The Last Cigar

The man was Brielle’s second-in-command, Commander Leo Darius, a knight in her Musketeer Legion. In stark contrast to Brielle’s own gear, which looked like something out of a fantasy game, he was clad in the grim functionality of full battle armor.

"My stomach is killing me... but I think it's getting better," he remarked, turning to face Brielle, who was seated on the log behind me. "I'm ready to move on your command."

"No, don't push yourself." She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You need to rest."

"But Captain…"

"You're my man, which means I'm responsible for you. I won't have anything happen to you."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a nod. "I understand." Xenous handed him his canteen. Just then, Commander Cortez came over and sat on the log opposite us.

"Captain Thorne, what's the combat readiness of your knights?"

Cutter shot a frustrated glance at what was left of Bard's cake before composing himself. "Leo's got a nasty bout of diarrhea, but he's stabilizing, sir," he reported. "Four of Xenous's men came down with it too. Specialist Ines is seeing to them, though. Don't worry, sir. She says they'll be combat-effective within two days."

Cortez sighed in relief. "That's good to hear. I'm glad things are under control." His words were cut short by shouts from across the camp.

"Shite! Pull it back!"

We glanced over our shoulders just in time to see a well-constructed tent sag and then collapse into a heap of canvas and rope.

"...for us, anyway," Cutter added bitterly.

Watching the display, an idea sparked. I quickly flagged down an Albian knight who was passing by. "Sir Kaelan, forgive my bluntness, but the ineptitude and unprofessionalism of the Albian regulars are becoming a serious concern. I can only hope it won't compromise the mission."

He ran a hand through his short brown hair before answering. "I know what you mean, Lieutenant. Most of them are reservists or green recruits. They have little to no combat experience."

"I'm aware of that, sir. But they also carry themselves with an arrogance that suggests they're superior to everyone, including the Valorians. We're supposed to be a team here. If they keep this up, their arrogance is going to get them killed."

The Gilded Circle knight seemed perplexed by my statement. Then he called out a name.

"Gareth!"

From behind him, a young knight with a shock of spiky purple hair shouted, "Yes, milord!" and hurried over.

"Gareth is held in high regard for his courage and... innocence. He's better than anyone at knocking them into shape," Sir Kaelan declared with pride.

I watched Gareth march over to the collapsed tent. "Hey! What in the seven hells are you doing? Stop lollygagging! Get back to work, you useless sods!" I observed him scream and literally kick the asses of a few lounging soldiers. Not exactly 'innocent,' I thought.

"Kyaaaa!"

The startling scream made Bard jump. "What the fuck?!"

We grabbed our rifles and sprinted toward the source of the sound, at the edge of the forest.

Directly ahead, the Shieldmaidens Isolda and Caelia were crouched behind a large boulder. Bard and I took cover behind a pair of trees, raising our weapons.

"What's going on?!"

They were pointing at a cobra poised on the ground before them. The snake raised its hooded head, looking around as if confused by the commotion. I sighed and lowered my rifle. "All this for a snake?"

"I hate snakes!" Caelia cried.

I pulled down my Oakley visor and gestured for Bard to distract the cobra. The glasses were a necessary precaution; spitting cobras aim for the eyes.

He put on his own ballistic glasses, stepped in front of the snake, and gave me a thumbs-up. He found a stick and used it to taunt the snake, prodding its body. The snake struck at him repeatedly, but he dodged each lunge with practiced ease.

"What is he doing?" one of the Shieldmaidens whispered.

I answered without looking away from the snake. "Doing his Steve Irwin thing."

"Who's Steve Irwin?" Caelia asked.

I ignored her, my focus absolute. Once the snake had tired itself out a little, the American leaned down and gently kissed the top of its head.

As I expected, the girls lost their minds.

"W-w-what?!"

"Is he insane?"

Holding my breath, I circled around behind it, my movements slow and deliberate to avoid startling it. In one fluid motion, I snatched it up, my fingers clamped firmly behind its jaw.

"Get a thrill out of that?" I walked over to him, making sure the cobra's head was pointed safely away from everyone.

"Damn, man," he chuckled, one hand resting on his sidearm. "If we had a camera, that would've been a hell of a clip."

"What for? A Nat Geo special?"

He laughed. "Yeah, probably…"

I turned to the still-terrified Shieldmaidens. "It's alright. I've got it. It can't bite you now."

Isolda and Caelia emerged slowly from behind the rock.

"Why don't you just kill it?" Isolda asked.

"Maybe later," I said as we headed back to camp.

As we neared the campfire, Cutter spotted the snake and ambled over, rubbing his hands together. "Dinner."

"Whoa, hold on," Bard intercepted him. "I get first drink. I'm the one who charmed it."

"Alright! Alright!"

I held the snake's writhing body while Cutter firmly gripped its head. He drew his dagger and, with a swift, clean motion, severed it. The head, still dangerous with its venom, had to be disposed of carefully.

Blood pulsed from the neck stump. The onlookers watched with morbid curiosity, which turned to shock when Cutter held the carcass out and Bard leaned in, drinking the blood directly from the source.

"My turn." I took his place, letting the warm blood run over my lips before drinking my fill. It was part of my training with the Indonesian Special Forces. Snake blood and meat were staples, believed to build immunity to venom and boost endurance.

Gasps and whispers rippled through the onlookers, their faces a mixture of awe and disgust. They clearly thought we were insane.

After Cutter had his turn, I offered the snake to the others. "Anyone want a taste?"

Brielle, to my surprise, looked intrigued. She hesitated for a moment before leaning forward, parting her lips to accept a few drops. She swallowed hard, fighting back a grimace. "It's... bitter," she murmured.

We then skinned and gutted the snake, and, just like the deer and rabbit from earlier, grilled the meat over the campfire. Once it was cooked, we divided it amongst ourselves.

Having been awake for thirty hours, Bard was chugging a Ripped Fuel to stay on his feet. The energy drink fueled a non-stop tirade that visibly grated on Cutter's nerves. Still, at least we were educating the Albian POGs on a few things. They were stunned to learn about our 'fast-moving carriages' and 'fast food'—Bard kept mentioning something called 'McDonald's' and 'Starbucks'. Despite their curiosity, they still looked at us like a pack of uncivilized savages.

I ate my share of the snake meat in silence, tuning out their chatter. It tasted enough like chicken that I didn't mind the meal, but a profound sense of unease settled over me.

Brielle noticed my quiet mood. "Are you alright, Arc?" she asked, chewing on a piece of roasted rabbit.

"I think so. Just a bad feeling, that's all."

"Nothing bad is going to happen," she said, her smile reassuring. She leaned closer, her hand resting on my shoulder.

My intuition was screaming so loudly that I barely registered the envious glares from the other Shieldmaidens. Maybe I just looked like some pathetic, loveless otaku living out a fantasy with his waifu. But in that moment, with the warmth from her touch seeping into me, I felt I could face whatever tomorrow might bring.

Ever since the rebel army seized the island, life for the residents of Avalon had become a living hell. They were forced to obey every command from the occupying soldiers, with death as the price for defiance. The grand square before the castle had been repurposed as an execution ground. Countless people had been tortured and publicly killed on its central podium. Some were hanged, some crucified, others beheaded.

Women and girls were not spared. The soldiers and their orcish allies subjected them to unspeakable horrors before their public execution. Even nuns, protected by international law, were among the victims.

And all the populace could do was watch in terror. Those dragged to the podium screamed for their families, their cries echoing through the silent, horrified crowd. They prayed to any god who might be listening to end the nightmare.

"A G.A.I.A. operative has been captured! I repeat, a G.A.I.A. operative is in custody!"

Following the announcement, two hulking orcs dragged a man onto the execution podium. The sight of him sent a murmur through the crowd. He wore the infamous green, brown, and black-spotted fatigues of the mercenaries, covered by a green leather vest bristling with pockets. He had jet-black hair and startlingly violet eyes, which remained cold and emotionless. Even here, in this place of death, his face was a mask of fearless indifference.

The rebel leader, a knight himself, studied the prisoner's features. "A Yamatoan, is it? I know of your people. Fierce warriors, every one of them. Honorable. Courageous. They fight to the last man and never surrender."

He took a slow, deliberate step toward the prisoner, a mocking smirk twisting his lips. "But you... you are not one of them. You are a worthless piece of scum. You fight without honor, and you surrendered like a coward!" He turned to the crowd. "Garbage like this must be disposed of!"

"What?" the mercenary exclaimed, his voice laced with genuine shock. "You promised you'd spare my life!"

The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves; so the famed mercenary unit was filled with cowards after all. The knight laughed, bringing his face inches from the prisoner's.

"You know what? I changed my mind. Now, what's your last wi—"

A glob of spit hit him square in the face.

The knight reeled back, then drove a steel-toed boot into the G.A.I.A. soldier's head. He grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, yanking his head up. "You insolent fool!"

The prisoner met his gaze, his expression once again impassive.

"Sorry," the mercenary said calmly. "Couldn't hold it in. Alright, I'll make one last wish." A slow, malevolent smile spread across his face. "Kiss my ass, motherfucker."