From Pawn to Bishop

Ernest watched Claude with interest. His clothes made him look like his noble, but his attitude reflected that they were the same: two guys from the underworld and the underground. Each with their reasons for being so, and Ernest knew of Claude's circumstances.

"It's been a long time since they called me that. Good to know my fame spread to Almyra, dear Khalid."

"It's good to talk to someone without masks, Ernest," Claude replied, sitting in the same chair that Byleth had occupied.

"I think so...."

"Now, to cut to the chase, why didn't you tell Byleth everything? Don't you remember everyone you killed?"

"No... And I'm not ready to rebuild those memories either." Ernest's look of sorrow convinced his classmate. "Please don't even tell me about it."

"Okay, okay," Claude replied, laughing briefly. "The only thing I'll tell you is that you're going to unleash the wrath of the delegates from the other houses."

"It was a presentiment that I already felt in my chest," the young man replied, self-conscious. "It's something I will have to deal with at some point. But I am willing to pay for my sins."

Claude thought as he looked at Ernest. The boy had unprecedented fame. He remembered him with a merciless type, without any concern for exterminating whoever crossed his path or even the number of people who opposed him. It was the 'Ashen Demon' of the underworld.

"I don't think you remember, Ernest, but they sent you to kill me," Claude said these words with a look as cold as the ones he offered.

Ernest was puzzled. Suddenly, he felt as if he had suddenly had a severe migraine. Lots of memories and images were unlocked. Now the boy understood why he knew Claude's real name and several other facts.

"But I failed at the last moment," Ernest replied morosely. "No, I did not fail. I decided not to kill you, Claude."

"That's right," replied the Archduke's heir. "It is a fact that it was already on everyone's lips that I could appear in Fódlan and claim my place as heir to the Archduke of the Alliance. I guess they sent you to stop it. And I suspect it was the Duke of Gloucester."

"I used not to be informed by the contractors of my services, but in your case, I did know about it, and you are right."

"Even knowing about it, I appreciate you refusing to kill me," Claude said, sighing and rubbing his head.

"You were my last job... and it's a good thing it was a failed one," Ernest commented, looking at his partner with a smile of false happiness.

"Yes, it was an unfinished job, but you did enough to get it done," Claude replied, placing both hands on the back of her neck. "Almyra bragged a lot about their guard of assassins until you visited us. They decided to change the standards later. Those guys were probably getting lazy."

"But that wasn't a reason to kill them, I have to say," Ernest replied, looking at the ground.

"Well... They say, 'You arrived as a pawn and left as an alfil'."

"From pawn to an alfil... Do you mean a bishop, instead"? The new student questioned, stupefied. "What does that mean?"

"Uhm... How to put it..." Claude took some time to think. "Bishop, or 'alfil' in the almyran language, can refer to an 'elephant.' You came in as a nobody and left us as a huge, rampaging beast."

"Ah... I don't think I can consider it an honor... But I get the point."

Claude smiled when he saw his 'calm' partner. It was good that his partner didn't take pride in such a shocking nickname. In an instant, Claude became uneasy. He felt a strange presence near him. In a moment, the young von Riegan was flung to the floor from his chair. Getting up, he saw that Ernest had an arrow in his right hand. Ernest had yet to learn who it could be, but Claude did.

"Do you know Shamir, Ernest?"

"I've heard something about her, but I haven't had the luck to run into her...." Ernest understood Claude's suggestion. "Well, now I shall have the pleasure of meeting her, I guess."

"Yes," Claude said, getting up. "And now is when I retire. It looks like you'll get quite a few visitors tonight."

Claude flung open the door and disappeared from the map. Ernest remained seated on his bed. He waited for the door to open again. It took a little time. A woman with hair of a blue hue, fair skin, purple eyes, and a stern and serious expression. Ernest couldn't help but look at how striking her figure and clothing were. Her clothes were light black armor, a small green jacket, and long boots the same color as the jacket. The girl's figure was slim and attractive.

"Welcome, Sha ..."

Ernest had to dodge a poisoned dagger thrown at him by the woman while she gave the boy a murderous look. Ernest was only afraid of not leaving his room in ruins with the coming hustle and bustle.

"Shut up, you piece of shit. I won't let you even talk until the moment you die."

Ernest quickly escaped through the window so as not to continue to shatter the order that had been so successful for him. An arrow pierced his right shoulder. The pain and the feeling of lethargy from the poison did not wait. But they were things that the young man was already used to, it is supposed.

The two ran through the roofs and walls of the rooms' sector on the Monastery's first floor. Ernest was dedicated to blocking Shamir's attacks, while she didn't let go for a second. In an instant, the woman blocked her opponent's path.

"Keep running, coward," Shamir said, his voice soft but withering. "You will die later or sooner, eventually."

"At least tell me your reasons, Shamir," Ernest replied, removing the arrow from his right shoulder.

"Do you remember all the ones you killed along with Brigid's King?"

"No, the truth is no. I didn't kill many in that mission."

"It sounds to you a Dagda's group of warriors?" the woman questioned, with a darker and angry look than ever.

"Dagda people," Ernest said confidently. "I know there was a group of rangers... But I didn't do anything about them... Were you from that group?"

"You are a genius, you piece of shit," Shamir replied, holding two daggers, one in each hand. "Greetings from all those who died because of you."

Shamir lunged at Ernest. Her movements were stealthy, fast, and strong. The boy blocked with his dagger, but the drowsy feeling from the poison Shamir put into her arrows slowed him down. It must have been a powerful poison, the boy concluded. It was difficult to repel the woman and not make noise simultaneously.

"You're already cornered; you can't do anything against me," Shamir added, preparing to attack Ernest again.

"I already told you... that I didn't do anything against anyone from Dagda," Ernest replied, panting with exhaustion. "If you feel that killing Brigid's king led to the defeat of your party... I can take it. All right. I will assume the consequences of my actions, even indirect ones."

Shamir glared at Ernest with more anger than ever. She felt anger and then frustration. The woman put away her daggers and approached the boy to take him by the collar of his shirt.

"You're not even a target for revenge, damn it..." Shamir whispered, almost crying. "That you can't even really answer for his death... And my allies, it obfuscates me. You are only a piece of shit... I want you to know it."

"Thank you...for the compliment," Ernest replied as Shamir released him.

"It doesn't matter... This was all on impulse. I'm sorry I lost my composure," Shamir said, her voice calmer but her eyes not.

"I can't judge you, Shamir..." Ernest replied." I don't even really know or remember how much damage I did. And even more about the indirect effects of my actions. Nor can I excuse myself that... They forced me to do many things."

"I think I've heard more about you... But the only thing I focused on was that the murderer of Brigid's king had come to Garreg Mach."

"I think... Now I take more weight from all those things I did. I don't know if I deserve the forgiveness of... So many people."

"I didn't come here to cheer you up or wipe away your tears, boy," Shamir replied, still annoyed. "Please let us cross paths as little as possible in training or classes."

"It will be as you wish, Shamir."

"Well... Now I want to go," the woman answered, disappearing immediately.

Ernest sighed as he jumped to the ground. It was true that the poison hadn't done much to him; it was all the effect of the lack of sleep he felt from the night before. He entered his room, thankful it hadn't been destroyed in a confrontation with Shamir. In truth, the 'fame' that preceded him as an assassin was immense. Ernest felt miserable. And he also suspected, from Claude's words, that he was only seeing the tip of the iceberg.