The Assassination War (12)

Rewinding time by a couple of days.

Sithe had briefly detained me as I exited the meeting hall.

“Regarding Lady Freugne… No, about Freugne.”

“What is it?”

“Well, you see……”

After furtively glancing towards Freugne conversing with other operatives, Sithe continued:

“Her… comatose state? Or was it death? I’m uncertain how to articulate it precisely, so let’s set that aside for now. Were you aware of Freugne’s condition until your revival?”

“She had barely composed herself by the time I regained consciousness, hovering over me during that interim.”

“And?”

“Ah, now that you mention it, there was this chewing sensation in my mou–”

“Let’s disregard that detail! Ultimately, you remained unaware, as expected upon reflection.”

Leaning closer, her face flushing, Sithe lowered her voice, presumably to avoid Freugne overhearing:

“She kept muttering about your persisting vitality, halfway dissociated.”

“……”

“Initially, I had presumed some prior consensus between you both. But that was inaccurate, wasn’t it?”

“Truth be told, I had not forewarned her of this eventuality.”

My reasons for concealing my triple-life status from Freugne were straightforward:

If that knowledge were somehow extracted, I could no longer employ it as an ace-in-the-hole contingency.

Succumbing to the Demons’ ambush only to revive after repeated decapitations would have proven excessively anticlimactic.

Admittedly, the Demon Sovereign likely now comprehends my revivals stemming from obscure circumstances.

How many contingent lives remain, whether that number is finite, and if depleting them triggers permanent demise or initiates a ‘restart’ as Luigi – all those specifics elude me. But at minimum, simple confirmatory terminations would no longer suffice.

Yet averting that Demon’s conclusion of ‘Since slaying Edan proves arduous, I’ll spirit away Freugne as a consolation prize’ represented an acceptable outcome.

Additionally:

Broaching mortality inevitably revisits the reasons behind my preceding ‘death,’ compelling Freugne into self-flagellating guilt – a prospect I wished to forestall.

“But I should disclose it now.”

No need remained to conceal facts the Demon Sovereign likely already knew.

Sithe nodded solemnly.

“If any sensitive details warrant discretion, please exercise prudence in your phrasing. Lord Edan outwardly appears unharmed for now, but Freugne’s psyche seems alarmingly fragile still.”

“While I’ve never personally witnessed the battlefield, I’ve frequently observed similar reactions among our operatives upon grievous harm or demise befalling their intimates. Please, console her gently.”

She labored to articulate the elusive, inarticulate emotions through supplementary gestures.

Yet her intentions remained decipherable:

The disquietude of presuming me deceased, the relief at my revival, guilt over her perceived complicity, dread of potential recurrences – an intricate interweaving.

“Ah, and she seems poised to broach a significant topic imminently. Please respond supportively when that opportunity arises…!”

Only that final statement had eluded my comprehension until now.

Freugne had requested this private audience, so I had acquiesced without suspicion into her Londinium underground sanctum – a remarkably austere interior for the supposed shadow sovereign’s bedchambers.

The reinforced entrance, fortified against potential Demon infiltrations, also rendered it virtually soundproof once sealed – the ambient revelry beyond abruptly muted.

Dispelling the momentary awkward silence, Freugne inquired:

“Do you love me, Uncle?”

Ah, so this constituted Sithe’s foreshadowed ‘significant topic.’

Feigning familial affections would have proven disingenuous – Freugne and I had long transcended such boundaries.

While overtly unexpressed, I remained acutely aware of her underlying sentiments towards me.

Freugne grasped my hand, her arm quivering faintly with trepidation.

That visceral anxiety stemmed from the prospect of deprivation.

“Please respond.”

“……” mortality proves tenacious yet simultaneously fragile beyond credibility.

While individuals have survived skydiving with malfunctioning parachutes via entanglement in power lines, others have perished from mere missteps during casual strolls.

‘This represents my final opportunity.’

Of my initial triple-life allotment, only one now remained.

Perishing presently would grant one revival before permanent demise. And amidst this ongoing wartime, falling victim to marauding Demons would hardly prove anomalous.

While taking maximal precautions, Freugne must ultimately acknowledge reality’s recalcitrance against meticulous strategizing.

If Freugne believed she had nearly lost me, the converse held equally true.

Yet for her, a solitary life represented her sole, irreplaceable existence. Mortality meant finality.

No, that very ephemerality had emboldened my decision to confront those Demons defenselessly.

If peril necessitated being braved, the one possessing contingencies should logically bear that burden – trivializing agony or squandering future prospects paled beside that imperative.

Gazing upon Freugne, my reflection crystallized within her pupils.

Admittedly, she had come to occupy a substantial portion of my existence at some indeterminate juncture.

I did not dismiss this as a transient delusion prompted by prospective mortality’s refracting effects.

I nodded acquiescence.

Freugne’s expression brightened slightly before she reiterated her inquiry:

“Then, could you substantiate those feelings for me?”

Truthfully, her subsequent implications had eluded my foresight:

“…We are presently unaccompanied.”

Freugne had evidently prepared herself thoroughly for this encounter.

And with an audible click, the door locked behind us.

---

Freugne’s heart pounded furiously.

“Then, could you substantiate those feelings for me?”

She had committed herself.

Confessed her long-deferred sentiments.

Yet contrary to anticipations, unburdening those earnest emotions provided scant catharsis.

Instead, an enigmatic melange of trepidation and ardent yearning suffused her being with a peculiar, fluttering giddiness – her chest swelling with breathless anticipation.

Prior to this rendezvous, Freugne had refrained from precognitive indulgences.

Every utterance had spontaneously manifested, rendering them intrinsically candid.

As someone inherently strategic, she had always formulated meticulous schemes after iterative future assessments – troop deployments, tactical maneuvers, postbellum contingencies.

Ruthless pragmatism proved essential for prevailing amid combat’s callous indifference.

Yet extending such calculated foresight towards confessions would have denuded them of all romantic sincerity.

To ensure optimal declarations or preordain success would have necessitated precognitive indulgences. But Freugne had resolved to humbly accept whichever outcome, triumph or devastation, unfurled organically.

For if such intimate confessions could only transpire through cheat-sheeted contrivances, failure would have proven the preferable eventuality.

After seconds that seemed to elapse like hours, Edan finally responded:

“…What would you prefer I do?”

“That is…”

This time, Freugne’s voice faltered, having avidly awaited his lips parting solely to articulate reciprocation.

What motivations underlay that query? Surely he could not have remained oblivious to her intentions after orchestrating this intimate audience.

More pressingly, had he not already acknowledged her affections? Yet now he solicited her preferences – which implied…

‘…Ahah!’

Freugne swiftly deduced his underlying implications:

This represented his bestowed carte blanche – a declaration of noninterference, granting her unrestricted autonomy henceforth.

Elation at his acquiescence, relief from her lingering disquietude, compounded by euphoric lightheadedness – her dopamine-saturated cerebrum could scarcely process cogent contemplations.

Yet even under lucid conditions, her subsequent escalations would have likely unfolded with marginal deviations.

Gently shoving him onto the bed, the unprepared Edan collapsed limply.

“Provide me with evidence.”

“Evidence that I no longer resemble a child in your eyes, and that the love I proffer stems not from filial affections, but from romantic yearnings…!”

Freugne recognized the imminent juncture as the very future she had envisioned innumerable times previously.

The future did not simply ‘arrive’ – it necessitated being actively seized.

Grasping his wrists as her breathing grew ragged, she felt an intangible switch activating within her psyche.

While Edan excelled in confronting Demons, his formidable prowess predominantly stemmed from magical aptitudes.

Disarmed of those supernatural advantages, he remained simply a bookish intellectual. Conversely, Freugne had diligently honed her physicality to compensate for her comparatively meager mystical capacities.

Should he fully exert himself, Edan would likely prevail through sheer brawn.

Yet he currently floundered, disoriented by her unexpectedly overwhelming vigor.

“Wait, this strength is rather……”

“…You initiated this encounter first, Uncle. By failing to rebuff me, you struck the opening gambit, did you not?”

“Just, calm yourself for a mome–”

Fully pinning him beneath her, Freugne straddled his chest.

Though belatedly attempting resistance, Edan remained inevitably overpowered from his prone position beneath her superior leveraged mass.