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Every person has a different opinion as to what freedom entails. For some people, it means being able to speak freely and share their opinions without being censored. For others, it means to be able to move freely from place to place, just like an eagle soaring in the open sky.
For the World Empire, freedom is but a concept dreamed up by the Resistance, a concept that would end in ruin for all those involved. Freedom was not an option for the peace that the Empire sought to maintain. Birds that flew with promises of ‘freedom’ like the Resistance were merely an obstacle in their path, it was their duty as the world’s ruling power to clip those wings before they could set flight and sow their seeds of false hope into the hearts of the people. And what better way to uproot the tree than to cut off the root of its power: the Resistance's medic, who they all called "Master".
Eins regarded the group of fallen musketeers coldly, removing the damaged gas mask from his face. He’d had no need for it, really, since he wasn’t inherently human after all. Lowering his gun once the soldiers dispatched to his unit had confirmed the muskets could no longer get up, Eins leaned over a raven-haired man who’d obviously held a vendetta against him all this time for things he couldn’t be bothered to remember.
“…Ieyasu, was it?” he muttered to himself, kicking the corpse over to face upwards before it disappeared. Even in his dying moments, Ieyasu’s features held a fierce expression filled with unbridled rage. If he had the strength, he would have spat in the modern sniper rifle’s face. Reaching down to pluck the musket that Ieyasu had proudly fought with all this time from his arms, Eins held it with thinly concealed disgust in his amber gaze as he turned towards the hooded figure strapped to a seat in the middle of the Empire’s throne room.
“We warned you to call them off. It’s much more disheartening for you to see us kill them mercilessly, is it not?” Eins sighed, dangling the musket in one hand by its stock. “Although the King would rather we squash out any remaining roaches you may harbour, so this works out in our favour. Not very much so in yours, though.”
The hooded figure lifted their head slowly, revealing a small glimpse of their tear-stricken face and their bloodshot eyes from beneath the shadow of the tattered light brown fabric that they clung to desperately. It was the last thing they had to hold onto from their time fighting alongside the Resistance. Their wrists were no longer restrained, not that they could hope to do much in their current state, and Eins figured it'd be a kindness to allow them one final comfort in their soon-to-be last moments. Eins had been ordered to put on as cold-hearted of a final trial as he possibly could for the rogue medic, who was about to face the death penalty for acts of high treason against the World Empire, amongst other felonies, and he was going to deliver.
Lifting his other hand to the muzzle of the musket and raising a knee, he snapped the musket in half across the metallic knee plate he wore beneath his pants. Ieyasu's wounded screams of pain echoed across the empty room, his cries so pained it was as if Eins had reached into his chest and twisted out his beating heart with his bare hands. The cries of the enemy musketeer soon dissipated into nothing, as the very essence of what was Ieyasu's soul faded away.
Pathetic. So this was the strength that one of the strongest known musketeers from the Resistance could muster in the end? How unbecoming of one who called himself a musketeer. Eins couldn't help but instinctively sneer with hatred at the shattered pieces of the musket in his hands. He threw the pieces of the splinters that remained of the matchlock to the side and regarded Yukimura and Hidetada with equally cold stares. He pondered it for a moment, staring at the muskets that the soldiers had removed from their person, and made his decision then and there to have Fal deal with torturing and subsequently killing the remaining stragglers at a later point, for he had an execution to carry out.
Just as Eins was about to raise his arm to signal a nearby soldier to bring in the guillotine, the wooden double doors of the execution room swung open to reveal the blonde-haired man that was their King's right-hand man, Mauser. If he was here, then it was a matter of due importance.
They spoke in low whispers to each other, their words far out of reach of the ears of the medic who trembled helplessly in their seat. Whispering was unnecessary in the first place, however, as they were barely able to hear in the first place due to the sound of their heartbeat pounding in their ears loudly, and the roar of their blood rushing from their head as they grew paler and paler.
Sighing in the midst of their conversation, Eins realized quickly why the execution had been delegated to him instead of Fal with a mere glance. The medic had been reduced to such a whimpering mess that they'd be no fun to torture and kill for their bespectacled torture expert, so they left it to the person who'd be most efficient to carry it out.
After exchanging a few more words, Mauser ducked his head to Eins in what looked like a parting gesture and gestured to the soldier that was hovering nearby on standby. Turning to them with what looked like the smallest shred of pity in his eyes, Eins waited for Mauser to take his leave before proceeding to speak.
"The King has chosen to pardon you at this time. It appears that being left alive would be a better fitting punishment for someone who has made attempts on the King's life. Isn't he gracious? Speak your gratitude."
His words merely made the medic shake even more in their seat, and he felt yet another sigh pass his lips. In a few long strides, he was right in front of them, his sharp, harsh gaze boring into their teary expression.
"Don't you get the meaning of the words I just said? You're free. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Their lips wobbled and flapped together uselessly, unable to formulate the right words, and Eins pulled away with a loud exhale.
"Of course, our King desires a just reward for his graciousness. Place your hands on the table."
The medic's confused expression made it clear that they weren't yet aware of what the decree Ashley had asked for was. 'Well, I suppose grief will do that to you,' he mused to himself, as the soldier brought forth a handful of tools and handed them to Eins one by one. They observed as Eins seemed to turn something over in his hand as his back faced them before he suddenly turned back around.
His movements were so blindingly fast, so horrific in its precision that the medic had no time to process the cut he'd made into their hand until they saw the streak of red follow the amputated appendage. The piercingly loud screams of one who once boldly stood against the World Empire echoed throughout the hollow room, as their blood trickled out and stained the wood and the ground below them. If Eins held any remorse for his actions, it didn't show on his face. He was accustomed to having to use whatever means at his disposal to tear his enemy apart, no matter how gruesome they may be.
"It's a fair punishment to simply remove the hand which you used to heal and summon guns. Isn't our King so gracious?"