Devil of War

"Nurture V.S. Nature"...I think in a way, this falls in line with "Free Will V.S Determinism". Did fate determine the nature of that sick bob cut-bastard, or did his own mother, by free will, nurture the most despicable being I've ever laid my eyes on?

"Old man, I really don't want to do this. I mean, I want to, but I'm kind of constricted by time here, you see? Just give me the otherworlder boy and I'll be out of your hair," Rouge asked with his previously displayed frivolous tone.

It was a classic standoff--Norbert stood across the mostly empty ballroom on the second floor of the mansion while Rouge stood at the opposing end. The Argonaut's coat was already stained with blood yet his demeanor has not changed in the slightest.

If anything, he seemed elated by the whole ordeal, presenting a sheen in his crimson pupils to match his skin-crawling smile.

"I can't do that," Norbert answered him, "it is only my place to enact the will of my lord."

"You know what I think? I think you might just be miffed that I diced up that young maid," Rouge puffed his lip out in a fake pout, "was she your daughter? Oh, maybe you had a thing for her?"

In response to the sinister teasing of the eccentric man, a violent aura arose from the old butler. The air whipped around him as a look of fury sparked within his gaze.

"I've had enough out of you! In the name of Lord Althaus, I shall have your head, Argonaut!" Norbert yelled out as his voice boomed through the pristine ballroom.

"Oh, scary~, I felt that yell in my bones," Rouge smiled wide as he stood his ground, "I prefer the screams of my victims to be a bit higher-pitched, but you'll do."

As Norbert charged towards the man, breaking the distance between them in a fraction of a second with speed incomprehensible to a normal human, bloodlust drove his fist forward. In his practice of gentlemanly behavior, his calm and compliant attitude gave him the aura of a man who had lost his drive for battle.

That, however, was far from the truth. A title such as the "Devil of War" could only be earned by a man who abandoned his humanity, leaving no such thing to be a hindrance on the battlefield. He wasn't evil--but he certainly wasn't a saint.

Before his fist could reach the man he targeted, the ground in front of him erupted with the sudden presence of a jagged blade, stopping him in his path.

"That was quite close, Mr. Butler. I would suggest not to be so hasty as I am not so dexterous as to be merciful with my blades," Rouge tipped his hat with a wicked smile.

"Is this your "innate ability"?" Norbert asked, glaring at the man.

"Why, yes, I'm glad you asked! It is called "Skewer", a perfect match for myself I'd say. It allows me to conjure blades wherever I want, quite handy, isn't it?" Rouge swayed to the side playfully.

Norbet slid his silver gloves off of his hands, the large gems sewn onto them losing their glow as he did. The gloves he wore seemed to act as a seal as his mana spiked in intensity with their removal causing Rouge to jump in reaction as a chill ran down his spine.

"Your ability can only destroy, it brings nothing besides blood and misery into this world that is dark enough as is. If such an ability fits you, I see no reason to lose sleep after tearing you limb for limb," Norbert spoke in a calm yet malicious tone, the look in his eyes spoke of his internal rage.

"Those are some words coming from the "Devil of War" himself, no? If I'm correct, you slew ten-thousand Baldrean civilians yourself--I'd say you played more than a part in the extermination of that poor, poor kingdom," Rouge retorted, not breaking his everlasting smile.

Those words stopped the elder man in his tracks as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before parting his eyelids once more as he looked towards his opponent. It wasn't rage or despair that filled the mirrors to his soul, his eyes that had seen countless horrors in his life only looked forward with a gentleness lost upon the madman in front of him.

"There isn't a day that goes by without hearing the screams of those I murdered savagely. Every time I close my eyes--I can still vividly see those nightmarish moments before my eyes, the innocent people I slaughtered in the name of Mastorn. I was young and driven by the lust for glory and riches, I told myself that it was fine, since they were the enemies of my kingdom," Norbert spoke in a calm tone, furrowing his eyebrows as he recalled those days.

Rouge stopped to listen to the man, treating this entire situation as if it were a game for him. His crimson eyes that matched his lust for blood watched the veteran before him with amusement.

"However--I regret it. I don't take pride in who I was back then. I was swallowed into a pit of despair, weaved by my own two hands as I was haunted by the gnawing spirits of the dead--Althaus saved me. He gave me a path of redemption, a path away from that thorny path of depravity," A sense of resolve bolstered the butler's voice.

The butler raised his bare hands, displaying scars etched into the back of his hand in the form of a magical symbol of sorts. For the first time, Rouge's smile faltered for a moment as he saw those scars, his mouth falling agape at the sight.

"Those...you…" The words faintly left the Argonaut's mouth.

Those scars, carved into the butler's hand, into the symbol of magic that represented something grave--a symbol considered taboo among all who practice magecraft.

"Your eyes do not deceive you. I sacrificed my ability to use magic. It doesn't bring back those I killed, but hopefully, it allows them to find some solace in the afterlife."

"What a waste. The dead won't care about your meaningless sacrifices and even if they did--why pay any mind to those you've already killed. Such pointless pittance is why you'll fall here today, "Devil of War," Rouge's mood sunk into anger towards the butler after seeing his state.

Blades began to sprout from the amber-tinted floor, protruding from below in a variety of sizes as they all aimed directly for Norbert. He swiftly evaded the incoming blades with a sidestep that almost looked more like teleportation magic, barely paying any mind to the immediate danger of the jagged blades.

"Do you think just because I no longer have access to magic I can't win? I've lived through a life of combat for over seventy years. Time and time again I uttered my last prayers as I prepared to meet my end, and time and time again, I stood victorious. If you think I need magic to defeat you here and now, then you're gravely mistaken," Norbert's voice remained low before he charged at the man once again.

Even in his old age, the butler's swiftness was a sight to behold as he danced across the ballroom in the flurry of blades. The flexibility of his movements made him seem like his age was just a facade--but in his prime, he would swear he was ten times as fast.