An hour or so after patrolling that part of their route, they began walking towards the ruins of the mansion while talking as if the dead soldiers all around them were all bad decorations.
The smell did not matter to them, nor the sight of a dead person.
They were more used to seeing a person's dead body than the naked body of a woman, after all.
There were things that disturbed them still.
Like the Moroi that Henry saw a few days ago, ripping a man in half and using his ripped legs as a blunt weapon. But war and the results of war were not new to them.
The Iron Line thrived in war even while the High Monarch Corin was still alive. They were his dull swords that chopped at his enemies until, even without a sharp edge managed to cut his enemies off by sheer number. An army of cold, emotionless, weak, but countless soldiers.
No matter how many dull swords were taken and broken, there were still others to replace the broken ones without question.
That was until the High Monarch decided to kill himself.
And now the dull swords pointed their bent tips towards their own brothers and sisters, turning traitor. But what can one do? A promise well spoken can move mountains. Let alone the hearts of weak-willed people.
Such people would sooner sell their children to the highest bidder than fight for what they want. Such is the sin of humanity.
Vita cursed greed, yet this greed is without equal. The greed that goes unpunished. Mankind's ambition.
"Did you hear the higher ranks of the army got hold of Raw Vita from that Yalan King?" Lucas asked randomly.
"Mhm, I guess that was what angered the old man, that he did not get his chance yet," replied Henry, watching the Golden Forest in the distance.
"I can't wait to get my hands on some; it will come in handy to get into the bed of more ladies," Lucas chuckled to himself.
"Is fucking all you think about?" Henry sighed, turning toward his brother-in-arms.
Lucas thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders unbothered, "More or less."
"That dick of yours will be the death of you," Henry shook his head, somewhat disappointed.
"And the life of many!" Lucas laughed out loud, before turning his head towards the ruins of the mansion they were drawing closer to, "Yeah, do you know what happened to all these Noble Bloods?"
Henry shrugged before replying, "As always, either captured or they ran away, these fuckers barely get to taste steel if they lose a war. Their lives are worth ten times their bodyweight in gold coins."
"Damn, I wish I could've captured some of them," said Lucas, thinking about what that quantity of gold could buy him.
Henry shook his head, hearing his young, stupid friend, "No chance, none of us could. Their bodies have so much Raw Vita into themselves that a slap from one of them might just send your head off."
"That does indeed sound scary. Good thing they are not here any longer," said Lucas, laughing.
"Couldn't agree more. But I wish I were not in this place any longer. It gives me the creeps," Henry muttered.
Lucas frowned, planning to point out the obvious. "The creeps? Henry… Aren't you almost a forty-year-old man?"
"So what? Do I need to speak more formally now to match my wisdom?" Henry questioned.
"If you have wisdom, then I have a harem," Lucas grinned.
"I can see why you would wish for gold. You would buy yourself a good life just to surround yourself with women," Henry replied, "But why don't you pick the gold from the ground, then?"
"That's dirty money. But I have a fine dream, my good sir. A fine dream, don't you agree?"
Henry shook his head at Lucas's question, "My wife is enough for me, no need for more."
"Well," began Lucas, tilting his head from one side to the other, "With a chest as…uh, how was it? Ah, yes, as voluptuous as hers, I could not help but agree."
"Can't disagree with that," chuckled Henry before both started laughing like they were not still on patrol.
As they walked near the outside of the estate of Blood Denegis, or what remained of it besides rubble, dead people, and ash, a sudden sound made Henry stop.
"What?" asked Lucas, turning towards his friend.
"Do you hear that?" Henry asked silently, raising his head as if to hear better.
"Hear what?" Lucas asked, before listening, and turning in every direction, "I don't hear shit."
"It sounded like-" Henry began explaining before a sob could be heard coming from the ruins of the mansion, "Did you hear it now?"
Lucas's face was focused, and the alcohol that may have haunted their whole conversation during the duration of the patrol was gone.
"Mhm," Lucas nodded, pulling out his sword.
Henry followed in making sure he had his weapon at the ready as they began walking towards the sound.
The sobbing and sniffing grew louder, yet the source of the sobbing seemed to ignore their steps as they approached, climbing over a side of a large fallen wall.
Once they did, they saw him.
A young man hunched over the bodies of several dead people, sobbing quietly.
He wore dark clothes that blended into the heavy shadow cast by the rubble around him.
But there was one thing the darkness couldn't hide: his hair.
Gray.
When he lifted his face toward them, the moon slipped from behind a cloud and lit his features, revealing a pair of sharp gray eyes that made Henry feel as if death itself had turned to look at him. Yet what held Henry's gaze wasn't the threat he sensed there, but the tears, catching the moonlight as they streamed down the man's cheeks.
The sight struck something buried deep within him, bringing back a story he'd heard at the academy near the Imperial Capital, twenty years ago, when he was still young.
There is a tale of old, one as ancient as the rivers.
It says that in times of war, one is never to follow the sound of cries in the night,
For there will be a man there.
A sad man.
A very sad man.
Crying over the bodies of the dead.
Never go near him.
Never go near…
The Weeping Man.