon seeing the body. They couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. Lysa would have vomited again if she hadn't already done so with Clark. It's true, Clark had also died, and the child had just frozen, watching it happen without being able to do anything. While Pedro and James managed to move for the fight, the child remained on the ground writhing, perhaps if she had gone with them, she might have helped. Maybe if she wasn't so weak, so incompetent, so shaken, so childish, so foolish, she could have helped. She should be different; she should be able to do something, she should be perfect. She was aware of her mistakes, so why couldn't she just improve? Why couldn't she mature? Would she always remain this failure?

Emily was afraid of that happening to her one day. She was afraid of dying. Afraid of not being able to grow up, be happy, have more friends, someday get married. She was terrified of the idea that she might never be happy. Of the idea that her fate was to die for the good of everyone. Especially with that truth she received, that damned truth. That undeniable fact she wished she could forget but couldn't. Knowing that her whole purpose was to be a target, knowing that due to a stupid mistake, a small accident, and childish carelessness, she had become one of the targets of such a powerful enemy.

John was shaken by another person's death but couldn't say he was close to the man; he barely talked to anyone in that camp. Yes, James took care of him when he got sick, but it was just a logical function; you take care of injured guards. There was no reason to get attached, even though James was the kindest man John had ever known. Even though John felt something seeing him dead... Damn, why was he crying? He didn't cry; he wasn't like that. Why did his heart hurt so much? Even before James died, when that black color hit his heart, he felt a fear, an unease, something he hadn't felt in years and didn't want to feel.