When Laurentius left the battle, roaming the place while cutting anyone who got in his way, he had a sole purpose in his mind; finding the leader of this cult of criminals. Among the faces encountered and fought, he did not perceive any of them to be the leader, one capable of tainting minds with cruel schemes as if he was inspiring a dignified ideals. That man must have been so self – confidant in the success of his plan of buying roman soldiers to his side that he did not it deem it necessary to show himself and risk revealing his identity which the counselor was certain it amounted to nothing.
Walking across narrow corridors and difficult passages, with some assassins hiding here and there, he finally reached a more spacious floor upstairs, where none was lurking, except for small and fast little creature like a fawn, but he did not pay him attention as he got a glimpse of Diarmuid and him crossing paths or more correctly, chasing each other so he left that insignificant matter to the gladiator and focused on reaching the big head. He stepped carefully, without making any noise, like a shadow, and his black armor gave that impression. Finding a huge door, he listened carefully and heard nothing. His sense of hearing was one of his best assets so he trusted it and left the door. Moments later, the roars of the battle grew louder and more menacing. Continuing his search thoroughly, he found nothing of importance aside from some stored weapons, probably stolen. But by the time he decided to join the ongoing fight once more and descend down those troubling passages, the sound of chaos loudened. He looked up at the ceiling and anticipated the upcoming collapse. He hoped his soldiers would act wisely till he arrives to estimate the damage inflicted and the time remaining, which both seemed grave and short respectively. He had to hold to a pillar before it betrayed him and cracked vertically in order not to fall down to a certain demise. But then he stopped, spotting a large man, as huge as the Greek gladiator that had joined them. That sturdy man opened the big door and crept inside. If Laurentius was not there and saw him with his eyes, no one would have guessed someone was there, and he was either coming up with a last deadly resort or running away to save his life. The counselor did not think long, and he followed the man who was not aware of another's presence till that moment, when he wanted to close the door but it was kicked right back in his face with a single foot, in despite of its sturdy wood and tight structure.
The man took few steps back, covering his bleeding nose with his hand. He did expect anyone to follow him, the gang had agreed that if things were to turn against them as what was happening now, the few selected trustworthy ranked leaders will escape using different designed routes, so they would not draw attention.
"It seems those murderous bastards brought a guarding dog with them!"
Laurentius did not care for the insult for the man spitting it was in no position to speak, standing comically, his face slammed and imprinted by the doors carvings, and his nose bleeding like a lustful lecherous who had just received a slap for some depraved act. Receiving no reply, the man brought his Fascina to the intruder's sight to frighten him, as if the six feet man standing in front of him was a little child. And when the unique weapon stirred no fear or impression from the standing still soldier, Aengus rage boiled, his wounded pride not spared the salt spilled of a returned insult.
"It is only appropriate for a group like yourselves to choose a rat to command them."
The implication of the words were not lost on the trident holding man but he returned the accusation with a poised smile:
"It is a well-known fact that once the leader dies, the group and his ideals die as well. So I have to survive to continue my rebellion, to keep spreading my message of justice and the equality of men! And for you knowledge, this was approved by all of us!"
"That is because your followers cannot carry on your heritage, for they are mere puppets who crazily believe in this conviction and do your bidding hypnotized by words of lunacy."
Laurentius did not bother to see the reflection his words left on the man, his eyes silently roamed the cellar. Ropes and chains, nails and hammers, weapons and devices of torture filled the place. The stains of fresh blood turning rust painted the floor and the walls, its stench infused the scene with the unheard cries of help and pain that were silenced by death after a long tribulation. And although his face did not change expression, neither showing disdain nor anger, he slowly unsheathed his sword once more, returning his gaze on the bragging leader.
"I see the brilliant counselor is not a fan of the place!"
"It never represented what it should."
Aengus was surprised by the answer, he sought rage, hatred, humiliation, fear or a fit of a mad attack but the current counselor of this suffering city did not show any change in his facial muscles, they relayed no impression. Even his grip of the oddly dark sword did not tighten. The leader looked at the still man, what was he waiting for? Analyzing the situation? Planning a strategy? It was too late, neigh, it was pointless. With his mere five fingers he could break that long neck easily, shatter the voice box, and keep it a loot to boast about, and his out of tradition long hair will become a token of his victory. He estimated the battle would not last thirty seconds. Three gruesome fangs will tear through that haughty man's dark armor and present a plentiful though probably dull feast for the worms and insects of earth.
The leader knew the place was crumbling and he needed to escape as quickly as possible, and with his estimation he will able to, maybe even in less time. Yet, he could not help himself from not attacking when he left no impression on the counselor's face, it was as if that expressionless face was ridiculing him so he spoke, vexation trailing down his words the way blood was trailing down his trident.
"Do not act to stoic and poised, you are no better than us! I know you tortured my sex assassins!"
"Then they are not your men or followers? If I had known they were mere tools for you, I would have been merciful with them."
Aengus foamed at the mouth, his eyes widened in surprise, that lank counselor and previous consul was the one responsible for torturing? He did not look the part, let alone seeming to have an interest or capability of performing it. He firmly thought from his first glance at him that that man had no interest in anything, and if he had any useful abilities, it would be prudent silence.
"You have just deepened your grave another few inches!"
"I thought men like you left their prey to the maggots to eat and the sun to fry, an offering at you altar of "Justice.""
It was so weird having Laurentius in talking mood, and though the leader of the
"Justice pallbearers" did not know of this, but could easily guess it he started to think there was a trap taking place, that the counselor in a soldier's armor was a decoy, a bet till reinforcement arrived but the condition of the palace would not let such plan succeed, it would be a futile sacrifice, a stupidity beyond measurement but his temper was as easy to crack as an egg shell, he had to respond with all the anger and shame he harbored within.
"You are the teachers, we are merely your humble students!"
The man said sarcastically, gaining again no change in the counselor demeanor, forcing to go on:
"You classify people, trade humans like they merchandise then drown their minds with fear and power into serving you and turning loyal to you, who stole their freedom in the first place! Let them kill each other to entertain yourselves! Blood does not only run in your veins, it stains your entire beings! From the furthest to nearest border of your empire!"
At these words Laurentius raised his head, as if finally paying the deserving attention to the man. This small movement Aengus got out of the walking corpse in a soldier's uniform standing opposite to him was enough to satisfy his pride, making him conclude this conversation before he charged forward.
"When gods failed to interfere, we took their wrath and promises, we took their mission risking our lives, we held the justice they have forgotten about and offered our souls and lives for it!"
At these words, as Aengus legs started to move carefully before dashing toward the enemy, a smile cracked Laurentius face forcing the man to stop though it quickly vanished with the same speed it appeared with. What was he thinking now? Did he take his words for a jester's joke? But that smile was not one of amusement or mockery, not of insult or provocation. It was as solemn as his other features and movements, laced with a little regret or was it sadness? Can that man feel any of these feelings or any other feeling at all?
"You call yourself the "Justice Pallbearers", no fitting name could you have given yourself… indeed…"
Now what was up with that man? Was he siding with them? Did he lead this battle against his will? Could anyone even force him to do something he did not believe in? But Laurentius's following words revealed his meaning.
"Justice should only reside in the hands of gods, for we know and picture them as perfect beings. We are biased, driven by desires and goals, that's why whatever verdict we pass we pass according to their laws and their names. As a human, you have no right to speak of justice or boast about bringing it down upon people similar to you in their imperfections and instincts."
A large smile occupied the giant man's face. Contrary to his dull appearance, the counselor was actually a funny man. Aengus even released a loud laugh that did not suit Laurentius's ears.
"You speak in a similar manner to those lunatic rebelling at your empire's borders!"
"It does not matter whether they are right or wrong, but there is wisdom to their words. And wisdom is a reservoir that should be drunk from any pond or lake that offers it."
"You are just a foolish man hiding behind a solemn appearance! How dare you say such words, when you know nothing of suffering and torture, you noble previous consul!!!"
Laurentius could elaborate why he left that position and followed his family to this secluded unknown city, and that would explain many details about himself but the past was a time gone by, and he owed no explanations and hated words though he spoke more than he had intended to tonight. He preferred actions, because they left a trace, a meaning, a change.
"You rage is not about your suffering, you are a man who had not been touched, you are merely morning an old friend or a wife perhaps. One you shamelessly was prevented from saving."
The large man stepped another few steps back, was he facing a wizard? What physiognomic was he standing against?
"I will make your sympathy with him or her justified tonight."
Contrary to what Aengus was planning to, he suddenly found a figure rushing toward him, he considered him a fool for doing so! His Fascina will tear his skin and flesh to the bones, and even erode those! His trident shook viciously in his hand, ready to banquet on the counselor's body. The place was poorly lit, but they still could see each other and delineate each other's features but after batting his eyes for a second, Aengus could not see the soul waiting her departure by the black blade.
***
Diarmuid was running through falling debris and plunging pillars, shifting his legs and direction with the swiftness of a pronghorn across the grounds that accelerated it plummeting, and started widening its cracks and thus narrowing the few hanging steps he could barely rest his weight on, the palace crumbled down faster and faster with each second wishing to put an end to the old scandal of injustice and the current consequent cruelty it ensued.
But his entire being shook, not due to the collapsing walls and floors. He was petrified by the resonance of blaring hunting screams and cries of pain, not any pain, but an excruciating and harrowing that it pierced every pore on his skin and made his hair stand, and he was a child risen as a warrior, a man of war, a knight of battles, and now a barbarous gladiator. He could not keep running. Unconsciously, without thought or reason, he found himself following that horrendous echo, risking his life for no plausible reason, no allies were supposed to be here, and he did not care at all for Laurentius if he was actually still here since he also noticed him leaving the battleground. Maybe deep in his tortured mind, he wanted an excuse not to survive, and pay for his sins and backstabbing, maybe a little bit of salvation or redemption could be found but not earned in saving that tormented soul. After few detours, he found himself at large door, left open, if not by the one's dwelling inside choice then by the sheer force of those screams of agony. When he stepped in, without caution or looking ahead first, he was speechless. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he was short on words. There was no noble soul to save there, only a scene of a brutal vengeance performed in the name of the most old saying about justice; an eye for an eye.
Laurentius was standing, calmly wiping with a piece of cloths he had brought with him his blood seeping sword, while his dark armor was glistening with fresh red color that illuminated the room, staring at the huge dying man laying at his feet with piercing cold eyes. The man's eyes had these character to them; coldness and indifference, but right now that coldness was of another sort. It was the coldness of one wrecking his rage in the name of his terrorized people while avenging them. Nothing pertaining to a personal agenda or a gain tainted these eyes or their holder's intentions.
Diarmuid turned his gaze at the man whose cries and screams had dwindled into whispers and dying breaths. He was so huge, even bigger than Ilianus, but aside from his amputated limbs and scarred face, his Fascina, looking thicker than an oak trunk was broken easily into pieces, not even granted the chance to be swung or counter the attack, creating a sickening vision that would hunt the cruelest of persons to their death, except the executioner. There was only one stabbing wound on the man's body and the screams that lasted for a long time indicated that that stab was not one of mercy, but the first wound inflicted before the torturous vengeance began. Laurentius, that silent quiet man, who spoke little and seemed to limit his actions to advising and dealing with the consequences of others not heading his words, had with one perfectly aimed stab near the heart taken the enormous foe down. The lancer could not believe it, even though he was a late witness and the scenery was speaking for itself.
He knew himself to be strong, near undefeatable, but such a foe would take so much time and strength from him to defeat but Laurentius did it, with one stab, choosing to paralyze his prey first then make him drink the same cup he had been drowning the city in.
One move, one stab, unmatched accuracy, merciless revenge for a tainted justice. Laurentius was definitely the most formidable warrior he had or would come across.
"The "Justice Pallbearers" are no more, their leader is dead, so the syndicate is gone too."
The counselor commented when the lancer failed to talk or speak, his eyes gazing at the slaughtered man as he released his last breath with muffled pain and horror. Diarmuid regained his composure; he was not at loss because of the gang's leader's death but because of the man accomplishing this and the way he carried that deed.
He nodded, and told Laurentius they should hurry before they are buried alive. The counselor took a quick glance at the lancer's hand and saw the two spears rejoined together. He gave a certain look, but not of impression, it was something else. As if regaining the stolen spear was no feat or something ought to be done, deserving no acclaim or congratulation. Diarmuid knew the man was never impressed by him, but now he felt the counselor was somehow, for some unknown reason, looking down on him and his proposal to recruit himself as a spy was the first hint of that feeling. However, neither had time for conversing nor liked to address each other, so they fled the place, fortune favoring them as they emerged from the ruins at the last moment before a thunderous thud shook the city as if Jupiter was casting the skies down with his thunderbolts and lightning.
Few Roman soldiers remained outside the palace, despite the inevitable doom the collapse loudly and assuredly indicated for anyone remaining inside. Happiness was evident on those soldiers' faces when they saw their commander return safe, the only survivor without a single wound let alone a scratch. They were also glad the lancer was safe, he seemed to have earned some popularity and love, or at least respect for his talent and volunteering among of the soldiers. But he could not return any thanks over the worries he received about his safety and injuries, his face devoid of emotions, a slandered page unreadable.
The dark truth of the man they began to admire and view not as a slave, was devoured by the hovering darkness, buried in the ruins it reigned over forever.
Laurentius declared the death of Aengus, the syndicate leaders and the soldiers affirmed none of them remained alive, except for one but before inquiring about this, a soldier suddenly asked in a hurried fear:
"Where is Lieutenant Plinius?"
"What do you mean?"
The counselor asked, he did not know the latter had joined the fight or how he knew of it in the first place. One of the lieutenant's soldiers quickly explained.
"He had known by coincidence from the oddly giant Greek of the plan to attack the gang, and his honor did not allow him to evade this fight, even if he was uninvited, he considered it his duty as a roman soldier and citizen!
"He followed after you two when you did not show up, after he made sure we were all fine and the injured were taken for treatment."
Another one of his legion spoke, every word setting a flame inside the lancer. His head was lowered unconsciously, as if the words were a rope hanging his neck. Laurentius shook his head saying he had not seen the man but every eye turned at Diarmuid, thinking his solemn face carried the news. When the latter noticed this, he regretfully announced.
"Lieutenant Plinius had died honorably fighting a group of those assassins, but one worthless scum delivered his blow from behind."
Everyone bowed their head down in respect, assuming the dark face the lancer emerged with was due to that fact.
Well it was, but the told fact was twisted though a little, this twist still majorly changed the real narrative.
The hated narrative.
The narrative of the beginning of his downfall as a knight.
Or had he already fallen down, long time ago?
His ashes were scattered along the building debris, he himself buried down these ruins.