The Reformation Wars: Countdown to Catastrophe

Chapter 12

Manfred slowly marched across his ravaged hometown with a heavy heart, burdened mind, and stony face. He still performed admirably in dispatching any Garuntan warrior, treasonous knight, or Innutukian soldier who came across his path, but there was no life about him. He merely went through the motions.

He glanced up when some movement on a rooftop across the street rippled in the corner of his eye. Manfred pursed his lips, immediately identifying the figure in the sleek charcoal uniform with a maroon cape flaring out behind him—Andre Feliz.

Andre stood on the rooftop with folded arms and surveyed the ongoing battle below with an austere manner. He looked on with the confidence of an assured conquerer. With a sigh, Manfred headed across the street and toward the stairs leading to the rooftop.

Manfred's thoughts raced as he trudged up the stone steps. Of all times to offer a persuasive argument, he was in the least fit mental state to do so now. But yet the moment had come. He had no choice but to redeem Andre Feliz.

After stepping onto the roof himself, Manfred rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat. He raised an eyebrow at the fact Andre didn't perk up or show any sign of being aware of his presence. Supposing he needed to close a few yards of distance, Manfred drew closer.

"I suppose you intend to push me over this edge." Andre blurted out, startling Manfred with his suddenness.

"No...Andre, I didn't want anything like that."

"Then what?"

Manfred cleared his throat. "What I want...is for you to come home, Andre. You may think the things you've done are permanent, but they're not. This is your home! You should be fighting the beasts down there, not commanding them."

Andre whirled about to face Manfred, hands folded behind his back and dark brow quirked. "I find your reasoning questionable. Sentimental, even. What is there for me in Monterayne, even if I did return? The Feliz name is tainted at this point, and I'd never be allowed to join the knightly order again anyway. Are you saying I should become a labor boy, clean stables, perhaps?"

Manfred shook his head. "No, Andre. There's...you always wanted to be a hero. This allegiance with Innutuk—"

"The question is, whose hero?" Andre retorted in a sharp tone, "Heroism is subjective, my friend. An Innutukian warrior can display bravery and bravado abroad and be regarded as a hero by his people, just as a Monteraynian's showing restraint and civility to his enemies earns him the same esteem among his."

"Do you...do you really find the Innutukian idea of heroism satisfactory? The Andre I knew would be appalled by their deeds."

"The Andre you knew hasn't changed. He's only grown wiser—acquired new perspectives. I still find the average Innutukian repulsive. They're bloodthirsty, greedy hounds whose culture depends on consuming the blood and land of their neighbors to keep their bellies and coffers full. But just think for a second. What corruption lay dormant in Monterayne's breast for years! You and I were delusional, Manfred. There will be bad apples in every orchard. It's merely that Monterayne hides hers."

Manfred clenched his jaw. "Innutuk's apples are rotten to the core, Andre. That's the difference."

"Typical Monteraynian logic." Andre scoffed, pacing to the corner of the rooftop away from Manfred, "Simple. Self-righteous. Naive."

"You've changed." Manfred said, voice trembling in shock, "You're not the man I knew just a year ago."

"You're right. I'm a better man than before. Unlike you, I'm not blind to the corruptions of Monterayne. I see how she turns a deaf ear to the troubles of nations around her. If it doesn't have to do with Monterayne or dear sister Alconte, it doesn't matter."