Manfred slowly marched across his ravaged hometown with a heavy heart, burdened mind, and stony face. He still performed admirably in dispatching any Garuntan warrior, treasonous knight, or Innutukian soldier who came across his path, but there was no life about him. He merely went through the motions.

He glanced up when some movement on a rooftop across the street rippled in the corner of his eye. Manfred pursed his lips, immediately identifying the figure in the sleek charcoal uniform with a maroon cape flaring out behind him—Andre Feliz.

Andre stood on the rooftop with folded arms and surveyed the ongoing battle below with an austere manner. He looked on with the confidence of an assured conquerer. With a sigh, Manfred headed across the street and toward the stairs leading to the rooftop.

Manfred's thoughts raced as he trudged up the stone steps. Of all times to offer a persuasive argument, he was in the least fit mental state to do so now. But yet the moment had come. He had no choice but to redeem Andre Feliz.

After stepping onto the roof himself, Manfred rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat. He raised an eyebrow at the fact Andre didn't perk up or show any sign of being aware of his presence. Supposing he needed to close a few yards of distance, Manfred drew closer.

"I suppose you intend to push me over this edge." Andre blurted out, startling Manfred with his suddenness.

"No...Andre, I didn't want anything like that."

"Then what?"

Manfred cleared his throat. "What I want...is for you to come home, Andre. You may think the things you've done are permanent, but they're not. This is your home! You should be fighting the beasts down there, not commanding them."

Andre whirled about to face Manfred, hands folded behind his back and dark brow quirked. "I find your reasoning questionable. Sentimental, even. What is there for me in Monterayne, even if I did return? The Feliz name is tainted at this point, and I'd never be allowed to join the knightly order again anyway. Are you saying I should become a labor boy, clean stables, perhaps?"

Manfred shook his head. "No, Andre. There's...you always wanted to be a hero. This allegiance with Innutuk—"

"The question is, whose hero?" Andre retorted in a sharp tone, "Heroism is subjective, my friend. An Innutukian warrior can display bravery and bravado abroad and be regarded as a hero by his people, just as a Monteraynian's showing restraint and civility to his enemies earns him the same esteem among his."

"Do you...do you really find the Innutukian idea of heroism satisfactory? The Andre I knew would be appalled by their deeds."

"The Andre you knew hasn't changed. He's only grown wiser—acquired new perspectives. I still find the average Innutukian repulsive. They're bloodthirsty, greedy hounds whose culture depends on consuming the blood and land of their neighbors to keep their bellies and coffers full. But just think for a second. What corruption lay dormant in Monterayne's breast for years! You and I were delusional, Manfred. There will be bad apples in every orchard. It's merely that Monterayne hides hers."

Manfred clenched his jaw. "Innutuk's apples are rotten to the core, Andre. That's the difference."

"Typical Monteraynian logic." Andre scoffed, pacing to the corner of the rooftop away from Manfred, "Simple. Self-righteous. Naive."

"You've changed." Manfred said, voice trembling in shock, "You're not the man I knew just a year ago."

"You're right. I'm a better man than before. Unlike you, I'm not blind to the corruptions of Monterayne. I see how she turns a deaf ear to the troubles of nations around her. If it doesn't have to do with Monterayne or dear sister Alconte, it doesn't matter."

"That's because we're not aggressors. We're not Innutuk."

Andre shook his head as his pacing brought him back to where he'd started. "Better to do too much than too little. In the time it takes you people to decide whether or not it'd be righteous to slay a lamb for dinner, an Innutukian would have had the feast already. His belly would be full, and his goblet, empty."

"What was in the goblet?" Manfred challenged, "The blood of his enemies, no doubt."

Andre laughed. "Isn't it a pleasure to construct stereotypes to bolster your hatred? Listen, Manfred, it's noble of you to talk to me before stabbing me, but let's face it. I'm a changed man. I acknowledge the flaws of my new master, and those, I fight against. But regardless of what you or I do, regardless what we think, Innutuk is ready to take on the eastern powers. From what I've seen, Monterayne isn't ready to hold her off."

"That doesn't mean you have to stand with her."

Andre eyed Manfred with pity as he slid his golden-hilted sword from its sheath. "My vows say otherwise."

With that, Andre flew into a flurry of blurred sword strokes which Manfred only blocked with great difficulty. Highs and lows, attacks coming from seemingly two directions at once. Andre's speed was impressive, almost fatally so.

Manfred deflected a particularly heavy blow with an equally powerful block. He pushed his weight into the counter in such a way Andre stumbled back several feet. He eyed Manfred with a mixture of surprise and fascination. Manfred himself planted his stance and raised his sword into a versatile, low guard.

Andre's maroon cape flared out behind him as he charged forward. He came down with a weighty blow possibly powerful enough to sever an arm, but Manfred met it with a precise block and counterattack. The blade whizzed right by Andre's face, and would have hit, had he not swiftly leaned aside.

Before Manfred could strike again, Andre knocked him back with a kick to the hips. With a grunt, Manfred tumbled onto the dusty rooftop. He frantically raised his sword to deflect an incoming strike before rolling to evade yet another. Manfred leapt back to his feet just in time to bat away a committed thrust to the heart. He gave Andre a taste of his own medicine and kicked him back a ways.

Unlike Andre, Manfred waited for his opponent to rise. He held his sword at a high guard and waited for Andre to engage first. Manfred knew well that his current stance left quite the opening, but that was exactly the point. Any Raskan fighter would eagerly snap at such bait.

Predictably, Andre swung the exact strike Manfred had predicted, a horizontal slash at his ribs. But Manfred evaded by twisting his body and sidestepping, which also gave him the correct distance to score a hit on Andre's shoulder. What he hadn't anticipated was the fact they stood at an edge of the roof, and he was willing to dive over the edge to evade.

With widened eyes, Manfred peered over the edge and watched Andre's graceful recovery. In one move, he rolled along the ground, leapt back up, and landed on his feet, all without having apparently been harmed in the slightest. Then his challenging gaze ascended to where Manfred stood.

Manfred sighed and headed for the stairs. As he jogged down, he kept an eye on Andre at all times. The man was full of tricks, and he clearly had no scruples like an ordinary Monteraynian swordsman.

When Manfred crossed almost into striking distance, Andre planted himself in place and took up a stance, a role reversal that put both men out of their element. Manfred squinted, planned out his attack and a few possible defenses to parries, and rushed in.

Manfred came in with an upward stroke, but immediately gave it up to deflect Andre's sword. He groaned inwardly upon realizing the fight could have ended there, but only with both their attacks connecting and killing the other. That had been Andre's trap to throw Manfred out of kilter. Andre ignited another of his signature sword storms, where the attacks never ended, and his blade never ceased moving.

Manfred's footwork consisted only of backward steps as he retreated and warded off each incoming strike. The two combatants fought their way into a nearby apple orchard. Manfred took heart at the change of scenery, seeing it as a place full of concealment opportunity if need be. He twirled around one particular trunk, causing Andre's attack to miss and slice into a low branch instead. Several half-apples fell to the ground in a cluster of twigs and leaves.

Predicting Andre would try to race around the trunk, Manfred backed up and found himself a more open area just outside a narrow pass between trees. As usual, Andre rushed in with his aggressive array of offensive maneuvers, and Manfred retreated while warding each one off.

As Manfred had hoped, Andre failed to take the trees into account, and he swung hard into the bark of the sapling of the pair. His sword stuck in the slender trunk, and before his struggle to yank it back out bore any fruit, Manfred kicked him away. Ducking through the gap, he rushed in on a defenseless Andre on the ground.

Of course, Andre wasn't a man to give up. He rolled aside, rose to his feet, and inched toward the tree holding onto his sword. However, only Manfred had his weapon on him, giving him the advantage in shepherding Andre away, into the thick of the orchard. Cracks began to show in Andre's confident facade.

But then with a startling cry, he lunged forward, and though Manfred swung a blow, Andre sidestepped and grabbed his wrists. Twisting them, he forced Manfred to drop the sword or cut his own legs. Then, with a shove, he forced them both down onto the grass.

Manfred voluntarily powered their tumble to distance themselves from his sword as well. Then he kicked Andre off, rose to his feet, and clenched his fists. Though he hadn't studied any form of hand-to-hand combat, his suspicions were Andre hadn't either.

Just like in swordsmanship, Andre's instincts were to be the first to attack. He exploded into action and threw a mighty punch at Manfred's jaw. Manfred blocked with his forearm, but the impact caused both men to stumbled away, shaking their throbbing limbs and groaning.

Andre quickly returned to combat mode, however, coming in with an elbow jab at Manfred. Manfred simply caught him by the attacking arm and spun him away. Andre growled. His return came swiftly.

Now Andre drove Manfred back with an overwhelming series of wild attacks. Whether all of them connected or not, even blocking the punches only changed the location of the pain. The fact Andre kneed Manfred in the stomach and knocked the air out of his lungs didn't help matters any, either.

Finally, Manfred's back slammed back into a tree trunk, and Andre's fist met his chest. In the second it took Manfred to recover from the shock, Andre had ducked, grabbed something off the ground, and rose with it. Sunlight glinted off the blade of Manfred's longsword. He gasped at the sight of his weapon in the hands of his foe. Just a second too late, he moved to flee.

Manfred cried out at the sensation of his own blade tearing deep into the muscle tissue of his thigh. He collapsed to the ground, mouth agape as he roared in agony. His hands instinctively clutched the wound and instantly became clammy with blood. Suddenly, he felt an urge to vomit, but the strength wasn't in him. Manfred weakly glanced up to see Andre stepping closer, lips pulled tightly together in a grim expression.

"I didn't want to do it, Manfred." Andre said as he inverted his grip on the sword to power a downward stab, "I really didn't."

Manfred groaned, lacking the strength to even attempt evading the inevitable death blow. His leg screamed. Fire rippled up and down the appendage. "Do...what you have to."

"I just want you to know, this isn't easy. Part of me's going down with you."

"I hope...this makes you a real hero, old friend." Manfred muttered, his intended sarcasm lost in the weakness of his voice. "You deserve to have at least that."

"You're a good man." Andre blurted out, eyes softening, "Just have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I know."

"God bless your soul, Manfred Rickland, and godspeed to a better place."

Manfred winced. He watched with dread as Andre raised the longsword, aligned its tip with his heart, and thrusted downward.