There were many ways one could go about taking down one’s quarry. Direct confrontation, followed by an honorable duel to the death –but that was not her style. Hers was more subtle. Stalking the targets first to learn about their behavior and routine. Forming a plan of attack and preparing everything beforehand. Lastly, a sneak attack to catch her prey off guard so she could dispose of them nice and quick. In short, dishonorable, as some would call it. She didn’t mind.
Honor was for the fools who thought themselves white knights, delusional wannabe’s who believed that steel wouldn’t bite them as deep as it would those who cast their pride and honor aside.
They were fools, not understanding the workings of he world.
It was for the nobles who were taught of young age that proper form of conduct was a necessity in battle, that winning through dishonorable means was the same as losing. In noble circles, underhanded means were a social death sentence. For those to whom keeping up appearances was paramount, honor was everything. To have no honor meant you were no better than a commoner. A disgrace.
They were nobles, living pampered lives and concerning themselves with an entire different set of things than the ordinary person.
Honor was for storytellers and playwrights. For poets and writers to weave into their stories, to tell tales of epic heroes and villains so evil your blood would curdle in your veins. According to them, the difference between those two solely came down to honor and justice. The heroes were just, the heroes had honor. The villains did not. It was only natural for the villain to be defeated. The hero was a hero because he was honorable, and because he was honorable, he was just. Everyone knew that justice won out in the end. Honor equaled justice, but many forgot that justice was subjective; it was just a word used by those in power to justify their actions.
They wrote about things they did not know, in essence being the same as the wannabe's, with the added ability to spread their misplaced ideas like a disease into the minds of impressionable fools.
Honor was for those who fancied themselves peacekeepers, walking around in fancy armor with a sword at their hip. Patrolling the streets looking for criminals and crooks, to keep citizens from stepping out of line. To save society from crumbling in on itself and degrading into barbarism once more. Always ranting about how honor was what separated man from beast, monsters from heroes, and bad guys from good guys. To them, pride and honor were inseparably linked to how you lived your life. Beggars had no pride, writhing in the dust and fighting for every bit of coin or food like wild animals. Whores did not have pride, willingly selling their body for a handful of gold. Mercenaries were much the same, willing to kill and murder for nel. A thief was willing to steal from their fellow man, betraying society like the honorless cowards they were. A man who cast away his honor and pride was not a man at all, but simply a beast wearing human flesh.
They were peacekeepers, not peacemakers. They were idealists unaware of what doing anything to survive meant.
None of them had seen the fires of war. None of them had set foot on a battlefield before. A real battlefield were hundreds of soldiers were pitted against each other, where steel cut and sliced any and all in its path. Humans, Biqaj, Naerikk, Eídisi, Ellune, Avriel, and Yludih were slain all the same. Men, women, brave or cowardly, it didn’t matter. Honor or no, it made no difference. War was a slaughter, a battlefield was a place where everyone fought for their lives in desperation. Perhaps before they had thought themselves to be paragons, fighting for their country with honor, defending the people with pride. The moment the war began, however, when the walls of armored bodies smashed into each other, when steel clashed with steel, when the screams of the dying were all around, when blood pooled in the mud beneath your feet, when bodies were trampled underfoot, and when your comrades died left and right, their minds drew a blank. There was no time for honor, there was no time for pride. Country, comrades, the government? Not important. Survival was all that was left, pure and unrefined survival instinct. It was chaos, it was carnage. There was no clash of ideologies anymore, this wasn’t a matter of who was right and who was wrong, which side would win and which would lose. It was a battle of wills, survival of the fittest.
Some ran. Deserters, cowards, whatever one wished to call them. Some would resent them for fleeing while others died. The families of the dead, usually. Government officials who browsed papers behind the safety of a desk. Those who survived by combat were angry for sure, but the question was who they were angry with: the cowards for fleeing, or themselves for not having thought of that method? Survival was all that mattered, after all. In a live or die situation, there was only one thing going through their minds: I must survive. Those who fled and those who fought were thinking the same, they just gave the idea shape in different ways. Some recognized they would surely die if they kept fighting. They would kill a few and get tired, then be killed. Others simply killed one and realized that if they survived by slaying the opposition, they would end up broken on the inside. Some simply were intimidated by everything around them. And then there were those that fought for their lives in the literal sense, felling each and everyone wearing a different set of armor or colors or crest when they crossed their paths. And yet, they too were thinking only of getting away from the battlefield. They only didn’t run, perhaps because they were cut off at every turn, perhaps because it didn’t cross their mind, or because they realized that the moment they focused on anything else than the enemy, they would surely die.
Those who were not yet disillusioned would surely look down upon Yana’s actions. There was no doubt about it. No matter how you looked at it, there was no honor to be found in how she did things. And yet, if to be honorable mean acting in a way that was morally right, then Yana was honorable. This quest was selfless, born from a promise she’d made, not from personal desire. There was no merit in this for her. No coin, no satisfaction, no possible promotions. Hell, she’d put her work on hold for this. Something she wouldn’t do of her own accord if she saw no benefits to it for herself, and yet, here she was. Then again, this was to avenge someone who was tortured and killed for no other reason than his race. He’d done no harm, he’d done no wrong. She was cutting villainous people out of the equation, was that not justice? She brought down the hammer on moneygrubbing, vile creatures who would sell and torture people simply because they were different from them. Was that not justice?
If she used dishonorable means to achieve it, would it cease to be justice? No. The ends justified the means, after all.
Though she supposed that was a villain’s reasoning.
To those Ne’haerians, that was probably exactly what she was and would continue to be. At least for a little while longer.
