Laurentius dwelled behind and trailed along the carriage to make sure no surprising attacks took place and threatened his niece's life before his return to the battleground. His armor was for the first time during any of the countless battles he participated in or commanded drenched in blood, even his long hair was soaked in red but he bore no wound, not a single scratch.
He watched the lancer leave the carriage but did not question why, he had a haunch about where Sabina might have had sent the man and for what purpose but he knew it was futile to stop her or him... He had tried to drag the blond out of his palace, telling him that since he does not know how to fight, he will only be a hindrance and waste men for his protection, and that as long as he lives, his title would not be lost, and he can pay these tribes back and reclaim his city. However, Germanous could not believe him, not because his uncle's words were lies, that man never lied, but because they were mere probabilities, possibilities he did not feel like venturing so he stubbornly refused, promising the warrior counselor that he would not be a hindrance, but this did not reassure the man at all. Would his nephew take his own life? No, he was too weak to do so but he might ask another and he could guess correctly who he would ask.
Now whether that man answered the governor's prayer or not and if he were to do so, would it be out of a noble obligation or Sabina's manipulation, he could not tell, and had to wait for the man's return if he returned at all.
Just when Sabina was about to tell her uncle that he had accompanied her far enough and that they were probably safe, the carriage struggled against a rough hill, rocky and steep. She did not mind throwing some of her personal possessions, a chest of robes and accessories to lighten the burden of the carriage, and Laurentius tried to guide the coach man and aid him climbing up this last hindrance before the road returned straight and suitable for escaping, but the carriage refused to budge. One of the wheels got stuck in the mud, sinking and pulling the carriage slowly backward, almost keen on flipping it and the people inside it. Laurentius helped Sabina out of the carriage along her servants and maids, and he had to wait of the male servants and the coachman to free the wheel and push the carriage, now unburdened by the human weights it carried but this did not prove to be an easy task, and Laurentius descended from his horse, taking his niece's side, an unwarranted accident that would delay his return to the battle and his aid to his men. Sabina noticed her uncle's conflicting thoughts, though they did not trickle into subtle expression. Knowing his nature, she asked him gently.
"Please uncle, we are safe and the lancer will return soon… you do not have to worry about us. It goes without saying that helping your soldiers is more important than protecting me… and we are safe here."
"Not an inch in this city is safe anymore, I barely made it here and I do not think that the gladiator will return easily or fast enough. I believe in my men, they can hold on the battleground till I return."
The counselor answered without sugarcoating his words, but it was clear to Sabina that despite his dutiful nature, at this time of need, he deemed his familial dutifulness more important. She was grateful in a sense but also disappointed, as the latter represented for her unyielding neutrality. She thought he would choose his soldiers over her, but he did not though his eyes were focusing from that damned hill on the burning city and the shadows of massacre the flames were amplifying through their reflection. And for the first time, she did not know how to feel toward this choice. It kept her heart warm, but also degraded her vision of her uncle. Certain the man could not be persuaded, she stood by his side, watching the city that was supposed to bloom being seared without mercy. Even the sky did not rain despite the heavily black clouds it embraced, deepening the bleakness and darkness the city was being devoured with.
Sabina stood by her uncle's side, no longer feeling the cold or chilly breezes. Laurentius was turning his head every few whiles to see the progression with getting the carriage out of the mud. He wanted to suggest riding horses, but he feared for Sabina's safety and comfort during the long journey.
"Do you believe the lancer will make it?"
Laurentius had already stated the dangerous station, and the madness the citizens had succumbed into in their state of terror and he was not sure what she was referring to exactly; the mission or the return journey but he decided to answer to the latter matter.
"He can make it."
The counselor replied without a hint of praise or admiring certainty. He merely measured and estimated the man's will and strength and did not see it impossible for him to return in one piece. Then calmly, knowing impatience would not hasten the reparation of the carriage, he got the piece of clothes he keep on himself at all times, and wiped his sword. He never liked to be drenched in blood, he did not hesitate to shed it when need called, but he disliked his noble blade to be tainted with the blood of unwitty and unworthy opponents. When he glanced again at his niece, the woman was approaching the hill's edge to get a better view. It did not seem she was walking on her own will, it seemed as if her foot floated the earth pulled by an unseen thread; and Laurentius could not tell what it was; lament, disdain, sorrow, or mere curiosity.
Sabina was giving him her back while he was cleaning his sword the best he could. She did not speak a word as she watched, not a breath escaped her lips, not a limb of hers was shaking despite overseeing the annulment of an entire city, filled with innocent and guilty people alike. The flames were soaring with every moment, but she did not raise her head to follow them and see how far they would reach. Seeing them engulfing every building, temple and house, every institution, and likely soon reaching the palace, the scene was enough for her. Her uncle contemplated for a second if she was trying to trace the hellish maze her lancer would have to navigate through.
"Are you anticipating his return this fast?"
Laurentius commented, not because he was interested in the matter, but because he did not want his poor niece to feel abandoned or vulnerable without her trusted lancer. He did not have a justification for this thought that crossed his mind in a sadness similar to the invasion, but seeing her lamenting the city meant she was not as icy as the others proclaimed and believed firmly so.
"He is a free man now, uncle."
Laurentius raised his head, he was not expecting this act of generosity at this turbulent time, he did not care as his dark steel blade was enough to protect her, but then again he found himself wondering; what was she looking at, what was she waiting for? Her tone was composed yet broken at some syllables. Was she so certain he will return to her side? Was she experimenting whether he will take revenge against the people who enslaved him? Was she worried for his safety or over her taking such a decision, a decision of freeing him prompted by whatever bond they strangely shared, amidst a battle where if Laurentius were to head back to it, she would be left without proper protection?
He stepped calmly toward where she was standing, in order not to frighten her. When he arrived by her side he asked her quietly, as if she was a deer he feared to startle.
"Are you alright, Sabina?"
He knew seeing one's home being destroyed in the most savage and sorrowful way was not something easy on anyone's eyes or heart. Despite how strong she was, she must be feeling some sadness over the loss. The counselor put his hand on her shoulder when she did not answer or even react, he did expect some level of sadness or feeling afraid but not this complete silence that contrasted frighteningly with the screams and pleas of mercy reaching their ears across miles from the tortured city.
Fearing for her sake, Laurentius shook her a little but she still did not respond forcing him to take a look at her and he could not believe what he was witnessing.
A large smile she had never donned before was now uplifting her lips, revealing teeth. A smile of satisfaction, a smile of ecstasy, the smile of someone's who had been finally served his long overdue justice. Her eyes were widened unnaturally, her green pupils distending with what could only be described as pure joy. Her eyes were immersed in the burning city, her ears perfectly tuned and vibrating happily to the wails and cries for help. The green was no longer emerald, it was shining the same red and grey the flames was reflecting onto them. The problem was that it was not a mere reflection, her eyes were absorbing the scene to its finest details even across the distance. They were submerged with the inhumane scenery, dilating with gratification, soaking up the terrible view as if she wished to project it herself onto the city times and times again. The counselor was not a man surprised by anything, but that smile of contentment at the people's suffering, these eyes feasting upon the destruction so engrossed in its brutality and ruthlessness… it was so inhumane he gasped in surprise.. Even a god would not stare so arrogantly at a punishment he inflected upon his rebellious people.
It was her, it was her all along, despite how much he tried to argue against this notion and look for proofs to contradict his judgment. He knew, yet kept looking for more solid evidences, surrendering to the heart that beat inside of him and the only time he doubted his judgment, his feelings were proven wrong and his judgment right.
How did the "Justice Pallbearers" rise, where could they have put their hands on the funds and weapons? Why did they chose a hideout symbolizing for Sabina an incident she would never forget or forgive for it tainted and marred justice's pure image, a hideout so close to her residing place… an armature's reckless mistake.
That time when he visited her unannounced, and heard an extra footsteps at the adjacent room, heavy manly footsteps that had never been heard in her house before, a way of walking he recognized the moment he met and fought Aengus. The ambassador's fabricated letters that turned him guilty by Laurentius's judgment.
He knew she had a shadow protecting her, a shadow that moved like those people but still turned a blind eye convincing himself it was a whim of hers to keep such a slave.
How were the city's walls preached so easily despite all his efforts, measures and planning?
He closed his eyes deliberately in the name of finding more compelling proof, and now she herself presented that proof and despite the rising fog and the smoke, he had no excuse to be blind.
Laurentius withdrew his hand with the same quietness he had placed it on his niece's shoulder and stepped backward. A chuckle escaped her lips which continued to widen with a joyful smile.
She was not enjoying the people's sufferings and death, she was enjoying the justice that had finally been brought to this city which she disliked the more her efforts to support the unheard blew in the wind.
This city which represented a lair for every debauchery, for manipulation, for betrayal, for treacherous dreams, for every kind of vileness enforced by her perverted governor, had been served the justice she failed to reenact by giving rise to the "Justice Pallbearers".
It was a divine punishment; the one she failed to exact was now being exacted through this invasion strummed by the hands of gods, reinforcing her cause and triumph.
This undignified fall of the city was the punishment she deemed fit to that place of misery, deceit and vice she grew up witnessing and enduring, her hands tied by Germanous but her ideals for the justice this city deserved never wavering despite her foiled plans.
Only from utter destruction could virtue rise again, there was no hopes or dreams that could repair any damage, only a destruction ravishing the soil deep down to its unholy roots before planting new seeds in a purified ground.
What more confirmation did she need other than the gods themselves using barbaric tribes suiting the barbaric sins of this city to be convinced and relaxed that her debt for serving justice was being paid right now?
"Justice never remains silent, do you not agree, uncle?"
Sabina turned her head at last to the man standing behind her, smiling so enthusiastically, like a proud student that heeded her uncle's desires for justice and his description of it, engraved to her core. So grateful to this justice that took the shape of people's death and the city's destruction that her eyes, while still shining with the reflection of the merciless flames, were tearing of joy. What was more concerning, that despite this inhumane reaction, that smile was so natural, suiting the woman's face perfectly. There was nothing forced about it. It was true smile, perhaps the only truthful smile she had ever allowed herself to display.
"Sabina…"
Laurentius was a man of justice, and he held the scale perfectly balanced and blinded when matters resided in his hands. The only moment he allowed himself to hesitate and not be decisive, he was nurturing an ever growing beast. His niece was smiling, shedding tears of gratefulness and happiness, of victory, her heart birthing the same flames that were torturing the city and its people through her eyes, but that was not justice.
Or was it? Was this justice true cruel face?
Laurentius did not think, he knew justice did not discriminate and Sabina was not discriminating the suffering of the commoners, the nobles or the soldiers, all mere tributes to what she saw as a pyre of a long overdue punishment.
But if this was justice, then it was not the type of justice the counselor believed in or wanted to follow.
His justice only shared one quality with Sabina's; indiscrimination.
He was the one who had taught her of equality among the different classes and the meaning of justice, he was the one who planted these seeds. However, he had never expected from them to grow a monster.
Sabina turned at her uncle, ecstatic, but soon her smile faded, turning into a sigh of pain, her eyes no longer reflected the blazing flames as they trailed the blood seeping from her heart into her uncle's sword to pool on the ground where she could see through her fading vision her reflection, still smiling satisfactory and joyfully. Her tears were now those of pain as the sword plunged deep into her heart, but in the reflection they were still shed out of gratefulness and victory. Laurentius did not look at her face, as she collapsed down as his sword was withdrawn. She fell on her side, embracing with one hand the wound beneath which her ripped heart laid silently, and the wind was kind enough to cover her face with her blonde lucks that fell out of their do at the impact.
Another justice was served tonight. Laurentius stood silently by the lying woman, now dead like the ashes the city was turning into. And he did not wipe his sword.
Not because she was worthy, or because she was of his own flesh and blood, but because it was a night where no one, even himself, seemed to deserve mercy.