“No.”
“Commands are clear, son. We leave-“
“No no no no no. It won’t happen. I won’t do it.”
“You have no choice. Neither do I. You know that.”
“I care not, commander. I’ll be your martyr no longer. Bloody my hands endlessly for a crown that scoffs when my armor doesn’t shine. It rusts for them. It bends for them, it breaks and shatters for them. But lord forbid it does not glitter like their jewels.”
“Are-“
“No longer will I break my back for siblings in arms. Not when I know their fate, as they know mine. Watch them bleed and scar, just to laugh it off, when they may fall the next day and never rise.”
“Crying won’t change what we must do. What your assignment is.”
“Commander if I die tomorrow in that hell pit, what would you do?”
“You won’t-“
“Goddamn it, Vern, answer me.”
“You want my real answer Rye? I’d recruit more folks. Expand our ranks.”
“You’d expand?”
“Son don’t raise your voice at me-“
“I’m done, Vern. I’m leaving.”
“Abandoning your post? You know you won’t make it out of this camp intact if you do.”
“Are you planning on stopping me?”
“Perhaps not, but your fellow soldiers will surely try. You can’t fight through fifty armed knights, Rye. Even I know that.”
“But I can take down maybe ten. And I know who to fucking kill to ruin your life tomorrow. So you might actually have to fight. So you might actually feel the brush of death.”
“…”
“Move, Commander.”
“…I always knew you’d be a pain in my ass, Rye.”
“Yeah yeah, Vern. You’re breaking my heart.”
