With the recent large-scale mission coming to a close, there’s no shortage of work for the Captain to oversee. The groups coming out of the mirror had all looked worn out and exhausted, and soon, healers and infirmary hands were called upon to treat the injured. Seeing how people from various walks of life took part in this, he couldn’t help but wonder how much of a toll those mirror realms took on their wellbeing.
Hearing that not only were there some prisoners left alive, but that there were also casualties among the search teams was, admittedly, unprecedented. It certainly didn’t make Jeralt feel better despite all his experience in this position. He could only imagine that if they weren’t injured physically, they would’ve taken a huge hit to their mental state instead, and then some.
Whilst passing through the recovering survivors, his glance lands on that familiar orange hair. She was one of the more enthusiastic of the bunch before entering; now, he can tell even she was shaken up by the journey. He’d rather leave her be to have some time to herself, though a quick checking-in wouldn’t hurt, he supposed... His brow remains furrowed with concern as he approaches. “Ah, Leonie. How are you holding up? Heard things got rough with your team.”
Just thirty minutes more.
They only needed a little more time until Genevre successfully plugged into the planetary AI.
Thirty minutes more and she could have been useful to the garrison, thirty minutes more and she could've proved that she wasn't some bumbling new recruit that needed to be coddled. If only she had followed Zaccaria’s demand to run away from the angel apocalyptic, she could have made it to Mercedes before Mercedes had been slain. If she had run sooner to where Lucio gallantly stood as the cornerstone of their defense, perhaps her contribution would’ve bought Genevre more time before they’d all been slaughtered.
She let audacity gain the best of her and her allies paid the price.
They routed the prisoner, but it cost countless lives in the process. Had the church predicted the sacrifices beforehand, had they known the risks that awaited in the realm? That of the ten that entered, fewer would return? Leonie’s stomach turns as she ruminates in her thoughts, chest impossibly tight.
She believed that being selected for a big mission was a badge of honor. Instead, they had sent her to the gallows. Had she been marked as one of many sacrificial lambs to the slaughter, her sole purpose serving no more than fodder for someone else– someone more important– to rout the prisoner? What had been her purpose on that mission, if she were no more than a new recruit too wet behind the ears to contribute? Had it been through clever positioning and a stroke of luck that she survived as long as she did, by hiding beside the likes of Leif, Lucio, and– in earlier battles– Sephiran? When she relied on her strength alone, she’d been nearly slaughtered no easier than a hare, by a tear-stained pink-haired woman who didn't even want to be there.
If they had thirty more minutes, who’s to say it wouldn't have been her next to meet her demise? Their numbers heavily dwindling on the battlefield, Leonie recalls the sinking realization settling in her once she arrived by the King’s Garrison. As she turned and saw how Argent’s Angel of Death desecrated those further south on the battlefield, once the fiend had turned to lock eyes onto the garrison, it would have been her next. Lucio, Leif, and Zaccaria would be too preoccupied with the combatants up front; she would have had to charge south and pray her death wouldn't be swift, that she could stall Argent’s infantry for a few seconds long enough to be useful to Genevre.
A familiar voice drags Leonie from her thoughts. She impulsively springs upwards and onto her feet, back straight.
“C-Captain Jeralt!” She exclaims, surprised. Earlier in the mission, this was a moment she had endlessly fantasized. She would gush to her mentor of her valiant contributions to the mission, how she lived up to his reputation and proved no foe was strong enough to rival his greatest apprentice! She dreamt of gloating how much of a resounding success the operation had been, how the first mission the church's finally entrusted onto her was easy-breezy!
None of that happened.
“I–” Words catch into her throat; she doesn’t know what to say to her mentor. She couldn't lie to him and say they effortlessly braved the odds, that everyone breezily held out the storm. Her brief silence says everything as she hesitates; there's truly nothing positive she could say. She didn’t contribute towards anything meaningful to their mission; she merely survived it.
“They found the prisoner and executed them,” she reports, averting her gaze away. She moves her arms behind her, non-gloved hand squeezing her forearm tight in apprehension. “But we lost a lot of people in return. I–”
She inhales sharply, squeezing her eyes shut.
“I couldn't– No, I didn't do anything. I let everyone down.” Shame burns her cheeks red as she bows apologetically, “I’m sorry, Captain.”
