in a lot of ways, riou is still a child. it’s purely through the machinations of others that he takes the mantle of hero, and it’s that burden that forces him to face the war at that elevated pedestal. he only takes it when people look at him with hope in their eyes, when shu waxed poetic about his grandpa’s service to the state, when the rune in his hand simmered with a thirst.
and in a lot of ways, he does agree with the male. before that night, he only fought because it’s needed of him, as soldiers serving their king. if given a choice, he really would choose to live a much more peaceful life instead of throwing himself to war at the behest of his own superiors.
he pauses, idly tugging at his scarf. “ maybe that’s why they’d start a war . to watch the world burn . it’s not the most ideal reason , but it’s theirs . “ if he sounds as though he’s defending the very notion of war, he doesn’t mean it. or maybe he just doesn’t want to believe in what he’s stated. he doesn’t want to think there were people just like…
“ i knew someone like that too . “ he says as an afterthought, feeling the heat of prince luca’s sword slash through the air, cutting away every breath taken by his allies. it’s both figurative and literal, and in a sense, that’s how frightening he was. with blood seeping from his wounds, from his armor, from his broken, maniacal laughter filling the night sky — riou remembered feeling nothing from their last duel, from watching him finally fall to his death.
“ but speaking as someone who’s been a soldier , i guess , a war would be nothing more than a service, wouldn’t it ? it doesn’t need to be worth anything if it’s ordered . that’s just … unfair . ”
The very idea of war for war’s sake sickens him in body and mind, yet he must concede that the boy has a point. However terrible, people like Judar still have their reasons for stirring up trouble. It may only ever be for trouble’s own sake, seen as entertainment in the eyes of the truly fallen, but it is still a reason, if only to him and others like him. A grimace blossoms upon Sinbad’s face as he accepts this ghastly truth. “I suppose you’re right. It may be a terrible reason, but it once it’s started, it must still be fought.” Lest those in the crossfire lay down their lives for nothing but the whims of the cruelest among them.
Even having conceded that, Sinbad will not accept that such a war is worth anything but the survival of those who are forced to take part. Nothing comes of such pointless battles. No matter what happens, wars fought for the sake of fighting will only ever result in bloodshed and tragedy, and nothing more. He himself could not have been any older than the boy before him when he was approached by Parthevian commanders and told he must join such a war in three days’ time. Orders are orders, says the child, but Sinbad knows better.
As their shared experiences come to light, the conversation takes a turn into realism, departing its previous path of light hypotheticals. “Any war worth fighting is not a service, but a call to action. If you believe in the cause you fight for, you hardly need to be ordered to do it. If there is significant resistance, not out of fear but out of a clash of ideals, then the country you fight for should reconsider what it believes it’s fighting for.” This is how he would govern Sindria if ever there was resistance to his decisions.
Having lived in Parthevia during the time of its great war with Reim... seeing every man in his village shipped off to the front lines until only he remained... experiencing the heartfelt resistance of his friends and neighbors as military officials tried to force him into service as well... these are things he will never forget. “What’s unfair is being forced to fight a war you don’t believe in. Citizens do not exist to serve their country,” he decrees. “A country exists to serve its citizens.”