Dimensional Descent

Leonel grit his teeth, his jaw clenching with such force that it might have been heard if it wasn’t for the heavy rain falling from the skies.

Up above, a vortex of black clouds rumbled and sparked with lightning, becoming louder and more dangerous with every passing moment as though a tornado trying to touch down to the earth.

The moment Leonel heard Alexandre’s words, a rage began to pump through his veins.

In the past, he hadn’t cared about kneeling very much. It wasn’t a devaluing of himself, but rather that he had never assigned the action as something that would grant or snatch such a thing as value from a person.

Having grown up in a world that was more monarchy than democracy, something like paying respects to the Emperor was a part of everyday life. It had never been a struggle to keep or hold onto a meaningless pride, especially when everyone around you had been indoctrinated in the very same way.

It wasn’t until Leonel met King Arthur that he suddenly gained a revulsion toward kneeling. But, even then, it wasn’t because of the action itself, but rather because he felt as though it was being used as a power play to elevate another at his expense.

Back then, King Arthur was meant to tell him to rise, yet purposely chose not to as a method of applying more pressure on Leonel. What he didn’t know was that even someone like Leonel had their own breaking point, especially when they put as much emphasis on Respect as Leonel did.

Since that day, Leonel never casually kneeled. But at this moment, with his face being grinded into the ground, with the fury of his army billowing around him, he hated it even more.

Veins popped across his body. Even though his skin couldn’t seem to sustain his Bronze Runes anymore, his eyes still pulsed with a strong red. But, at that moment, for whatever reason, the usual violet hue that curbed the murderous violence of the crimson was nowhere to be seen.

The barrier seemed to give way to Leonel. But, the moment he managed to rise high enough to make eye contact with Alexandre…

BANG!

Leonel’s body was smashed into the ground once again. It felt as though the whole front of his skull was threatening to shatter. If it wasn’t for the fact his Metal Body was stronger than the stone ground he was being forced into, his injuries would most definitely not be so light.

“Wrong answer.” Alexandre shook his head. “I’ll give you as many chances as you need, don’t worry.”

“GENERAL!”

Alexandre waved a hand, causing a barrier to block a wave of soldiers from charging through. However, it became very clear, very quickly, that he hadn’t done this for the sake of his safety.

One man found himself flying through the barrier, his momentum not having stopped along with everyone else.

He seemed to realize instantly what happened, but a flash of madness took over his eyes as he continued to charge forward, his roar being drowned out by the increasingly heavy rain.

A splatter of blood rained down on Leonel, causing his trembling body to freeze.

The droplets of crimson sounded far heavier than the falling rain. As though an anvil hidden within a mountain of clouds, it crashed in waves against Leonel’s heart.

At that moment, he felt the barrier around him loosen once again. Clearly, Alexandre was giving him another chance to stand, another chance to bow down.

Leonel didn’t move. He didn’t know what to do. The fury pulsing through his veins hadn’t lessened, and yet he felt as though he should push it aside, that he should lay down his pride for the sake of a greater good.

The lives of these people here, was it worth less than his pride or the cost of his humiliation?

It Leonel had to be honest with himself, the truth was that the answer to that question didn’t matter to him. The reality was that it was all too much. He wasn’t willing to bear the burden of so many deaths, to have the lost lives of his men weigh on him for a lifetime.

Why did he try so hard? Why did he slave over every meticulous detail of their battles in the last two years? Why was it that he felt the need to be present at every battlefield? Why was it that he insisted on charging as the head of the vanguard no matter what the danger that lied ahead was?

It was all because he didn’t want to feel that weight, that heaviness… The things he asked for himself, he couldn’t ask from others. He wanted to protect, he didn’t want to feel this gut wrenching guilt.

Leonel’s fingers scraped along the ground, his strength causing it to shatter and leave shallow trenches behind.

Using his fists, he pushed himself up to his knees.

His hair hung over his face, dirtied by the mud and grime of the ground. It didn’t seem to hold the same metallic sheen it always had anymore.

His face, partially hidden by his hair, was covered in a mixture of blood and dirt, his eyes having returned to their usual pale green. Yet, at this moment, it appeared to be far more grey than anything else.

His breathing was shallow and weak, his rib cage threatening to shatter into pieces with every gasp he took.

If it meant not having to carry this burden, what was his pride worth? If he felt even his life wasn’t as valuable as theirs, why would the cost of his humiliation be any higher? He was just a bit luckier than they were… That was all.

Leonel began to lower his head to the ground, his entire army having fallen into complete silence. Their eyes turned red watching Leonel’s back arch.

They knew that for others, it might take hundreds, even thousands of them dying before they broke.

However, for Leonel, the single death of a warrior whose face was forgettable was enough for him.

“King. Don’t.”

Rollan gathered up all the strength he had left, his throat still being clamped down by Alexandre, to finally squeeze out these words.