Liu Association's crest is a flame.
The most ignorant amateurs believe that it symbolizes the shapes of the flames that burst from our fists and feet. Yet they're wrong.
The very flames that they speak about are only the byproduct of our weapons supplied to us by workshops. They're hardly a right fit to represent the spirit of Liu. The core value that I've learned during my time here is that we scorch and burn everything to ashes. That we should always be ready to burn even our own hearts and bodies like the very flames we represent. That is the way I understood it.
Most Fixers are always on the search to gain more power. Whether it be with augmentation procedures, unsightly and very pointless enhancement tattoos… they pour every little bit of Ahn they have into these useless things just to survive in the City. It is pointless. Such things do not decide who lives and who dies in a battle. To have an augmented body instead of the experienced mind to properly use it is the equivalent of being an automated training dummy.
In other words, experience gained by endless training hours is an augmentation unique to yourself. Something that cannot be bought with money. Obviously, an augmented body and expensive weaponry would aid me in my quest to seek strength. But there's no fun in having everything handed to me on a silver platter.
Not everyone likes being handed things on a silver platter, and not everyone dislikes it. It mostly is the curiosity of what it would feel like to experience the opposite that decides whether one dislikes it or not. In the end though, you don't always have a choice what you'll get.
Say, doesn't the thought of martial arts and experience trained to their extremes, to the point of becoming weapons of their own, set your heart ablaze? To train is to carve the path of my strength, to feed and follow the flames of my self-improvement. And sometimes, I get to taste the fruits of my labour. To prove myself that it was worth it.
Flames burn from my fist. What a sensual production this is. But this is nothing but a side dish, garnish, or simple seasonings supplementing the main dish. What I truly appreciate is how deep my knife-hand can penetrate my foes. How much more strength and agility my movements have gained. I measure them by fighting against this weak moving flesh dummies.
And I begin to understand that… my fiery blaze of training still burns.
And that it begins burning these 'training dummies' that dare near me without preparation, one by one. I've heard once that the Liu Association was referred to as 'nothing more but a big group of foodies'.
…
Haah, I still abhor being associated with those fools. Don't talk to me as if I was one of them. While they were wasting their weekend on those 'gastro-adventures', I honed and trained myself.
To burn with a bright passion; to train and push yourself to new levels is an admirable thing to achieve. Yet it can bring a solitude that you will never notice.
There are many things you can be passionate about. However, you won't have time for all of them at once, especially if one of them is more important. For that, Manager, decide what quality or objective you'd like to achieve, and focus on that.
…
Admittedly, those words were quite motivating to the Manager. Especially after the fight. It wasn't anything too tedious (especially considering the fight against the K Corp. employees or Siegfried), yet they were still a bit tougher than they had anticipated. Which Vergilius seemed to know once the Sinners got back on the bus. Rodya didn't seem to like his casual tone, and she made that quite clear to everyone.
"You know, I keep saying it. We could've been faster if you lent a hand~"
"And as I will always answer, there's no point in this if I do."
"Those people… they called us heretics. Just what was their judgement based on?" Ishmael managed to calm the situation down a little with her words. It didn't need to mean that she did it on purpose, but probably out of curiosity.
"Nagel und Hammer. The Wing that values experience above everything else."
<… Come again? Experience?>
Meursault's words confused the Manager for a few seconds. After all, doesn't nearly every Wing value experience? Especially R Corp., who was the one training warriors or fighters (if the Manager managed to remember Outis' words well enough). Which, speaking of-
"They told us to offer the head of our Manager to them. That means…"
"… They're back. They didn't forget. Coming back to-" Sinclair was muttering hysterically, basically having a fit at this point. Rodya looked at him with pitying eyes, but there was little she could do to help him.
"Verg-Verg. The sound box is making noises again."
As Charon spoke up, Vergilius didn't exactly seem that excited about the news. As he said, it must be the advance team, so they probably found something interesting. Gregor seemed to be the most impatient one, quickly grabbing the device.
"Gimme that. Okay. Effie, this is the bus. How are things doing over there?"
"… You shall bear here every sin and be purified."
"… Effie?"
The voice didn't sound like Effie at all. Or human, for that matter. If Dante had to guess, it was something more… robotic like? Maybe some kind of android? In any case, that message hadn't sounded very welcoming. It seemed enough to send Sinclair in a frenzy.
"… Whistles."
"Huh? Sinclair, what are you talking about?" Rodion (and Gregor, for that matter) was trying to calm Sinclair down, even if it seemed to be useless now.
"You heard them! Whistles-…. Right at the end!"
"Was there now?"
"It's her! That wretch is here! To destroy the rest of our town… After all of this time…"
".. We should go back."
Luckily, Outis was there to deescalate the situation. With a flick of her wrist, she knocked Sinclair out cold before he could continue his hysterical pleas and ramblings. And while the others started heading out to fight a few more of those Inquisitors, Dante stayed back with Sinclair till he woke up. While they knew that Sinclair needed to stay calm and do his job, it didn't mean they didn't feel compassion for him.
"… I'm sorry. I'll join them right now." And with those words, the Manager and Sinclair went outside to fight with the others.
After the fight was done, the Sinners made their way to the town. The fog was much more dense here, making it difficult to see much. Ishmael was the first one to complain.
"Ugh.... What a mess this is, no? By the way, do you guys hear a familiar song as well?"
"Oh, yeah. I know this one. It's one that was often played on snowy days..." Heathcliff was quick to talk as well, though it didn't look like the memory of this song was a sad one. More nostalgic, if Dante were to guess. Not the same could be said for Gregor, though. "They played it often during war time to lift our spirits. Did more the opposite for me."
It was clear that this song evoked memories in the Sinners. As for Dante… it was familiar, though it didn't bring any certain image or memory. More so… a deep feeling in their chest. Perhaps Dante knew that song from before they lost their head. However, this swarm of emotions in Dante wasn't warm or comforting. It was… an ache. An inexplicable sting deep inside their heart.
The trees surrounding the Sinners were decorated grimly with internal organs and mechanical parts. It was as if someone placed people's intestines on full display for everyone to see. Dante tried not to pay too close attention to the eyes lingering on a few branches.
While most didn't exactly like or find joy in this sight (especially Sinclair, who seemed a bit distressed and disgusted), there were a few who looked at the trees stoically or with the slightest bit of interest. It was mostly Meursault, Ryōshū and surprisingly Hong Lu. The Manager slowly realised what this reminded them of. It was like-
"Ah~ Ahh~! Mic test, mic test!" A piercing voice sounded from the loudspeakers, making the Sinners cover their ears. "Is everyone enjoying their Noel? It's not very silent, but certainly holy."
<… Isn't Christmas still a fair way off?> Dante's question was soon confirmed by Ishmael, as always.
"My name is Kromer! I'm a humanitarian, and the one who grips the hammer. So, I don't know how you bunch got in here, but you're trespassing private property. As you can see… this sacred ground is currently undergoing our nailing judgement. Though I hope you like the decorations I set up! Well… let's just say you got lost. Turn back now and you'll only have to pay a fine. I'm feeling very generous… for today is Nativity after all! Ah, but before that. Is Guido here?"
"Here I stand." The group didn't even realise that a massive man was suddenly standing nearby, observing the Sinners.
"Good. Are you seeing any heretics over there? Just in case."
The woman speaking seemingly was in quite the happy mood, not stopping much in her talk. It didn't really calm Dante, given that the other Inquisitors weren't that… friendly towards them and their group. And, remembering Sinclair's words, perhaps this was the woman…?
"I see an impure one and their followers. However, I also see the child you spoke of." It was dead silent after the man named Guido spoke to her. Even while wearing a helmet, his gaze was dead cold, practically nailing the Sinners to the ground.
"Hahahahhaha! Really? My Sinclair is back?? Come see me, Sinclair! I'll be waiting by our familiar spot!"
Just after the voice had spoken to Sinclair, she gave simple instructions to Guido (although not without another hysterical laugh) before the loudspeakers went silent. Soon enough, there were a swarm of Inquisitors surrounding the Sinners once again.
While the fight was more difficult than expected, the group managed to knock down or kill a few of the Inquisitors. And, as always, Ishmael turned to the Manager.
"That was a tough opponent. I think we should move before they come back to their senses."
"What a shameful thing to say. A soldier does not retreat before an enemy when victory is in sight."
"… Can't you save your military drills for later?"
It wasn't even that surprising that Ishmael and Outis got into a little dispute. The Sinners did so quite often, admittedly. Especially those two, given how Ishmael was the one who mostly gave suggestions or talked for the Manager (whether they asked for it or not). However, there was no time for that.
"… We will fall back."
Outis reluctantly gave in, which wasn't a surprise to anyone. Regardless, the Manager turned to Sinclair.
"… That's… well… uhm…" The boy couldn't even utter a few words correctly. He was shaking from dread and fear, that much was clear. However, Dante was also able to see a hint of anger beneath that fear.
"It'll also raise the chances of success. I'm looking forward to hearing something useful from you."
'For once.' Dante didn't even need Outis to say that to know what she was thinking. But, aside from that… Dante hoped they were doing the right thing as the Manager. What was it again? Bring a sense of security for your employees? And they could only do that with trust and information, so that both parts feel calmer. Right? At least, Sinclair seemed to find his voice at last.
"… My house. That's where she must be."
"So you know that bird? Bloody hell, my head's still poundin' thanks to her shrill laughs." Heathcliff didn't seem that happy, but at least he wasn't lashing out on anyone.
"… I met her at school."
"Boy oh boy, she's a friend of you? Whatever's going on right now, I sure hope you can talk it out." Rodya quickly joined the conversation, trying to make it a bit more light-hearted.
"She's not my friend. Kromer killed my family."
"... My bad."
Well, it was a nice try from her anyway. Regardless of the gloomy conversation, one of the prosthetic heads that were hanging from the trees turned to face us. Lights and sparks occasionally flickered within the body part.
"Sin…cl…ai..r.. Why…. did….. you… return…?"
"… Sinclair. Are those your neighbours?"
"Perhaps. It looks like they were…. I hope that's not the case though."
Rodya was the first to talk after the eery voice of the head spoke up between static sounds. It was only then that Dante got reminded of Rodya's story again. Right, she lost her neighbours after doing a mistake that was supposed to save them. Perhaps it reminded her of that time.
A song began to fill the air around them.
"Silent night…"
It wasn't just the prosthetic head that had talked to them that was singing, but every other one around the area as well. All of them were tuning in to the carol, and it was then that the Manager noticed how many lifeless heads were hanging on the trees or lying on the flames below.
"Holy night…"
"It's clearer than ever now. Prosthetic body parts are "heresy" for these people," Ishmael muttered, giving only a quick glance to Dante. They decided not to mind it much. Instead, they listened to Faust's words.
"Though it has been quite a while since prostheses were first introduced to the City… there are many people who still find them foreign and alienating."
"… Our town. Our town was called "The Holy Site of Nest K's Prostethic Industry". Most of the residents worked in companies producing high-end prosthesis components. Kromer… she's been keeping an eye on our town for a long time."
"… So, was your family…" Gregor trailed off at the end, seemingly not knowing how to exactly as Sinclair.
"Yeah. My father was the owner of a fledging prosthetic company. Is that why.."
"No. The way I see it, attributing their actions to some high and mighty cause of any kind is giving them way too much credit. They're… just lunatics. Consumed by madness, violence and obsession." Ishmael was quick to assure him. And her words made sense. These people seemed obsessed with their goal to kill purify every heretic. After a while of looking at the "Christmas" tree, however, Sinclair turned to Dante.
"… Manager. I have a question. If that's alright with you."
"Well… how does it feel?" He sounded almost nervous when asking it to Dante.
<… Feel?>
"Yeah. I mean, how does it feel to have a prosthetic replacement for your head?"
The question wasn't easy to answer, at least not for Dante. And it also wasn't one that they'd been asked before. After all, how could they know what it had felt like before having a clock as a head?
".. Oh! I- uh, I'm not trying to argue with you or anything. T-That was probably rude of me… I'm sorry."
"I see… I always wondered what it feels like to have something sitting where your head should be… My family had told me it wasn't different from wearing a hat or a watch, but… I couldn't picture it well, no matter how I approached it. And now, I'm the only one alive thanks to that."
And yet, while Dante tried to reassure Sinclair, he only frowned. It was almost as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated. Took another approach at it, even.
"That's not it… no. It's not like that. I'm afraid I'm not as innocent as you believe me to be, Dante…"
Sinclair seemed disappointed, or even ashamed after having admitted such thing. And as much as Dante tried to come up with an appropriate reply, there was nothing on their mind. And in this silence, only the unpleasant sounds of sparks and flames filled the streets in which the group stood.… A stroll through the City streets is a rare affair indeed.
This walk, with the sun shining on my shoulders, conveys a different sensation; days upon days have I spent my time in the archives, poring over volumes of books – the last time I've seen anything resembling sunlight was on the day of my move from Section 3, when my personal belongings had to be transferred to the new quarters.
If it were not for my colleagues pushing me outside in hopes that, without resistance, I'd bathe in the breeze and the sun, today would not have been a day of such significance. Alas… this is quite pleasant, now that I am here.
The details of the surrounding hectic bustle around me fade into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise for me to focus on the text in my hand, enhancing my focus. And, hmm… the aroma of this infused tea is simply delightful… Perhaps I shall convey my thoughts of it to the Association to place them within our building. The sky, though its tall and crisp blue is but a reminder that all is nothing but a facsimile and a lie, brings a pleasant and gentle breeziness to my heart. There was much I could gain from this excursion, given that it was coercion that pushed me to venture outside.
Perhaps this was an opportunity to grow familiar to the unfamiliar; this could become a learning experience.
… Yet it might take a while before I become eased into the activity of chattering and skittering about with one's colleagues. I am not an unsocial creature by nature, yet I have remained hidden in the archives for as long as I have been a member of the Association. Like… a fool. I've believed that to ascend to higher stations, I could only achieve such by delving deep into volumes upon volumes and training my body relentlessly.
… Yet I remained in Section 4 for a long while, denied of the wanted mobility of status. My method was wrong by assuming that a flame may only grow by merely improving the firewood, not taking into account that a flame cannot grow on its own.
It is easy to forget that, between all that selfishness, there might be a better outcome if one works in a group together than all alone. But, in a world where friends can just as easily become enemies, such motion is rare.
On second thought, perhaps this is the reason why the knifehand(手刀) techniques were taught in Section 4 of the South, to assist one in understanding this truth. Initially, I failed to why my hands shall be used like the blade of a sword. And yet, once my mind was freed of this limiting view, once it came to accept that flames burn greater not in isolation but in collection, I could rise to Section 3.
… Now, I wield a flaming sword.
Tongues of fire, wreathing the blade, licks and burns the air. As such, it burns our foes with utter ease. I am well aware that the technology that enables this is a culmination of the countless works of different Workshops that shaped today's Liu weaponry.
Liu's flame. It burns for all, yet catches fire for only those who understand it.
This is the truth for every standard Liu weapon. Flame-wreathed weaponry of the Liu are known for their simple use, yet to wield them to their fullest extent, one must gain a deeper understanding of them. It can be traced back to the gloves of Section 6. As the arsenal grows, so does the appreciation for the "togetherness", then, those who reach Section 1 would find their understanding complete. Such must be the philosophy of the Liu.
Those who stand alone are left with nothing to burn, their spark and embers slowly diminishing. Yet those who stand together, even if wielding blades of wood, may become a great bonfire that bursts with sparks of their fellows.
This is why I requested to be moved eastward.
Though the martial forms, traditions, and the discrepancy between Sections may differ by region… should I be able to find where and how the cores of the Liu's philosophy, camaraderie and warmth have settled… and should I come to learn how one converses and grows and understands their fellows… I shall find myself moving forward.
And, in that process… I will learn how one might grow closer to the fellows of my Section, those who have pushed me to live this day.
For you have pushed me to continue, too.
You lead a group of twelve individuals. Alone they might have been strong in the past, but now they need to work in a group together. Seeing how they fight and bicker a lot, you must take the duty of showing them the path to grow closer, Manager. Even if ignorance is thrown your way.
…
What a… direct message. Well, every message of the voice was sort of direct, but this… It almost felt a bit more personal. Or maybe it was the stress doing things to Dante's head. Clock. Whatever it was, really. A prosthetic.
The silence between the Sinners lasted quite a bit as they made their way through the streets. The Manager could see piles upon piles of torn prosthetics lying in various places in the streets. They tried not to pay too much attention to the mountain of bodies lying beneath the fire and chaos. Some seemed still alive, letting out pained moans, but the Inquisitors paid no mind to those.
They moved about, stopping on a few piles of bodies to pour some liquid onto them. From the smell, it was most certainly oil. A lit match was then thrown on the pile, igniting a huge flame. It didn't take long for the air to take an acrid smell. It wasn't quite one of burning flesh, not really.
"… If this hellscape is their idea of purification, then I'd rather stay away filthy." A few of the Sinners nodded, agreeing with Ishmael's words. Surprisingly, it was Meursault who spoke up (instead of Faust, who usually gave information about things).
"Nagel und Hammer has always been devoted to scrutinizing the idea of humanity. Some criticized the idea of prosthetics, given that they believe pain is a necessary component to human experience. However, it never escalated to such extent of direct action as now."
"Hey, so… I've been meaning to ask, but… How do you know so much about N Corp?" Gregor raised an eyebrow after voicing his question, clearly a bit confused. And with reason.
"… I was once employed by N Corp."
"Wha…? You used to work with them?"
"I have never worked with these specific individuals, but in terms of affiliation, I suppose I did."
Now that Dante thought of it, it was the first time Meursault actively talked about himself. Normally, he'd only give short answers to questions or little remarks when needed. Perhaps he didn't see the point in speaking at all. Gregor appeared to mind, though.
"Why didn't you tell us about this earlier?"
"Am I obliged to elaborate?"
"The hell? Why don't ya explain what's different about you from these nutters, hm?" Heathcliff suddenly spoke up, his gaze focused on Meursault. He looked angry, but when did he not? "Listen here, mate. As much as I like to call our daft manager clockface, I don't believe they deserve to have their head on a stake or a chopping block. Those buggers are all talkin' some bullshit 'bout purifying and all that, but I just see an excuse to be lunatics and kill, eh? So speak up. Are you like those screwloose bucketheads?"
Even if some of the words he had used were sort of… rude, Dante felt a bit of warmth in their chest. It was the first time someone had defended them this much, and it was from Heathcliff, no less.
"There was a time where I thought about such things, though I didn't come to a conclusion."
"I want that damn conclusion now! Are you gonna butcher all the townsfolk if your manager just says so?"
"Must I give an answer? That does not aid us in handling our work. An employee must follow their employer's orders. That much has stated Vergilius. If the manager orders me to do such thing, then I shall do it. I may provide my own input if there is a talk about it being necessary, but I do not have the habit of rambling my thoughts unprovoked."
As Meursault finished his words, Heathcliff only looked at him in confusion and anger. "… Pardon me? Are ya 'round the twist? You got a chunk of metal for brains like the people here?"
"I am 16% proteins, 60% water, 7% minerals and so forth. Therefore, I am clearly in terms of composition. Moreover, unnecessary heavy parts of metal do not make any portion of my body. That is another difference."
At this point, someone would need to hold Heathcliff back. He was seething from rage and frustration, clearly displeased by Meursault's words. He had already felt like an enigma, but after this conversation, the distance felt wider. And maybe… well, that conversation didn't help Dante. It wasn't like they were really close to the Sinners, but it became more apparent now. Luckily, Hong Lu broke the tension with a question.
"Oh. Now that you mention it, there's something else I've been wondering about. I've been thinking about whether Dane should be seen as a "human"."
"What do you mean?" Outis was quick to stare Hong Lu down at his question, clearly ready to talk him to the ground if he so much as said something wrong in her opinion. Hong Lu's words… well, they stung a little. The words of the Inquisitors already felt demeaning, but he wasn't making it better. If even the Sinners deemed Dante as something inhuman… would they even really consider them? Would they ever consider how their actions and words could affect them? Or was Dante just some clock to them, a faceless entity that brought them back whenever they made a mistake?
"Well, what if… when dear Dante is speaking… it's actually the clock talking and not the person we know as "Dante"?" There was clearly a bit of talk between the Sinners after his words. Dante didn't think that had ever been the concern of someone, but here they were.
"Honestly, same. Why don't we just give up searching for the old head and stick with this one instead?" Rodya spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the Manager. "I know it's prob not gonna be the case, but what if Dante's head used to be really evil or something?"
"Well, there's only one of us who'd know about our manager bud's past…" Gregor's eyes fell upon Faust, who stayed as calm and composed as she always had.
"… That's confidential information. Its access is restricted to the highest security level."
It's only natural.
Dante had no idea who they were, or even what they were, so there was no way to counter Hong Lu's argument. Perhaps he was right. Maybe Dante really was just a clock. Even if they were to ask Faust, there's no telling if she'd even say a real answer, and they wouldn't be able to make something out of that.
There's even a little chance that the real 'Dante' is hidden away somewhere, and this Dante was only an advanced imitation trained to believe they had free will. However, sitting here and contemplating such thing wouldn't bring them anywhere.
Ishmael gave them a scolding look, but there wasn't much she could do against it other than to shrug. After all, it is true.