Holy Mother
Beregond drew the cloak closer to himself, so that none of the people he passed by noticed his uniform. He walked slowly, with Faenel following close behind, and kept his head bowed; he wanted to be sure he didn’t draw any attention to himself. Even so, he still darted his eyes in every direction in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Edward.
What he saw, however, was a group of children pinning a smaller one against a crumbled wall, ready to beat him. Feeling enraged at the injustice, Beregond murmured something under his breath.
Faenel obeyed at the inaudible command and galloped at the group of kids. Neighing loudly, she started stomping her front legs and kicking her hind ones in the air, and she didn’t stop until most of the children were out of sight and Beregond patted her neck, congratulating her on a job well done.
The boy didn’t move from the spot where he had collapsed, trembling. His eyes even widened in fear when Beregond stepped closed to him.
“It’s fine, child. I only want to help,” Beregond said in a reassuring tone. “Are you injured?”
The boy shook his head, so Beregond offered his hand to help him stand up. A small pouch slipped out of the boy’s trousers at that motion, and Beregond immediately bent to get it in order to give it back to its owner.
The boy tensed, and only relaxed when Beregond gave him back the pouch without opening it.
“You’d better keep your money in a safer place,” the Gondorian said. “That gang probably won’t come after you again, but someone else might.”
The boy stared at Beregond incredulously. He obviously didn’t expect the man to figure out what was inside the pouch. “I-I will. Thanks,” he stammered. He looked at Beregond again, taking in the tall figure and the kind eyes. “You… you aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” Beregond answered truthfully. “I’m looking for someone, a boy with amber-coloured eyes. Have you seen him?”
The boy shook his head. “Sorry. Is he your son?”
“Sort of,” the Gondorian replied, deciding that it wasn’t the best idea to say that the particular boy was actually his superior officer. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”
“If he listened to that Ishbalan, he’s probably gone by now,” the boy said. “Everyone who’s in the city has to evacuate before the military arrives.”
Beregond clenched his hands into fists before he could help it. “Did the Ishbalan say that?”
“Yes. Just an hour ago.”
Ai, Valar… Beregond now realised what was Scar’s plan, and he felt like his heart missed a beat. “I have to find him,” he murmured.
“I hope you do,” the boy said, not really understanding whom Beregond meant. He didn’t even stay to hear the Gondorian’s absent-minded goodbye. He ran off as fast as his feet could carry him.
On the other hand, Beregond didn’t lose any precious time. He swiftly took out his journal and scribbled a hasty message on one of the blank pages, then tore off the page so he could put it inside a small glass cylinder he created out of the sand. After securing the cylinder tightly on Faenel’s saddle, he whispered to her another command.
“Hiro mellyn nin. No celeg.”
Faenel didn’t have to be told twice. As soon as Beregond words flowed out of his lips, she galloped away and rushed back to the military camp.
Ed stood frozen, staring with eyes widened at the sheer number of graves that were unveiled before him under the relentless light of the moon. A part of him tried to reassure the young alchemist that what he was seeing wasn’t real, that his eyes were merely playing tricks on him.
Yet Scar’s voice was enough assurance that Ed wasn’t having a nightmare.
“The army has been invading the city since the priest’s disappearance. They tried to rule the city with martial law and attacked the civilians in the process,” the Ishbalan said, sitting on a rock nearby, regarding Ed almost coldly. “Aren’t you the one who ignited the fuse to his situation?”
Yes, Ed could only admit it. It was him that did this. He allowed himself to be moved about like a mere pawn by the Homunculi while he thought he was helping the Liorites. He clenched his hands into fists, willing himself not to fall on his knees. His eyes stung with tears threatening to fall, but he blinked them back furiously.
Scar just kept talking.
“The Liorites are, strangely enough, closely related to the Ishbalans. Maybe that’s why the Amestrian military doesn’t regard them as human.”
“You don’t understand…” Ed breathed out.
“No, Fullmetal Alchemist, it is you who doesn’t understand,” Scar said. He stood up, a look of grim determination reflected in his eyes. “I’ll complete the philosopher’s stone if it means opposing such kind of oppressors. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”
“No… No, wait!” Ed span around, but it was too late. Scar turned his back to the teen alchemist and walked away, not bothering to look back.
Being a seven-foot suit of armour certainly had its advantages. Al could easily stand in the middle of the street and look at all directions without anyone blocking his view. Moreover, none of the passers-by dared to cross Al’s path as the suit of armour walked on, so Al could move without much difficulty. So, in less than half an hour, Al managed to search all the western part of Liore while looking for Ed.
Still, he didn’t find his brother anywhere, and Al was almost at his wits’ end by now. He could only hope Beregond’s luck was better than his, for they were running out of precious time.
“Hey! You there! The one with the armour!”
Al stopped in his tracks and looked to his right. He was quite surprised that the man that was approaching him was the owner of the canteen he and his brother had ended up upon visiting Liore more than a year ago.
“Hello, sir,” Al said politely, but he couldn’t help but feel nervous. That man had been one of Cornello’s followers, so it mustn’t have bee a pleasant thing to find out that Cornello was a fraud. That was also why Al couldn’t understand why the canteen-keeper would want to talk to him. After all, it was the boys that exposed Cornello.
“Well, well,” the canteen-keeper mused, stepping close to Alphonse and looking at him from head to toe. “I thought you looked familiar. Then again, I doubt there would be all that many crazy people walking around the desert in armour.” He looked around, obviously trying to find something. “So… where’s your little buddy?”
“Um… I was looking for him actually,” Al replied, scratching his helmet in an embarrassed manner. “Did you see him by any chance?”
“No, sorry,” the canteen-keeper said. However, at the next moment, his eyes widened in realisation. “Wait a minute… Your friend couldn’t possibly be wearing a disguise, could he?”
Al would have swallowed hard at that moment if he could. He had just exposed his brother, and he had exposed him to someone who had every right to bear a grudge against him. He quickly considered the option of lying, to laugh it off and say the man was delusional, but… he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If there was anything Al was quite bad at, it was lying.
So, even though a part of him warned him that he was going to regret this, he decided to speak the truth.
“Yes. He was wearing a long brown wig and Liorite clothing.”
To Al’s surprise, the canteen-keeper simply frowned at that answer.
“I guess that explains why that other little guy looked so familiar,” he mused.
“You’ve seen him?!” Al asked.
“Yup. He even sat at my canteen and had a drink and all,” the man replied. “After that I saw him heading to that direction over there.” The canteen-keeper pointed to the southern parts of the city. “He seemed to be in a hurry, as though someone was after him.”
That means Brother’s found Scar, Al thought, tendrils of worry creeping up the back of his mind. The question now was: did they fight?
“If you hurry, you might be able to find him,” the canteen-keeper said, cutting into Al’s train of thought.
Al nodded his acknowledgement before realising. “I will… thanks.”
He turned to leave, but his conscience stopped him. He needed to get something out of his chest, sort of speak, or he’d regret it forever.
“By the way, I’m sorry.”
The canteen-keeper looked at Al in surprise. “For what?”
Al shuffled his legs uncomfortably. “For what’s been happening here. I can’t help thinking that my brother and I were responsible.”
“Your brother--?” The man seemed quite surprised at that, nevertheless he shook his head. “I see. However, you shouldn’t apologise for such a thing. You had to expose the truth, and we Liorites had every right to know about it.”
“You… really think so?” Al asked, scarcely believing what he was hearing.
The man nodded. “Come on, kid, think about it. When you and your friend came here the first time round, all Liorites thought nothing could touch us, not even death; all because of a con-man who did a couple of tricks and convinced us that we could become immortal. We had become conceited, and we needed that slap in the head to be reminded that we were just humans.”
“But the army…”
“It’s all part of our existence. We have to get through the worst of times in order to fight for and enjoy the best of times.” The man reached for Al’s arm and patted it reassuringly. “Trust me. You did the right thing.”
Al didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. He just kept staring at the man, filled with a sense of awe. That is, until the canteen-keeper nudged him gently.
“Now go. You’ve got to find your brother.”
Al didn’t have to be told twice. In seconds, he headed for the southern parts of the city, keeping a lookout for any glimpse of Ed or Scar.
There wasn’t much left from the church that once housed a fake priest and all the statues in honour of the so-called Sun God. The building lay in ruins because of the cannons of the Amestrian military, and none of the Liorites were saddened to see its destruction.
Even so, it was among the debris that a great number of Liorites gathered around so that they could hear Scar’s words. The Ishbalan was standing proudly at the cracked flight of stairs with Rose at his side. The girl still carried the baby in her arms, and there was a small smile tugged on her lips.
“People of Liore!” Scar started, “You know, as well as I do, that the army is asking for a reason to attack us! They might even make it as though you attacked first. And that, of course, means one thing: the army won’t hesitate to turn this war into a mass genocide!”
He turned briefly at Rose, who just nodded and took his hand in hers. Nodding back, he faced the crowd again and continued.
“So I say lure them in without resisting! Because, when the time is right, the wrath of God will befall on them!” And as those words flowed out of his lips, Scar rested his glowing left hand on a rock and shattered it to pieces. Gasps of awe and shock echoed throughout the crowd at that sight, soon to be followed by cheers and exclamations that God was on the Liorites’ side.
It was enough to make Ed’s stomach churn. However, the boy wasn’t foolish enough to express such a thing in front of the people of Liore and risk his cover. He watched everything from a safe distance, sitting on the base of a broken column. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge Lyra, even though she was standing right next to him.
“What’s in your mind?” she asked quietly, though she never took her eyes off the cheering mob.
Ed’s hands clenched into fists. “He says he’s doing this for Rose’s sake,” he replied. “He’s still taking advantage of a crippled girl.”
“I understand your exasperation,” Lyra said. “Nevertheless, her presence gives those people the courage they need to resist the military without the help of God Leto or the army’s interference.”
“By making them obey her.”
Lyra sighed and shook her head. “It can’t be helped, Edward. We, humans, are weak.”
Ed didn’t answer to that. It didn’t seem worthwhile. Besides, after everything he had seen, he couldn’t help but start to believe that Lyra was right.
Just then, a strange scent reached Ed’s nostrils. The teen alchemist frowned at that, for the last time he had smelled something like that was while his father was still at home.
“Lyra, are you wearing perfume?” he asked before he could help it.
“Uh… yes. I didn’t have the time to take a bath yet,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “You don’t like it?”
“Not really,” Ed answered candidly, leaving it at that.
“Sorry.”
Neither of the two alchemists spoke for some time. Still, it was obvious that Lyra wanted to know more about Edward.
“So… what are you going to do?” she asked.
It didn’t take a great mind to guess what the girl was talking about. Ed sighed and rested his chin on the palm of his right hand.
“I can’t let Scar have his way.”
“You will fight him then?”
“If it comes down to that.”
Surprisingly enough, Lyra rested a hand on one of Ed’s shoulders, and her voice softened so that only he could hear her.
“Whether you fight him or not, there will still be casualties and victims. Now it’s time to ask yourself what is the lesser of the two evils. We both wish to protect the city, and I’ll do anything to see to that.” Thin fingers reached for one of Ed’s bangs and placed it behind the boy’s ears, then she looked at him straight in his eyes. “Won’t you do the same?”
Ed froze, unsure what to make of her words. And before he could muster his wits to answer, she was already walking away to join Scar and Rose.
Breda strapped his gear on his uniform, a very grim expression on his face. He didn’t seem to pay attention to his surroundings as all kinds of thoughts piled in his mind. So, it was only natural that he almost jumped when he saw a horse coming up to him and nuzzling him. When he realised that the horse was Beregond’s and there was a tube strapped on her saddle with a message in it, however, Breda knew that he had to talk to Mustang about it. Thus, a few minutes later, everyone in the colonel’s unit were gathered in one of the more secluded tents to avoid being listened in on.
Roy took the note from Breda’s hands and unrolled it. He smirked quite visibly.
“Well, well… Faenel makes a fine messenger,” he said. “According to this, Beregond is warning us not to enter the city, no matter what. Scar is planning to use the military as the ingredients for the philosopher’s stone instead.”
Riza shook her head. “Even so, it is of no importance to the Fuhrer or the Homunculi. They’ll still get what they want.”
“And perhaps they were counting on that as well,” Breda said. “That explains Bradley’s haste to attack the city.”
“But if that’s the case, we can’t allow the soldiers to enter,” Fuery noted.
Roy heaved a sigh. “I agree. That’s why I’ll tell Bradley about Beregond’s current whereabouts.”
“What good will that do?” Havoc asked not really understanding.
“There is a chance Beregond is still valuable to them. He’s the most powerful alchemist of our time, so I doubt they’ll want to lose him in Liore.”
“They’ll have to hold off the attack,” Riza said, catching on.
“Yes.” With that, Roy curled the message in his hands, then stepped out of the tent to head towards the Führer’s quarters.
TBC…
What he saw, however, was a group of children pinning a smaller one against a crumbled wall, ready to beat him. Feeling enraged at the injustice, Beregond murmured something under his breath.
Faenel obeyed at the inaudible command and galloped at the group of kids. Neighing loudly, she started stomping her front legs and kicking her hind ones in the air, and she didn’t stop until most of the children were out of sight and Beregond patted her neck, congratulating her on a job well done.
The boy didn’t move from the spot where he had collapsed, trembling. His eyes even widened in fear when Beregond stepped closed to him.
“It’s fine, child. I only want to help,” Beregond said in a reassuring tone. “Are you injured?”
The boy shook his head, so Beregond offered his hand to help him stand up. A small pouch slipped out of the boy’s trousers at that motion, and Beregond immediately bent to get it in order to give it back to its owner.
The boy tensed, and only relaxed when Beregond gave him back the pouch without opening it.
“You’d better keep your money in a safer place,” the Gondorian said. “That gang probably won’t come after you again, but someone else might.”
The boy stared at Beregond incredulously. He obviously didn’t expect the man to figure out what was inside the pouch. “I-I will. Thanks,” he stammered. He looked at Beregond again, taking in the tall figure and the kind eyes. “You… you aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” Beregond answered truthfully. “I’m looking for someone, a boy with amber-coloured eyes. Have you seen him?”
The boy shook his head. “Sorry. Is he your son?”
“Sort of,” the Gondorian replied, deciding that it wasn’t the best idea to say that the particular boy was actually his superior officer. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”
“If he listened to that Ishbalan, he’s probably gone by now,” the boy said. “Everyone who’s in the city has to evacuate before the military arrives.”
Beregond clenched his hands into fists before he could help it. “Did the Ishbalan say that?”
“Yes. Just an hour ago.”
Ai, Valar… Beregond now realised what was Scar’s plan, and he felt like his heart missed a beat. “I have to find him,” he murmured.
“I hope you do,” the boy said, not really understanding whom Beregond meant. He didn’t even stay to hear the Gondorian’s absent-minded goodbye. He ran off as fast as his feet could carry him.
On the other hand, Beregond didn’t lose any precious time. He swiftly took out his journal and scribbled a hasty message on one of the blank pages, then tore off the page so he could put it inside a small glass cylinder he created out of the sand. After securing the cylinder tightly on Faenel’s saddle, he whispered to her another command.
“Hiro mellyn nin. No celeg.”
Faenel didn’t have to be told twice. As soon as Beregond words flowed out of his lips, she galloped away and rushed back to the military camp.
Ed stood frozen, staring with eyes widened at the sheer number of graves that were unveiled before him under the relentless light of the moon. A part of him tried to reassure the young alchemist that what he was seeing wasn’t real, that his eyes were merely playing tricks on him.
Yet Scar’s voice was enough assurance that Ed wasn’t having a nightmare.
“The army has been invading the city since the priest’s disappearance. They tried to rule the city with martial law and attacked the civilians in the process,” the Ishbalan said, sitting on a rock nearby, regarding Ed almost coldly. “Aren’t you the one who ignited the fuse to his situation?”
Yes, Ed could only admit it. It was him that did this. He allowed himself to be moved about like a mere pawn by the Homunculi while he thought he was helping the Liorites. He clenched his hands into fists, willing himself not to fall on his knees. His eyes stung with tears threatening to fall, but he blinked them back furiously.
Scar just kept talking.
“The Liorites are, strangely enough, closely related to the Ishbalans. Maybe that’s why the Amestrian military doesn’t regard them as human.”
“You don’t understand…” Ed breathed out.
“No, Fullmetal Alchemist, it is you who doesn’t understand,” Scar said. He stood up, a look of grim determination reflected in his eyes. “I’ll complete the philosopher’s stone if it means opposing such kind of oppressors. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”
“No… No, wait!” Ed span around, but it was too late. Scar turned his back to the teen alchemist and walked away, not bothering to look back.
Being a seven-foot suit of armour certainly had its advantages. Al could easily stand in the middle of the street and look at all directions without anyone blocking his view. Moreover, none of the passers-by dared to cross Al’s path as the suit of armour walked on, so Al could move without much difficulty. So, in less than half an hour, Al managed to search all the western part of Liore while looking for Ed.
Still, he didn’t find his brother anywhere, and Al was almost at his wits’ end by now. He could only hope Beregond’s luck was better than his, for they were running out of precious time.
“Hey! You there! The one with the armour!”
Al stopped in his tracks and looked to his right. He was quite surprised that the man that was approaching him was the owner of the canteen he and his brother had ended up upon visiting Liore more than a year ago.
“Hello, sir,” Al said politely, but he couldn’t help but feel nervous. That man had been one of Cornello’s followers, so it mustn’t have bee a pleasant thing to find out that Cornello was a fraud. That was also why Al couldn’t understand why the canteen-keeper would want to talk to him. After all, it was the boys that exposed Cornello.
“Well, well,” the canteen-keeper mused, stepping close to Alphonse and looking at him from head to toe. “I thought you looked familiar. Then again, I doubt there would be all that many crazy people walking around the desert in armour.” He looked around, obviously trying to find something. “So… where’s your little buddy?”
“Um… I was looking for him actually,” Al replied, scratching his helmet in an embarrassed manner. “Did you see him by any chance?”
“No, sorry,” the canteen-keeper said. However, at the next moment, his eyes widened in realisation. “Wait a minute… Your friend couldn’t possibly be wearing a disguise, could he?”
Al would have swallowed hard at that moment if he could. He had just exposed his brother, and he had exposed him to someone who had every right to bear a grudge against him. He quickly considered the option of lying, to laugh it off and say the man was delusional, but… he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If there was anything Al was quite bad at, it was lying.
So, even though a part of him warned him that he was going to regret this, he decided to speak the truth.
“Yes. He was wearing a long brown wig and Liorite clothing.”
To Al’s surprise, the canteen-keeper simply frowned at that answer.
“I guess that explains why that other little guy looked so familiar,” he mused.
“You’ve seen him?!” Al asked.
“Yup. He even sat at my canteen and had a drink and all,” the man replied. “After that I saw him heading to that direction over there.” The canteen-keeper pointed to the southern parts of the city. “He seemed to be in a hurry, as though someone was after him.”
That means Brother’s found Scar, Al thought, tendrils of worry creeping up the back of his mind. The question now was: did they fight?
“If you hurry, you might be able to find him,” the canteen-keeper said, cutting into Al’s train of thought.
Al nodded his acknowledgement before realising. “I will… thanks.”
He turned to leave, but his conscience stopped him. He needed to get something out of his chest, sort of speak, or he’d regret it forever.
“By the way, I’m sorry.”
The canteen-keeper looked at Al in surprise. “For what?”
Al shuffled his legs uncomfortably. “For what’s been happening here. I can’t help thinking that my brother and I were responsible.”
“Your brother--?” The man seemed quite surprised at that, nevertheless he shook his head. “I see. However, you shouldn’t apologise for such a thing. You had to expose the truth, and we Liorites had every right to know about it.”
“You… really think so?” Al asked, scarcely believing what he was hearing.
The man nodded. “Come on, kid, think about it. When you and your friend came here the first time round, all Liorites thought nothing could touch us, not even death; all because of a con-man who did a couple of tricks and convinced us that we could become immortal. We had become conceited, and we needed that slap in the head to be reminded that we were just humans.”
“But the army…”
“It’s all part of our existence. We have to get through the worst of times in order to fight for and enjoy the best of times.” The man reached for Al’s arm and patted it reassuringly. “Trust me. You did the right thing.”
Al didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. He just kept staring at the man, filled with a sense of awe. That is, until the canteen-keeper nudged him gently.
“Now go. You’ve got to find your brother.”
Al didn’t have to be told twice. In seconds, he headed for the southern parts of the city, keeping a lookout for any glimpse of Ed or Scar.
There wasn’t much left from the church that once housed a fake priest and all the statues in honour of the so-called Sun God. The building lay in ruins because of the cannons of the Amestrian military, and none of the Liorites were saddened to see its destruction.
Even so, it was among the debris that a great number of Liorites gathered around so that they could hear Scar’s words. The Ishbalan was standing proudly at the cracked flight of stairs with Rose at his side. The girl still carried the baby in her arms, and there was a small smile tugged on her lips.
“People of Liore!” Scar started, “You know, as well as I do, that the army is asking for a reason to attack us! They might even make it as though you attacked first. And that, of course, means one thing: the army won’t hesitate to turn this war into a mass genocide!”
He turned briefly at Rose, who just nodded and took his hand in hers. Nodding back, he faced the crowd again and continued.
“So I say lure them in without resisting! Because, when the time is right, the wrath of God will befall on them!” And as those words flowed out of his lips, Scar rested his glowing left hand on a rock and shattered it to pieces. Gasps of awe and shock echoed throughout the crowd at that sight, soon to be followed by cheers and exclamations that God was on the Liorites’ side.
It was enough to make Ed’s stomach churn. However, the boy wasn’t foolish enough to express such a thing in front of the people of Liore and risk his cover. He watched everything from a safe distance, sitting on the base of a broken column. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge Lyra, even though she was standing right next to him.
“What’s in your mind?” she asked quietly, though she never took her eyes off the cheering mob.
Ed’s hands clenched into fists. “He says he’s doing this for Rose’s sake,” he replied. “He’s still taking advantage of a crippled girl.”
“I understand your exasperation,” Lyra said. “Nevertheless, her presence gives those people the courage they need to resist the military without the help of God Leto or the army’s interference.”
“By making them obey her.”
Lyra sighed and shook her head. “It can’t be helped, Edward. We, humans, are weak.”
Ed didn’t answer to that. It didn’t seem worthwhile. Besides, after everything he had seen, he couldn’t help but start to believe that Lyra was right.
Just then, a strange scent reached Ed’s nostrils. The teen alchemist frowned at that, for the last time he had smelled something like that was while his father was still at home.
“Lyra, are you wearing perfume?” he asked before he could help it.
“Uh… yes. I didn’t have the time to take a bath yet,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “You don’t like it?”
“Not really,” Ed answered candidly, leaving it at that.
“Sorry.”
Neither of the two alchemists spoke for some time. Still, it was obvious that Lyra wanted to know more about Edward.
“So… what are you going to do?” she asked.
It didn’t take a great mind to guess what the girl was talking about. Ed sighed and rested his chin on the palm of his right hand.
“I can’t let Scar have his way.”
“You will fight him then?”
“If it comes down to that.”
Surprisingly enough, Lyra rested a hand on one of Ed’s shoulders, and her voice softened so that only he could hear her.
“Whether you fight him or not, there will still be casualties and victims. Now it’s time to ask yourself what is the lesser of the two evils. We both wish to protect the city, and I’ll do anything to see to that.” Thin fingers reached for one of Ed’s bangs and placed it behind the boy’s ears, then she looked at him straight in his eyes. “Won’t you do the same?”
Ed froze, unsure what to make of her words. And before he could muster his wits to answer, she was already walking away to join Scar and Rose.
Breda strapped his gear on his uniform, a very grim expression on his face. He didn’t seem to pay attention to his surroundings as all kinds of thoughts piled in his mind. So, it was only natural that he almost jumped when he saw a horse coming up to him and nuzzling him. When he realised that the horse was Beregond’s and there was a tube strapped on her saddle with a message in it, however, Breda knew that he had to talk to Mustang about it. Thus, a few minutes later, everyone in the colonel’s unit were gathered in one of the more secluded tents to avoid being listened in on.
Roy took the note from Breda’s hands and unrolled it. He smirked quite visibly.
“Well, well… Faenel makes a fine messenger,” he said. “According to this, Beregond is warning us not to enter the city, no matter what. Scar is planning to use the military as the ingredients for the philosopher’s stone instead.”
Riza shook her head. “Even so, it is of no importance to the Fuhrer or the Homunculi. They’ll still get what they want.”
“And perhaps they were counting on that as well,” Breda said. “That explains Bradley’s haste to attack the city.”
“But if that’s the case, we can’t allow the soldiers to enter,” Fuery noted.
Roy heaved a sigh. “I agree. That’s why I’ll tell Bradley about Beregond’s current whereabouts.”
“What good will that do?” Havoc asked not really understanding.
“There is a chance Beregond is still valuable to them. He’s the most powerful alchemist of our time, so I doubt they’ll want to lose him in Liore.”
“They’ll have to hold off the attack,” Riza said, catching on.
“Yes.” With that, Roy curled the message in his hands, then stepped out of the tent to head towards the Führer’s quarters.
TBC…
Subtitles
- Brother's Debt
- Fullmetal Body, Fullmetal Heart
- A Quiet Day
- In The Night
- Two Men's Faces
- Transfer
- Making Plans
- Shadows Of The Past
- Underworld
- The Price Of Immortality
- Departure
- The Key
- Enemy Revealed
- A Step Back
- A Step Closer To The Truth
- A Race
- Rush Valley
- Responsibility
- Izumi
- Time To Stand Still
- Wild Child
- Encounter
- Riddles In The Dark
- In Search For Answers
- A Teacher's Mistakes
- Complications
- Visits
- The Nature Of A Homunculus
- Dante Of The Deep Forest
- Kidnapped
- Fight At The Devil's Nest
- Innocence Lost
- Blood Spilt
- Recovering
- Bearers Of Ill News
- The Flame Alchemist
- True Colours
- Markings On The Ground
- The Mission
- Heading To Liore
- Change Of Plans
- The Scar
- Holy Mother
- A Mother's Face
- Final Moments