It would be wrong to say that he didn’t felt the same sensation as the Irish Magus, the past came back to crawl on his back. The weight of every choice made and the death of Kriemhild still burdened him to this day. His stare was the same as that time during the Ath nGabla match.
Replying to Braden’s words, his fists were brought to his pockets, and after a second, there was only a dagger. The blade vibrated in syncronization to the other, the times they clashed seemed to be countless by far. Siegmund sighed in a defeated way, and then looked at the sky. To think that his past would still search for him was obviously annoying.
“And I’ll never get used to that shit accent of yours, especially that foulish snake tongue you’re so proud.”
“You know how it will be, no, like it always is going to be.
Now without Caster or Lorelei, we are on even ground…” And that meant without Avenger, as well.
The sight of that dagger caused his brow to wrinkle more than he’d like to admit, but upon hearing his words, his expression softened. Heaving a sigh, the hand that held his blade fell to his side with an exaggerated shrug. Letting his shoulders slump, he slowly walked over to the young man’s side with his hands at both sides in plain view, pocketing the knife on the way. Weak laughter left him as he placed a hand on the other young man’s shoulder with a pat.
“If I wanted to hear old flashbacks from past tussles, I’d have bought a tape recorder. This isn’t even a war anymore. We’ve got nothin to gain from whaling on each other in broad daylight.”
The corners of Cecil’s mouth turned upwards as he glanced above them for a minute, letting old memories run through his mind for just a moment. All at once, his grip on Siegmund’s shoulder tightened and his knee rose immediately into the other man’s stomach as a maddened smile spread on Cecil’s face.
“Besides, if we’re goin for gut punches, that harpy of a Servant of yers was never much help to you in a fight to begin with. Hardly makes a difference whether she’s here or not...!”
